The dust of the shattered hangar was still settling, a fine grey powder that coated the expensive leather of Malcolm's shoes and the wreckage of the transport shuttle. The air, which had been a blistering furnace moments ago, was now unnervingly cold.
Marcus, his ribs aching and his breath coming in ragged hitches, stepped forward. He was trembling from the sheer, impossible weight of what he had just witnessed. He looked at the tall, silent figure in the matte-black mask, the man who had just handled a high-tier Alpha in a Black Cycle as if he were taming a rebellious child.
"Are you..." Marcus started, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of professional dignity. "Are you Dahmer Lukas? The CEO of GEM?"
The masked man didn't move. The black plate of his face reflected Marcus's own terrified expression. For a long, agonizing heartbeat, the only sound was the distant siren of an emergency vehicle.
Dahmer's head tilted—a slow, mechanical movement.
"The main hall," Dahmer said. His voice was different, filtered through the advanced vocal processors of the mask, it was a deep, synthetic baritone that sounded like grinding steel. "Wait for me there. My medical team will tend to his minor abrasions. Do not wander."
Without waiting for an answer, Dahmer turned on his heel. His long silk coat flared behind him like the wings of a predatory bird. He walked away from the wreckage, leaving the billionaire Alpha and his stunned assistant standing in the ruins of their arrival.
Dahmer entered his private quarters through a door that required a triple-bio scan. The moment the seals engaged, the matte-black mask hissed. He pulled it off, revealing the pale, sharp features of Dahmer Lukas—the same face that, just yesterday, had been "Luca Vane."
He tossed the mask onto a velvet-lined table and walked to a wall of monitors that displayed the genetic maps of a dozen different Alpha lineages.
"You're pushing the limits of the timeline, Boss."
Kaelen was standing by the window, his flannel shirt from 3rd Street replaced by a crisp, high-collared black uniform. He looked at the monitors, then back at his boss.
"The reports from the Northern sectors are coming in," Kaelen continued, his voice grim. "The Black Cycle incidents have spiked by 14% in the last forty-eight hours alone. The Alpha population is becoming a greater threat to the global infrastructure than the wars of the last century. Their biology is accelerating. If we don't synthesize the Project Z Serum soon, their state won't just be a rare condition—it will be the standard. We'll be living in a world of beasts."
Dahmer sat in a high-backed chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose where the mask had pressed. The silver resonance in his hands was still vibrating from the contact with Malcolm.
"I know the math, Kaelen," Dahmer said, his voice returning to its natural, cold resonance. "That's why we're here. I knew he wouldn't be able to stay away after the healing in Freenly. He's obsessed. He wants answers."
"He doesn't just want answers; he almost leveled your hangar," Kaelen countered. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "Which brings me to a curiosity. I watched the feed from the tarmac. You stepped into his guard. You hugged him, Boss. You're an Enigma. You could have stood ten meters away and manifested a containment field. You could have neutralized his heat from the doorway."
Kaelen leaned against the desk, his gaze piercing. "Why the physical contact? You've spent your entire life avoiding the touch of others. You call Alphas dirty machines. Yet you held him like you were trying to fuse your souls together. Why?"
Dahmer's expression didn't change, but his fingers curled slightly into the armrest. The memory of Malcolm's heart beating against his own chest; the raw, violent rhythm of it—flashed through his mind.
"The field was unstable," Dahmer said flatly. "Direct skin-to-skin transfer was the most efficient way to drain the excess thermal energy without triggering a secondary explosion. It was a tactical choice."
"Tactical?" Kaelen let out a short, skeptical breath. "Or was it the Enigma instinct? They say the Enigma is the only thing that can truly handle an aggressive Alpha. You're playing with fire, Boss. Literally. We need his genetic material—his sperms to finalize the serum. We don't need you catching feelings for the test subject."
Dahmer stood up, his aura suddenly flaring with a cold, sharp warning. The air in the room grew heavy.
"Do not mind my business, Kaelen," Dahmer hissed. "I am the head of this project. I know exactly what I am doing. I will get what we need from Malcolm Ford. My personal methods are not up for debate."
Kaelen held up his hands, recognizing the dangerous glint in Dahmer's eyes. "As you wish. He's currently being restored in the main hall. He's demanding to see you. He's angry, he's confused, and according to the bio-scanners, his heart rate spikes every time someone mentions your name."
"Good," Dahmer said, picking up the mask. He looked at the black plate, the reflection of a man who was both a student and a god. "Let him be angry."
The main hall of GEM was an architectural marvel of white marble and floating glass. It was designed to make everyone inside feel small, insignificant, and clinically observed.
Malcolm Ford sat on a minimalist bench, a small adhesive patch on his temple where he had been grazed by flying debris. He was refusing the water the staff offered him. He looked like a caged tiger—lethal, humiliated, and vibrating with an energy he didn't understand.
Marcus stood beside him, looking nervously at the grand doors at the end of the hall.
"Sir, please," Marcus whispered. "You should sit back. The doctors said you need to stabilize—"
"I am stable," Malcolm snapped. His eyes were fixed on the doors. "I want to see the man who touched me. I want to know how a CEO of a genetic firm has the strength to pin me to the ground."
The doors slid open with a soundless hiss.
Dahmer Lukas stepped out. He was back in the mask, his long coat sweeping the floor. He stood at the top of the marble stairs, looking down at the billionaire.
"Mr. Ford," the synthetic voice echoed through the hall. "I see you have a habit of destroying property wherever you go. You are a very expensive guest."
Malcolm stood up, his height matching Dahmer's across the distance. The silver fire in his blood surged with a strange, magnetic recognition.
"You," Malcolm said, his voice a low growl. "You're the one. The Enigma!"
"I am the one who saved your life," Dahmer replied coldly. "And I am the one who is going to tell you exactly what is wrong with your blood. Step into my office, Malcolm. We have much to discuss... and much to take from you."
Dahmer turned and walked back into the darkness of the inner office, knowing with absolute certainty, that the Alpha would follow him anywhere.