Trenches – Chapter 56: Shadows Over San Juan
The ship descended through the gray clouds, breaking into the brilliance of San Juan's skyline. Towering spires of glass and chrome reached for the heavens, their surfaces alive with running lights and shifting holograms. The city pulsed like a living organism—air trams darted across neon arteries, drones buzzed overhead, and colossal billboards projected radiant images that shimmered against the storm-stained sky.
Moro pressed his forehead against the window, his breath fogging the glass. His eyes widened at the sight.
"San Juan," he whispered. His voice carried the awe of a boy who had dreamed of stepping into the future, but also the wariness of a man who knew the future could be cruel.
Kaya, seated beside him, leaned back with folded arms. Unlike Moro, her gaze wasn't filled with wonder but calculation. "Beautiful," she admitted in her low, composed tone. "But beauty like this hides danger in its foundations. Don't forget that."
Herbet, who had been asleep until the ship rattled during descent, rubbed his eyes and yawned. His grin broke wide the moment he saw the glittering city below. "Now this… THIS is what I've been waiting for! Forget the dirt roads, the backwater towns, the endless forests. This city looks alive! Look at those buildings—they're taller than mountains."
Moro smiled faintly at Herbet's excitement. He wanted to share in it, to let himself sink into the thrill, but something tugged at the edges of his mind—a feeling of being watched, hunted. He shook it off as the ship finally docked at San Juan's Central Port, a colossal hub bustling with citizens, merchants, and armored patrols of the CD9 Agency keeping an ever-watchful eye.
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Arrival at San Juan
The trio disembarked into the organized chaos of the port. Vendors shouted the prices of cyber-enhanced wares, holographic entertainers danced above crowds, and the smell of synthetic oils mixed with fresh street food that steamed in the cool evening air.
Herbet darted off a few steps, nearly bumping into a man selling glowing fruit, before Kaya grabbed him by the back of his coat.
"Stay close," she ordered, her golden eyes narrowing. "This isn't a playground. We're not welcome here."
"Not welcome?" Herbet scoffed. "Come on, Kaya. We're tourists! Look at us—we don't even have weapons drawn. What could possibly go wrong?"
Moro's hand brushed against the hilt of his concealed blade beneath his coat. "Plenty," he muttered. He'd learned long ago that San Juan's glittering surface masked teeth sharper than any jungle predator.
As they walked deeper into the city, San Juan unfolded before them—sky trains soared past, carrying workers and families; neon signs buzzed in languages from across the world; children with cybernetic arms darted through the streets laughing, their footsteps echoing against steel pavements. It was overwhelming and breathtaking all at once.
"Let's find the Rainbow Bridge," Herbet said suddenly, eyes gleaming. "That's the heart of San Juan, isn't it? The stories say it glows even at night. If we're here, we HAVE to see it."
Moro hesitated, but the desire to witness it stirred in him as well. He'd heard whispers of the Rainbow Bridge—a colossal energy structure that connected the old city to the new, shimmering with light drawn directly from the planet's core. It wasn't just a landmark. It was a symbol.
But when they asked a local merchant, the man shook his head grimly.
"You won't get anywhere near it. The CD9 Agency sealed off the entire sector. Restricted zone. They say only death waits for those who cross."
Herbet frowned. "Figures. Still, doesn't that just make you want to see it more?"
Moro chuckled under his breath, a rebellious glint flashing in his eye. "We didn't come all this way to be told no."
Kaya sighed, already knowing she couldn't stop them.
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The Wolf Hunter Returns
Far away, beyond the shimmering lights of San Juan, the forest was alive with mist. Twisted roots clawed through damp soil, and the air was heavy with the cries of unseen beasts. From the shadows, a figure stepped forward—his coat ragged, his face hidden beneath the hood of a wolf-pelt cloak.
The Wolf Hunter.
His breath came in low growls, eyes glinting with madness and hunger. The hunt had led him back here, drawn by the scent of Moro's spirit—an aura he could track across worlds.
"Moro Kim Jama…" he whispered, his voice rough as broken stone. "You think the city will protect you? The hunt never ends."
He fastened the crude weapons strapped to his belt—blades carved from bone, poisoned bolts dipped in black liquid. His fingers tightened. This time, he vowed, Moro would not escape.
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At CD9 Headquarters
Within the cold walls of CD9 Agency headquarters, Scaro sat in his office, bathed in the glow of countless monitors. Each screen flickered with surveillance feeds, maps, and data streams. And then—there it was. A ping. A facial recognition alert.
Moro Kim Jama.
San Juan.
Scaro's lips curled into a thin, venomous smile.
"So… you've come here. Bold. Stupid. Perfect."
His long fingers danced across the controls, sending encrypted signals and tightening the city's security net. He activated a direct line to one man—the only man who could face Moro head-on.
"Kiro," Scaro's voice slithered through the comm. "Your next order is clear. Kill Moro. Kill his allies. None of them leave San Juan alive."
On the other end, silence. Then Kiro's voice, low and steady. "Understood."
But when the call ended, Kiro sat frozen in his darkened chamber. His hand trembled as it rested on his blade. His mind stormed with conflict.
Moro… why are you here? You shouldn't be here, you fool. Don't make me choose…
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The Dilemma of Kiro
Kiro rose slowly, water dripping from his hair as he had been meditating beneath a freezing stream moments earlier. He tightened his gloves, strapped his sword to his back, and walked toward the city's heart. Each step was heavy with tension, with questions unanswered.
Was Moro truly his enemy? Or was Scaro's voice twisting the threads of fate?
He pulled his hood low as he stepped into the crowded streets. Rain had begun to fall, streaking the neon lights into shimmering colors across the pavement. The sound of church bells carried faintly over the city, ringing a warning that only Kiro seemed to hear.
Kill him, Scaro's command echoed in his skull.
Save him, whispered another voice buried deep inside his conscience.
The conflict gnawed at him, but he didn't slow. His figure blended into the crowd as he moved with quiet, predatory speed.
Kiro was going to find Moro.
And when he did, San Juan itself would tremble.
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