CHAPTER 24 : SILENT ENTRY
Rayan woke up late in the afternoon, his body still aching lightly from the morning workout. He had slept for almost three hours, but the rest hadn’t dulled his focus.
Lance glanced up from the system he was glued to. “There’s a sandwich in the kitchen. Go eat it,” he said without looking away. His eyes were fixed, nails biting down nervously, fully absorbed in the charts.
He had already invested the entire ten grand Rayan had suggested into shares of Virex Dynamics—literally a coffin of a company.
Rayan grabbed the sandwich and said lightly, “You don’t need to stare at it like your life depends on it.”
He took a bite, calm, collected. Lance, still jittery, muttered, “We need to monitor the market regularly. You can’t just buy once, then forget it and expect to sell at the right time. That’s not how it works.”
Rayan chewed slowly, sandwich in hand. “It is exactly like that. I’ll tell you the exact moment to sell everything. One shot, clean execution.”
Lance studied him, the tension easing slightly. He didn’t argue. “Whatever. I’ll do my work,” he said, turning back to the screen.
Rayan decided to leave it at that. Once the results came in, Lance would understand.
At that moment, his phone buzzed insistently. The sender: Evan Mercer.
The message read:
“Critical problem. High security. Opportunity to make $30,000. Immediate action required.”
Rayan froze. Thirty grand. His pulse quickened—not from fear, but anticipation. He had handled underground problems before, but the phrasing… something about it screamed different.
Before he could process further, NIRA’s voice surfaced in his mind—precise, calm, emotionless:
[Opportunity detected: Extreme-level underground assignment.
Complexity: Maximum.
Required preparation: High.]
[Reward: 10 Cognition Points.]
Rayan’s eyes widened. Ten CP… in one shot. The money didn’t matter.
All his focus narrowed to the CP. The power it would grant him—control over the underground assignment, leverage against the Yung family, a solution to the expulsion fallout—everything depended on this.
NIRA continued, cutting through his thoughts:
[Note: Extreme risk. Failure may compromise all active operations.
Recommended timeframe: 2 days.
Estimated outcome: maximal reward if successful.]
Rayan pressed his lips into a thin line. Two days. That was all the time he had to prepare, to train, to plan.
He finished the sandwich in one gulp, then typed a short reply to Evan:
“Where should I come?”
Within a minute, the response arrived:
Evan: “Same place.”
Rayan: “I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”
No hesitation. No pause. Just action.
He grabbed his bike, eyes steely.
“Lance,” he said, calm and measured, though adrenaline surged through him, “I’m heading out. Be back later.”
Lance frowned, confused. “Going out? Where exactly?”
Rayan shrugged lightly. “To earn $30,000.”
Lance chuckled, half-mocking, half-disbelieving. How could a high school kid claim that and remain calm? “Oh… good luck with that,” he said, shaking his head.
Rayan didn’t respond. He started down to the parking space, mind already racing.
For the first time, the weight of the reward—the 10 CP—hit him fully. This wasn’t just numbers. This was power. Control. The chance to turn chaos into certainty.
Rayan arrived at the familiar underground location.
The narrow alley, dim lighting, and the faint hum of concealed security systems felt almost routine now. A few lower-tier members glanced at him, recognition flickering briefly in their eyes. Some murmured—they had seen him before—but no one stopped him.
In this place, familiarity didn’t invite conversation. It invited silence.
He walked straight past the waiting area without hesitation. No greetings. No distractions. The air inside carried a faint scent of ozone and machinery.
At the end of the corridor, Rayan stopped before a reinforced door and knocked.
It opened immediately.
A large-built bodyguard stood there—the same man from before. His eyes flicked over Rayan once before stepping aside.
Rayan entered without a word and took a seat on the couch.
Evan Mercer was already waiting.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
He looked up from a tablet, his gaze sharp, calculating. Without speaking, Evan slid the device across the table, stopping it precisely in front of Rayan.
Rayan’s eyes followed the motion, settling on the screen. Live feeds. Documents. Schematics. Names. Timelines.
Evan didn’t waste time. His voice was low and precise.
“Rayan. You know why I called you. This isn’t a standard assignment. This… is extreme-level. Maximum risk. The pay is high—but it’s not just about money.”
Rayan nodded once, his attention fixed on the tablet, absorbing everything effortlessly.
“The problem,” Evan continued, tapping a file to enlarge it, “involves a high-ranking officer—Additional Director General. His Name is 'Lucian Crowe'. Ambitious. Reckless. Dangerous.”
He paused.
“He’s targeting a political family. State-level. They don’t want this public—but they want results. You know what that means.”
Rayan didn’t flinch. With his focus pushed to its limit, he didn’t need to. His mind was already running through calculations, probabilities, and contingency trees.
Evan leaned back slightly, letting the weight of the situation sink in.
“He’s trying to frame a family member,” Evan said. “The family wants him neutralized. No exposure. No bloodshed. No scandal.”
His eyes locked onto Rayan.
“They came to us because they trust no one else. And you… are capable of handling this.”
Rayan’s lips pressed into a thin line.
Politics.
That single word carried consequences far beyond any underground deal. Innocents could get dragged in. Careers could collapse. Lives could be ruined.
But another thought followed immediately—cold, realistic.
If I don’t do it… someone else will.
And whoever that someone is, won’t be as careful.
After a brief pause, Rayan nodded. His mind was already mapping the officer’s behavior, weaknesses, and pressure points.
“Two days,” he said calmly. “I’ll handle it.”
Evan studied him. “I don’t have time for hesitation. Two days. You prepare. You train. You plan. You act. Do you understand?”
Rayan nodded again.
Evan reached for a set of files and slid them across the table. “Sign this.”
Rayan glanced down. “What is it?”
“Procedure,” Evan replied. “This involves a political family. We follow stricter precautions. It states that all actions are executed by you. I need your signature.”
Rayan read the entire page in seconds with his MAX focus.
No hidden traps. No manipulation. Just a clear statement of responsibility—and consequences if he failed.
For the first time, a single question surfaced in his mind.
Can I really do this?
The answer came just as quickly.
I’ll take the risk.
He signed.
Evan’s eyes narrowed slightly—respect mixed with disbelief.
“You know what you’re signing up for, right?” Evan said quietly. “Not everyone survives the fallout from assignments like this. Even the strongest.”
Rayan’s expression didn’t change.
“I won’t deal with problems I can’t face.”
Evan exhaled slowly, a hint of admiration slipping through his composure.
“Then you have exactly forty-eight hours. Don’t waste a second. I’ll send the full details to your phone.”
Without waiting for further discussion, Rayan stood, slid the tablet back across the table, and turned toward the exit.
His mind was already working—an intricate web of strategy, observation, and leverage forming with terrifying clarity.
Two days.
Ten CP.
Maximum outcome.
Rayan stepped outside and glanced at the time on his phone.
3:30 PM.
He turned back and headed toward Lance’s apartment.
The door had barely closed behind him when Lance looked up from his screen, eyes tired, fingers still hovering over the keyboard.
“Oh,” Lance said mockingly, “back already? What—did you make the thirty grand that fast?”
Rayan caught the tone immediately.
He replied dryly, “Do you think money grows on trees?”
Lance snorted. “You’re the one who said you’d make thirty grand.”
“Yes,” Rayan said calmly. “In two days.”
Lance stared at him for a second, then waved it off. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”
He turned back to the monitor, then paused, squinting at the charts.
“…Are you actually sure about this, though?” Lance asked. “Virex is moving, I’ll give you that. But it’s barely 4% a day.”
He leaned closer to the screen.
“At this rate, we’re lucky if we hit 30%. That’s nowhere near what you promised.”
Rayan didn’t even look at the charts.
“It won’t stop at 30%,” he said evenly. “It’ll land somewhere between 800% and 1200%.”
Lance froze.
Slowly, he dragged a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding into disbelief.
“Argh—” he muttered. “I’m not even going to argue anymore.”
He leaned back in his chair. “I’ll talk after the three-day mark passes.”
Rayan picked up his bag—and the hoodie Lance had left draped over the side of the couch—and slipped it on.
“I’m going. I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said.
Lance looked up. “Uh… why the hoodie?”
Rayan didn’t explain. “I’ll give it back to you tomorrow,” he said, already turning away.
At the door, he paused. Then added quietly, “Don’t sell. Not even if it hits rock bottom. Not without my instructions.”
Lance didn’t respond. He only glanced at Rayan, gave a small nod, and turned back to the screen—his fingers hovering over the keyboard, as if it might suddenly explain Rayan’s calm.
Rayan closed the door behind him.
He wasn’t going home.
Not yet.
He already got all the details from Evan Mercer to his phone.
He swung onto his bike, engine humming softly, and turned toward a very different destination.
After 25 min of ride he reached his destination.
The residence stood at the end of a quiet road.
High walls surrounded it on all sides. Security cameras were fixed at regular intervals. The gate was wide, reinforced, and guarded. Soft lights illuminated the compound, but nothing felt welcoming. The place looked calm. It was built to stay untouchable.
Rayan parked his bike a few streets away.
He switched off the engine and waited for a moment. From here, the residence was barely visible between trees and walls. That was enough. He didn’t want attention. He adjusted his hoodie which he pick from lance and started walking.
NIRA’s voice surfaced in his mind.
[Rear service entry detected.]
[Camera blind spot: 14 seconds.]
[Recommended path uploaded.]
Rayan exhaled slowly.
Fourteen seconds.
He pressed himself flat against the outer wall, pulling the hoodie tighter around his face. The fabric broke his outline, turning him into just another shadow among shadows.
Footsteps echoed nearby.
Two guards passed the corner, their voices low, casual—too casual. That was the dangerous part. Relaxed security missed nothing because they expected nothing.
Rayan didn’t move.
Three seconds.
Four.
NIRA’s countdown ticked silently in his head.
[Camera rotation in 5… 4…]
The hum of a motor shifted above him.
Rayan moved.
He slipped forward in a smooth, controlled burst—no rush, no wasted motion—timing his steps exactly between the sweep of the cameras. His shadow vanished into the blind spot as the lens turned away.
Ten seconds left.
He ducked behind a maintenance unit, crouching low as another patrol crossed the yard. A guard paused, glanced around, then yawned.
Rayan stayed still, pulse steady.
The guard turned away.
Rayan advanced again, low and silent, fingers brushing the wall to keep balance. The service gate loomed ahead—half-lit, reinforced, with a narrow gap beneath the sensor grid.
[Thermal sweep incoming.]
Rayan froze.
He stepped back into the cold shadow of the wall, pressing his body against the concrete as the thermal scan washed over the area. His heat signature blended into the chilled surface, just enough.
The scan passed.
[Window: 6 seconds.]
Rayan moved fast now.
He slipped through the service gate, pivoted sharply, and vanished into the narrow passage beyond it just as the cameras rotated back into position.
Silence returned.
Rayan straightened slowly.
He was inside.
Inside the residence of an Additional Director General.
No one knew he was there—or why he was there.
End of chapter 24.
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