Skull found absolutely everything about this silent ascent deeply suspicious as he continued to head up the concrete stairs. In all his years working as a high-tier enforcer in the underworld, he had never once been in a combat situation where something like this had happened to him before.
He was a man who thrived on reading his enemies’ movements, predicting their strikes, and capitalizing on their fear. But right now, he was genuinely worried about the unknown. Because there was no physical resistance to read, he simply couldn’t predict what the brilliant tactical mind orchestrating this defense was actually trying to do.
Checking his internal clock, he realized he had to be getting very close to the absolute top floors of the Fortis tower by now. And his spatial awareness was exactly right.
Higher up in the building, Max and his elite Rangers were currently placed in the , open sparring room, which housed the main combat arena. Directly one floor above them was the heavily reinforced security room where Vivian was currently seated, frantically watching the camera feeds.
Sandwiched between the main arena and where Vivian was operating, there were the luxurious living quarters specifically designed for the high-ranking members that were permanently staying at the compound—including the executive suite where Max stayed by himself at times. All of the lower-ranking security personnel had been strategically set up in various defensive barricades on the floors directly below the main arena.
And situated right underneath where the arena floor was located, acting as a structural buffer, was the Fortis private gym. It was a , sprawling facility filled with large, heavy workout equipment intended for all the staff members to stay in peak physical condition. There were even rows of metal lockers, a tiled swimming pool, and a high-end spa section for all of them to use.
As the deliberate barricades continued to block the main staircase, forcing him to detour yet again, this gym was the specific room that Skull had just stepped into.
He walked slowly past the polished front reception desk. Looking to his right side, he could see the large, empty space lined completely with mirrored walls. The mirrors reflected the large, skeletal structure of the room, showing rows of heavy iron weights and cardio equipment sitting in the dark.
"Well, this is actually something entirely different," Skull muttered aloud, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous room. "I was fully expecting the exact same setup as before, with all of those disciplined people standing around just waiting for me to pass. But it looks like there’s absolutely no one here."
He narrowed his eyes, his hand drifting closer to his concealed weapons.
"Now, why in the world would that tactical genius watching the cameras purposely lead me into a completely empty room?" Skull analyzed, his boots squeaking softly on the rubber matting. "Or maybe they actually finally ran out of available people to act as living roadblocks? I did see the heavy defenses they had set up on the lower floors. It’s definitely not going to be an easy breach for the rest of the Gilt Rats outside... or at least, nowhere near as easy as Ramon was arrogantly expecting, that’s for sure."
Skull smirked beneath his mask. "But with those heavy, hydraulic exoskeletons breaking the frontline, I’m sure the Syndicate will eventually do just fine."
Skull continued to walk forward, his senses on high alert, until he was standing exactly in the center of the gym floor. And it was right here, in the middle of the open space, that his hyper-trained eyes noticed something slightly different about the environment.
There was a tiny bit of debris that had been carelessly left on the pristine rubber floor. It looked exactly like a few small, dried flakes of white ceiling paint that had recently fallen from high above.
"Crap," Skull hissed, his survival instincts instantly taking over.
Without even looking up, he violently kicked backward off his front foot and jumped.
CRASH!
He heard a deafeningly loud noise follow up instantly from the ceiling. A heavy, blurred object came crashing down like a meteor, just barely brushing the cold skin of his cheek beneath his mask before it slammed with devastating, bone-shattering force directly into the rubber floor exactly where he had just been standing a microsecond ago.
The sheer impact cracked the concrete foundation beneath the mats.
"Now that... that is a genuine surprise," Skull said, breathing out a slow sigh of relief as he landed gracefully a few feet away and looked ahead through the settling dust. "If my reaction time was even a fraction of a second slower, that drop absolutely would have done some serious, permanent damage."
A person had just violently burst out from a concealed vent in the ceiling of the room, executing a perfect drop-assassination attempt. Skull wasn’t expecting any sort of highly trained, lethal surprise attacks from a simple group of street gangsters or a standard private security firm.
When he originally saw the tiny flakes of debris on the floor, his analytical mind immediately figured it out. Since the rest of the gym floor was cleaned so perfectly and looked pristine, that tiny detail stood out like a beacon, and his elite assassin instincts kicked in.
That single detail had forcefully triggered him to jump backward. It wasn’t that he had actually heard anything moving in the vents, or got a lock on an aura. He had simply jumped back defensively just in case there was an ambush waiting above that specific spot. And his paranoia was exactly right.
Standing up from the crater in the floor, dusting off the shoulders of his immaculate, tailored suit, the man pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. He calmly held two heavy, steel tactical batons loosely by his sides.
It was Aron.
"I was sincerely hoping that drop would be the quick and quiet end of it," Aron said, his voice cold and perfectly composed as he stared at the intruder. "But considering you made it this far into the building completely untouched... I really should have expected as much."
"Hey, do you really think it’s fair or honorable to launch a surprise attack on me from the ceiling like that, and use heavy weapons while my hands are empty?" Skull asked, tilting his masked head as he looked at the imposing stranger.
"Fair?" Aron replied, his eyes narrowing behind his lenses. He tightened his grip on the steel batons. "The only single thing that actually matters in this building right now... is exactly who is left breathing at the end."
As Skull looked intently at the suited man standing in front of him, he could physically feel the man’s intimidating, disciplined presence, as well as the overwhelming, quiet confidence he possessed. This wasn’t a street thug; this was a killer.
Skull slowly reached into his leather jacket, finally drawing his own concealed weapons. He let out a low, muffled chuckle.
"Well... I guess this is going to take a hell of a lot longer than fifteen minutes."