SSS-Rank Corporate Predator System

The prep room was quiet again.

And it was filled with silence.

Miles stood in the center of the room, the ghost of the Masked Fighter's words still echoing in his head.

The Vanes' legacy is more than just a weapon.

"Okay, so that happened," Leo said, his voice a little shaky.

He picked up the high-voltage taser he had used to take down Ryker, turning it over in his hands.

"Just to be clear," he continued, looking back and forth between Miles and Clara. "We are all in agreement that the mysterious masked guy who has a magic light sword and knows your secret family history is officially on the 'weird and possibly dangerous' list, right?"

"We're not, like, sending him a fruit basket or anything?"

Miles didn't answer.

He was still replaying the fight in his mind.

The way the fighter had moved.

The way they had countered every one of his system-generated attacks with a strange, fluid grace.

It was a fighting style he had never seen before.

And a power that felt unnervingly, impossibly familiar.

Clara placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch a quiet, grounding presence.

"We'll figure it out," she said softly.

"But not now."

"Right now, we need to focus."

She was right.

He was letting the mystery distract him from the real threat.

The trap was still closing.

He looked up at the main screen on the wall, a new sense of cold, hard focus settling over him.

He was a ghost in a cage full of sharks.

And the man who built the cage was getting impatient.

High above the arena floor, in the sterile, sound-proofed luxury of his VIP box, Silas Cross took a slow, deliberate sip of his ridiculously expensive bottled water.

He was not pleased.

He looked at the monitors displaying the tournament bracket.

Team Revenant had advanced again.

He had expected the ghost to be a powerhouse.

He had expected a spectacular, overwhelming display of the SSS-Rank system he so desperately coveted.

Instead, he had seen… teamwork.

Strategy.

Efficiency.

The boy was holding back.

He was hiding his true power, using his two little friends as a shield.

"This is… inefficient," Silas said, his voice a low, cold murmur.

Julian stood beside him, his face a mask of sullen, vengeful silence.

He hadn't said a word since the tournament began.

He just watched the screens, his eyes fixed on Miles, a cold, burning hatred in their depths.

"He's playing with us, Father," Julian finally said, his voice a low hiss.

"He's making a mockery of this whole tournament."

"Of you."

Silas didn't even look at his son.

"Patience, Julian," he said, his voice the calm, quiet sound of a predator about to strike.

"A cornered animal will always show its true nature."

He tapped a small, almost invisible button on the arm of his chair.

A quiet chime echoed through the box, and the face of his senior aide appeared on a private screen.

"Sir?" the aide's voice said, crisp and professional.

"It's time to change the rules," Silas commanded, a thin, cruel smile touching his lips.

Down in the prep room, the main screen flickered to life.

The booming, overly enthusiastic voice of the tournament announcer filled the room.

"Attention, competitors and fans!" the voice roared.

"We have a surprise announcement from our generous sponsor, the visionary leader of Cross Corp, Mr. Silas Cross!"

Miles felt a cold knot of dread form in his stomach.

"Oh, this can't be good," he muttered.

"I hate surprises."

"Especially surprises sponsored by the sociopathic billionaire who wants to dissect me."

The screen showed a live feed of Silas Cross, standing in the center of the arena, a microphone in his hand, a benevolent, fatherly smile on his face.

"To celebrate the incredible talent we have seen here today," Silas said, his voice echoing through the massive stadium. "We are moving directly to the semi-finals!"

"With a little twist!"

He paused for dramatic effect, letting the crowd's roar build.

"The next round will be… a Royal Rumble!"

The crowd exploded.

"A free-for-all battle royale!" the announcer screamed over the noise. "The last three teams standing will advance to the finals!"

"And to make things more interesting," Silas continued, his smile turning predatory. "The arena itself will be… dynamic."

The main screen switched to a computer-generated model of the urban cityscape arena from Miles's last fight.

But now, sections of the city were highlighted in a pulsing, angry red.

"Over the course of the match, sections of the arena will begin to collapse," Silas explained, his voice filled with a chilling, theatrical glee. "Forcing our competitors closer and closer together."

"Nowhere to run," he finished, his cold, gray eyes looking directly into the camera, directly at Miles. "Nowhere to hide."

The trap had just sprung.

"Well," Leo said, his voice a high-pitched squeak. "That's not terrifying at all."

"A collapsing city full of super-powered assassins."

Miles felt a surge of cold, clear rage.

This was it.

Silas was done playing games.

He was forcing his hand.

He wanted to see the ghost.

He wanted to see the monster.

Fine.

He would get his wish.

But as he looked at Clara and Leo, a new, cold dread washed over him.

This wasn't just about him anymore.

He had a team.

And Silas Cross had just put them all in the crosshairs.

He turned to his clone, which was still a silent, invisible shadow in the high rafters of the arena, a second set of eyes in the sky.

Report, he commanded in the quiet of his shared mind.

The clone's vision swept the arena.

The system's tactical overlay flared to life, painting the world in a web of new, urgent threats.

The red dots representing Silas's hidden guards had moved.

They were no longer just at the exits.

They were converging on the entrances to the new arena.

They were forming a perimeter.

A cage.

And there were new dots, too.

Dozens of them.

Highlighted in a stark, blood-red.

[ANALYSIS: MULTIPLE HIGH-TIER SYSTEM USERS DETECTED,] the system reported, its voice a calm, clinical alarm bell in his head.

[CROSS-REFERENCING WITH ECHO CHAMBER BOUNTY LIST.]

[CONFIRMATION: THEY ARE CROSS CORP'S HIDDEN MASTERS.]

[THEY ARE NOT COMPETITORS.]

[THEY ARE HUNTERS.]

Silas wasn't just trying to force him to reveal his power.

He was planning to corner him.

To capture him.

Live, in front of the entire city.

The buzzer for the match sounded, a harsh, demanding cry that seemed to seal their fate.

"This isn't a test of strength," Clara said, her voice a low, steady whisper beside him. "It's a test of endurance."

"The plan is the same," she said, looking him right in the eye. "We stay on the edges. We survive."

They walked out into the dark tunnel that led to the arena.

The simulated city awaited them, a concrete jungle of shadows and death.

The moment they stepped onto the rooftop that served as their starting point, the world erupted into chaos.

They weren't just being hunted.

They were being targeted.

From a rooftop across the simulated street, VoidRipper and his team of Gravity Crushers were already there, waiting for them.

From the alley below, the Diamondbacks, the street gang Silas had tried to frame, looked up, their faces masks of cold, vengeful fury.

And from a third building, another team, one Miles didn't recognize, raised their weapons.

He heard a voice, distorted and tinny, coming from a small comms device in VoidRipper's ear.

He focused his [Audio Focus] skill.

He heard the voice of Julian Cross.

"Take them out," Julian's voice hissed. "The bounty is yours. Just take them out now!"

They were surrounded.

Outnumbered.

Three teams, all focused on them.

A perfect, coordinated ambush.

"Well, this is cozy," Miles thought, his mind a block of ice, his fear replaced by a cold, clear, and deeply dangerous calm.

The sharks were circling.

And the water was full of blood.