The steam rising from the noodle bowl curled lazily beneath the warm yellow lights of the restaurant.
It was one of those small corner shops squeezed between buildings. The kind with faded menu boards, scratched wooden booths and had the smell of broth, oil, and grilled meat which clung to the air thick enough to taste.
At the far end of the shop, a black haired young man sat alone in a booth near the window.
A bowl of noodles rested in front of him while a thin holo-tablet floated faintly above the table surface, projecting blue light across his face. Lines of text scrolled silently across the screen as he occasionally tapped a finger against it.
But his eyes were unfocused.
Not on the tablet or the noodles.
Rather, his attention was focused on eavesdropping.
Behind him, in the booth directly at his back, two middle aged men laughed loudly enough to rise above the clatter of dishes and conversation filling the shop.
"Man, I'm telling you," one of them said proudly, "the seafood ramen here still crushes everything back in Vale."
The other snorted. "You've said that three times already."
"Because it's true."
The first man laughed while slurping noodles, carrying the comfort of someone reconnecting with an old friend, after years apart.
The black haired young man quietly lifted noodles with his chopsticks and continued his listening.
The conversation behind him continued.
"So how's married life?" the second man asked.
The first man immediately grinned. It could practically be heard through his voice.
"Fantastic, to be honest."
"Still can't believe you somehow pulled that off."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know exactly what it means," the second man said. "Your wife's gorgeous. Meanwhile look at you. Built like a depressed accountant."
The first man barked out a laugh loud enough to turn a few heads.
"Jealousy's ugly, Darren."
"No way. I'm realistic. You hit the lottery, man."
"You're thirty three and still single. Maybe stop spending all your time working and you'll actually meet someone."
"Working keeps me sane."
"No, working keeps you alone."
"Better alone than divorced, I'd say."
"Wow. Bitter."
The two burst into chuckles again.
The black haired young man calmly drank from a cup beside his bowl while his holo-tablet continued glowing in front of him untouched.
"Anyway," the married man said, "what've you been doing lately? Last I heard you were still taking contractor gigs."
"Still do."
"Construction?"
"Sometimes. Some maintenance work too. Depends on what pays."
"That sounds miserable."
"Not as much as you think. It pays quite well sometimes."
The married man chuckled. "So what's the new hustle then? You mentioned it over text."
There was a pause.
Small enough most people would miss it but the black haired young man that was eavesdropping, didn't.
He twirled noodles slowly around his chopsticks.
Behind him, fabric shifted softly as the second man leaned forward. Then came a quieter voice.
"I've been moving product."
"Product?"
"Keep your voice down."
The black haired young man reached calmly into his jacket pocket. His fingers pulled out a small matte-black earpiece no larger than a coin. He slipped it into his ear and pressed a tiny recessed button along its side.
Instantly, the noise of the restaurant shifted.
Background chatter dulled and utensils scraping bowls faded. The two men's voices sharpened with crystal clarity inside his ear.
"…performance enhancing stuff," the contractor whispered.
The married man blinked. "Performance enhancing product? What does that even mean?"
"A specialized steroid."
"What kind?"
"Not the usual gym junk." The contractor lowered his voice further. "This stuff's different. Skinny guy takes it, works out for a month, he ends up looking like he's been training for two years."
The married man let out a low whistle.
"No way."
"I'm serious."
"What the hell's in it?"
"Don't know exactly. They keep the formula private."
"Damn," the married man muttered. "For a second I thought you were selling some insane opioid or addictive drug."
"Nah. Nothing like that. That's illegal."
"Still though," he continued, "that sounds crazy. Is it legal?"
"Not officially... I guess."
The black haired young man silently lifted another bite of noodles.
"They're saying it's still in experimental phase testing or something," the contractor continued. "Only select people can get access."
"Experimental?" the married man repeated nervously. "That sounds sketchy."
"Doesn't seem dangerous."
"How do you know?"
"Because nobody's reported side effects."
"No side effects?" The married man sounded genuinely surprised. "Compared to regular steroids?"
"That's the weird part."
A faint silence settled between them.
Even through the earpiece, the black haired young man could hear skepticism turning slowly into temptation.
The married man laughed quietly.
"You try it yourself?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm selling it, not taking it. Don't you know that dealers ain't supposed to touch their own stash."
"I think that only applies to hard drugs or something. And that answer alone makes me not trust it."
The contractor chuckled under his breath.
"I'm serious though. Some of the guys using it are getting ridiculous results."
"How ridiculous?"
"You ever see those old action movies where the dude gets built in one training montage?"
"…You're kidding."
"I wish I was."
The black haired young man finally removed the earpiece from his ear.
Click.
The restaurant noise returned all at once like waves crashing back over him. He calmly slipped the device back into his pocket.
Then he finished the last of his noodles without hurry
A waitress passed by while he stood from the booth.
"Finished already?" she asked.
He gave a small nod.
"Yes ma'am."
"I hope you've enjoyed your food. Did you want your bill now or..."
"The food was good. Compliments to the chef. I'll pay at the counter."
She smiled politely before moving off toward another table.
The young man approached the register and paid in cash. The cashier thanked him automatically without much interest.
Before leaving, he glanced once toward the booth behind him.
The two friends were still talking casually, completely unaware. Yet hidden beneath their conversation was something poisonous.
Something that did not belong.
The black haired young man exited the noodle shop. Cool night air brushed against his face instantly.
The street outside was alive.
Not crowded enough to feel urban, but busy enough to hum with movement. People walked along sidewalks carrying shopping bags or drinks while conversations blended into the nighttime atmosphere. Electric vehicles rolled steadily down the roads with quiet mechanical whirs replacing the roar of older engines.
Neon signs flickered across storefronts in shifting colors.
A convenience store, a karaoke bar, a pharmacy and... a fishing supply shop still somehow open this late.
The distant scent of lake water drifted faintly through the air beneath the smell of food stalls and engine heat.
The black haired young man stood still for a moment beside the restaurant entrance. His eyes slowly lifted upward, beyond the town and the glowing buildings and traffic lights. The mountain dominated the horizon.
Its dark silhouette cut against the night sky like a sleeping giant overlooking the entire region. Clouds drifted around its upper slopes.
The young man slipped both hands into his jacket pockets and began walking down the sidewalk. People brushed past him without a second glance.
Experimental steroids.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
He finally had a lead.
The black haired operative crossed the street, hands buried in his jacket pockets while the town's nightlife flowed around him in waves of neon and conversation.
A few minutes later, he reached his vehicle parked beneath a flickering streetlamp.
It was a dark gray civilian sedan with a sleek body and minimal detailing. Ordinary enough to disappear into traffic.
He opened the driver side door and slipped inside.
He shut the door quietly behind him and rested back against the seat without starting the engine.
Outside, pedestrians continued walking along the sidewalk. A couple argued quietly near a convenience store while a group of teenagers crossed the road laughing over something on a holo-screen.
His eyes remained fixed on the noodle shop entrance. Then his finger pressed a small button built into the dashboard.
A soft mechanical hum answered him.
The windows darkened gradually until the entire cabin became impossible to see through from the outside.
Minutes passed.
Patience was one of the first things non-awakened operatives were taught.
Not combat or weapons.
A rushed operative tended to become a dead one if situation of push came to shove. Especially considering that some types of pushes could cause buildings to fall.
Eventually, the restaurant door slid open and the man that he was waiting for stepped out onto the sidewalk, while stretching lazily. He looked completely relaxed. No paranoia or situational awareness. Just an ordinary man finishing dinner with an old friend.
The operative subtly activated his holo-tablet and a tiny camera embedded near the dashboard focused automatically.
Click.
A silent image was captured.
The man headed toward a compact blue vehicle parked farther down the street. A moment later, the engine started and the car pulled away into traffic.
Only then did the black haired operative start his own engine.
The sedan purred quietly to life and he followed from a safe distance.
The roads gradually became emptier as his target drove away from the brighter commercial sections of town. Buildings became older and the sidewalks narrower. Neon signs faded into dim apartment lights and cracked pavement.
Eventually his target turned into a low income residential district.
Old paint peeled from walls, rust stained several balconies and flickering lights buzzed near stairwells while old ventilation units rattled endlessly against the buildings.
Cheap rent and a sparse population. Minimal attention from authorities.
A place like this was usually perfect for crime.
His target parked beside one of the apartment buildings and climbed out of his car.
The black haired operative continued driving past him naturally. Only after turning onto the next street did he finally park beneath another broken streetlamp.
He killed the engine and silence settled inside the vehicle.
The young man pulled his holo-tablet from the passenger seat and uploaded the captured image into a secure database.
Blue text flickered across the screen.
[IDENTITY MATCH FOUND.]
Name: Darren Atkins.
Age: 33.
Occupation: Independent Contractor.
Criminal Record:
Minor speeding violations.
Two citations for illegal parking.
No violent offenses.
No known gang affiliation.
No outstanding warrants.
The man hummed quietly to himself.
Quite clean.
That usually meant one of two things.
Either Darren truly was small time. Or somebody farther up the chain was keeping their distributors deliberately invisible.
He reached toward the backseat and grabbed a black duffel bag.
Then he exited the vehicle.
The cool air carried distant sounds of traffic and lake water brushing against docks somewhere farther downhill.
Keeping his pace steady, the operative walked along the side of the building before slipping into a narrow alleyway between complexes.
The space smelled faintly of wet, old garbage.
He paused briefly and checked both directions.
The man then extended his left wrist and a sleek metallic gauntlet wrapped around his forearm peeked beneath his sleeve. Thin blue lights flickered softly across its surface.
A compartment opened with a mechanical click.
Thwip.
A compact grappling hook launched upward trailing a reinforced cable. The hook latched securely onto the rooftop edge several stories above and the gauntlet tightened instantly, shoting the operative upwards.
The cable reeled him skyward with startling speed as he passed rusted fire escapes and dark apartment windows.
Just before reaching the roofline, the young man twisted his body smoothly and flipped over the ledge.
He landed silently atop the building. The rooftop was empty except for vents and old satellite equipment. A rooftop entrance door stood nearby.
He ignored it completely. Instead, he crouched beside his duffel bag and unzipped it. Inside rested neatly packed tactical equipment.
He quickly stripped off his outer jacket and began gearing up.
A slim black tactical bodysuit covered his upper frame like a second skin. Flexible armored segments lined vital areas without adding bulk. Over it, he pulled on a dark hooded layer and reinforced black cargo pants equipped with compact storage pouches.
Finally, the operative lifted a matte-black mechanical mask to which the lower half sealed over his face with a soft hiss.
Its design was angular and intimidating without looking overly military. He raised the hood over his head afterward.
By the time he finished, he barely resembled the civilian from the noodle shop. He looked like a shadow pulled from a cyberpunk ghost story.
The man approached the roof edge carefully and looked downward.
His eyes traced the rows of fire escapes.
One.
Two.
Three.
There...
Darren's apartment.
He activated something built into his boots and a faint glow spread beneath the soles.
He stepped off the rooftop and his body dropped through the darkness before landing lightly against a fire escape platform several floors below.
No sound echoed out. Not even a metallic creak. The man crouched low beside the railing and peered through the apartment window.
Inside, Darren Atkins sat sprawled on a couch watching holo-TV while absentmindedly scrolling through his phone.
No additional heat signatures or movement elsewhere.
Alone.
The operative tested the fire escape window.
It was locked, as expected. He pressed two fingers against his gauntlet and a thin electronic probe extended silently from the wrist device and interfaced with the lock.
Three seconds later came a soft click.
Unlocked.
He slipped inside the apartment without a sound. The holo-TV illuminated the room in shifting colors while Darren remained completely oblivious.
The operative reached toward a pouch at his waist and removed a small black sphere roughly the size of a golf ball.
He pressed a tiny switch and the device started to release an invisible stream of odorless and silent aerosolized gas into the room.
He stood motionless near the kitchen entrance while watching carefully.
A minute later, Darren's blinking became slower and his posture sagged. The holo-phone slipped from his hand onto the couch cushion.
Then his eyes closed completely and his breathing deepened.
He was asleep.
The operative moved immediately. His search was methodical and precise. Kitchen cupboards, bathroom storage, mattress lining and even the ventilation grates.
Within minutes, he found it.
Hidden inside a small locked briefcase buried beneath clothes in the closet.
A much more ordinary hiding spot than he expected.
He opened it. Inside rested multiple tiny medical-grade glass vials filled with faint silver-blue liquid which had no labels or markings.
But he already knew.
Carefully, the operative removed one vial and activated his gauntlet scanner. A needle-thin probe emerged from the device.
He inserted it into the liquid.
Processing.
The gauntlet screen blinked green.
MATCH FOUND:
[AETHERION COMPOUND]
He narrowed his eyes slightly but resealed the vial and returned everything exactly as he found it.
After another thorough sweep of the apartment, the man confirmed there were no additional stashes hidden elsewhere.
Then he retrieved specialized black restraints from his pouch. Darren remained unconscious as the operative bound his wrists and ankles securely to the chair.
The restraints tightened automatically once activated.
He muted the holo-TV but left it running.
Finally, he tapped the interface built into his gauntlet. A secure encrypted call connected almost instantly.
A voice answered.
"Operative Shore. Status report?"
Shore kept his voice low.
"I located a distribution channel for the drug Aetherion. Confirmed sample match."
He uploaded Darren's profile and apartment coordinates simultaneously.
The information transferred within seconds.
"Seller identified as Darren Atkins. Low level contact and has no significant criminal history. I intend to investigate the supply source."
A brief pause followed, then the voice returned.
"Confirmed. Data received."
Static crackled softly.
"A Rank 2 is currently active within the area. If the situation escalates, and you find yourself outmatched, you are authorized to request backup from her immediately."
"Understood."
The call ended.
Shore conducted one final sweep of the apartment, checking vents, pipes, ceiling panels, and hidden compartments for any additional evidence.
Nothing.
Good.
He approached Darren afterward and crouched calmly in front of him. From another pouch, Shore removed a folded cloth packet and he opened it and held it beneath Darren's nose.
A few seconds passed.
Then Darren suddenly jerked violently.
"Khk...!"
He coughed hard before sneezing repeatedly. His eyelids fluttered open groggily. Confusion spread across his face immediately.
Then panic.
His gaze locked onto the hooded masked figure crouched directly in front of him.
"Wha... what the hell?!"
He struggled instinctively against the restraints and the chair rattled. Shore moved instantly. A combat knife appeared in his hand like black lightning.
The blade pressed gently against Darren's throat.
Darren froze.
Cold sweat immediately formed across his face. His breathing became sharp and uneven. Shore stared at him silently.
Then he spoke calmly.
"Let's have a chat."