August 5th, 2026
In the military camp, Rio's office, Vortania
10:45 PM
The rain had not stopped for days.
It was the kind of rain that made the sky look bruised and heavy, that soaked into the steel bones of the base until everything reeked of rust, oil, and quiet tension. The kind of rain that blurred the borders between days - between patience and madness.
One week had passed since Lieutenant Voss and her squad departed.
One week of radio silence.
Rio sat in his office, eyes fixed on the muted green pulse of his encrypted terminal. He hadn't slept properly in three days. The faint hum of rain against the windows mixed with the static of his communicator, like a voice on the edge of transmission that refused to speak.
He ran a hand through his hair, leaned back in his chair, and exhaled slowly. The silence was eating him alive.
He wanted to believe it was tactical - that Voss was keeping comms dark to maintain cover. But the deeper part of him, the part that had grown cold from years of war, whispered the truth he didn't want to face.
Something had gone wrong in Cremont City.
He had read that kind of silence before - the kind that came before a body count.
Rio rose from his chair, restless, pacing back and forth in the dim glow of his desk lamp. Each step echoed across the small office like a metronome to his thoughts. He had sent them there. Ordered it. And now, he couldn't even contact them, not without risking everything.
If the General - if Alexandra Evanoff - ever discovered what he'd done, it would mean court-martial. Worse, it would mean exposure. She'd dig until she found the truth - that his personal mission had compromised military intelligence.
That he had let his emotions lead a black-ops mission.
That the Major she trusted most had betrayed her.
He slammed his palm against the desk, shaking the half-empty glass of whiskey beside his laptop. He hadn't meant to become this man - the kind who buried emotion beneath reports and forged orders. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw his sisters' faces. The rejection. The cryptic messages. His mother's distant voice.
"If you come back, we won't let you escape anymore…"
That message haunted him most.
He'd thought it was a joke once. Some cruel family jab. But after what he'd found - the bounty on Selene Castellan, his older sister - he knew now it wasn't a joke. It was a promise. A warning.
He had to know the truth.
And so, he did what any soldier taught to adapt would do - he built a lie so solid it looked like truth.
He had spent nights constructing a bogus report - falsified orders, coded mission logs, and a paper trail designed to fool even the General herself. In the report, Lieutenant Voss and her team were deployed under his direct supervision into enemy territory, allegedly to retrieve classified intelligence from a rebel network operating along the eastern border. The wording was professional. The timeline airtight. The tone strictly by the book.
It was the perfect camouflage - for a secret that could destroy him.
He'd filed the report through three layers of secure channels, ensuring it looked like standard black-ops procedure. No one questioned it. The General herself had signed off on the document, trusting Rio's record and leadership. That trust now sat heavy in his chest like a loaded weapon.
He returned to the present, staring again at the blinking cursor on his encrypted dashboard. Still no signal. No word from Voss. No confirmation of life.
He exhaled sharply and muttered, "Damn it, Lieutenant… answer me."
But the rain answered for her - soft, relentless, and cold.
He dropped into his chair again, exhaustion weighing on his shoulders. He opened the classified document he'd created and read the words as though they belonged to someone else. Each line was a lie wrapped in truth - coordinates, coded names, mission objectives.
All to protect a mission that was never meant to exist.
Rio rubbed the bridge of his nose. His mind was a mess of guilt and strategy. He knew Alexandra would eventually grow suspicious - she always did. She had an uncanny sense for deceit, even from those she trusted most. But he needed more time. He needed proof.
If Voss's team found what he suspected - if they uncovered even a fragment of truth about what his mother and sisters had become - then it would all be worth it.
He poured himself another drink, the amber liquid catching the low light. It burned as it went down. The warmth didn't comfort him. It only reminded him that he was still human - still capable of feeling, despite the years spent trying to become something colder.
A soldier.
A weapon.
A machine that obeyed.
But tonight, there was no order. No mission. No command. Only silence.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, letting the rhythm of rain lull his thoughts into an edge of clarity. He had done what he must - lied to protect what little remained of his sanity. And yet, the silence in the air felt heavier than guilt.
He wanted to go himself. He'd thought of it every night - slipping out of the compound, vanishing into the storm, making his way to Cremont alone. He knew the route. He knew how to hide.
But he couldn't. Not yet. Not without risking everything he'd built.
He was a soldier, after all.
And soldiers followed plans - even ones forged in desperation.
So, he waited. And the rain kept falling. The room smelled of smoke and gun oil and the faint, metallic taste of regret. His reflection in the window stared back at him - hollow-eyed, grim, patient.
Then the communicator blinked once. Just once.
Then went dark again.
Rio froze. His heartbeat quickened.
That single flash could have been a malfunction… or a sign.
He swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the dead screen. "Lieutenant Voss," he whispered, almost like a prayer, "don't make me come get you."
The rain answered him again - steady, merciless, endless.
After another 30 minutes of silence and full of thoughts.
The rain had softened to a mist by the time the burner phone rang.
Rio's head snapped up. The sound cut through the room like a blade, sharp and alien after thirty-five minutes of agonizing silence. His hand hesitated only a heartbeat before he lunged for it, snatching the small black device off the desk.
The screen glowed: "Lt. Elena Voss."
Rio's pulse kicked. He hit answer before the second ring.
"About damn time," he growled, breath shaky, tone half fury, half relief.
On the other end came static, then a strained female voice - tired, cautious, hoarse.
"Sorry, Major… it took longer than expected," Lieutenant Voss said. "We had to move through all districts undetected. Cremont's not what it used to be. It's worse."
Rio leaned forward, knuckles pressing into the desk. "Spare me the unnecessary. What did you and your team find?" he said, clipped, impatient. His voice had that dangerous calm - the kind that came right before the storm.
There was silence for a few seconds. Then Rio heard Voss inhale, a slow, deliberate breath through the line. It was the kind of pause that carried weight - the kind that meant whatever came next would change everything.
"Major…" she finally said, voice low. "I don't think you're gonna like what we discovered."
Rio's jaw tightened. His stomach twisted with something cold and raw. He forced his voice steady. "Tell me," he muttered.
Voss hesitated again, then spoke - this time quicker, firmer, like she was reading from notes she didn't want to look at twice.
"There are rumors - no, more than rumors - that the Castellan Mafia really runs Cremont City now. Every corner, every street, every syndicate pays them tribute. They don't just rule Cremont. They own it."
Rio froze, blinking once, twice.
He wanted to reject it outright - laugh, scream, anything. But Voss kept going.
"Hell, even Albarossa is under their thumb," she continued. "But… they've made enemies, sir. Powerful ones. We have records of rival movements. The Yakuza, Oniburo Clan. The Triads, Bloodfang. The Cartels, Los Cazadores. The Serbians, Black Serpents, and the Korean syndicate called Jopok Haneulsae - 'Sky Birds.'"
She paused to let the names settle. Each one was a monster in its own right, organizations that could bring nations to their knees. And yet, they feared his family?
Rio's throat tightened. His face darkened. "I don't give a shit about them," he said sharply. "Tell me what really matters."
He leaned closer to the phone, voice low and commanding. "What happened to my father? My mother? My sisters - Alessandra, Marcella, and Selene. What the hell happened to them?"
Voss went silent.
The only sound was the faint patter of rain against the glass and the low hum of the desk lamp.
Then, finally, she spoke - her voice soft, uncertain.
"Major… if we had a little more time, we could've unraveled everything. We're close. We just need...."
Rio cut her off, rubbing his face, exhausted. "You don't have more time, Lieutenant. Tell me what you do know."
There was another breath from Voss's end - a quiet, shaky one. Then she said softly, "But…"
Rio's heart sank.
"But what, Lieutenant?" he asked, his tone razor-sharp now.
Voss hesitated, then continued. "We… we found something. At the old Cremont District Record Office. We were digging for ownership logs and property traces tied to the Castellans. Instead, we stumbled on… this."
Rio's chest grew tight. "On what?"
"A divorce file," she said flatly. "Between Janus Castellan and Isabela Castellan. It's dated two weeks after you left Cremont for Vortania."
Rio froze, eyes wide, breath stuck halfway through his throat. His fingers slackened, the phone almost slipping from his grip.
"No…" he muttered, his voice breaking into disbelief. "That's.... that's not possible."
"It's official, sir," Voss replied quietly. "Stamped, verified, signed. We ran the registry twice. It's real."
Rio's mind went blank. The room tilted slightly.
He saw flashes of Alexandra, Marcella, and Selene - dinners, laughter, the smell of warm soup and rain through a cracked window.
He heard Janus tired voice: "There are things in Cremont that make men cruel… and women clever enough to break them."
He saw Isabela's cold expression that final day, her trembling hand clutching his but refusing to meet his eyes.
And suddenly, everything twisted into something ugly, foreign, unrecognizable.
"Then… how… what… when… where… why?" he mumbled, voice thin, cracking.
Voss sighed through the line, hesitant. "Major… your father che..."
Then, suddenly, gunfire erupted.
Rio jerked upright, the sound sharp and sudden, the call exploding into chaos - shouting, metal scraping, the scream of engines and automatic fire.
"Lieutenant!" Rio barked, standing up, knocking his chair backward. "Voss! Report!"
Through the static, he heard her voice, panicked.
"Ambush! We've been compromised! Take cover!"
Then the line went dead.
"Lieutenant Voss!" Rio roared, his voice echoing in the hollow silence that followed. Only the rain answered.
He stood there, frozen, his chest heaving, the phone still pressed against his ear.
His father… cheated?
Cheated on who? On Isabela?
And what the hell kind of ambush was that?
Everything blurred. His mind fractured between rage and despair, between logic and instinct. Then something in him snapped.
"GODDAMMIT!!"
With a guttural growl, Rio hurled the burner phone across the room. It shattered against the concrete wall, pieces scattering like glass teeth across the floor.
He didn't hesitate. He stormed toward his bunk, yanked open the locker, and pulled out a duffel bag.
His movements were fast, mechanical, driven by rage. He loaded weapons - a sidearm, two spare pistols, an assault rifle, ammo, knives, flash grenades. He holstered one weapon after another, hands steady, eyes burning.
He didn't care anymore.
About rules. About protocol. About the General.
He needed the truth - and he'd find it even if it killed him.
When the bag was packed, he slung it over his shoulder, took one last swig of whiskey, and started toward the door.
Rain hammered harder outside now. The night was alive with thunder and secrets.
As he reached for the handle - the door swung open.
And there she was.
General Alexandra Evanoff, standing in the doorway, rain dripping off her long coat, her single green eye locking with his. Her expression unreadable, but her stance - firm, commanding, knowing.
Rio froze.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
The storm raged behind her, thunder rolling like drums.
Two soldiers. Two secrets. Two storms about to collide.
Lore Context
"Cremont City - The Capital of Albarossa"
Cremont City, the beating heart of Albarossa, stands as a sprawling metropolis of contradictions - a city of dazzling lights and endless shadows. With a population surpassing 51 million, it is not only the largest city in Albarossa but one of the most densely populated urban centers in the world. Skyscrapers of steel and glass tower over ancient stone districts, where the smell of rain and gasoline mixes with the faint aroma of street food from night vendors. The city never sleeps - its pulse beats through the hum of monorails, the sirens of police, and the constant chatter of people chasing dreams or running from them.
Once, Cremont was a symbol of progress. It rose from the ashes of war nearly a century ago, rebuilt by visionary industrialists and cunning politicians who promised a future of prosperity. For decades, it was the envy of the continent - a haven for art, culture, and commerce. But beneath its polished surface, corruption quietly festered. The same architects who built its towers also sold their souls to crime syndicates, and the government that pledged reform turned a blind eye for the sake of stability. Over time, the law bent under the weight of power, and the once-proud city became a kingdom of vice ruled by invisible hands.
Now, Cremont City is divided - not by walls, but by class, fear, and influence. The upper districts, known as the Golden Arc, gleam with luxury, technology, and political elites. Below them, the Underline Districts stretch like a labyrinth of concrete misery, ruled by gangs and shadow markets. Between them lies the Glassheart , the city's iconic tower and administrative core, where bureaucrats pretend order still exists. It is said that every deal - legal or illegal - passes through the Glassheart's corridors, sanctioned by whispers and blood.
At the center of it all sits the Castellan Mafia, an empire woven into the city's veins. Rumors say they don't just run Cremont - they own it. Their reach extends from politicians and judges to construction magnates and nightclub owners. Even rival syndicates like the Oniburo Clan, the Jopok, the Bloodfang Cartel, the Los Cazadores, and the Black Serpents tread carefully in their territory. The Castellans turned Cremont into a fortress of influence, a place where money and fear are interchangeable currencies.
But for all its chaos, Cremont City has a strange allure - a magnetic charm that draws the desperate, the ambitious, and the broken. It is a city that devours innocence and rewards cunning, a place where the weak vanish and the strong wear crowns made of secrets. As the rain falls endlessly on its neon streets, Cremont stands as both a paradise and a purgatory - the city of kings and ghosts.