An underlying anxiety had settled over the inner circle of the Billion Bloodline group lately. It was a strange, suffocating kind of tension—not because an attack had launched, but precisely because nothing had happened yet, even as their home base transformed completely around them.
The headquarters had become a completely different environment now that the women of the Fallen Rose had moved their assets in. Every enforcer on the payroll was on a razor’s edge, expecting a violent catalyst to drop at any micro-second. Either the anonymous employer who originally commissioned the Fallen Rose was going to realize the betrayal and act, or Dud was going to orchestrate a devastating play for revenge. Both scenarios promised an immense body count.
To make matters worse, Max had far more than just a localized gang war resting on his plate. Sitting behind his desk in the quiet sanctuary of his office, he stared down at his notes, trying to mathematically categorize the core threats to decide which structural problem he needed to solve first.
"We have an unknown contractor trying to systematically eliminate the Billion Bloodline from the map," Max muttered to himself, his fingers rubbing his temples. "We have Dud acting as a rogue agent in the shadows, doing everything in his power to gather resources for a personal vendetta against us.
"Then there’s Randy Stern, whose operations Ramon wants me to infiltrate for the sake of the exoskeleton development. And now, according to Donto, Marsha Stern has emerged as a lethal variable. In the real world, there is a very high statistical probability that at least two of these variables are directly linked to each other."
Max leaned back in his leather chair, his sharp eyes scanning the whiteboard. "The most logical strategy is to find the common denominator and link as many of these things together as possible. But to be completely honest, I don’t even know how to initiate a secure investigation into Marsha. An asset like her is entirely insulated. To find a opening, I would practically have to run a comprehensive intelligence dragnet on the entire Stern dynasty and speak directly to Dennis."
He tapped his pen against the mahogany surface. "Dennis should be significantly more willing to grant me an audience now. Whether I intended to or not, my recent moves have positioned me as one of the front-runners for the position of Heir.
"But the next time I step foot inside the Stern manor or sit across from Dennis, my primary objective isn’t the inheritance. I need to uncover who within that house possesses a direct link to the White Tiger group. If we simply wait for our enemies to coordinate and launch a synchronized assault on our borders all at once, it will be catastrophic. I need to be proactive."
Driven by the necessity to seize the narrative, Max decided that finding the underlying connections behind the recent anomalies was his immediate priority. Which was exactly why he now found himself standing far outside the central core of the city.
"So, out of curiosity, why exactly did you decide to bring me along for this little field trip?" Wolf asked, taking a deep breath of the crisp, biting air. He adjusted the collar of his jacket against the wind. "Don’t get me wrong, I’m always happy to act as your muscle, but I’m entirely certain you had plenty of other choices among the rangers you could have brought along today."
"Aron is currently completely buried under a set of personal duties he needed to attend to immediately," Max explained as they walked along the perimeter fence. "Apparently, Mira managed to get into some serious trouble at her school. As her legal guardian, he had to drop everything to sort out the administrative fallout for her. Under normal circumstances, he’s always my first choice for an intelligence run like this."
"Ah, Mira," Wolf nodded, a look of understanding softening his features. "She’s the younger sister of your late friend, right? The one Aron swore to protect."
"Exactly. And even Aron understands the sheer ceiling of your physical strength, Wolf. The fact that you’re the one flanking me today is the only reason he felt entirely confident letting me walk into this sector without him," Max said. "As for why I chose you over the other rangers? I think you can answer that metric yourself. If you were in my shoes and needed a sharp mind who could analyze a combat situation instantly, who else would you have brought?"
Wolf let out a low chuckle, a flash of pride crossing his face. "Good answer, Boss."
He stepped ahead, his boots crunching against the gravel as he looked up at the old, rust-damaged metal sign hanging over the heavily fortified entrance. The fading letters read: Notting Hill Correctional Facility .
The reason they had traveled to the outskirts of the province was to run a forensic investigation into the recent prison break. Max had a sinking, instinctual feeling that the timing of the perimeter breach wasn’t a mere coincidence. In the Underworld, when a high-value asset like Dipter escapes custody exactly when a territory is destabilized, it’s a calculated play.
Max had gone through the standard back-channels, utilizing the Syndicate’s capital to pay off specific guards and internal staff just to gain entry and ask precise questions about the timeline of that day. While there were certain high-security zones that remained entirely off-limits to them, the wealth they displayed was substantial enough to convince the Warden to sit down and explain the overview of the incident.
According to the Warden’s files, Dipter had originally been processed through the juvenile detention centers due to him being legally underage when his initial crimes were committed. However, the moment he crossed the age threshold, he was automatically transferred to the maximum-security prison. But he hadn’t arrived at the facility as an isolated inmate.
"The intake logs show that Dipter and the specific faction of inmates who were transferred alongside him immediately grouped up the second they cleared processing," Max noted, reading over the copied documents. "And during their initial stint here, they managed to get into an immense number of violent scuffles with the existing prison gangs."
The Warden had explained that under normal circumstances, these territorial scuffles were entirely routine. When a new batch of hardened criminals enters a general population, violence inevitably erupts as the hierarchy resets. The guards usually left the factions alone during the initial breakout of violence, choosing to simply clear the physical aftermath once the dust settled.
Yet, this particular intake had broken the standard behavioral model. After exactly three days of intense, calculated fighting, the violence stopped completely. There were no further scuffles, no retaliatory strikes, and no internal gang wars.
There was clearly a massive shift in the operational air of the cell blocks. The inmates had been unified under a single, hidden authority.
Then came the breakdown of the escape itself. The Warden described it as a flawlessly coordinated effort executed between a massive group of prison personnel and the inmates. The logistics were terrifyingly precise; a faction of prisoners had intentionally sacrificed their own safety, initiating a violent riot in Sector 4 simply to draw the bulk of the armed response guards away from the primary transport tunnels.
Simultaneously, a series of critical, human errors had occurred on the digital side—surveillance cameras inexplicably looped, electronic deadbolts experienced sudden power drops, and transit gates were left unlatched. The institution was still deeply embroiled in internal internal affairs investigations, meaning the fine details of the corruption were still classified.
Having extracted every useful piece of data they were likely to get from the administration, Max and Wolf walked out through the heavy iron gates, leaving the concrete fortress behind.
"Do you honestly think a kid like Dipter possesses the strategic intellect to rally an entire prison population and execute a multi-front breakout like that?" Max asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked out over the suburban horizon.
"If you’re asking me whether the Dipter we fought in the trenches of the high-school wars could pull this off? I’d say it’s highly improbable," Wolf answered thoughtfully, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as they turned down a quiet access road. "Before I met you and witnessed the ascension of the Billion Bloodline, I would have told you an escape of this caliber was completely impossible for a street punk. But now? I’ve learned to calculate every variable as a distinct possibility.
"However, you have to look at the security infrastructure. Modern prisons are a completely different animal compared to juvenile facilities. They possess automated lockdown protocols that trigger the moment a single door behaves abnormally. The fact that they managed to bypass every electronic redundancy implies that a massive amount of external influence was actively pulling the strings from the outside. It makes me incredibly suspicious."
"I would have to completely agree with that assessment," a calm, unrecognized voice suddenly cut through the quiet air.
Max and Wolf stopped dead in their tracks, their combat reflexes instantly triggering as they turned the corner of the concrete wall. Standing in the shadow of the perimeter barrier was a man dressed in a sharp, professional overcoat. He stood with a relaxed posture, but his eyes were sharp, carrying the weight of a seasoned hunter.
Max’s jaw tightened, his mind racing as he assessed the perimeter. He couldn’t believe his own eyes; his enhanced perception hadn’t picked up the man’s presence until he spoke.
"I’ve been waiting for a clean opportunity to talk to you for a very long time, Max Stern," the stranger said, stepping into the light and flashing a silver badge from his coat pocket. "The name is Detective Marvin Morgan. And I think it’s time we had a conversation."