Chapter 37: The Bait

Chapter 37: The Bait

Time Period: 2015

Age: 13 years old

When you're backed into a corner, you don't have the luxury of second-guessing. You move, or you die. And right now, we were in a corner so tight it felt like the walls were closing in. The Architect had played us at every turn, and now this mysterious ally—or enemy—was dangling bait in front of us. It was a game, one where the stakes couldn't be higher.

The night was dark and silent as I sat alone in the safehouse, the weight of everything pressing down on me. The team was preparing, gearing up for what could be the most dangerous mission we'd ever undertaken. But the real battle was happening here, inside my head.

Kee had tried to talk me out of it, of course. His voice had been calm, but there was an edge to it, a tightness that told me he was worried. And Kee never showed his worry, not unless things were really bad.

"You're not invincible, James," he had said, his eyes boring into mine. "We're dealing with forces we barely understand. The Hand, The Architect, and now this? It's too much, too fast."

But what could I say to that? He was right. We were up against the kind of threats that would make most people run for cover. But running wasn't an option. Not for me. Not for us.

So I'd just nodded, given him the same line I always did. "We don't have a choice, Kee. We either fight or we lose everything."

And that was the truth of it. This wasn't about winning anymore; it was about survival. The Architect wasn't just playing games—they were out to destroy us, to dismantle everything we'd built piece by piece. And if we didn't take control of the situation, they'd succeed.

I glanced at the screen in front of me, Mia's data still scrolling past as she worked to decode the signal. It was almost elegant in its complexity, like a puzzle designed to keep you guessing. But there was something more to it, something beneath the surface that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

The Architect's moves had always been calculated, precise, like a grandmaster in a chess game. They knew us, anticipated our every action. But this? This felt different. It wasn't just a trap; it was an invitation, a challenge. And that intrigued me more than it should have.

"James." Mia's voice broke through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. She stood in the doorway, her expression a mix of concern and determination. "I've managed to trace the signal further. It's coming from an abandoned facility on the outskirts of the city. It's isolated, easy to defend. If we go there…"

"It's exactly what they want," I finished for her, the words heavy in the air.

She nodded, her eyes never leaving mine. "But it's also our best shot at getting ahead of The Architect. If we can turn this around, use their own setup against them…"

I leaned back in the chair, my mind working through the possibilities. It was risky, there was no doubt about that. But if we didn't take risks, we might as well give up now. And giving up wasn't in my DNA.

"Elijah," I called out, knowing he'd be within earshot. He appeared in the doorway, a quiet intensity in his eyes that mirrored my own.

"Ready to move?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

"Always," he replied, his voice calm, almost too calm. It was that kind of calm that came before a storm, when everything was on the line, and you knew there was no room for error.

I stood, grabbing my gear as I did. "We're going in. Mia, keep working the comms. I want to know the second anything changes."

She hesitated, and for a moment, I saw something in her eyes—a flicker of doubt, maybe fear. But then it was gone, replaced by the steely resolve that had gotten us this far.

"Be careful, James," she said quietly. "This feels different. They're playing a different game now."

I met her gaze, and for a second, the weight of it all pressed down on me. But I pushed it aside, burying it deep. There was no room for hesitation, no time for doubt.

"I know," I replied, my voice hardening. "That's why we have to win."

The drive to the facility was silent, the city lights fading into darkness as we left the familiar streets behind. It was almost surreal, the way the world seemed to close in around us, like we were descending into another realm entirely. The facility loomed ahead, a dark, foreboding structure that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.

Kee was in the front seat, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his expression unreadable. Elijah was beside me, his fingers drumming a quiet rhythm on the dashboard. The tension was thick, every breath a reminder that this could be it, the moment when everything went to hell.

"We hit fast, hit hard," I said, breaking the silence. "No hesitation. If we're going to turn this around, we need to be in and out before they know what hit them."

Kee nodded, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "You're sure about this?"

"No," I replied honestly, my gaze fixed on the facility ahead. "But it's the best shot we've got."

The SUV came to a stop a few hundred yards from the entrance, the darkness swallowing us as we stepped out. The air was cold, biting, the kind of cold that cuts through you and settles in your bones. But it wasn't the cold that sent a shiver down my spine—it was the silence. The oppressive, unnatural silence that made every instinct scream that we were walking into a trap.

And we were.

But this time, I wasn't walking in blind.

"Move out," I ordered, my voice low and steady. Kee and Elijah moved with practiced ease, their movements fluid and precise. We approached the facility, keeping to the shadows, every sense on high alert.

The entrance was unguarded, but that only made it worse. It was too easy, too inviting. I felt my pulse quicken, the adrenaline spiking as we entered the building, the darkness closing in around us.

The interior was as expected—abandoned, decaying, a shell of whatever it once was. But there was something else, something beneath the surface that I couldn't quite place. It was a feeling, a sense that we weren't alone.

"Elijah, take point," I whispered, my voice barely audible. He nodded, moving ahead with the silent grace of a predator. Kee stayed close to me, his eyes scanning every corner, every shadow.

We moved deeper into the facility, the walls closing in around us, the silence deafening. And then, we heard it—a faint sound, almost imperceptible, but enough to send a chill down my spine.

Footsteps.

"Elijah, hold," I ordered, my hand signaling him to stop. The footsteps grew louder, closer, echoing through the empty halls.

And then, out of the shadows, they appeared—figures clad in black, their faces obscured, their movements synchronized, efficient. The Hand.

"Looks like they knew we were coming," Kee muttered, his voice tense.

"Good," I replied, my eyes narrowing as I focused on the approaching figures. "Let's give them a show."

The Hand operatives moved with lethal precision, their attacks swift and brutal. But we were ready, and this time, we weren't just playing defense. Elijah was a blur of motion, his strikes calculated, deadly, while Kee and I held the line, pushing back against the assault.

It was chaos, pure and simple, the kind of chaos where one wrong move could end it all. But amid the fighting, I kept my mind sharp, focused. This wasn't just about survival—it was about control. And I wasn't about to let The Hand or The Architect wrest that from me.

As the battle raged, I caught sight of something—a flicker of movement in the corner of my eye, just beyond the melee. A figure, watching from the shadows. My heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, I felt it again—that pull, that sense that this was all part of something bigger.

"Elijah, cover me," I called out, breaking from the fight and moving toward the figure. I could feel my pulse hammering in my chest, every step bringing me closer to the unknown.

The figure didn't move, didn't react, just watched as I approached. And then, as I got close enough to see them clearly, the world seemed to shift, everything narrowing to that single point.

"Who the hell are you?" I demanded, my voice sharp, edged with anger.

The figure tilted their head slightly, their face still obscured. "I'm the one who's been waiting for you, James Pluto. The one who's been watching."

My blood ran cold, but I didn't back down. "Why? What do you want?"

"To help you," they replied simply, their voice calm, almost soothing. "But first, you need to help yourself. The Architect is closer than you think. Much closer."

Before I could react, they moved—swift, like a shadow, disappearing into the darkness. I cursed, spinning around to see Elijah and Kee still locked in combat with the remaining operatives. The fight was far from over, and now, we had even more questions.

But as I rejoined the battle, one thing was clear—we were being played, manipulated. And if we didn't figure out the game soon, we'd be out of moves.

The Architect had set the stage, but now, it was time to flip the script. We weren't just pawns in this game. We were the players. And we were done playing by their rules.