"Why are you looking at me like that?" Hayato asked, leaning back against the bench with an innocent shrug.
Shisui glared at him, "That bike wasn't even mine, Hayato. I borrowed it! And now, thanks to a certain someone, it's speeding across the city with a stranger!"
"Well... that sounds like bad news," Hayato admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
Shisui sighed heavily. "So, do you have any actual plan to get it back?"
Hayato stood up, raising his arms and stretching casually. "Let's go then. Time to retrieve the bike."
He took a few confident steps forward before Shisui called out behind him, "And how exactly do you plan to find one motorcycle in a massive foreign city?"
Hayato froze mid-stride, turning back with a solemn nod. "That... sounds like another bad news and a very good point."
Meanwhile, Ethan trailed the man through the illuminated streets of Ottawa, keeping a safe distance between their bikes.
Looks like he's heading toward the airport district, Ethan analyzed, cutting his headlight as they approached the private aviation zone.
The man maneuvered his bike toward a secluded hangar near the edge of the tarmac. Ethan killed his engine, gliding to a stop beside a row of storage containers. Discarding the bike in the shadows, he moved with practiced stealth, pressing his back against a concrete support wall overlooking the meeting point.
Two sleek black sedans were parked near the hangar doors, flanked by several men in tailored suits and dark sunglasses.
The man approached the group, offering a tense nod. One of the men opened the rear door of the sedan, pulling out a heavy metallic briefcase and handing it over. The courier placed it on the trunk, popping the latches to inspect the contents. From his angle, Ethan couldn't see what was inside, but he caught the sharp, greedy smirk spreading across the man's face.
Suddenly, the low rumble of multiple heavy engines echoed down the runway. Ethan pulled himself deeper into the recess of the wall.
Two black armored SUVs burst into view, followed by a heavily modified, bulletproof G-Wagon, with two more armored escorts bringing up the rear.
Who on earth is this...? Ethan thought, his pulse quickening.
The fleet ground to a halt. A squad of heavily armed bodyguards spilled out, forming a tight perimeter around the G-Wagon before opening the rear door. A tall man in an immaculate black suit stepped down onto the tarmac.
The man immediately bowed his head in greeting, exchanging a few low, hurried words with the VIP. He handed over the metallic briefcase. In return, two bodyguards stepped forward, setting four massive hard-shell suitcases filled with stacked bands of cash at the courier's feet.
Ethan's eyes widened behind his cover.
What in the world is inside that briefcase to command four suitcases of cash?
With the exchange finalized, the VIP man in the suit slid back into the G-Wagon. The doors slammed shut, and the armored convoy turned around, speeding off toward the private highway exit.
The man quickly loaded his cash into the sedans, but Ethan's eyes were locked onto the tail lights of the armored fleet.
Ethan sprinted back to Shisui's bike, kicking the engine to life and slipping out onto the highway behind the convoy.
They must be heading out of the city, Ethan calculated, keeping two cars behind them in the midnight traffic. According to what I overheard back at the hall... they must be making a run for the ruined Heronics , or somewhere nearby.
Elsewhere—The Loop's 2nd Branch.
Inside a massive, fortified hangar complex, a guard sprawled back in his chair near the metal entry gates, snoring quietly.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed through the metallic corridor.
A imposing figure marched up to the sleeping guard. His fists clenched tightly, veins bulging along his forearms. Without a word of warning, the intruder reached out, clamping a massive, leather-gloved hand directly around the guard's throat, hauling him out of his chair and slamming him against the steel wall.
The guard's sleep vanished instantly, his eyes bulging in sheer terror as he recognized the monstrous man choking the air from his lungs.
"Sir pl—" the guard choked out, his voice suffocating.
Before he could finish, the man tightened his grip, crushing the guard's windpipe with a sickening crack before carelessly hurling his limp body across the floor.
"Incompetent trash," the man growled, his voice thick with unbridled rage. "Sleeping on active shift."
"My, my... is that really any way to treat your subordinates?" a smooth, melodious female voice purred from the shadows.
The heavy-set man snapped his head toward the far wall, where a striking woman in a crimson dress sat atop a stack of shipping crates, applying bright red lipstick.
"What the hell are you doing here, Eliza?" he snarled.
"I should be asking you the same thing, Harold," Eliza replied, offering a razor-sharp, alluring smile. "You are Loop's Number 3, Harold. Try showing a little dignity around the recruits."