Elias sat on the floor, his back against the cold wall of his bedroom. Every breath sent sharp pain through his ribs, and his face throbbed where one of the intruders had landed a brutal punch. His hands trembled as he reached up, touching his nose gingerly. Blood streaked his fingers, sticky and warm, and he winced at the contact.

The knock came again, this time harder, more insistent. Whoever was at the door wasn’t leaving.

He didn’t want to move. His body screamed in protest as he shifted, but the alternative—staying here, paralyzed and waiting—felt worse. Whoever had knocked couldn’t be worse than the six men who had just ransacked his apartment. Or so he tried to tell himself.

Pushing himself up with a groan, Elias staggered to his feet, one hand clutching his side where the intruder’s boot had left a sharp ache. His vision swam for a moment, his legs unsteady beneath him. The apartment was eerily silent now, save for his ragged breathing and the faint creak of the floorboards under his weight.

He limped toward the front door, his heart hammering in his chest. Each step felt heavier than the last, his bloodied hand leaving faint smears on the walls as he steadied himself. The briefcase still sat untouched in the bedroom, a dark, silent reminder of the chaos it had brought into his life.

As he reached the door, he paused, his hand hovering over the deadbolt. His breath came in short, uneven bursts, his mind racing through the possibilities of who—or what—was waiting on the other side. A neighbor? Unlikely. The police? He doubted it.

Another knock. Louder this time.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself, his voice shaky. “Alright, fine.”

With a deep breath, he unlocked the door and opened it.

Standing in the dim hallway was a man, tall and unnervingly composed. He wore a perfectly tailored suit, charcoal gray with subtle pinstripes, and his shoes gleamed under the faint light of the flickering hallway bulb. His face was sharp and angular, with neatly combed dark hair that didn’t move even slightly despite the draft that ran through the corridor.

But it was his eyes that froze Elias in place—cold and pale, like shards of ice, unblinking as they took in the sight of him. There was something deeply unnatural about the man, something Elias couldn’t quite place but that made his skin crawl.

“Mr. Veran,” the man said, his voice smooth and deliberate, like silk stretched too tightly. “I see you’ve had an... eventful evening.”

Elias gripped the doorframe to steady himself, his knees threatening to give out. “Who the hell are you?” he asked, his voice hoarse and cracking. “Are you with them?”

The man tilted his head slightly, as though considering the question. “No,” he said finally. “I’m not with them. But I am here because of you. And the case.”

Elias’s blood ran cold. “If you’re not with them, then—”

The man held up a hand, silencing him. “We can discuss the details in a moment. For now, you should sit. You look like you’re about to collapse.”

Elias wanted to argue, but the truth was, the man wasn’t wrong. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind only pain and exhaustion. His vision blurred at the edges, the pounding in his head growing louder with every second. Without thinking, he stepped back, letting the man into the apartment before collapsing onto the couch.

The man followed, his movements unnervingly fluid as he closed the door behind him. He didn’t sit, didn’t even glance at the bloodied mess of the living room. His focus was entirely on Elias, his pale eyes unyielding.

“Why are you here?” Elias asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “What do you want?”

The man clasped his hands in front of him, his posture stiff and formal. “To ensure your compliance, Mr. Veran,” he said. “And to prevent any further... interruptions.”

Elias frowned, his body tensing despite the pain. “Interruptions? You mean the guys who broke in? Who were they? What did they want?”

“The same thing you’ve been tasked with protecting,” the man said simply. “The briefcase.”

Elias’s gaze darted toward the bedroom, where the case sat untouched on the floor. “What’s in it?” he demanded, his frustration boiling over. “What’s so important that people are breaking into my apartment to get it? Why won’t anyone tell me what the hell is going on?”

The man’s expression didn’t change, his voice calm and measured as he replied. “Because knowing would only make things more difficult for you.”

“That’s not an answer,” Elias snapped, his anger overriding his fear for the first time. “You can’t just show up, tell me to follow orders, and expect me to roll over and—”

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

The man raised a hand again, cutting him off. This time, there was an edge to his tone. “You’ve already made your choices, Mr. Veran. What happens next depends entirely on how well you follow instructions.”

Elias glared at him, his chest heaving as he fought to keep himself from shouting. The pain in his ribs flared with every breath, but he didn’t care. “You people are insane,” he muttered. “You’re going to get me killed.”

“Only if you fail to comply,” the man said, his tone as cold and impersonal as ever.

The words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

Finally, the man straightened, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. “I’ll leave you to rest,” he said. “But know this: tonight was a reminder. You are being watched, Mr. Veran. Do not give anyone else a reason to doubt your loyalty.”

With that, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him with an eerie finality.

Elias sat there for a long time, his body trembling, his thoughts racing. The apartment felt colder now, emptier, as though the man’s presence had drained it of whatever warmth it once held.

His gaze drifted to the bedroom, where the briefcase sat waiting.

He had never hated an object so much in his life.

Elias sat on the couch for what felt like hours, though it could have been mere minutes. His body ached, his thoughts spiraling in a chaotic tangle of fear, anger, and confusion. The man in the suit had left, but his presence lingered like a shadow, his cold voice echoing in Elias’s head.

"You are being watched."

Every instinct told Elias to run, to leave this apartment and never look back. But where could he go? The Axiom Initiative’s reach felt limitless, their control absolute. He had no choice but to comply—to endure.

With a heavy sigh, Elias pushed himself to his feet, wincing as the pain in his ribs flared. He limped toward the bedroom, his gaze fixed on the briefcase that still sat on the floor where he’d left it. It seemed to radiate malice, a silent, inescapable force that drew him closer even as every fiber of his being told him to stay away.

He stepped into the room and froze.

Sitting on the edge of his bed was a figure, cloaked in dark and gold robes that shimmered faintly in the dim light. Their face was obscured by a demon mask, its ornate design a striking combination of sharp angles and flowing lines, with gold accents that glinted ominously. The mask's hollow eyes seemed to pierce through him, unblinking and all-seeing.

Elias’s breath caught in his throat. He stumbled back, his hand gripping the doorframe for support as he opened his mouth to scream.

Before the sound could escape, the figure moved—quick as a shadow, their hand darting out to clasp a cold, metallic object around his wrist. The sensation was jarring, like ice searing into his skin, and Elias’s voice died in his throat as he stared at the object now locked around his arm.

A bracelet. Intricate, dark, and mechanical-looking, it hummed faintly with a strange energy, the delicate etchings along its surface glowing faintly in gold.

"Don’t scream," the man said, his voice low and deliberate, carrying a strange mix of calm and urgency. "If you want to survive this, listen carefully."

Elias’s mind raced, his chest heaving as panic clawed at him. "W-who the hell are you?" he stammered, his voice trembling. "How did you get in here?"

The man didn’t answer immediately. He straightened, his movements fluid and unnervingly precise, the golden accents of his robe catching the faint light as he stood. "I’m not your enemy," he said finally, his tone steady but unyielding. "But if you want to live, you need to trust me. For now."

Elias’s gaze darted to the briefcase, then back to the man. "You’re with them, aren’t you? Axiom. You’re—"

"I’m not with Axiom," the man interrupted, his voice firm. "I’m here because they don’t know I exist. And for the next five minutes, neither do they."

Elias blinked, his confusion deepening. "What are you talking about?"

The man gestured to the bracelet. "That device on your wrist temporarily disrupts their ability to track you. Cameras, sensors, even their... less conventional methods. Right now, you’re invisible to them. But it won’t last long, so pay attention."

Elias stared at him, his breath coming in shallow bursts. "Why are you helping me? What do you want?"

The man tilted his head slightly, the demon mask catching the faint glow of the streetlight outside. "I want to save you from them," he said simply. "Axiom doesn’t care about you, Elias. You’re a tool to them, a means to an end. And when you’ve outlived your usefulness, they’ll discard you like they’ve done to so many before you."

Elias’s chest tightened, his mind racing with questions he didn’t know how to ask. "Why should I believe you? For all I know, you’re just another one of their games, trying to mess with my head."

The man stepped closer, his presence both commanding and unsettling. "You don’t have to believe me," he said. "But ask yourself this: has Axiom ever given you a reason to trust them? To believe they have your best interests at heart?"

Elias opened his mouth to argue, but no words came. The man was right. Axiom had done nothing but manipulate him, trap him in a web of secrecy and fear. But that didn’t mean he could trust this masked stranger either.

The man seemed to sense his hesitation. "In two days," he said, his voice softening slightly, "I’ll contact you again. Until then, act as if nothing happened. Keep following their instructions, keep carrying the briefcase. Don’t give them any reason to suspect you’ve spoken to me."

Elias frowned, his unease deepening. "Why two days? What happens then?"

The man’s gaze—or what passed for it behind the mask—lingered on him for a moment before he stepped back. "You’ll see," he said cryptically. "For now, remember this: the briefcase is the key to everything. Protect it at all costs. If they take it from you, it’s over."

Before Elias could respond, the man reached for the bracelet on his wrist. His movements were quick, precise, and before Elias could stop him, the device was gone, leaving only a faint, cold imprint on his skin.

The man stepped toward the window, his dark and gold robes billowing slightly as he moved. He glanced back at Elias one last time. "Two days," he repeated. "Stay alive."

And then, with a fluid motion, he was gone, disappearing through the open window and into the night.

Elias stood there, rooted to the spot, his mind a storm of fear and confusion. The room felt colder now, the shadows darker, as though the man’s presence had drawn out something that couldn’t be put back.

The briefcase sat on the floor, silent and unassuming, but it seemed heavier now, its weight pressing against Elias’s chest like a physical force. He stared at it, his thoughts spiraling as the man’s words echoed in his mind.

"The briefcase is the key to everything."