The deployment was swift. Each member of the Billion Bloodline group moved to their respective positions, flanked by regular department store guards whose nerves were visibly frayed. As the specialists took their posts, the atmosphere among the local staff was thick with a mixture of resentment and desperate hope.
There were two primary reasons for the guards’ trepidation. First, those who had previously tried to intervene in the Gilt Rats’ raids had been systematically beaten into the hospital. It was clear that the people targeting the Stern Department Store weren’t just common thugs; they were seasoned brawlers with combat experience. Typical mall security guards were usually just large men hired for their physical presence, possessing little to no actual martial training. Even if a guard had a background in basic security protocols, very few were willing to risk permanent disability for a job that barely paid a living wage. They certainly weren’t being paid a million dollars a day to be heroes.
The second reason was the suffocating pressure from above. Karen Stern’s "tough love" management style meant that failure resulted in immediate termination. A significant portion of the security force had already been fired in the last week alone. While the job didn’t pay as well as executive protection, the benefits and the prestige of the luxury department store made it a coveted position in Slough. Before the Gilt Rats began their campaign, it had been a cushy gig with almost zero incidents. Now, it was a war zone, and the workers feared this was their last chance. They looked at Max’s team—five men in standard uniforms—and saw just another group destined to be crushed.
Stephen was currently doing rounds in the luxury jewelry wing. He had been paired with a veteran guard named Arthur, who kept shifting his weight and glancing at his watch. They moved past glittering displays of diamonds and gold, the silence of the high-end shop feeling heavy.
"You guys really think five of you can change anything?" Arthur whispered, his eyes darting toward the elevators. "The Rats don’t come in swinging. They come in fast, they take what they want, and they vanish."
Stephen didn’t answer. He was busy adjusting the localized sensors in his watch. To the naked eye, the floor was peaceful. To Stephen, the air was a map of heat signatures and movement patterns.
The silence was shattered by a frantic shout from a hundred meters ahead. "Hey! Stop! You can’t take that! Guards!"
A man in a sleek grey hoodie had vaulted over a jewelry counter, a velvet tray of high-grade watches tucked under his arm. He hit the marble floor at a dead sprint. This wasn’t a random thief; the Gilt Rats had recruited this man specifically for his legs. He moved with the explosive speed of a track athlete, weaving through the morning shoppers with practiced ease.
"Crap, he’s too fast! We’ll never catch him before he hits the stairwell!" Arthur yelled, reaching for his radio.
He felt a sudden rush of air, a localized gale that whipped his tie over his shoulder. In a blur of blue and black, Stephen was gone.
Stephen didn’t just run; he accelerated with a mechanical efficiency that defied the laws of momentum. He didn’t look like he was exerting himself, yet he closed the hundred-meter gap in a matter of seconds. To the shoppers, he was a streak of blue. To the thief, he was a nightmare that suddenly appeared at his shoulder.
Stephen reached out, his hand moving like a viper. He gripped the back of the thief’s neck, the strength in his fingers far exceeding anything a normal man should possess. With a sharp, controlled motion, he slammed the man face-first into the marble floor. The impact was loud enough to make the nearby glass cases rattle, and every bit of air was driven from the thief’s lungs in a pained wheeze.
Stephen pinned the man down, his knee pressing into the small of the thief’s back. "Don’t make me hurt you," Stephen said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.
The man tried to buck and struggle, but he felt as though a hydraulic press had been lowered onto him. He was completely immobilized. Arthur and the other guards finally caught up, panting and red-faced. They quickly moved in to handcuff the thief, staring at Stephen in utter disbelief.
"Crapping crap, man! You’re fast!" Arthur gasped, leaning on his knees to catch his breath. "You should be in the Olympics or something. I’ve never seen a human move like that."
Stephen stood up, not a single hair out of place. "If there are any more incidents, regardless of where they are in the mall, patch the alert through to my frequency. I’ll be there before they reach the exit."
Meanwhile, in the VIP parking area, the atmosphere was even more tense. The car park was a sprawling labyrinth of concrete and high-octane luxury. It was a logistical nightmare to guard; snobby customers were constantly coming and going, and accusing the wrong person of stealing their own car was a quick way to get fired in Karen Stern’s world.
The Gilt Rats exploited this snobbery. They dressed in designer clothes and used high-tech signal boosters to bypass the security encryption of luxury SUVs, making them look like legitimate owners.
Na stood near a concrete pillar, his eyes hidden behind dark shades. He watched as the regular security team hovered over a tablet that scanned faces and cross-referenced them with vehicle registration data. It was a slow, clunky system that the Rats usually outran.
"Hey! The black SUV in Sector B! That’s a false signal!" one of the guards shouted, pointing toward a line of identical vehicles.
The guards scrambled forward, but then stopped in confusion. "Which black SUV? Describe it better! They’re all black SUVs in this sector!"
One of the engines roared to life—a high-performance V8 that echoed off the concrete walls. The driver didn’t wait. He slammed the vehicle into gear and jolted forward, aiming directly for the exit ramp. The regular guards dove out of the way, terrified of being crushed by two tons of speeding metal.
Na, however, didn’t move. He braced his feet against the oil-stained concrete and stepped directly into the vehicle’s path.
As the SUV bore down on him, Na didn’t flinch. He leaned forward, catching the front bumper with his hands and digging his shoulder into the grill. The tires screeched, smoke billowing from the rubber as the engine fought to push forward. Na’s boots groaned against the floor, but he didn’t give an inch. He held the sides of the hood, his muscles bulging under his uniform shirt as he physically anchored the vehicle in place.
The SUV groaned, its forward momentum dying as Na’s sheer physical power overwhelmed the engine’s torque. The driver stared through the windshield in sheer horror, unable to comprehend how a single man was stopping his vehicle.
The other guards stood frozen, their mouths agape. They had been told they were getting help, but they hadn’t realized they were being reinforced by monsters. The Gilt Rats had spent weeks treating the Stern Department Store like their personal playground, but as Max’s team took control, the playground was about to become a slaughterhouse.