"If my workers start tonight," his father said, already mentally piecing it together, "they could have it ready before the event."
The next day
The early morning sun cast a golden glow over the quiet city, its rays reflecting off empty sidewalks and dew-covered car windows. It was summer, yet Hamza wore a hoodie pulled tightly over his head and a black mask covering most of his face. The heat made it uncomfortable, sweat already forming beneath the layers, but he didn't care. The disguise was necessary. Too many people were watching him lately.
He moved swiftly down the street, his hands in his pockets, avoiding the stares of early risers walking dogs or opening shops. In the distance, he saw it: the small restaurant nestled between a closed bakery and an old bookstore. The same place he had met Agent Jack a week ago. It hadn't changed still ordinary. as he approached the door. He paused for a moment, gripping the handle, eyes scanning the interior through the window. Then he pulled the door open.
A chime rang above his head.
He stepped inside. The place was nearly empty, just a sleepy waiter wiping tables and the familiar scent of coffee and grilled eggs wafting through the air. Then he saw him.
A blonde haired individual sat in the same corner booth. Sharp jawline. Clean black jacket. Calm posture. Eyes like he'd already calculated a dozen outcomes the moment Hamza stepped in.
"Here he is," the man said without smiling.
Hamza said nothing at first. He walked across the tiled floor slowly, like he was stepping into a memory. His eyes stayed locked on the man's as he approached the booth. He slid into the seat across from him. A small table separated them.
They stared at each other for a moment.
"You came too early, I see," said hamza.
jack narrowed his eyes slightly. "And you came late."
The waiter began to approach them with menus in hand, but Jack gave him a single nod. A gesture that said everything. The waiter paused, then turned around and went back to the counter.
Jack pulled something out from his coat. A small folder. Worn. He dropped it on the table with a soft thump. It slid slightly, the edge brushing against Hamza's hand. Then Jack opened it and scattered photographs across the tabletop.
Hamza leaned in.
Most of the images were dark, blurry—taken from afar. Industrial sites. Destroyed labs. A few showed burned corpses and bodies frozen in unnatural poses. But one photo made Hamza pause.
Jack leaned forward, tapping a photo of a tall figure. Metal grafted onto the left side of his face. Pulsing electric blue veins snaked down his arms, like synthetic arteries charged with rage. Half-man, half-machine.
"Striker," Jack said, voice low. "Former operative. Government project. Thought to be dead. He's not..."
Hamza picked up the photo, examining the details. The man looked powerful unreasonably so. Artificial enhancements. Military posture. Not someone you bump into at a street corner.
"Is he one of them?"
Jack nodded. "Shadow Syndicates. We've confirmed he leads at least one of their major cells. But there's more to it. He was once trained and saved by the Light Syndicates, back before the mutants took over. That's why his veins run with both oil and blood."
Hamza slowly set the photo back down. "Then tell me... What made him join the dark side?"
Jack's expression hardened. "Unknown," he said grimly. "But whatever he was before, he isn't anymore. Now, he's off the books. Rogue. Dangerous. And his influence? It runs deeper than we thought."
He paused, leaning forward again.
"But I do know one thing... he's looking for you."
Hamza tensed.
"What?"
Jack's voice dropped to a serious tone. He folded his arms and rested them on the table. "Striker's been asking questions. About you. Doesn't use your name calls you 'the fractured one.' He's fixated. Thinks you're unstable. Thinks you're powerful but don't fully understand what you really are."
Hamza's fingers curled slowly against the table's edge, knuckles pale under the pressure.
Jack glanced at him, then reached into his pocket, retrieving something before hesitating. He placed both hands on the table, then exhaled and stood up.
"I'm done here."
Hamza snapped out of his thoughts. "Wait—do you know anything about his location? Anything at all?"
Jack didn't answer.
Instead, he placed a small folded note on the table, gave Hamza a final look, and turned to leave.
Hamza reached for the note, then glanced toward the door as it closed behind Jack.
"Uhh... never mind."
Hamza sighed, gathering the scattered photos off the table. As he reached for the note Jack had left behind, something about it made him pause.
He unfolded it slowly, eyes scanning the scribbled writing.
"Hold up... wait a minute... something ain't right."
He squinted, tilting the note closer to the sunlight streaming in from the window. His brow furrowed deeper.
"Wait, wait, wait." he muttered, pulling out his phone.
He snapped a picture of the note and immediately sent it to Ali, hitting call right after.
"Yo, bro does this location look familiar to you? Like... near Mr. X's event or something?"
Ali, still in his house, answered with a lazy voice, until he saw the image pop up on his screen.
He blinked. Then leaned in.
"Hold up... wait a minute... something ain't right."
Ali stood up looks at the location link of Mr. X's upcoming livestream event. He traced the location on the note with his finger, then compared it.
"Wait... wait, wait, wait—that's real close. Like... really close. Same block, different alley."
Ali squinted. "Why you asking tho?"
Hamza leaned back slightly, still staring at the map. "Because that alley doesn't even show up on GPS unless you zoom all the way in. No business signs. No foot traffic. It's like... hidden."
Ali raised an eyebrow. "You saying it's secret secret?"
Hamza nodded slowly. "Yeah. Like top-tier invite only type of secret. The kind of place you don't just stumble into you're brought."
Ali gave a half-laugh, half-scoff. "Bro... what even is this tournament?"
"We'll find out..." Hamza muttered, getting up and heading toward the door. As he stepped outside, he glanced over his shoulder. "Wanna know something weird?"
Ali's voice crackled through the call. "Yeah?"
"The Shadow Syndicates are way too obsessed with me," Hamza said, walking down the street. "You remember that doctor guy in Miami? The one with the tech suit... what was his name?"
He hesitated. "Uhh... I forgot his name... Let's just call him Dr. Nemesis. He knew my name."
Ali raised an eyebrow on his end. "Okay... and?"
"And now there's this half-human, half-machine freak after me for my powers," Hamza went on. "I'm not even that famous! Like—how do all these guys even know who I am?"