Chapter Three

Gray Harbor City had never experienced such a somber morning. The acid rain, as if refined from heavy metals in industrial waste, carried a bitter, rusty stench, transforming the city's reinforced concrete into a colossal tombstone.

I stood atop the ruins of the old city, a few blocks from the Vientiane Building. In my view, the skyscraper that once stood in the city center resembled a massive, shelled behemoth, appearing menacing and weak in the morning light.

Julian Vance, my former brother, was now falling into the first abyss I had woven for him.

On my terminal interface, several complex data streams flowed like waterfalls—the result of my technologist's infiltration of the Vance Consortium's core supply chain. All the consortium's goods had become scrap metal in that instant, all its working capital wiped out. This was not only a financial total loss, but also a stripping away of his dignity as "the one in power."

I lit a cigarette, the flame flickering in the cold wind. My adjutant stood behind me, his voice flat and even: "Commander Long, the warehouse is sealed off. Vance Group's stock has fallen more than its historical threshold within three minutes of opening. The pressure from the board is reaching his office door."

I didn't speak, just stared at the building. I knew what Julian was thinking. He was wondering if this was some kind of attack by a rival conglomerate. In his narrow logic, he could never comprehend how a man whose dignity he had personally destroyed for five years could climb back from the mire.

He thought I was fighting a "war," but I was actually "demolishing" things.

Meanwhile, on the top floor of the Vientiane Building, Julian kicked open the wooden door to his office, the loud thud echoing down the corridor. His face was contorted with rage, a morbidly pale expression. Behind his large desk, the financial executives he had once considered his pillars of support were now huddled in a corner, trembling, their phone reports flashing like a death knell.

"Investigate! Find the source!" Julian grabbed an expensive crystal paperweight from the table and slammed it against the large screen. "That's your specialty! Backdoors, logic bombs—if you don't give me a solution in five minutes, you bunch of idiots are out of here!"

However, no one could answer him. They weren't facing traditional extortion, but rather the "tactical logic" I'd brought back from the border battlefield. It was a dimensional reduction attack, applying war theory to the business world.

Using my personal encrypted terminal, I forcibly accessed the Vientiane Building's building control system. In that instant, all the elevators locked, all security exits closed, and the entire building became Julian's private prison.

In the conference room, as my pre-set instructions were executed, the massive main control screen went black. Then, the recording that should have been permanently destroyed five years ago resounded throughout the top of this pyramid of power.

"Liam Thorne? That piece of trash, if I handle him cleanly, all the family assets will be mine, right? Remember, I want him dead, not even a bone left, preferably rotting and stinking in that muddy ground..."

That voice was one I recorded years ago in a fly-infested interrogation room. Now, played through a top-fidelity sound system, it carried a metallic quality that could send shivers down your spine.

Looking at the horrified faces of the directors on the screen, I irreversibly pushed the raw data packet—prepared long ago—containing all the money laundering, illegal land expropriation, and forged disability certificates of the Vance family over the past three years, to all the monitoring servers in the Gray Harbor. It wasn't just a report; it was the final verdict that would lead to the Vance family being investigated and raided by the federal police within two hours.

I didn't step into the building. I simply sat atop the ruins, watching the interior descend into chaos, like ants in a boiling pot. Julian had gone mad in his office. He smashed everything in his path, his once-perfect suit now disheveled by his tie. He tried to call his bodyguards, again and again, only to find every number in his phone's address book disconnected—my technologist had already rewritten their underlying communication code.

It was a silent imprisonment.

He was like a caged beast trapped in a transparent glass sphere, screaming outwards, but no one would answer.

I issued a final command, a code sent directly to his private phone via the corporate line: "Your prized assets are now stepping stones for me to clean up the garbage of the Gray Harbor."

As those words projected onto the monitor screen in the center of the office, I felt a long-lost sense of satisfaction. But this satisfaction wasn't enough to fill the void of the past five years of darkness.

However, change always occurs in the quietest times.

The building 's defenses were forcefully breached, and a discreetly luxurious bulletproof limousine slowly slid in. A man in a dark gray suit stepped out; he looked refined, calm, and even more authoritative than Julian. That was the Gray King—the de facto controller of the Morgan Group in the Gray Harbor.

He showed no impatience, simply stepping lightly into the building, even gracefully righting a fallen chair as he passed the chaotic boardroom. He walked into Julian's office, looking at the shattered crystals scattered on the floor and Julian's breakdown, his eyes as cold as if he were watching a trivial demolition project : "Scared already?"

He glanced at my still clear image on the monitor, his fingers lightly tapping the screen, the movement as leisurely as caressing a work of art:

"Liam Thorne," he muttered to himself, his voice carrying an unfathomable gloom, "You did bring back some interesting 'cleanup plans,' but that's all."

He turned to the shadowy figure beside him, shrouded in black combat gear, and coldly ordered:

"Activate 'Cleaner' clearance. Bring back this dog hiding in the shadows."

At that moment, I felt the humidity in the air change. It was the smell of a killing array being activated.

The "Cleaners" were the legendary assassination squad of Gray Harbor; they never talked about strategy, they were only responsible for elimination—in this city, those targeted by them wouldn't even leave their souls behind.

I stood up, flicking my cigarette butt towards a distant puddle, the sparks drawing a resolute arc in the darkness.

The level of war has been redefined. No longer just business, no longer just gang disputes; from this moment on, it will be a war to the death.

In my headset, my adjutant's voice took on a grim tone: "Commander Long, five high-frequency infrared sources have been detected entering your city's radius. They are sealing off all exits."

I gripped the dagger in my hand, feeling its cold, hard texture, a chilling smile curving my lips.

Since they want to play, I'll flatten this game completely.

"Pass down the order," I coldly issued my final battle mobilization into the headset, "Cease all financial clearing operations, activate heavy tactical jamming. Tonight, I want the darkness of Gray Harbor to fight for our return."

The torrential rain finally turned into a downpour. This revenge for Liam Thorne will begin its bloody end from the embers of this commercial ruin.