Thunder rumbled across the midnight sky, accompanied by a steady, rhythmic downpour—a persistent shroud of rain that blurred the neon glow of the city.
Ron landed in China under the cover of the storm. A heavy cloth was draped over his back to protect his gear as he stood before a familiar house. He didn't enter through the front door. Instead, he moved toward the garage, claiming one of the parked motorcycles. After pulling on a face mask and helmet, he kicked the engine to life and sped into the night.
The city blurred past him until familiar landmarks began to emerge through the mist. He accelerated, eventually pulling into the lot of a small, nondescript restaurant. He dismounted, his eyes immediately fixing on a massive high-rise in the distance.
Moving with practiced stealth, Ron approached the building and slipped through the back entrance. Inside the electrical room, he reached for a hidden lever. With a mechanical groan, a section of the wall shifted aside to reveal a concealed elevator. He stepped inside and punched a sequence of buttons; the lift began its ascent as the wall seamlessly reset behind him.
The doors slid open to a narrow staircase. Ron climbed upward, emerging onto a private balcony. Behind him stood the glass door of a penthouse apartment. As he approached, the sensors chirped, and the heavy thud of multiple electronic locks disengaging echoed in the quiet air.
He stepped inside. To his right, he pulled a secondary lever. The hum of a power grid awakening filled the room. He pressed a final switch, and the apartment flooded with light.
Ron walked straight into the living room, dominated by a monstrous workstation: a futuristic CPU wired to a triple-monitor setup.
"It's been years," Ron thought, the silence of the room weighing heavy on him.
He logged in and immediately updated the door's security protocols. As the OS booted, a chaotic array of interfaces flickered across the screens. Ron's eyes narrowed, focusing on the far-right monitor.
This news... he realized. It's from my mercenary days.
He took a deep breath and opened a global registry. The data was live; numbers flickered constantly as the global population ticked up and down with every passing second.
Children born, lives lost. All just numbers in the end, he mused darkly.
Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a specialized storage device, a microchip, and a silver pen. As he looked at them, Locki's voice echoed in his memory.
Ron stood before his old comrade. He was heavily armed, an HK433 slung across his chest and a Barrett M82 anchored to his back.
"This is everything my late wife discovered," Locki said, his voice strained. He held out the chip and the pen. "I don't have the conviction to use it. Save it for when there is no other way."
Ron took the items, looking from the tech to his friend. "What are you going to do now that the mission is over?"
"Now? I'm going to rest," Locki replied, a ghost of a smile appearing on his tired face. "I want to visit China... see her grave."
Ron nodded, the silence between them heavy with things unsaid. As Locki turned to walk away, Ron called out to his back.
"Locki? I can't pretend to understand your pain. But from day one... I noticed the darkness you carry."
Locki stopped. He turned back, his expression momentarily stunned, before he disappeared into the shadows.
Present Day
Ron took a steadying breath and turned to the CPU. He found a hidden, proprietary slot and inserted the chip. Seconds later, a new application initialized. He navigated through the directories until he found a folder labeled: RECORDS.
He opened it, revealing a search interface. Without hesitation, he typed: Judge Edward.
The screen populated with redacted files and personal history. Ron scrolled down, his heart rate spiking as he reached the bottom line:
AFFILIATION: Foster. Operates under the Fourth Head of Foster.
Ron's eyes widened.
Meanwhile, miles away, an invisible jet touched down silently in an abandoned Chinese village. A man stepped out, the name EDWARD stitched onto the chest of his tactical jacket.
He pulled off his mask, revealing sharp features, golden hair, and piercing brown eyes. His athletic frame was tightened by a high-tech suit. He took a deep breath of the damp air as a squad of masked operatives followed him out, their suits bristling with futuristic hardware.
"Let us begin," Edward commanded. "Operation: Find the Envelope of the Scars."
Back in the apartment, Ron noticed a file he had missed—one with a more recent timestamp than the others.
"For Ron"
His grip tightened on the mouse. He felt the weight of a new storm brewing. He clicked the file, and a video window snapped open.
Locki appeared on the screen, looking directly into the camera.
"Ron, if you are seeing this, then that means..."