The Architect stopped moving.
"Is it the same case with our guys in the force?" he asked, his voice lowering. "They don't know where Ghost is either?"
Another pause.
"The police are in the same situation as us, boss," the voice replied, more serious now. "They've got nothing solid on him or his location."
The Architect's grip tightened around the phone.
"There's more," the voice added. "Word is the police are planning something else. Ghost might not be their main focus right now. They seem more concerned about rats in their own ranks to leak anything vital."
The Architect's eyes narrowed.
"Our people are having a hard time figuring out what the police are planning," the voice finished. "They're being careful. Too careful."
This time, the Architect didn't explode. He calmed himself, took a slow breath, then turned toward John's mentor, who stood nearby, lost in thought.
"Do you have any idea what they're planning to do?" the Architect asked.
"Huh?" the mentor replied, his mind clearly elsewhere.
The Architect's patience snapped. He hurled the glass in his hand at the mentor's feet. It shattered loudly against the floor, shards skittering outward.
That finally dragged the mentor back into the room.
He looked up at the Architect, eyes cold, dangerously so. If not for the Architect's importance, he would have already drawn his sword. But his thoughts weren't truly on the man in front of him.
They were on John.
Every thread of his mind twisted around the same question: how to rectify this situation without losing his own life and without falling out of the League's good graces. The balance was becoming impossible to maintain.
An idea surfaced, he found himself entertaining the thought of simply revealing himself to John. All it would take was a single misstep. One "mistake." A trail subtle enough for John to notice and follow.
If John found him… then this would all end.
He couldn't just stand by anymore. Couldn't keep watching everything he had been trying to build unravel at the hands of a child,, no matter how capable that child had become.
Something had to be done and soon.
This whole situation with John had left him truly indecisive. That indecision only made the disrespect sting more. He had helped this gang leader, enabled him even and now, in his current position, he was being treated like an afterthought.
Both men stared at each other in silence.
Then the gang leader scoffed.
Turning back to his phone, he spoke coldly, "Tell our guys to keep an eye on the movements of the force. Anything new, you contact me immediately."
He didn't even bother looking at the mentor as he walked off.
There was a lot to think about and none of it was good.
On Thorne's side, things were unravelling just as fast.
Once he informed his higher-ups about the missing female cop, the fallout was immediate. Voices were raised. Questions were fired at him from every angle. For a moment, he genuinely thought he was going to lose his badge.
If not for old connections and favors he had long hoped he'd never need to cash in, he would have lost his badge.
Instead, a deal was made.
Thorne was reassigned to a different task force, one formed with a single objective: bring down the leader of the Viper Gang. The same man believed to be holding the missing officer.
The higher-ups were furious.
A kidnapped cop was bad enough. A kidnapped cop tied to organized crime and now possibly Ghost was a disaster. Publicly, it couldn't be allowed to stand. Privately, it was an embarrassment they intended to erase.
At the same time, Ghost had become a problem. Not just for the gangs but for the city itself.
The unrest he caused rippled through the streets, disrupting business, frightening citizens, and making everyone involved look weak. Unprotected. Untrustworthy. That kind of instability couldn't be ignored.
So the decision was made.
The gang leader had to be brought in.
As for Ghost, if the opportunity presented itself, he was to be captured as well. No longer just a variable or an asset, the government now viewed him as a nuisance. A dangerous one. Useful only if contained.
Back in his apartment, John noticed a sight that was becomin common.
Through his IBM, he noticed more patrols. More gang members. More movement than before.
Along with that was something that made his mind stall.
The gang members were holding pictures.
Pictures of him.
They moved from door to door, showing the image, asking questions. Some civilians shook their heads. Others hesitated a little too long.
John stared at the image.
It was him, captured during the night of the ambush. Grainy, poorly lit, but clear enough. His face. Uncovered.
For a moment, his thoughts froze.
Then it hit him.
He had never worn a mask.
The idea had never even crossed his mind. He had operated under a simple assumption, once his mission was complete, none of the people he interacted with would ever see him again. Loose ends wouldn't matter if there was no one left to recognize him.
That mindset had failed him.
John realized, all at once, that he had made a serious mistake.
His image was now known to the gang and to the police. Worse still, they had already managed to narrow him down to the street where he was located.
Because of his conditions with the League, leaving was not an option.
That meant there was only one way forward.
He had to finish this before they found him.
John pulled up the mental image of the file Thorne had given him, the last confirmed location where the force believed the gang leader was operating from. Floor layouts. Access points. Patterns. Everything he would need, already etched into his memory.
He had made a promise.
And lately, that promise felt like the only thing anchoring him.
What bothered him most was how unnecessary all of this had started to feel. The night he wiped out the two hideouts, he'd noticed something unsettling, his anger toward the gang was gone. The fire that had driven his first strike had burned out faster than he expected.
What remained was routine and motion. Action without emotion, mindless killing.
He hated the gang for dragging him into a fate he never wanted. For forcing his hand. For shaping him into something he hadn't chosen or was ready for. But two weeks had passed now, and somewhere along the way, resistance had given way to acceptance.
This was his reality.
This was his power.
Whatever atrocities the gang had committed had never truly been his concern. As for Elara, he would save her if the opportunity presented itself. If not, it wouldn't cost him a single night of sleep. He was honest enough with himself to admit that.
John had always kept his promises so the Architect had to be dealt with.
If everything went as planned, this would be the end of it. His involvement with the gang. Tonight, one way or another, it would all be over.
Or so he thought.
Before night had fully fallen, John's IBM began pulling in fragmented chatter from the police stationed in the street who spoke with careless voices.
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