Allen gave Noah a curt nod as the mechanics lowered the heavy machine from the flatbed. He swung his leg over the seat, his boots hitting the footpegs as his eyes immediately began tearing down the bike's schematics.
Right below the digital dashboard, a small, black cylindrical unit was bolted to the frame. A GPS tracker.
Allen looked up, his gaze locking onto Noah.
Before he could even ask, Noah spoke up, his tone smooth and well-rehearsed. "A GPS tracker. You have to understand, kid, these high-performance machines don't actually belong to us. We lease them from an outside distributor. For asset security, we hardwire a tracker into every frame."
Allen nodded, masking his skepticism. Right. It's for security, he thought bitterly. More like a leash so they can monitor exactly where a rider crashes, ensure the body is recovered, and pin the financial debt on the driver or driver's family.
"Go ahead, take it for a slow loop around the concrete," Noah instructed, gesturing to the open arena floor. "The transmission is calibrated for high-altitude mountain snow, but you can at least test the brake response and the steering controls here."
Do I look like an amateur to these people? Allen thought, his grip tightening on the handlebars. Testing a specialized ice-track bike on dry, indoor concrete is entirely useless. What if the hydraulic fluid freezes up the moment we hit sub-zero temperatures in the mountains? Are they setting a death trap.
He kicked the starter. The engine roared into a deep, aggressive rumble. Allen opened the throttle, taking the machine through a tight, controlled loop around the stadium floor before bringing it to a smooth halt right in front of Noah.
"How's the handling?" Noah asked.
Allen simply gave him a definitive thumbs-up.
Noah nodded, turning sharply to his crew. "Load Number 55 back up and transport it directly to the mountain staging grid." He then looked back down at Allen. "Come with me. You'll be riding up to the peaks in my personal vehicle."
Allen nodded, stepping off the machine. Why the hell am I getting the VIP treatment? Usually, freelance rookies are thrown into the back of a transport truck.
"You guys are being incredibly accommodating," Allen remarked, injecting a hint of arrogant gratitude into his voice. "Personally escorting me to the starting line."
"Don't read into it," Noah replied coldly, adjusting his leather gloves. "You're a new face in the circus. You don't know the mountain routes, and we can't afford a delayed kickoff."
Noah turned and began walking toward a heavily armored, black SUV idling near the exit. Allen followed, climbing into the passenger side. Within seconds, the vehicle rolled out of the stadium perimeter, tracking a steep, winding road that cut straight into the dark, jagged silhouette of the nearby mountain range. Outside the tinted glass, the temperature plummeted drastically, and a thick, blinding flurry of snow began to lash against the armored chassis.
Meanwhile, deep within the subterranean technical hub of Military Base AE7, the room was dead silent except for the low hum of servers. Liam sat hunched over his multi-monitor array, his headphones pressed tightly to his ears as he monitored the live audio transmission bleeding from Allen's biometrics glasses.
Suddenly, a localized notification window flashed red on the secondary terminal. Allen's synced smartphone—which Liam had covertly mirrored to his system—received an encrypted text message.
The sender ID read: Madison.
Madison? Liam's brow furrowed, his fingers freezing over the keyboard. Who the hell is Madison? A contact from Allen's network?
Sensing an immediate operational anomaly, Liam intercepted the feed and opened the chat log.
Madison: Hey, Allen. Where are you right now? Someone just tried to run a deep-dive sweep on your personal identity files.
Liam's heart skipped a beat. He rapidly tapped out a response, mimicking Allen's laconic texting style.
Allen: When?
The reply was instantaneous.
Madison: A few hours ago. It was a targeted breach.
Allen: Did they manage to pull anything?
Madison: Yes and no.
Allen: Elaborate.
Liam's heart was racing as typing icon came in his view.
I have a really bad feeling about this. He thought.
And then came the reply from Madison.
Liam's eyes widened.