The transport was a stuffy, metal box on wheels. The sedative Joric had given Ryu made the world swim.
Every rumble of the vehicle's engine, every jolt from the poorly maintained roads, sent a wave of nausea through him.
He looked, and felt, exactly the part Kiera had assigned him: a sick, terrified boy being hauled off to some forgotten medical black site.
Joric sat across from him, looking bored and cynical, occasionally tapping at a datapad with a sigh of professional irritation.
They were barely halfway to the Rust-maze when it happened.
There was no warning. One moment, they were trundling through a deserted service road; the next, the world exploded in a screech of tortured metal.
The transport was lifted from one side and slammed onto the pavement with a deafening crash. Ryu was thrown from his seat, his head cracking against the wall.
The world dissolved into a cacophony of alarms and shattering glass.
The side door of the transport was ripped from its hinges as if it were made of paper.
Two figures, clad in sleek, black combat gear, their faces obscured by angular helmets, stepped inside.
They moved with a silent, economic precision that was terrifying to behold. They were not street thugs.
They were soldiers.
One of the soldiers leveled a weapon at Joric. The other moved toward Ryu.
Joric held up his hands, his face a mask of practiced fear.
"Take what you want," he squeaked, his voice a perfect imitation of a terrified old man.
"The asset is unstable! Highly volatile!"
The soldier nearest Ryu ignored him.
He grabbed Ryu's arm and hauled him to his feet.
A scanner in the soldier's wrist beeped, its light flashing green as it passed over Ryu's chest.
They had confirmed the energy signature. They had their prize.
Without a word, they dragged Ryu from the wrecked transport.
Outside, two more soldiers stood guard, their weapons trained on the surrounding buildings. The attack had been executed with surgical precision.
The vehicle's engine was disabled, its communication systems were fried, but the cargo area was largely intact.
They hadn't wanted to risk damaging the 'asset.'
Ryu, his head still spinning, was forced into a different vehicle, a dark, unmarked van with a humming, silent engine.
Joric was left behind, a 'witness' to the hijacking.
As the van's doors hissed shut, plunging Ryu into darkness, he felt a surge of pure, cold terror.
The plan had worked. Too well.
The professionalism of the Vanguard team was beyond anything he had imagined. These were not just infiltrators and recruiters; they were elite operatives.
The van sped into the heart of the Rust-maze.
The complex was a city of ghosts, a sprawling necropolis of silent factories and towering, skeletal cranes.
It was a place where sounds were swallowed by the sheer scale of the decay. The van navigated the labyrinthine corridors with a confident speed, clearly following a pre-planned route.
They were taking him somewhere specific.
Finally, the van screeched to a halt in a vast, cathedral-like chamber, the former main assembly hall of a long-dead corporation.
High above, shattered skylights allowed slivers of the polluted twilight to pierce the gloom. Waiting for them in the center of the hall was a single figure.
Even in the dim light, Ryu recognized the wiry frame and the arrogant posture.
It was Silas.
"Bring him to me," Silas commanded, his voice echoing in the cavernous space.
He had a new, cruel confidence.
He was no longer just the 'Coyote' of the arena; he was an officer in the Vanguard's army.
He looked at Ryu, a triumphant sneer on his face.
"Hello again, anomaly," he said.
"The boss is very eager to meet you. He has so many questions."