Apocalypse: becoming the hidden Ruler

The Whisper Syndicate's operations office wasn't tucked away in the bustling Saka District. It sat instead in a forgotten little village on the outskirts of Sin City — remote, discreet, and perfect for staying off the radar.

A soft chime came from Wesley's watch. The screen lit up, and a weathered, no-nonsense face filled it. Xander — commander of the Syndicate's operations, and the boss of both Vince and Wesley.

After briefly reporting the mission's results, Wesley naturally brought up Axel.

"He's currently with the Obsidian team," he said. "Might be worth developing a contingency plan around him."

The Syndicate had already tried planting spies in Crowe's research division. Those efforts had gone to hell.

Xander listened in silence, then gave a slow nod — only to suddenly scoff. "A selector made fools of official team members, and you're calling that a win?"

Wesley and Vince said nothing. They were used to being chewed out whenever Xander got on a roll.

"What level is he?"

"Level One, but he's got the combat potential of a Level Two Awakened at this point."

Xander snorted. "You idiots couldn't handle it yourselves, and now you want to rely on a damn selector? Are you out of your minds?"

He shook his head, annoyed. "Wait a few more days. Once the selectors finish their training, cut him loose."

"You focus on the next phase." With that, the screen went dark.

Wesley sighed and looked at Vince. "Called it. Got chewed out again."

Vince cracked a smile. "You're keeping the tradition alive."

Wesley scowled. "Why does it feel like I'm always the one getting shit on?" He glanced up to see Vince walking away. "Hey! Where the hell are you going?"

Vince waved lazily over his shoulder. "Getting ready. Time for Phase Two."

Wesley froze.

Phase Two… That was the assassination plan. Risk level: off the charts.

......

Back in Sin City, the Saka District glittered beneath a ceiling of artificial stars. European-style buildings lined the main avenue, elegant facades glowing under the lamplight.

Axel barely spared them a glance. He was just happy to still be breathing.

"Hope the others made it out," he muttered, gripping the wheel tighter.

A few days ago, he'd been cursing his "Turtle Body" awakening skill. Now? That damn thing had just saved his life. He'd survived explosions, dodged robot fire, and tricked his way out of a full-scale ambush.

"Still," he said, frowning. "That voice…"

It had nagged at him the entire drive back. But now, safe within city limits where he knew they wouldn't dare make a move, it finally clicked.

He slammed the brakes lightly as it hit him.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"That voice... it was Millers."

Everything slotted into place. The fire support call, the barrage of missiles that leveled the robot. The tone of that voice? That cocky, lazy drawl? It was definitely Millers.

Now that he wasn't running for his life, Axel could finally string the whole picture together.

"Crowe… Exotic Beast Pills… the Whisper Syndicate stealing raw materials…"

The first day he'd entered Sin City, someone had casually mentioned the Exotic Beast Pill. He hadn't thought much of it at the time — after all, he had his Life Crystal. But looking back, it made way too much sense.

This stuff was dangerous.

Not because it killed people — but because it worked, and it was cheap. One-third the price of the Force-Recovery Pills made by Deep Sea Pharmaceuticals. It was only a matter of time before it flooded Krythos, no matter what the government said. Ban or no ban, this thing would spread like wildfire. Axel was sure the local gangs were already trafficking it across the border.

Even if the Whisper Syndicate didn't exist, Deep Sea Pharma wouldn't let someone like Crowe live for long.

But the Syndicate were backed by the military. Even Deep Sea's billions couldn't buy leverage over them.

Which meant one thing: this Exotic Beast Pill was more than it seemed.

Axel leaned back in his seat, frowning. "…Am I screwing up someone's billion-dollar drug war?"

It was a real possibility. But at the moment, none of that mattered. He had no power to change anything. He wasn't even sure if he'd survive the next few days.

"Priority one: stay alive."

Maybe, if he made it through the selection trials, he could offer the Syndicate some intel. Maybe help from the shadows.

But right now?

He was just another ghost trying not to get buried.

Declan was in a damn good mood. Getting close to Crowe was like hitching a ride on a money-printing machine. The man was eccentric, sure, but loaded — and deeply connected in Sin City's black market ecosystem. Declan could already see the payday on the horizon.

But as the hours dragged on, something started to feel... off.

Crowe had been pacing outside his research warehouse more and more frequently. That old, bark-like face of his — all wrinkles and rage — was growing darker by the minute.

"Grayson," Declan muttered under his breath. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

Grayson gave a small nod, eyes narrowed. "Yeah. Same here."

Out in front of the warehouse, Crowe was nearly vibrating with frustration, muttering to himself.

"Who the hell are these people…?" he snarled. "How are they this strong?"

Axel and the other candidates were bait. Cannon fodder. The plan wasn't to avoid conflict — it was to lure his enemies out and *crush* them all in one clean sweep.

And it should have worked.

Crowe had poured years of work and untraceable profits from Exotic Beast Pill sales into building up his private arsenal. His Type 2 combat robots could match Level 3 Awakeners. The rare Type 3 units? They were borderline monsters — capable of taking on Level 4s. With enough of them deployed and proper firepower support, he could even give a Level 5 Awakened a serious problem.

In a place like Sin City, where strength was law and money was muscle, those machines were his backbone.

But one by one, the signals went dark.

All of them. Wiped out.

And worse — it wasn't just the robots. Those trucks they were guarding? The ones that carried the real prize — the raw materials? Gone, too.

Crowe clenched his fists until his knuckles popped.

Each Type 3 robot took nearly a year to build. But the most critical blow wasn't the destroyed robots — it was the lost supplies.

The transporter he used was a paranoid bastard. Refused to enter the city. He'd only leave the goods outside the gates, in agreed-upon drops, and Crowe's people had to go out and fetch them.

Now, those shipments were gone. Stolen. Hijacked. And without them?

No Exotic Beast Pills. No product. No profit.

And very soon — some very powerful clients were going to start asking dangerous questions.

"Boss! One of ours is back!"

A shout broke the silence, and the heavy iron doors creaked open.

A battered truck crawled into the yard. Its windshield was cracked, smoke trailed from the hood — but it made it. A man jumped out, grinning from ear to ear.

Then another truck followed. Then a third.

Crowe didn't move. His expression was a wall of stone. He knew which trucks had been carrying the real cargo — and these weren't them.

These were decoys. Smokescreens.

He'd installed hidden combat units in the real transports. Now all of those bots were silent.

Which meant the real trucks — and the materials — weren't coming back.

Declan shifted nervously. He could feel it — the tension in the air was coiled like a spring. They all knew the score: whoever's men came back successful would get rewarded. Everyone else? They were just extra weight.

A fat man standing near Declan was practically glowing with pride. One of his guys had made it back, and he clearly thought this was his moment to shine.