Chapter 13: Delivery Day
Thursday arrived cold and damp over Lake Geneva. Mist clung to the water like smoke from a dying fire, turning the distant mountains into gray ghosts. Adrian and Luca met Marc at 06:15 in the shadowed parking lot behind the Montreux Casino. The air smelled of wet asphalt and pine. Marc stood beside a plain black sedan, duffel bag at his feet, breath fogging in the pre-dawn chill.
"Uniforms, badges, maintenance passes," he said, voice low and clipped. "Names are generic—no photos, just barcodes. You're with the weekly food supplier crew. Van arrives 07:00 sharp. Driver's paid to stay blind. You ride in back, unload crates, then disappear into service corridors."
Luca crouched and opened the duffel. Gray jackets, matching pants, clip-on badges. Maintenance passes laminated with barcodes and small RFID chips. He ran a thumb over one.
"Biometrics?" Luca asked.
"Disabled for maintenance crew," Marc replied. "They scan the barcode, not the face. But restricted doors trigger silent alarms. Motion sensors in no-go zones.
Don't wander. Don't speak unless spoken to. And don't touch anything that looks important."
Adrian pulled on the jacket. It was stiff, slightly too large across the shoulders, and carried the faint smell of bleach, motor oil, and someone else's sweat. The fabric felt heavy, foreign—like stepping into another man's life. He clipped the badge to his chest. The plastic was cool against his skin.
"Entry point?" he asked.
"East service gate. Follow the yellow line painted on the floor—takes you through kitchens to basement corridors. Summit prep is upstairs. Council members arrive tomorrow. You have today to scout routes, blind spots, escape paths."
Luca zipped the duffel shut. "Payment on delivery."
Marc's eyes flicked between them, lingering a second longer on Adrian. "If you don't come out, I never saw you."
He turned and walked away, footsteps fading into the mist.
They waited in silence until 06:55. A white Montreux Gourmet van pulled up exactly on time. Driver—middle-aged, eyes fixed on the dashboard, hands tight on the wheel—opened the rear doors without looking at them.
"Crates are labeled," he muttered. "Don't talk to anyone inside. Don't wander. Good luck."
Adrian climbed in first. Luca followed. Doors slammed shut with a metallic thud that echoed in the confined space. The van lurched forward.
Inside was dark, air thick with the smell of fresh bread, chilled meat, and damp cardboard. Stacked floor-to-ceiling with insulated food crates. The temperature was low—refrigerated cargo. Adrian felt the cold seep through the thin uniform jacket. Luca shifted beside him, knees brushing crates.
The drive took seven minutes. Gravel crunched under tires, then smooth asphalt, then a slow stop at the gate.
Voices outside—calm, routine.
"Morning pass."
Barcode beeped.
"Clear."
The van rolled forward again.
They waited until it stopped—loading dock hum, metal doors clanging open, cold air rushing in like a slap.
Driver muttered through the partition: "You're on. Move fast. Don't look back."
Adrian pushed a crate aside. Stepped out.
Service dock: concrete floor slick with condensation, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, three workers unloading another van. Steam rose from open crates. The smell of coffee and cooked vegetables drifted from the kitchens. No one glanced at the new faces in gray uniforms.
Luca followed, badge clipped to chest.
They moved with practiced calm—yellow line painted on the floor, just as Marc said. Past kitchens (steam hissing from pots, pans clanging, cooks shouting in French), down a short stairwell into basement corridors—concrete walls, exposed pipes dripping water, dim emergency lights casting long shadows.
No guards yet.
Adrian's system pinged softly:
[ENTRY VECTOR SUCCESS: 100%]
[Threat Density: 7 marked signatures — upper levels]
[Countermeasures: Thermal cameras in restricted zones]
[Stealth Enhancement Active – Detection Radius reduced 18%]
They followed the yellow line deeper. Signs on doors: "Storage B3", "HVAC", "Electrical".
Luca whispered: "We need a map or terminal. Summit layout."
Adrian nodded. Turned left at a junction—unmarked corridor, no visible cameras.
Maintenance closet. Door ajar.
Inside: toolbox, cleaning cart, wall-mounted tablet—security interface, still logged in.
Luca tapped the screen. Floor plans loaded.
"Council chambers—fourth floor. Private elevator only. Biometric + keycard."
Adrian scanned. "Service elevator bypasses biometrics. Maintenance override code: 7719."
Luca memorized it. "We split. You take fourth floor, scout chambers. I check basement—power grid, escape routes."
Adrian met his eyes. "Don't get caught."
Luca gave a thin smile. "Same to you."
They separated.
Adrian moved alone—corridors narrowing, lights dimmer. The system fed subtle cues: footsteps ahead, heat signatures through walls.
He reached the service elevator. Punched 7719.
Doors opened with a soft chime.
Fourth floor.
Marble hallway. Red carpet. Gold trim. Doors numbered—no names.
One door slightly ajar.
Voices inside—low, calm, professional.
"…prototype is active. Override protocol engaged. Ninety days until full integration."
Adrian froze.
Another voice: "And the boy?"
"Tracking. He'll come to us. The system ensures it."
Adrian's hand tightened on the knife under his jacket.
Revenant's Edge: Ready.
The red tint returned—stronger, lingering at the edges of his vision.
He stepped closer.
The door creaked.
Silence inside.
Then: "Someone's here."
Adrian moved—fast, silent.
But the system pulsed:
[ANOMALY DETECTED]
[Residual fragment interfering]
[Override risk: 62%]
His mother's voice—clear, inside his skull:
"Adrian… run."
He stumbled.
A guard stepped into the hallway—pistol raised.
Adrian lunged.
Knife met throat.
Blood sprayed hot across his face.
The body dropped.
[TARGET ELIMINATED]
[Execution: Stealth Kill]
[Progress to Level 3: +45%]
But the red tint exploded.
Vision swam.
He saw the hallway—but also the Bucharest apartment. Blood on walls. Parents' bodies.
He staggered.
More footsteps—running now.
Alarms began to wail—sharp, piercing, echoing off marble.
Luca's voice in his earpiece: "Adrian—what the hell? Sirens!"
Adrian blinked hard.
The vision faded.
But the voice remained.
"Run… or you'll become them."
He gripped the knife tighter.
The alarms grew louder.
He turned back toward the elevator.
The red glow didn't fade.
It stayed.
He ran.