Arash lingered in the shop long after they were gone.
Silence didn't just settle—it pressed in. The lights above buzzed faintly, a dull, constant hum that scratched at the back of his mind. Everything felt… too still.
In his hand, the folded paper.Creased. Warm from his grip. He didn't open it again.A buzz cut through the quiet. His phone.For a second—just one—his chest tightened.
That client…?
He turned the phone over. A number pops out unsaved.
"Zane..," he muttered under his breath, voice flat. "Getting ahead of myself."
He shook his head, a small, ironic smirk tugging at the corner of his lips."Bold move… if it's true."
He picked up.
"Yo. Said Mustang wasn't here."
"Hang on. I'll be in view."
Through the glass, headlights cut the shadows. The car rolled up.
Hazel hair. Crew cut. Police.
Arash stepped out. Calm. Cool. But inside, every nerve was alert.
***
The car idled in the deserted parking garage. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting long, uneven shadows across the empty concrete. The air was heavy, almost metallic, and the distant hum of the city below was muffled, as it belonged to another world.
"Crazy....It's a good call that you asked me to have some spare numbers."
"Big Ben did give me some options..."
"But you got better cards to play first aka me."
Arash nods.
"Follow the smells Wolfgang… au au!!"
"Time to let police join in."
"Uh again, me as an example.....Still wants police to join?There are many police that take bribes from uhhh eheh."
"Reunite that batch and lead them."
".....really?So I take the long route. Making their noble mission seem natural. And then what happens happens."
Arash smirk.
"My decks are all jokers."
"Screw you I'm in."
***
The office was quiet. Too quiet.
She stepped in, boots soft against the polished floor. The dim desk lamp threw long shadows across the room, pooling around the corners where figures waited.
Zane was there, leaning casually against the edge of the desk, eyes calm but alert.
Beside him, the higher-up—Inspector Moore—stood like a silent wall. Tall, imposing, every inch the authority he commanded, his gaze sharp and unyielding.
Across the room, the woman with a scar stretching from ear to ear sat rigidly in a chair. The bear tattoo on her neck peeked out from under her collar—dangerous, quiet, and observing everything.
And then there was him. A man in a full yellow suit, black gloves, black tie, and black sunglasses. He didn't move, didn't speak, but the very stillness radiated attention. Nothing escaped him.
The moment her boots clicked into the room, every pair of eyes flicked toward her.
Zane's voice was the first to break the silence, calm, controlled: "You're late."
The scarred woman's gaze cut sharply. "We notice hesitation. Don't try to hide anything."
Inspector Moore said nothing. He didn't need to. The presence alone was enough to make her stand straighter, take a steadying breath.
The man in yellow adjusted his glasses with a precise flick. Silent, sharp—watching.
She squared her shoulders. Heart racing, but voice steady."Yes, sir."
Zane gave a faint nod, almost imperceptible."Good. Then let's begin."
The hum of the projector clicked on. Faces filled the screen—dozens of them—blurred but recognizable to those who had eyes to see.
"These," he began, voice calm, controlled, "are not just some cargo suppliers, human traffickers, and drug dealers." He let the words hang."They are suppliers to one dark organization. One that ensures their protection."
The scarred woman's eyes narrowed. A subtle shift in posture. Even the yellow-suited man leaned slightly forward, though his expression remained unreadable.
Zane tapped the side of the screen, bringing up a schematic."The Sicario Roulette. An app to enquire about contracts for hitmen. To track transactions. To control… chaos."
"Some of you theorized," Zane continued, voice low, deliberate, "that the odd dissolving syndicate groups, the mysterious unexplained deaths we've encountered over the years, were connected. Now it is concluded… someone above, somewhere, was orchestrating it all."
"Sicario Roulette," he said, voice dropping another notch, "isn't just business. It's a door to the dark world. Every contract, every elimination, every transaction—they're threads in a web that has controlled and protected this organization for decades."
The police girl shifted, unease settling in her chest. The scarred woman's fingers drummed lightly against the arm of her chair. Inspector Moore's eyes were sharp, calculating. The man in yellow remained still, the faintest tilt of his head betraying attention.
Zane leaned forward, gaze sweeping the room.
"With that… I propose the rebirth of The Round Table."
Silence hit like a hammer.
The words hung in the air, heavy with consequence. This wasn't just a plan. This was a declaration. A call to arms in a world crawling with shadows.
The police girl swallowed. Every instinct told her this wasn't a normal case. This wasn't just law enforcement. This was stepping into a world that devoured the unprepared.
Zane's eyes met hers. Calm. Certain. Unyielding. "The game has changed," he said quietly. "And now… so must we."
-END OF CHAPTER-