The rain wasn't just falling; it was an assault. Joey felt the water soaking through her cheap flats, the chill seeping into her bones as she stared at the black van idling at the curb. It looked like a hearse disguised as a delivery vehicle.
"We didn't order pizza, Cheng," she shouted over the roar of the downpour. She gripped the door handle, her eyes narrowing at the man in the driver's seat.
"And why does your delivery guy have a military headset and a mustache that's literally flapping into his mouth?"
Xingcheng didn't answer. The "clumsy intern" persona vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a cold, efficient force.
He placed a hand on the small of her back—not a gentle guide, but a hard, non-negotiable shove that sent her stumbling into the dark interior.
He followed her in, slamming the door with a heavy, pressurized THUD that sounded more like a bank vault sealing shut than a sliding van door.
"It's a... Customer Loyalty program, Joey!" Xingcheng's voice was a low, vibrating growl as the van screeched away from the curb. "I was Employee of the Month. They do... Extreme Extractions. I mean, Deliveries. Just sit down."
Joey was thrown back against a reinforced leather bench. The air inside was a nauseating cocktail of cold pepperoni grease, rain-soaked wool, and the sharp, electric ozone of high-grade hardware.
She looked at the dashboard, but there was no GPS. Instead, four ultra-wide monitors glowed with a predatory blue light, showing thermal maps of the surrounding four blocks.
"Cheng," Joey said, pointing at a cluster of red dots moving in sync behind them. "Why is there a radar tracking those three black SUVs? Is that part of the 'Crust-Tracker' too?"
Lao K, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles looked like white stones, let out a high-pitched, hysterical laugh.
"It's high-definition, miss! Toppings are time-sensitive. We use thermal imaging to avoid... heavy traffic. And red lights. And... interference!"
Xingcheng didn't look at him. He was staring at the back of Lao K's head with eyes like shards of obsidian. He reached for a pizza box on the floor and ripped it open with a violent snap of cardboard.
"Eat, Joey," he commanded. He pulled out a slice, the cheese stringing out in oily, orange threads.
He shoved it toward her, his jaw set tight. He was desperate to fill her mouth with food so she'd stop filling the air with questions.
"Stop looking at the monitors and focus on the pepperoni."
Joey took a huge, defiant bite, her eyes never leaving the thermal screens.
"It's a bit salty, Cheng," she mumbled through the food. "And why is your 'friend' wearing a Kevlar vest under a pizza apron? Is the delivery business a war zone in this neighborhood?"
She chewed, but suddenly, her expression shifted. Her brow furrowed as her teeth hit something hard and metallic.
CLINK.
The sound was small, but in the tense silence of the van, it sounded like a gunshot.
Joey reached into her mouth with two greasy fingers, pulling out a small, silver object. She wiped the melted mozzarella off on her sleeve.
Under the blue light of the surveillance screens, a tiny engraving shimmered on the surgical steel: the Lu Syndicate Crest—the wolf entwined with the dragon.
The confusion vanished. It was replaced by a sharp, icy realization that made the blood in her veins turn to slush.
She looked at the chip, then at the "General" in the driver's seat, and finally, she turned her head slowly toward the man sitting beside her.
"Cheng," she whispered, her voice terrifyingly steady. "Why is there a mafia tracking device in my pepperoni? And why does this 'pizza delivery' smell like a crime scene?"
Xingcheng looked at the chip. The "Bob" mask wasn't just slipping; it was gone. He could hear his own heartbeat thundering against his ribs, heavy and rhythmic.
I tried to feed you a lie, Peppercorn, he thought, his gaze darkening. But you were always too smart for the flavor.
Suddenly, a sharp, electronic BEEP tore through the cabin.
"BOSS!" Lao K screamed, his voice cracking with pure terror. "WE'RE BEING RAMMED!"
SLAM.
A black SUV slammed into their side at sixty miles an hour. The pizza box exploded, sending slices flying like shrapnel.
Joey's scream was cut short as the van fishtailed, and Xingcheng reached into the door panel, his fingers closing around the cold, matte-black grip of a suppressed HK VP9.
The car-wash intern was dead. The Shadow King had arrived.