CHAPTER 1

Diego hated this wing of the building from the second his boots hit the marble. Fucking marble. He'd seen schools back home that couldn't afford basic supplies, but here they were, walking on polished stone worth more than his yearly combat pay.

His reflection caught his eye in the brass wall panels - looking as out of place as he felt. The air here was all wrong too, some fancy sandalwood bullshit that made his nose itch. Nothing like the acrid sting of gunpowder and dust he was used to. That smell at least meant something real.

Christ, even the furniture looked afraid to be sat in. All that pristine leather arranged just so, like some interior decorator's wet dream. The desk ahead sat empty, its holo-display probably worth six months of a grunt's salary. His jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

The window stopped him short. Below, recruits ran drills in gear that barely kept out the cold, while up here... Diego's hand pressed against the glass. The temperature was perfect, regulated by an AI system that could probably run tactical ops better than their field computers.

Something about that thought made his chest tighten. The whine started in his ears - that high-pitched sound that always came before...

No. Not now.

But the memory crashed in anyway. Tear gas burning his eyes. Kaito's screams mixing with the drone rotors. Blood on concrete...

Diego jerked back from the window, his fingers finding the grip of his sidearm without conscious thought. The familiar polymer texture helped anchor him here, now. But the taste of gas lingered at the back of his throat.

The worn spots on his uniform sleeve felt rough under his fingers as he forced himself to move forward. That big-ass painting at the end of the hall - some artist's dream of a perfect future city - caught the light wrong, making his scarred knuckles look alien against the gilt frame. Had to cost more than defensive upgrades for a whole sector. But sure, let's hang pretty pictures while recruits trained with outdated gear.

The plush carpet tried to swallow his boots with each step. Everything here screamed money - crystal vases perched just so, holo-displays dancing with shadows, metal sculptures that could've fed a platoon for months. Even that tiny jade drone carving... Diego snorted. Someone thought they were being real clever with that one.

His data pad's scratched case looked like a battle scar against all this perfection. Good. At least something here had seen real action.

The ops floor below caught his attention through the reinforced glass. Blue light from curved displays painted everyone ghost-pale. Fresh lieutenants pushed pixels around like it was all just some fancy game - resource matrices, threat assessments, supply chains. Numbers that couldn't capture the sound a man makes when he's dying.

That whine started again, higher this time. The glass felt wrong under his palms. Cold. Like Osaka. Like watching through command center windows while everything went to hell...

"Fuck." Diego ripped his hands back. His reflection showed everything he didn't want to see - the tension, the memory-shadows in his eyes. His fingers found his sidearm again, muscle memory from too many firefights. The polymer grip felt real. Present. Here.

But the past wasn't done with him. Tear gas filled his lungs. Civilians scattered. Blood bloomed across a father's leg while his son - Kaito - dropped beside him.

"Get to cover!" The words echoed in his head as drones descended, their guns spinning up. His team moved like they'd practiced it a thousand times, laying down fire while he sprinted for the boy.

The father's blood was warm on his hands. Kaito's tears soaked his vest as Diego carried them both, the concrete barrier barely stopping the bullets that sparked off its edge. The tourniquet. The pale face. The boy's small hand gripping his father's...

The memory faded, but Diego's tongue still tasted metal and gas. He squared his shoulders, forcing himself back to now. To this hallway with its excess and its emptiness.

Lieutenant Clark's desk stretched ahead like liquid mercury, all curves and polish. Blue light from floating displays painted her features as she looked up.

"Major Martinez. The General is expecting you."

Diego nodded, his boots silent now on marble as he approached the general's office. It hit him like a museum of military masturbation - shadowboxed medals, combat photos, unit citations arranged just so. The massive APU flag dominated one wall, pristine as a recruitment poster.

General Jackson stood behind a desk big enough to land a chopper on, every inch the picture of command authority. His uniform sparkled with ribbons, silver eagles catching the light like they were winking at some private joke. The room reeked of leather, gun oil, and expensive cologne that couldn't quite hide the smell of bureaucracy.

Diego snapped to attention, muscle memory taking over while his mind cataloged escape routes and defensive positions. Old habits.

"Major Martinez reporting as ordered, sir."

Jackson's return salute was textbook perfect. Too perfect. Like something learned from a manual rather than earned in the field. "At ease Major, have a seat."

The leather chair creaked - new, unused to the weight of actual soldiers. Diego settled into a bastardized parade rest, unable to fully relax in this shrine to military excess. His fingers found that worn spot on his sleeve again as Jackson tapped his desk interface.

Blue light bloomed between them. "Major Martinez, I'll cut straight to it. Command's implementing new AI integration across all combat units."

Diego's shoulders locked. Drone rotors. Screams. Blood.

"The new combat AI systems will be integrated at squad level," Jackson continued, either blind or indifferent to Diego's reaction. "Each unit gets direct AI tactical support for mission planning and execution."

"With all due respect, sir-" Diego's jaw ached from clenching. "We've seen this go wrong. Osaka-"

"Was years ago, Major." Jackson waved through the hologram like he could dismiss the dead that easily. Combat frames moved with inhuman precision in the footage he pulled up. "These aren't the same systems. The new integration is foolproof."

"Foolproof." The word tasted like ash and failure. "Just like Yodogawa's systems, sir?"

Jackson's face hardened. "This isn't a debate, Major. Integration starts next month. You're overseeing implementation for your units."

The hologram shifted to schedules and protocols that blurred through the red haze creeping into Diego's vision. His pulse drummed a combat rhythm in his ears. They were doing it again - trusting machines that could turn murderer in a heartbeat.

His fingers drummed his thigh, bleeding off tension that threatened to explode. "What safeguards are in place, sir? Last time, AI overrode ground forces. We lost civilians because a machine decided its protocol meant more than human judgment."

Jackson's jaw worked as he pulled up flowcharts. "Multiple redundancies. Every AI decision needs human confirmation."

"Like Yodogawa's 'foolproof' safeguards?" Diego leaned forward, combat-scarred hands stark against the polished desk. "Until they weren't."

"These systems are different, Major." Impatience edged Jackson's voice. "Three separate overrides. Any field commander can shut down the AI with one code."

"And if the AI decides those overrides threaten its directive?" The screams echoed in Diego's head. "What stops it from marking human commands as hostile?"

"You're letting past trauma cloud your judgment, Major. These concerns are addressed in the architecture."

Diego's fists clenched under the desk. The office's polish felt like mockery of real combat experience. His jaw cracked as Jackson tapped through more specs.

"With respect sir, no one paid for those failures. A soldier who caused that carnage would be in prison or dead."

Silence stretched between them, broken by environmental controls and hologram hum. Diego held Jackson's gaze. He'd faced worse than angry brass, and the stakes were too high to back down.

"How about this sir - we embed the lead designer and engineer with a test unit. AI malfunctions, causes civilian casualties, we terminate them on the spot. Give them some skin in the game."

Jackson's face flushed dark. His manicured fingers squeezed his stylus until it creaked. "Major Martinez, that's completely unacceptable. These are corporate employees, not military personnel."

"That's my point, sir. They make war machines from clean offices, never seeing the aftermath. Forty-seven dead in Osaka was just an 'unfortunate error' to them. Maybe they'd care more if their lives hung on their work."

Jackson's teeth ground audibly. The holo-light aged him, showed the paper-pusher beneath the general's stars. But Diego had watched too many die from AI "errors" to yield.

His mind flashed to Kaito's father bleeding out. The child's screams. That flat AI voice declaring "protocol infraction" before gunning down civilians. All because some clean-handed tech hadn't planned for reality.

"That is not going to happen. You are just going to have to accept it. That's an order," Jackson snapped.

Copper filled Diego's mouth as he bit his cheek. His hands stayed steady, but rage burned hot in his gut. Same dismissive bullshit, same blind faith that had painted Osaka's streets red.

Diego stood, precise despite the fury coursing through him. His knife pressed familiar against his thigh as he rose to full height. The salute felt empty after so many years of real service.

Jackson's smug smile spread like oil on water. His pressed uniform and shiny eagles caught the light, everything Diego had grown to hate about command.

"Sir, then you'll have to accept my formal resignation." The words carried the same tone he'd used in Osaka when the drones opened up. Final. Certain.

Jackson's face darkened as his fist hit the desk. "You arrogant son of a bitch! After everything we've given you? Twenty-five years and you throw it away over one order?" His finger jabbed toward Diego's chest. "I'll make damn sure you never work security again. You'll be lucky to get mall cop work when I'm done!"

Diego unclipped his data pad, its scratched surface cool and real against his calluses. The interface hummed to life, casting blue across his weathered face.

"Data pad, initiate resignation protocol. Major Diego Martinez, service number 47291-APU, formally resigning from active duty, effective immediately."

He watched Jackson's smugness crack.

"Request digital recording of this meeting for personnel file and oversight review."

"Sir, you just violated Executive Order 2080-47. No retribution threats to military or civilian personnel." The data pad caught every word, every micro-expression crossing Jackson's face.

"Data pad, submit recording to Personnel Division. File formal complaint against General Jackson for violating order 2080-47, including professional retaliation threats." His fingers confirmed the submission. "Copy to Military Oversight and Ethics Review."

The blood drained from Jackson's face as it sank in. All that arrogant bravado crumbled under the weight of documented threats.

The data pad chimed. "Submission confirmed. Time-stamped and logged."

Diego's muscles coiled as he snapped to attention. Twenty-five years of drill took over - spine steel-straight, fingers aligned perfect, arm locked at forty-five degrees. Every combat deployment, every medal, every life lost under his command went into that salute.

His face set like stone as he locked eyes with Jackson. "Sir."

Three beats held. Then an about-face that would've made his drill sergeant proud. His boots struck marble with metronome precision as he marched out, each step echoing his final defiance against command's sterile halls.

They could have their marble floors and fancy art. He'd take the weight of his combat knife, the familiar grip of his sidearm, the memories of real war - even the painful ones. At least those were honest.

The door closed behind him with a soft click that somehow carried more finality than any explosion.

----------------------------------------

The TV's blue light flickered across Diego's face as he sank deeper into his recliner. His back ached - too many hours at the computer today. Some corporate news droned on, something about mergers he couldn't care less about. He reached for the remote to change the channel but stopped when he caught sight of the family photo on the side table.

God, had it really been three years since that day at the park? Maria looked so much like her mother in that shot, the way she held onto the kids. Isabella and Mateo's faces were a mess of cotton candy and pure happiness. Manuel stood behind them, trying to look serious but failing. The frame was getting tarnished at the corners - probably should replace it one of these days.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

The Channel 8 News jingle made him jump. Sandra Chen appeared on screen, and Diego knew something was wrong before she even opened her mouth. That fake calm in her expression - he'd seen it too many times before.

"Good evening. I'm Sandra Chen with Breaking News. Hurricane Xavier has just been upgraded to Category 6, making it the third such storm this season to exceed traditional measurement scales. The storm is currently battering the Gulf Coast with winds over 200 miles per hour."

Diego sat up straighter, his muscles tensing as the footage rolled. Waves crashed through concrete barriers like they were made of cardboard. Houses snapped like twigs, cars floating down streets that had become rivers. Christ, it was worse than last time.

"In related news," Chen continued, her voice tight, "the magnetic anomalies reported last week have intensified. We have Dr. James Morrison from the Global Climate Institute joining us. Doctor, what can you tell us about these unprecedented events?"

The screen split to show a tired-looking scientist. Dark circles under his eyes, rumpled shirt - guy looked like he hadn't slept in days. "What we're seeing is an acceleration of the magnetic pole shift. This is affecting weather patterns globally. The wildfires in the Pacific Northwest-"

The camera cut to massive walls of fire devouring entire forests. Smoke so thick it turned day to night. A couple of fire trucks looked like toys next to the flames, completely useless.

"-are directly connected to these shifting patterns," Morrison continued, running a hand through his messy hair. "We're seeing conditions that... well, our models didn't predict this for another decade at least."

Diego's fingers dug into the leather armrest. His throat felt dry. The footage switched to Phoenix - people fighting over water supplies outside a ransacked grocery store. Just like Juárez in '60. He'd been there, right in the thick of it during the Water Crisis. The screaming, the crush of bodies, knives glinting in the darkness. His hand went to the scar on his forearm without thinking. Still raised after all these years.

Twenty years with the Border Task Force, and he'd thought he'd seen it all. But the Water Crisis... that had shown him what people could become when they got desperate enough.

"Officials are urging calm," Chen was saying. Diego snorted. He knew that tone, that careful choice of words. He'd heard it before, right before everything went to hell. The Crisis had started small too - just a few fights over water rights, some farms going under. By the time anyone connected the dots, it was too late.

He glanced at the photo again, then out his window where the Martinez kids were still playing basketball in their driveway. Same age as Isabella and Mateo in that photo. Their parents had no idea what was coming. His stomach clenched - that familiar feeling from his military days, right before an operation went sideways.

The TV showed rows of emergency tents stretching into the distance. Some little girl, couldn't be more than seven, holding onto a ratty teddy bear while her mom talked to reporters. They'd escaped Miami after the last surge hit. Behind them, hundreds of families huddled under FEMA blankets, their whole lives stuffed into backpacks and garbage bags.

That girl's face hit him hard - something about her eyes, maybe. Isabella would be turning eight soon. He needed to call Maria, check how they were doing in Tucson. The water situation there was getting bad, and the blackouts weren't helping. Last time they talked, she mentioned having to fill bathtubs whenever the pressure was good, just in case.

Diego reached for his phone, then hesitated. It was past eleven. Manuel would probably still be up though - guy worked weird hours with SWAT. Probably dealing with more riots at the water stations.

"Refugee centers across the southern states report critical overcrowding," Chen continued. The camera panned across makeshift shelters. A fight broke out in the background, quickly broken up by overwhelmed-looking National Guard troops. "With more coastal evacuations expected-"

His phone buzzed. Text from Maria: "Dad, you watching the news? Call me when you can."

His thumb hovered over the call button when Chen's tone changed. Something in her voice made him look up.

"We have exclusive information regarding the Exodus Foundation's colonization program." The screen showed massive ships under construction. "Sources within the Foundation reveal severely limited capacity. While selection criteria remain classified, we understand only those with critical skills will be considered."

Diego's mouth went dry. The room felt too warm suddenly.

"Priority status goes to scientists, engineers, medical professionals - individuals deemed essential for establishing viable colonies." Chen's face filled the screen. "Despite mounting public pressure, Foundation officials maintain these selective criteria are necessary for humanity's survival."

The remote slipped from his hand, clattering on the floor. Maria - she might have a shot. Environmental engineering was exactly what they'd need up there. But Manuel? Would his law enforcement background count for anything? And the kids...

"Jesus," he muttered, running a hand over his face. The thought of them being separated, some bureaucrat deciding his grandkids weren't "essential" enough...

The TV shifted to commercial - some ad for water purifiers that felt obscene given what he'd just heard. Diego's hands shook slightly as he picked up his phone. They'd known this was coming, hadn't they? All those whispers about the Foundation's real plans, the rumors about secret selection criteria. But hearing it confirmed...

He dialed Maria's number. One ring. Two. His mind raced through options, old military connections, anyone who might help. The Foundation wouldn't just be looking at paper credentials - they'd need people who understood crisis management, who'd kept their heads during the Water Wars. Hell, his experience alone-

"Dad?" Maria's voice was tight. "Did you see it?"

"Yeah, mija. I saw." He tried to keep his voice steady. "Listen, we need to talk about the Foundation application. I've got some ideas-"

"They opened registration an hour ago," she cut in. "The servers are already crashing. Everyone's trying to apply at once."

Diego's chest tightened. Of course - panic response, just like the grocery stores during the Crisis. He should have seen this coming, should have been better prepared.

"Okay," he said, military training kicking in. Stay focused. Break problems into manageable pieces. "Let me get on my computer. We'll figure this out."

"Dad..." Maria's voice softened. "I already tried. The site keeps crashing. And when I finally got through, the requirements..." She paused. "They want complete family profiles. Medical histories, genetic screening, skills assessment. Everything."

Diego was already moving to his desk, booting up his old laptop. The fan whirred loudly in protest - he really should have replaced it years ago. "So we give them everything. Your engineering work, Manuel's service record. Hell, even Isabella's science fair project about vertical farming. Every little bit helps."

"They want psych evaluations too. Crisis response profiles." She sounded exhausted. "Like they're shopping for the perfect survivors."

The Foundation's website finally loaded, the sleek logo appearing on his screen. Clean lines, professional. Almost sterile. Nothing like the mess of humanity they were supposedly trying to save.

"Then they'll want to talk to me," Diego said, clicking through to the application portal. "Twenty-five years of crisis management. The Water Wars, the border conflicts. I've seen it all, mija. And I kept my head. That's got to count for something."

The page refreshed to an error message. Diego muttered a curse, tried again. Same result. His fingers drummed against the desk - an old nervous habit from his service days.

"How's your connection?" Maria asked. "We keep losing power here. They're saying the grid can't handle everyone being online at once."

"It's holding for now." The site finally loaded. Diego squinted at the small text, wishing he had his reading glasses. Page after page of forms, each more detailed than the last. "Christ, they want everything."

"I know. I got through the first section before it crashed. They even want dental records for the kids."

The power flickered again, longer this time. Through the window, he watched the streetlights dim then struggle back to life. In the distance, a car alarm started wailing.

"Listen," he said, starting to fill out the basic information. "If the power goes, I'll drive to the library tomorrow. They've got backup generators." His cursor hovered over 'Family Status.' Single? Widowed? How much did these details matter? "We've got time, right?"

Maria's silence told him everything.

"How long, mija?"

"The announcement... they're closing applications in 72 hours."

Diego's hands stilled over the keyboard. Three days. Three days to convince some nameless committee that his family deserved to survive. The cursor blinked accusingly at him.

"That's not registration," he said finally. "That's triage."

"Dad-"

"No, listen. This is exactly what they did during the Crisis. Create artificial scarcity, make people desperate, then-" He caught himself, took a breath. Stay focused. "Never mind. Let's just get this done."

The form wanted his military ID number. At least that was easy - those digits were burned into his memory like his own name. Service history, specializations, commendations. The screen flickered as he typed, each pause making his heart jump.

"Isabella's asking questions," Maria said softly. "About the ships. About why everyone at school is so scared."

Diego glanced at the family photo again. How do you explain to an eight-year-old that the world is ending? That some people get to leave and others don't?

"What did you tell her?"

"That we're doing everything we can. That her mom and dad are working hard to keep her safe." Her voice cracked slightly. "I hate lying to her."

"It's not a lie," Diego said, though the words felt hollow. He scrolled through the next section - medical history, genetic predispositions, family disorders. "We are doing everything we can."

The power dipped again, this time long enough for his laptop screen to dim. When it came back, the form had reset. All the information he'd entered - gone.

"Goddammit!" His fist hit the desk hard enough to make the photo frame rattle. In the silence that followed, he could hear Maria's measured breathing, trying to stay calm for his sake.

"Dad, maybe we should try again in the morning. When there's less traffic on the-"

"No." He was already retyping his ID number. "We can't waste time. Every minute we wait, more people are filling these out. More families competing for..." He couldn't finish the sentence.

Outside, the Martinez's porch light went dark, then their whole block followed. One by one, the houses around him fell into shadow. Only his laptop screen remained, casting a pale blue glow across his hands.

"The power's going here too," Maria said. "I should get the kids settled before-"

A high-pitched tone cut through their conversation - the Emergency Broadcast System. Diego's blood went cold. They hadn't used that since the height of the Crisis.

"Maria, turn on your TV if you still have power. They're-"

"I see it." Her voice was tight. In the background, he could hear Manuel asking what was happening.

Sandra Chen was back on screen, but the polished veneer was gone. Her hair was slightly disheveled, papers scattered across the desk in front of her. Someone was shouting in the background.

"We're receiving reports of widespread disturbances across major cities," she said, touching her earpiece. "The Foundation's servers have crashed completely. Emergency services are asking people to stay in their homes and-"

The screen went black. Diego's laptop battery icon flashed red - 15% remaining.

"Dad?" Maria's voice crackled with static. "Are you still there?"

"I'm here." He switched to his phone's hotspot, praying it would hold. The application page refreshed agonizingly slowly. "Listen, if we get disconnected-"

A series of pops in the distance made him freeze. Gunshots. Close enough to hear, far enough to still be safe. For now.

"Manuel's getting called in," Maria said. "They're mobilizing everyone on the force."

Diego's fingers moved faster over the keyboard, muscle memory from countless reports during the Crisis taking over. The form wanted an essay now - "Describe your family's potential contribution to colonial survival."

In the dark, his phone's screen lit up with a text from Manuel: "City's going crazy. Stay inside. Will call when I can."

Diego's battery dropped to 10% as he typed furiously, decades of military precision distilled into stark sentences. His family's skills, their resilience, their ability to adapt and survive. He wrote about Maria's engineering innovations during the water shortages, Manuel's steady leadership on the force, even little Isabella's quick mind and determination.

The gunshots were getting closer. His phone buzzed with emergency alerts he didn't dare stop to read.

"Almost done," he told Maria, who'd gone quiet on the line. Just background noise now - Isabella asking questions, Manuel's radio squawking as he prepared to leave. "Just need to..."

5% battery.

The submit button appeared at last. Diego's cursor hovered over it as a final question popped up: "Why should your family be chosen?"

His hands trembled slightly as he typed the only truth that mattered: "Because we keep each other human."

3%.

"Dad?" Maria's voice was barely audible through the static. "The power's going. Did you-"

"Submitting now." He clicked the button. The screen froze. A loading circle spun endlessly.

1%.

Then, finally: "Application received. Confirmation number: AF-7249-M."

The laptop died seconds later, leaving Diego alone in the dark with a string of numbers that might mean everything or nothing at all.

Outside, sirens wailed across the city. The long night was just beginning.

----------------------------------------

The range smelled like gunpowder and metal. Diego hated how much he loved that smell. Reminded him of better days, when things made sense. When he knew who the good guys were. Back before he had to think about making deals with people like Kaito.

His hands were sweating on the Glock. Stupid. Twenty-five years of service and his palms still got clammy when he was worked up. The target down range had too many holes on the right side. Focus was shot to hell today.

That damn Foundation letter kept swimming in his head. "Regret to inform you..." Yeah, right. Bureaucratic bastards probably had a template for crushing dreams. His family's future decided by some algorithm that didn't give a shit about real people.

Bang. The shot went wide again. "Fuck!"

The old guy two lanes over gave him a look. Diego ignored it. Let him judge. He hadn't watched his daughter try to explain to his grandkids why they couldn't go to the stars with their friends.

His phone buzzed. Probably Maria again. She'd been calling every few hours since her rejection came through. What could he even say to her anymore? "Sorry honey, daddy can't fix this one?" Christ.

The receiver locked back - empty mag. When had he burned through all those rounds? His hands moved on autopilot, reloading. At least that still worked right. Body remembering what the mind was too messed up to think about.

He needed to call Kaito. The thought made his stomach turn. Funny how facing down armed insurgents felt easier than making that call. But what choice did he have? Foundation wasn't budging. Manuel's police connections were useless. Running out of legal options real quick.

The fresh magazine clicked home. Fifteen more chances to pretend he was in control of something. The target paper fluttered in the range ventilation. Diego squinted through his front sight. Breathe. Squeeze.

Bang. Better. Center mass this time.

His encrypted phone felt heavy in his jacket pocket. Kaito's gift - "just in case," he'd said. Like he knew someday Diego would need him bad enough to use it. Smug little bastard probably had this planned years ago.

Bang. Bang. Bang. The grouping was tighter now. Getting his head right.

That day in Osaka kept coming back. Kaito had been so damn small back then. Just a scared kid holding his dad's hand while the drones went crazy. Diego still saw those eyes sometimes - terrified, desperate. Now they were cold and calculating. He'd helped make that happen, hadn't he? Saved the boy, created something else.

The target was shredded at center mass. Good shooting. Fat lot of good that did his family now. All his skills, his experience, his sacrifice - worthless to the Foundation's precious algorithms.

His phone buzzed again. Text this time. Manuel: "Isabella asking again about the ships. Don't know what to tell her anymore."

Diego's chest felt tight. His granddaughter was too smart for easy lies. She saw right through the bullshit adults told to make themselves feel better. Just like her mom that way.

The Glock felt heavier with each shot. Or maybe that was just the weight of what he was about to do. Kaito would help - probably had half a dozen ways to get them on those ships. All it would cost was everything Diego had spent his life believing in.

Bang. Bang. Click.

Empty again. His hands were steadier now. Decision made, even if he hadn't admitted it yet. Funny how crossing lines got easier once you convinced yourself you had no choice.

The range officer called cease fire. Diego cleared his weapon mechanically. Everything by the book, just like always. Good soldier following procedures while his mind worked out how to break every oath he'd ever taken.

Back in his car, the encrypted phone seemed to burn through his jacket. Three years without using it. Three years pretending he'd never need to. Now here he was, about to call in a debt he'd never wanted to acknowledge.

The quantum encryption spun up with a soft hum. No going back after this. Kaito would know exactly what it meant - the straight-arrow who'd saved him finally ready to dance in the shadows.

His fingers typed the connection code from memory. Stupid that he'd never forgotten it. Like some part of him always knew this day would come.

The quantum encryption spun up with a soft hum. No going back after this. Kaito would know exactly what it meant - the kid he'd watched grow up finally getting a call from his old protector.

His fingers typed the connection code from memory. Stupid that he'd never forgotten it. Like some part of him always knew this day would come.

Three gentle pulses, then connection.

"Nakamura-san speaking." Formal. Cold. All business, like always at first contact.

"We need to meet. In person." Diego kept his voice steady.

A pause. He could almost hear Kaito's posture shifting, that familiar tension between protocol and family.

"You wouldn't break silence without cause." Kaito's tone softened just slightly. Still formal, but warmer. "Some conversations require proper respect."

"Face to face," Diego agreed. "Some things shouldn't be said over comms."

"Very well." Back to pure formality, but Diego knew him well enough to hear the concern underneath. "There is a place - Tanaka's Noodle House on 4th Street. Tomorrow, 1300 hours." A slight pause. "They serve excellent udon... like the ones you used to buy me in Osaka."

The memory hit hard. Kid with noodles all over his face, trying so damn hard to use chopsticks properly.

"I'll be there."

The connection died with three pulses. Professional to the end, but that Osaka reference - Kaito's way of saying he remembered too. That some bonds went deeper than business.