On the floor below, yawning calmly with a black eyepatch covering half of his face, sat John, the Barista. However, despite his apparent serenity, his mind worked relentlessly as he waited for the investigation regarding Ryan's father.
Knowing that it would be the spark for a war.
He knew the results of those investigations would be the final straw that would split the Savant Mafia into two factions: the supporters of the current Boss and the supporters of Ryan's father, even if he was no longer present.
It was only a matter of time before they went to war…
However.
What he did not expect was to hear a sharp scream coming from upstairs. His eyes widening, he immediately dashed toward the source of the sound, crossing the café, rushing up the staircase, and violently shoving the door open.
Faint yet painful groans reached his ears.
He quickly ran to the bathroom and found Ryan with blood pouring from every pore of his body. His expression immediately darkened. 'Forget the investigation. Now it's war.'
Urgently, John checked Ryan's vitals and immediately made a phone call. "His son has been poisoned, prepare the medical team and send a convoy for protection and possible confrontation, also an investigative team! I want them to tear that damn apartment apart until they find out how they did this!" Without waiting for a response, John hung up the phone.
He quickly hauled Ryan onto his back and sprinted with superhuman agility to the apartment door, then leaped down the stairs in a single motion that would have shattered anyone else's bones. Except John was not anyone else. Landing with deeply bent knees to absorb the impact, he burst out of the Manhattan Café.
The sky was overcast and the streets were sparsely populated due to the hour. Then, suddenly, five cars screeched their tires against the pavement with a deafening roar and stopped in an orderly formation ahead, waiting for John. They rolled down their windows with tense expressions while some stepped out, slamming their doors hard, eyes wide with disbelief at what they were seeing.
All of them wearing expressions so grim they would make death itself flinch. "Who was the damn fool that mistook courage for stupidity?" One of them said through clenched fists and teeth. "Whoever did this won't get a quick death!" Another shouted.
"Now is not the time for that!" John shouted, climbing into a wide, armored black van at the center of the formation, a vehicle adapted for medical use, the medical team having used the extra space provided by the car to create a mobile operations base.
Ryan was quickly handed over to them and strapped onto a stretcher. John stepped inside and stood beside it, watching the team work with a composed expression, yet one that was somehow still undeniably tense.
The convoy of cars departed as fast as possible, while Ryan at the center struggled to contain the thousands of uncontrollable spasms and convulsions. The restraints being the only thing preventing his head from slamming repeatedly against the stretcher until it scattered his brain matter across the surface.
"He is in extreme pain! We need to put him in a coma!" The doctor shouted. "Otherwise the stress will destroy his body, either killing him or leaving him permanently disabled!" They immediately began preparing the equipment.
John initially nodded, letting the team work, after all he might know something about first aid but he was no doctor. However, that was when it happened...
A faint wave passed through him, awakening his combat instincts by reflex with indispensable swiftness. For a moment, he thought he was under enemy attack. For a moment, he prepared himself to kill once more and paint the streets red, responding in kind.
They would soon be reminded of who he was... but...
He did not recognize that wave, that Voice.
It was like the cry of a beast.
He had never encountered a beast like that one.
His mind immediately focused on locating the source, and then...
The team around him did not notice, but John stared directly into Ryan's eyes, which met his in return. And what he found there was not fear, but feral determination, and that made him change his mind. "He is not going to die over a little pain." John grabbed the doctor's shoulder, stopping him from putting Ryan into a coma. "Just treat the wounds..."
John swallowed hard, making a bet: Let him die or come back even stronger.
The doctor opened his mouth for a moment to warn him of all the possible problems and complications, but John simply nodded gently. "I know, I take full responsibility, now do as I say."
Swallowing hard, they continued treating Ryan as best they could with the scarce information available to them. However, instead of improving, his condition only worsened.
Bruises began appearing without any known cause. His bones started twisting with sharp cracks and his arm swelling like a balloon. The doctors grew desperate, resorting to more and more medications.
More and more needles.
They needed to treat the fever, the local swelling, mysterious allergies that emerged along the way, hemorrhaging from every conceivable location. All of this while preparing the cast for his broken bones.
Ryan rolled his eyes back, clenching his teeth with every ounce of strength he had.
"How are things going?" John asked, watching the team sweat more and more.
"We are only treating the symptoms, but we are far from finding the cause." The doctor then added. "But honestly, this biochemical weapon, whether poison or virus, is the most lethal I have ever seen."
"Good to know." John said with darkened eyes, his hand going to his neck and cracking it three times. "Very good to know."
John exhaled heavily. As the convoy reached its destination, every one of the men inside every one of the cars gripped their weapons tightly. Machine guns, rifles, sniper rifles, rocket launchers. Truthfully, only nuclear bombs had been left out.
But the helicopters were already on their way.
"What name should I give it..." John wondered. "There are already so many days called bloody throughout history. Perhaps The Great Savant War or The Battle of Manhattan... maybe, The Legacy War, that is a good one... it feels appropriate."
He stared at Ryan. "After all, you are everything that remains of him. The legacy. And even that, they wish to take from us." John laughed softly. "Damned bastards, today is the day I put an end to your actions."
The phone rang and he answered. "They have closed the gate. They said they will only allow you and the boy inside, and no one else, not even the medical team." John clenched his teeth, but soon exhaled and said: "You all know how to proceed from here. Prepare for battle."
Opening the van, John, with the assistance of the doctors, lowered the stretcher to ground level.
Before them, a mansion worthy of a head of state occupied the entire field of view from east to west, with sprawling gardens full of flowers and hedges. A golden iron gate prevented them from accessing the garden's interior, while at the far end of the garden stood a marble staircase of a white so pure it appeared divine.
In front of a double golden door, built for giants, in a world where the only giant thing was the human ego, stood a youthful-looking young man, somewhere in his late twenties. His hair was shaved on the sides and long on top, with a single strand falling across the front of his face.
Behind golden-rimmed glasses, at the top of the staircase, two eyes of superior intelligence analyzed the convoy before him, while dense sweat ran down his forehead. He adjusted his glasses with his middle finger before taking a deep breath as he watched John and the boy approach the gate.
Once they stepped inside, he would need to handle the situation as delicately as possible. That boy could not die under any circumstances.
"What a disaster..." Aron murmured. "The boss said it was not him, but I no longer trust his word either. How on earth am I going to convince all of them that it was not us? Tsk!" He clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction. "What a mess! This is only happening because we have been suspecting one another for decades! The Savant Mafia could not be more fractured. The rupture is plain for all to see! This is where our downfall begins!"
He pressed his hand to his forehead. "After so many golden years, after an entire golden age, the decay finally arrives. Like a shooting star we rose higher than all others with the most brilliant flame ever seen only to vanish moments later and be forgotten." He clenched his teeth. "If we splinter, we will be swallowed by the others and we will never again be a fraction of everything we once were. That is, if we are not exterminated for the threat we pose to all of them."
Aron took a deep breath. "The Savant Mafia must survive, I have to stop this conflict." He then quickly formulated a plan in his mind. Raising the radio to his mouth he said. "Open up for the two of them and the two of them alone."
The golden gate opened before John, a malicious gleam shining unmistakably in his eyes. While Ryan emitted increasingly intense waves, increasingly frequent Voices.
The roar grew more and more frequent, louder and louder.
Aron observed from the top of the staircase for a moment, noticing John's hostility. He flinched, knowing full well what that man was capable of. Even so, he had no desire to come across as a superior or as a threat.
Aron descended the staircase one step at a time, keeping his gaze carefully fixed on John. They met in the middle of the garden, Aron raised both hands before slowly reaching for his knife and dropping it to the ground, followed by his pistol and any other weapon he carried.
"I don't wanna fight." Aron then looked at John, waiting for the same.
However.
John observed in unsettling silence, knowing that one of the greatest enemy leaders had just exposed himself unarmed before him. If he moved against him now, the adversary would die without any chance to retaliate.
It would be a strategically decisive victory for the war that would follow.
'Bad move, young boy.' He was about to act, his eyes betraying his intentions. 'It's going to be easy, peasy.'
'Damn maniac!' Aron cursed, knowing he was about to die. He regretted his decisions.
The war would begin there.
However.
"Wa..it." Ryan tried to say.
Suddenly, Ryan spat blood as crimson tears streamed down his cheeks. John watched in horror, but knew he was trying to say something. His lips moving slowly between coughs to form a single word.
Cooperate.
John swallowed hard upon hearing that. Every part of him urged him to do the opposite, that this was an outstanding opportunity. Even so... he took a deep breath, stepped back, removed each one of his weapons, and then approached Aron.
Soon they stood face to face.
"Good to see you again, Aron."
"Likewise, John." Aron said, his voice trembling. "I only wish it were under better circumstances." John nodded.
They shook hands, knowing that soon both their knives would be at each other's throats.
"Let us bring him inside." Aron approached the stretcher and began carrying it alongside John. "The Doctor is already waiting for him." They soon began carrying him inside.
However...
Aron suddenly heard a beast scream, making him flinch and stare at Ryan.
'Damn...' He thought with wide eyes. 'Now war is inevitable.'