SSS-Rank Corporate Predator System

The silence in the ruined lobby was a heavy, breathing thing.

It was filled with the faint smell of ozone and the quiet, crunching sound of Julian Cross's last shred of arrogance being ground into dust.

Miles pushed himself up, his body aching with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion.

The overload had left him feeling hollowed out, like a battery that had been completely drained and then jump-started with a lightning bolt.

Clara let go of his hand, but she didn't move away.

She stayed kneeling beside him, a silent, steady presence.

An anchor.

His anchor.

He got to his feet, his legs a little shaky.

The lobby looked like a warzone.

The marble floor was like a spiderweb of cracks.

The walls were scorched and pitted.

The two bodyguards were still unconscious, little more than discarded heaps of expensive muscle in the corner.

And then there was Julian.

He was still on the floor, pushing himself backward with his hands and feet, like a terrified crab, his face a pale, tear-streaked mask of pure horror.

He looked from the unconscious guards, to the destruction, to the quiet, exhausted boy who was now standing before him.

The boy he had bullied.

The boy he had mocked.

The boy he had tried to have crippled.

That boy was the ghost.

That boy was the monster.

The pieces were all there, and they clicked together in his mind with a sound like a prison door slamming shut.

Miles took a step toward him.

Julian flinched, a small, pathetic sound escaping his lips.

The rage was gone from Miles's eyes.

The raw, uncontrolled power was gone.

All that was left was a cold, quiet calm that was somehow a thousand times more terrifying.

"Well," Miles thought, his internal voice a dry, weary whisper.

"I think we can safely say the 'secret identity' phase of our operation is now officially over."

"Note to self: when your soul is having a seizure, try not to do it in front of the one person who knows your secret identity."

"And the other person you've been trying to keep it a secret from."

"That's just sloppy."

He stopped a few feet from Julian, looking down at the broken, trembling boy.

He could kill him.

Right here.

Right now.

No one would ever know.

The system, now rebooted and running with a chilling, new efficiency, seemed to agree.

[TARGET: JULIAN CROSS. STATUS: NEUTRALIZED. THREAT LEVEL: MINIMAL.]

[PROBABILITY OF SUCCESSFUL TERMINATION: 99.9%.]

[RECOMMENDATION: ELIMINATE THE LIABILITY.]

The thought was cold.

Logical.

And for a terrifying second, he considered it.

But then he felt a presence at his side.

Clara had stood up and was now standing just behind him.

She didn't say anything.

She didn't touch him.

But he could feel her there.

Her trust.

Her belief that he was more than just a weapon.

And he knew he couldn't do it.

Not like this.

Not in front of her.

But if she wasn't there, will he have done it?, kill the only son of the Cross family, and with that he might have accomplished his so called revenge.

But he decided in his mind,to leave the son and make the father pay for his crimes.

So, he chose another path.

He knelt, bringing his face level with Julian's.

"This," Miles said, his voice a low, quiet threat that cut through the silence.

"Never happened."

Julian just stared at him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, but no sound coming out.

"You never saw anything," Miles continued, his eyes as cold and hard as chips of ice.

"You will never speak to her again."

"You will never look at her again."

"You will pretend she does not exist."

He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to an almost inaudible whisper.

"Because if you do," he said, "if you even think her name…"

"The next time my system 'overloads'…"

"I won't have someone here to stop me."

He let that hang in the air for a long, heavy moment.

He let Julian imagine what that would look like.

What that would feel like.

Then, he reached out, not to touch Julian, but to pluck the phone from his trembling hand.

He held it up.

"And just so we're clear," he said.

He focused a tiny, precise amount of energy into his fingertips.

[MICRO-PULSE BREAK: 3%.]

The phone in his hand didn't explode.

It just… died.

The screen went black.

A thin, hairline crack appeared on the glass.

And then, with a faint, fizzing sound, a small wisp of smoke curled up from the charging port.

It was a perfect, surgical execution.

A demonstration of absolute, terrifying control.

He dropped the dead phone onto the floor in front of Julian.

A piece of useless, expensive garbage.

Just like the boy it belonged to.

Then, Miles stood up.

He turned his back on Julian Cross, a final, absolute act of dismissal.

He walked over to Clara.

He looked at her, at the dust on her face, at the unwavering strength in her eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked, the words feeling clumsy and small in his mouth.

She just gave a small, shaky nod.

"Come on," he said softly.

"Let's get out of here."

He led her away from the wreckage, past the unconscious bodies, and out of the shattered front doors of the building.

He didn't look back.

He left Julian Cross alone in the ruins of his own making.

Alone with a new and terrible secret.

The ghost had a name.

The ghost had a face.

And the ghost was the son of the two people his father had murdered to get the very power that had just nearly torn the world apart.

Julian stared at his broken phone, his mind a screaming vortex of fear and revelation.

His little high school rivalry was over.

He was a player in a much larger, much more dangerous game now.

And he was trapped between a monster who wanted him silent and a father who would kill him to get that monster's secrets.

He had never felt so alone.

Or so utterly, completely terrified.