Heretic Base – Central Oregon – nearly a week before the Reapers' daily missions

  The thud of heavy boots and the trail of blood on the floor announced the survivors' return. The HQ, once a sanctuary of order and faith, now felt like a tomb. Beck propped Vane up, helping him walk, while Leo, Kane, and Kol entered with their eyes fixed on the ground—their parkour agility replaced by a weariness that weighed like lead.

  In the center of the hall, Solomon stood motionless. His steel tactical cane tapped rhythmically against the floor, a metronome of his mounting anxiety. He scanned the group, counting heads, and his face aged ten years in a single second.

  "Where is he?" Solomon’s voice came out like low thunder. "Where is Henry?"

  A suffocating silence followed. Elena, her arm broken and her face smeared with soot, took a step forward.

  "They took him, Solomon. We couldn't get close. They move as if time stands still for them. Tara... she..."

  Elena couldn't finish. But Solomon had no time for grief. His eyes shifted away from Elena, focusing on the figure bringing up the rear: Mickey Trigger, twirling his iron bar with a disdain that bordered on an insult.

  Solomon’s face contorted. He took three quick steps, his cane striking the floor hard, and stopped inches from Mickey.

  "What is this animal doing here?" Solomon roared, turning toward Gun and Piro. "I gave clear orders about who we bring onto this sacred ground! Mickey Trigger is the cancer that helped destroy this region! He’s an enforcer, a junkyard rat!"

  Mickey stopped spinning the bar and let out a dry laugh, staring down the leader of the Heretics without a shred of fear.

  "Sacred ground?" Mickey spat on the floor. "Wake up, Gramps. Your Angels are being impaled in the woods, and your blue 'chosen one' is now a shiny new toy for those bastards in black and Silas. If you want Henry back, you’re gonna need someone who knows how a monster thinks. And hey, what a coincidence... I’m the biggest one in this room."

  "Get out of here before I use your spine to fix the roof!" Kol lunged forward, fire axe raised, but Gun stepped between them, throwing up a heavy hand.

  "Enough!" Gun roared, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. "Solomon, look at your men. They’re broken. Beck is out of parts, Mika is dead, and Tara is pushing up daisies. I lost my empire, but I know a lost war before it even starts. The Reapers aren’t men. If we want to break into that CIA headquarters, we need Mickey’s brand of insanity. He’s the only one who managed to actually hurt one of them."

  Solomon looked at Gun, then at Mickey, and finally at the silent radio sitting on the map table. He reached out a trembling hand and pressed the transmit button.

  "Henry? Henry, come in. It’s Solomon. Please, my son... say something."

  Only static answered. Solomon closed his eyes, the grief of losing Mika and Tara colliding with the uncertainty of Henry’s fate. He looked at the cross made of twigs on the wall, then back at Mickey Trigger.

  "If he lays a finger on any of our resources without permission, I’ll kill him," Solomon said, his voice ice-cold. "Now, sit down. If Henry isn’t answering, it’s because he’s either dead or in a place where God’s light doesn’t reach. And if it’s the latter... we’re going to burn that base until nothing is left but ash."

  Mickey flashed a macabre grin, hopping up to sit on the map table, right on top of the Cascades' location.

  "You guys put too much stock in steel and these noisy tools," Mickey said, spinning the iron bar between his fingers with irritating dexterity. "I was at the Mansion’s junkyard when one of those 'Reapers' showed up. Skeleton mask, big eyes, top teeth showing. He moved fast, but he was... arrogant."

  Mickey gave a crooked smile, his eyes gleaming with the memory of the violence.

  "I didn't have a Magnum or a chainsaw. I had a goddamn broken broomstick. Old wood. I waited for him to lean in and—BOOM. I drove it right through his chest. Buried the splintered end right in the center of that black vest, right where the ballistic plate ended. He didn't scream. He just looked at me, choked on some blood, and went down. I don’t know if the bastard died or just passed out for a trip to hell, but I proved one thing: if it bleeds, we can put its lights out. And I can put any of yours out with this ashtray if I feel like it."

  Solomon gripped the handle of his cane, disgust visible in every wrinkle of his face. Before he could retort, the sound of slow footsteps echoed from the barracks hallway.

  Freya appeared at the entrance of the hall. She held her womb protectively, her face pale and weary, but her eyes were wide, fixed on Solomon. When her gaze landed on Mickey Trigger, her face contorted in an expression of deep loathing.

  "What is this animal doing out of a cage?" Freya’s voice cut like a whip. "Gun, I saw what this psychopath did to the people in Chemult when you weren’t looking. He isn’t a soldier; he’s a freak of nature."

  Mickey blew a mock kiss into the air, twirling his iron bar. "What a warm welcome, Your Majesty. I missed the smell of luxury and superiority, too."

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  Ignoring the provocation, Freya turned to Solomon. Her hands trembled slightly as she leaned against a chair.

  "Solomon... I heard you all talking. I heard the name. Silas."

  Solomon sighed, his expression heavy with uncertainty. He leaned on his steel cane, staring into the void. "I know what you’re thinking, Freya. The name matches. The brother you lost to the military before the Fall... the 'asset.' But we have no confirmation. Silas is a common name, and the man leading the Reapers is an urban legend, a ghost wearing a skull mask. We can’t build hope on a coincidence of names while Henry is missing."

  "It’s not just the name!" Freya shot back, her voice rising for the first time. "The military took Silas specifically to the Cascades facilities. If this group is operating out of a CIA base in the forest, it can’t be a coincidence. Henry... did he not answer the radio?"

  "Nothing but static, Freya," Solomon said, his voice bitter. "Henry would never stay silent by choice. If he didn't speak, it’s because he was stopped."

  While Solomon and the others pored over old maps of the Cascades' infrastructure, trying to find a logical flaw in the Reapers' security, Mickey Trigger acted as if he were on vacation. He strolled slowly through the hall, an open bottle of wine in one hand, sipping directly from the neck with a satisfied smack of his lips.

  "You know, Solomon..." Mickey said, leaning against a pillar and observing the tense faces of the Heretics. "You’re trying to storm a castle that was built to stay unstormed. Drones, cameras, heat sensors... if you so much as step on their grass, you’ll be turned into mush before you can say 'amen.'"

  Kol growled, tightening his grip on his axe handle. "And do you have a better idea, or did you just come here to drain our wine cellar?"

  "I don’t know how to get in there," Mickey shrugged, honest and cynical. "But I know how to lure a predator. If you want to kill a wolf, you don’t go to the pack’s den. You put a bleeding lamb in the middle of the road and wait for it to show up."

  Solomon looked up from the map, intrigued. "An ambush. Pull one or two of them away from the safety of the base and bring them onto our turf."

  "Exactly." Mickey pointed the bottle at Solomon. "They’re arrogant. They think they’re gods. If we create an 'incident' they can’t ignore... something that wounds Silas’s pride... he’ll send his executioners. And then, in the urban sprawl of Oregon, among the alleys we know best, we even the playing field."

  Gun stepped in, his voice hoarse. "We need bait they can't resist. Something linked to their past... or the future." His gaze fell on Freya, who looked away, feeling the weight of the suggestion.

  Making a decision, he approached her, asking in a tone everyone could hear:

  "Are we going to tell them, Queenie?"

  Freya turned pale instantly. The air seemed to vanish from the hall. She looked at her hands, then at the Heretics present. With a shaky breath, yet carrying a royal dignity, she decided to reveal the pregnancy to everyone.

  The revelation hit like a bombshell, but not everyone seemed shocked. Leo, who had been watching the scene from a distance, uncrossed his arms and made an audible comment:

  "I knew I wasn't imagining that growing belly," he said, his sarcastic tone masking his own surprise.

  Heretic Base – Central Oregon – Today

  Solomon stared at the map with a grim expression.

  "We found a survivor in one of the northern shelters," Beck muttered, avoiding Freya’s gaze. "She’s the same height, same hair color. With a hood over her head and the right clothes... from a distance, through the Cascade mist, she’ll pass for her."

  Leo leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his face pale. The steel claws on his hands clinked with nervous energy.

  Freya watched from afar, her hand clutching her womb. She felt a deep loathing for the plan, loathing for Mickey, and a profound fear that if Silas truly were her brother, he would slaughter every last one of them before they could even explain the bluff.

  "Do not use my name in vain," Freya said, her voice ice-cold. "If you do this, you are summoning a demon you cannot control."

  "The demon is already loose, Freya," Solomon replied, folding the map. "We’re just giving him a reason to crawl out of his hole. Leo, get ready. We move out at nightfall."

  Heretic Base – Underground Garage – 1:00 AM

  The air was freezing, thick with the smell of diesel and welding. The black electric truck, modified by Beck, looked like a metal coffin ready to be shipped to the front lines. Piro was already in the driver’s seat, testing the accelerator with short, nervous taps, his fire gauntlets clicking against the steering wheel.

  At the back of the garage, Kane spoke in a low voice to Maya. He held her hand, trying to calm her, but the weight of using her as a bargaining chip was undeniable.

  "Listen, Maya..." Kane whispered, looking into the woman’s terrified eyes. "If you do this—if you stay up there on the truck with the hood on and don't move—the Heretics will guarantee your family’s support for the next six months. Real food, medicine for your mother, security. You’re not just helping us; you’re buying their lives."

  Maya swallowed hard, looking at the padding tied beneath Freya’s dress. She gave a small nod, tears dried on her face. She knew that for the poor of Oregon, the risk of death was simply the price of dinner.

  Leo approached, carrying a burlap sack and a long-range microphone. He looked even paler than Maya. He knew the plan depended on his voice and his agility to escape once hell broke loose.

  "Let’s get this over with," Leo said, his voice trembling. "Solomon, if one of those guys shows up, Piro backs out. I’m not leaving Maya out there alone."

  "You won’t have to," Mickey Trigger interjected, leaning against a stack of tires. "Because when the 'Skull God' hears his baby sister is on our menu, he’s gonna come with such a fury he’ll forget to look both ways. That’s when we bite."

  Solomon gave the signal. The truck pulled out silently into the Cascade night, with Kane watching from the entrance, his conscience torn between duty and morality.

  Reaper HQ – Monitoring Wing

  The silence in the CIA base was absolute, broken only by the hum of the servers. Henry, clad in his black suit and mask, stood beside Ian, who was reviewing the thermal cameras along the perimeter.

  Suddenly, a burst of static sliced through the base's sound system. Jester, in his drone room, tilted his head, the bells on his mask jingling.

  "Silas... we have an open radio transmission coming from the southern clearing," Jester’s voice came over the speakers—his childish tone gone now, replaced by a malignant curiosity. "Someone turned on a sound system out there. A loud one. They’re using an industrial-grade amplifier."

  Silas entered the monitoring room. He stopped in front of the main screen. The audio, distorted by the wind and distance, began to clear:

  The Mirror Game

  The Cascades – 2:10 AM

  The mist crawled between the tree trunks like a ghost. Piro’s truck sat idling in a strategic clearing, surrounded by shadows. The loudspeakers installed by Beck sliced through the forest’s silence with terrifying clarity.

  Leo gripped the microphone, his hands sweating inside his tactical gloves. He stared at Maya’s silhouette—motionless in the truck bed, a burlap sack over her head and a fake pregnancy belly.

  "AN EQUIVALENT EXCHANGE, SILAS!" Leo’s voice echoed, amplified tenfold. "OUR BROTHER FOR YOUR SISTER! WE KNOW WHAT YOU WANT! BRING HENRY TO THE OREGON BORDER, OR SHE DIES RIGHT HERE, IN THIS DITCH!"

  Piro, in the driver’s seat, kept a light foot on the accelerator, feeling the engine’s vibration. His eyes scanned the darkness.

  Reaper HQ – Monitoring Wing

  Henry watched the screens, his heart pounding against his ribs. He knew Solomon and Gun would never put Freya at risk like that. The woman on the screen was a ghost—flesh-and-bone bait.

  "They’re trying to divide and conquer," Henry thought, keeping his expression neutral behind his mask. "If Silas sends everyone, the base is exposed. If he sends only a few, the Heretics stand a chance in close-quarters combat."

  Silas stood still, his skull mask tilted as he processed the threat. He didn't look desperate; he looked calculating. He turned toward the pair leaning against the opposite wall.

  Diego was toying with one of his small knives, his skull earring dangling rhythmically. Zack shuffled his deck of cards with superhuman speed, the macabre grin on his black mask catching the light from the monitors.

  "Diego. Zack." Silas’s voice came out as an absolute command. "Take the bikes. I don't want heavy armor making noise. I want speed. Shadow that vehicle. Do not fire at the woman, but kill anything else that moves around her. If it’s really Freya, bring her in. If it’s a bluff... bring me the radio boy’s head."

  "The deck says today is for hunting, Silas," Zack said, stowing his cards and adjusting the M4 rifle on his back.

  "We’re gonna make 'em dance in the smoke," Diego added, already heading for the garage.

  Henry took a step forward, trying to intervene without sounding suspicious. "Silas, I know their tactics. Let me go with them."

  Silas placed a heavy hand on Henry’s shoulder, gripping it tight. "No, Henry. You stay here. If your old crew wants an exchange, they’re gonna have to wait. Zack and Diego are my eyes now. If they confirm it’s her, I’ll go get her myself. And you’ll be right by my side to watch the end of the Heretics."

  End of Chapter