The morning sun hit the glass exterior of the Stern Department Store, but the glittering facade couldn’t hide the rot festering within. Inside her top-floor executive suite, Karen Stern was in no mood to appreciate the view. She paced the length of her hand-woven rug, her heels digging into the fabric with every sharp turn. Finally, she reached her mahogany desk and slammed a thick stack of legal documents onto the surface. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the silent room.
"I still can’t believe yesterday actually happened!" Karen shouted, her voice trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and rage. "What was that man thinking? Who does he think he is, treating me like some desperate, low-rent idiot!"
Veronica, her personal assistant, hovered near the heavy oak doors. She kept her back pressed against the wood, ready to bolt if Karen decided to start throwing the expensive crystal paperweights decorating the room.
"Did the meeting not go well, ma’am?" Veronica asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Did the Billion Bloodline Group... did they refuse to help us?"
"Oh, they agreed," Karen snapped, her eyes narrowing as she glared at the signature on the final page of the contract. "But they might as well have spat in my face. It’s a parasitic deal, Veronica. One million dollars per day, per operative. And a mandatory one-week retainer. It’s the single largest security expenditure in the history of this company, and for what? Five people? It’s a joke."
She looked down at the terms again. She had been backed into a corner, pressured by the looming threat of the Gilt Rats and the subtle nudging of the Curtis family. However, as she fumed, her business-oriented mind found the one loophole that made the bitter pill swallowable.
"The only reason I signed this," Karen continued, tapping a manicured nail against a specific clause, "is the performance guarantee. If they fail to stop the attacks, if even one snatcher gets away or one delivery is hijacked while they are on the clock, the Billion Bloodline Group doesn’t get a single cent. It’s a high-stakes gamble. If they’re as good as they claim, the problem vanishes. If they’re frauds, I’ve lost nothing but a little time."
She looked up at Veronica, her expression hardening. "But we can’t count on five men to save an empire. Keep looking for other firms—mercenaries, private contractors, anyone with a pulse and a gun. We’ll need a real force very soon. And when these ’experts’ arrive, tell Paul to throw them straight into the fire. Place them in the hottest zones. Let’s see how long they last."
Three hours later, a nondescript black van pulled into the service entrance of the department store. Paul, the grizzled head of internal security, stood waiting with a clipboard and a deep-seated sense of skepticism. He had been told that a five-million-dollar-a-day team was arriving. He expected a squad of tactical operators in carbon-fiber plating, carrying high-grade suppressed rifles.
Instead, the side door slid open, and five men stepped out, looking like a motley crew of community center volunteers.
"This is... a joke, right?" Paul asked, his eyes traveling down the line. "You guys know what’s been happening here? This isn’t shoplifting. The Gilt Rats are professional urban terrorists. They use coordinated strikes, high-frequency jammers, and they aren’t afraid to spill blood."
"We’re aware of the resume," the man in the lead replied.
Paul blinked. The man was wearing a standard-issue blue security shirt, but his face was completely encased in a vibrant, multi-colored Mexican wrestling mask. It was a bizarre, jarring sight in the professional environment of a high-end department store.
"What’s with the mask, kid? You think this is a ring?" Paul asked.
"It’s a brand," Max answered, his voice muffled by the thick fabric.
In reality, Max was hiding a smirk. He couldn’t come here as the Chairman of the Billion Bloodline Group—that would lead to far too many questions from his aunt. He also couldn’t use his standard "Dark Magus" or "Billion" masks, as those were already becoming recognizable in the underworld. The luchador mask was the perfect cover; it was so ridiculous that people would dismiss him as a high-priced eccentric rather than a strategic threat.
Standing beside him were his four chosen specialists. Joe stood like a mountain, his presence alone enough to make most men turn and run. Stephen was fidgeting with his watch, which was actually a localized sensor array capable of picking up heartbeats through six inches of reinforced concrete. Wolf stood with his hands behind his back, his eyes moving with a predatory stillness as he mapped the exits. And finally, there was Na, the silent shadow who moved so quietly that Paul hadn’t even heard him step out of the van.
Aaron had been left behind. It was a risk they couldn’t take; Karen knew Aaron’s face from family functions, and his presence would have blown the entire operation. Darno had also stayed back to manage the firm’s headquarters, leaving Na as the primary muscle for Max’s personal protection.
"Alright, look," Paul sighed, deciding that if the company wanted to throw away five million dollars, it wasn’t his problem. He tapped his tablet, bringing up a map of the facility. "We have four catastrophic failure points. First, the VIP car park. High-end luxury vehicles are being stripped or stolen in under ninety seconds. Our current sensors are being jammed by something the Rats are using."
He swiped the screen to the back of the building. "Then we have the delivery bay. Trucks are being intercepted two blocks away or hit while they’re unloading. The cargo is gone before we can even log the manifest."
Paul stepped closer to the group, his voice dropping. "Around the front, it’s petty but constant. Snatch-and-grabbers are hitting our high-net-worth clients as they leave the store. It’s ruining our reputation. And inside? We have vandals posing as shoppers, slashing luxury handbags and spraying ink on furs. Lastly... we have an internal rot. Some of our employees are compromised—either by bribes or threats."
The group looked at one another. Max nodded to Wolf. Within the Billion Bloodline, Wolf’s "Vow" was their greatest tactical asset. He could read people better than a polygraph and calculate the path of least resistance in seconds.
"I’ll take the employees," Wolf said, his voice cold. "Corruption is a disease. I’ll find the fever and break it. Stephen, you take the interior. Your sensors can track the vandals before they even reach for a blade. Joe, the snatchers out front are yours. Make sure they understand that the sidewalk is no longer a safe place for them."
Wolf looked at Na. "Na, you’re on the VIP parking. You have the fastest reaction time. If a car door opens without a key, I want that person incapacitated."
Finally, Wolf looked at Max. "And Max... you’ve got the deliveries. That’s where the heaviest muscle usually shows up."
Max cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp in the quiet loading bay. He liked the assignment. The delivery bay was isolated, far from the prying eyes of the general public and Karen’s office. It was the perfect place to get his hands dirty.
"Perfect," Max said, adjusting the wrestling mask. "Tell your guards to stay out of our way, Paul. Today, the they are going to find out that this store has finally grown some teeth."
Paul watched them disperse, shaking his head. "Five million dollars for a wrestler and his friends. God help us all."