Meanwhile, back in District I…
At the Sons of War HQ, deep beneath the bustling cityscape, the lab lights pulsed in rhythm with humming servers. Feline, the AI assistant, projected streams of data across the holo-walls—case files, surveillance logs, death certificates—all linked to a single man: Darius.
"For the record," Midas grunted, squinting at the display, "I shoot things. I blow 'em up. This? This makes my brain itch." He scratched his head like the files might bite.
John didn't smile. "Let's trace it back. Everything starts with his last trip to the moon. After that—three scientists dead. Two confirmed sightings of Darius near their locations, no legitimate reason for him being there, and no explanation from him either."
"So he's what?" Midas asked. "A murderer for hire? Or just a psycho with a checklist?"
John stayed quiet.
Sakarah, who'd been tapping away at her console, finally spoke. "Doesn't add up. Darius has been… clean not that great but clean"
The room sat in uneasy silence, lit only by Feline's cold blue glow.
John rubbed his jaw. "What about the call, any traces, comms breach? "
Feline's voice chimed in, soft and clipped. "Point of correction—it wasn't a call or breach . It was a signal anomaly, a glitch in the relay nexus. Possibly triggered by an overload in encryption nodes and—"
"—Tech gibberish, right. Got it." Midas muttered.
John tapped his earpiece. He needed to inform Plukett. The pattern was finally coming together. Darius wasn't just a person of interest—he was the common thread between the four murders, the scientists, baflin and most probably his wife . John's instincts had been right.
He initiated the call.
No response.
He tried again. Still nothing.
A cold prickle crawled down his spine.
The comm line buzzed into silence.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.