Dante stood under the bridge, the cold metal of the gun pressing into his forehead. The leader of the men in black was shaking with rage.
"You think you're a ghost, Dante?" the leader hissed. "You think you can just 'twist' my men and walk away? I don't care about the boy. I don't care about that giant in the hospital. I want the Black Box. Give me the drive you stole from the Vault three years ago, or I'll blow your head off right here."
Dante's eyes didn't flicker. "The Black Box? That thing was destroyed in the fire. You're chasing a ghost, and it's going to lead you to your grave."
The leader's finger tightened on the trigger. "Lie to me again, and the last thing you'll hear is the sound of your own skull cracking. Search him!"
Two guards stepped forward. As their hands touched Dante's jacket, the air around them seemed to vibrate. Dante didn't wait for them to find anything. He closed his eyes, and his mind felt like a lightning bolt.
TWIST.
One guard suddenly grabbed his own teammate by the throat and slammed him against the concrete pillar. The sound of bone hitting stone was sickening. Before the leader could react, Dante kicked the gun out of his hand and swept his legs.
"Get him!" the leader roared, scrambling for his weapon.
The darkness under the bridge exploded into violence. Dante moved like a shadow, his "Twist" power acting like a shield. Every time a guard tried to aim at him, their vision blurred, or their hands shook uncontrollably. He wasn't just fighting their bodies; he was fighting their nervous systems.
Within minutes, five men lay unconscious. Dante stood over the leader, his foot on the man's chest. "Tell your boss... if he wants the Box, he has to come get it himself. And tell him to stay away from the hospital."
Dante didn't go back to the hospital. He knew it was a trap. Instead, he drove the Hummer to an abandoned industrial zone—a place filled with rusted cranes and silent warehouses. He needed to activate his old contacts.
He walked into a small, grimy shack that looked like a scrap yard office. Inside, an old man with a mechanical eye was smoking a digital cigar.
"Dante," the old man rasped. "I heard you were back in the game. Bringing kids to the Pit? That's low, even for you."
"Save the lecture, Silas," Dante said, throwing a bag of high-grade credits on the table. "I need the 'Ghost Protocol'. Secure Room 256 at Central Hospital. If anyone with a weapon enters that floor, I want them neutralized. No questions asked."
Silas looked at the money, then at Dante. "You're starting a war, kid. The people chasing that drive... they don't play by the rules."
"Neither do I," Dante replied.
Suddenly, the shack's walls began to glow with a strange, orange light. A holographic projection appeared in the center of the room. It was a man sitting in a dark, high-tech throne room. He looked like a king from a nightmare, surrounded by AI-controlled weapons.
"Dante," the hologram spoke. "You're making this very difficult. I offered you a peaceful exit. Now, I'm offering you a choice. Bring me the Black Box to the Diamond Tower by midnight. If you do, I'll give you the cure for the boy's neural damage. If you don't... well, I've already sent the 'Hounds' to the hospital."
Dante's heart went cold. "Ren... what did you do to him?"
"The 'Twist' has a price, Dante. Every time that boy uses it, his brain melts a little more. Only my technology can stabilize him. You have four hours."
The hologram vanished.
Dante turned to Silas. "I need my gear. The heavy stuff."
The Diamond Tower was the most expensive building in the city. It was a 200-story needle made of reinforced glass and AI sensors. Dante arrived at 11:55 PM. He wasn't wearing his usual jacket. He was wearing a tactical suit, his eyes glowing with a constant, dim violet light. He was "pre-loading" his Twist power, ready to unleash hell.
He entered the lobby, and immediately, twenty AI-controlled guard bots aimed their laser rifles at him.
"Dante. Step into the elevator," a voice echoed through the speakers.
The elevator shot up to the 150th floor. When the doors opened, Dante was in a room that looked like it was made of liquid diamonds. The floors, the walls, even the furniture sparkled with a blinding light. It was an AI-heaven.
The Boss sat behind a desk made of solid obsidian. "The Box. Give it to me."
Dante pulled out a small, glowing blue drive. "The cure. Give it to me first."
The Boss smiled, and it was the scariest thing Dante had ever seen. "You don't understand, Dante. I don't need to trade with you."
With a snap of the Boss's fingers, the room changed. The floor beneath Dante turned into a treadmill, moving at high speed, while the walls closed in. Lasers began to crisscross the room, creating a deadly web.
"I am the AI Architect," the Boss said, his voice now sounding like a thousand machines. "I control the atoms in this building. You can't 'twist' a machine, Dante."
Dante looked at the lasers, then at the Boss. A small, dangerous smile appeared on his face. "You're right. I can't twist a machine. But I can twist the man who designed them."
Dante didn't look at the robots. He looked at the Boss's reflection in the glass wall. He pushed his mind past the limit, ignoring the blood starting to leak from his own ears.
ULTIMATE TWIST.
The Boss's hand, which was hovering over a "Kill" button, suddenly moved on its own. He screamed in horror as his own fingers began to type a different code—the self-destruct sequence for the building's AI core.
"Stop! What are you doing?!" the Boss yelled at his own hand.
"I'm not doing anything," Dante hissed, his vision turning red. "You are."
The building began to shake. Alarms blared. The AI robots started spinning in circles, their programming corrupted. Dante grabbed the cure—a small vial of glowing green liquid—from the desk.
"This is for Ren," Dante said, his voice a low growl.
He didn't wait for the building to explode. He ran toward the glass window and jumped. As he fell through the night sky, he used a small "twist" on the air pressure around him, slowing his fall just enough to land on a passing transport drone.
He looked back at the Diamond Tower as the top floors erupted in a beautiful, blue explosion. He had the cure. But he knew this was just the beginning. The real war wasn't against gangs or billionaires. It was against the "Twist" itself.
[TO BE CONTINUED...]