Dozens of heavy police cruisers were parked irregularly across the sprawling lakeside meadow.
Their massive tires left deep, muddy ruts in the pristine grass.
Hayden stood entirely alone in the center of the clearing.
The relentless, flashing red and blue strobe lights burned against his retinas.
The freezing night wind whipped loudly against his tactical jacket.
Over one hundred corrupt SWAT officers surrounded him in a tight, impenetrable perimeter.
They were heavily equipped with riot gear and ballistic vests.
Silas Thorne, the Vice President of the Black Sovereign Syndicate, stood next to a polished Bentley Flying Spur.
His face was a mask of pure, gloomy hatred.
Beside him stood Deputy Mayor Graves, looking entirely calm and composed.
“Hayden Brooks.
You certainly made it difficult to find you,” Graves said indifferently.
His face was utterly devoid of emotion.
“Did you honestly think we knew nothing about you?
Judging by your recent body count, you are far more than a simple college student.” Graves gestured vaguely to the massive police perimeter.
“Look at the sheer scale of this operation.
You should feel honored that I value you so highly.” The riot helmets of the hundred corrupt cops gleamed with an eerie, cold light under the pale moon.
Hayden remained completely silent, his freezing gaze locked onto the mobile surgical unit parked next to the Bentley.
Using his Outline ESP, he could clearly see the glowing white silhouettes of two little girls strapped to operating tables inside the heavy vehicle.
Noticing Hayden’s intense stare, Graves’s lips curled into a sickeningly arrogant smile.
“You actually care about that slum rat, do you not?
She was crying out for you earlier.
It is a pity she is about to become a corpse.
Her heart and kidneys will be transplanted into my beautiful daughter.” “It is the highest honor for these impoverished children to give the elite class a chance to live,” Graves continued smoothly.
“Do not look so surprised.
The poor are just like rats.
When one litter dies out, another simply takes its place.” Graves pulled a pure silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and casually wiped a speck of mud off his designer leather shoes.
“That logic includes you, Hayden.
Your heart is about to be transplanted into my eldest son.
Our medical network discovered your blood profile is a ninety-nine percent match.
He just returned from America as a rising political star.
Your death is entirely worthwhile.” The rear door of the Bentley clicked open.
A tall, extremely pale young man stepped out into the grass, leaning heavily against the car door.
He clutched his chest, breathing with shallow, difficult rasps.
He stared at Hayden with pure, unadulterated greed.
Hayden narrowed his eyes, immediately recognizing the sick man.
It was Alexander Graves.
He was the youngest, most wildly popular city councilor in Rookwood City, frequently featured on daytime television.
Alexander was the Black Sovereign Syndicate’s ultimate VIP client.
The horrific ambush in the subway station weeks ago had been orchestrated entirely to harvest Hayden’s heart for this corrupt politician.
Hayden clenched his fists so tightly his fingernails dug deep into his palms, nearly drawing blood.
Silas Thorne, who had remained brooding and silent, finally stepped forward.
“Hayden!
Did you kill my brother, Detective Marcus Zhao?” “I did,” Hayden shouted, his voice cutting through the wind like a serrated blade.
“He was a rabid dog.
There is only one way to deal with absolute scum like him.” Hayden’s sharp words completely shattered Silas’s fragile nerves.
The syndicate boss’s eyes turned bloodshot with rage.
He violently drew a heavy revolver from his waistband, aiming it squarely at Hayden’s chest.
Smack!
Deputy Mayor Graves’s face darkened instantly.
He slapped Silas viciously across the face, the crack echoing loudly across the meadow.
The humiliating blow jolted Silas back to reality.
His rabid expression crumbled into meek subservience, and he quickly lowered his weapon.
“Do not forget why we are here tonight,” Graves hissed furiously.
“If you put a bullet hole in my son’s new heart, I will replace you tomorrow.
You are a useless idiot.
I had to deploy my own task force just to clean up your mess.” Silas felt his cheek burning from the reprimand, but he did not dare utter a single word of protest in front of the officers.
He bowed his head like a beaten dog, offering a pathetic, obsequious apology.
He was just a vice president in charge of the vile organ trade.
The ultimate head of the syndicate would never risk offending the Deputy Mayor to protect him.
Graves turned back to Hayden.
He sneered and pulled an incredibly expensive pocket watch from his vest, the diamond face catching the police strobes.
He gave a curt nod to the surgical team waiting by the mobile medical unit.
A doctor opened the heavy rear doors.
Inside the sterile van, Lily was strapped to a surgical table with a breathing mask secured over her face.
Her thin body looked completely drained of life, like a discarded, broken doll.
A single tear slid silently down her cheek.
On the adjacent table lay Graves’s daughter.
She wore expensive crystal jewelry around her wrists, with IV tubes snaking into her arms.
She glanced at the weeping slum girl with a wicked, knowing smile.
“Preparation will take another twenty minutes.
After that, we begin the extractions,” the lead surgeon called out.
Graves nodded dismissively.
The heavy van doors slammed shut, locking the girls inside.
Hayden’s breath hitched in his throat.
A terrifying, freezing rage shot straight from his spine into his brain.
“Take him down,” Graves ordered coldly.
“No guns.
Beat him to death.
Do not damage the chest cavity.” Following the Deputy Mayor’s command, the corrupt SWAT officers holstered their firearms.
They drew heavy, solid-steel riot batons and slowly tightened their circle around Hayden.
Over a hundred steel clubs gleamed blindingly under the strobe lights.
As the perimeter closed in, Hayden planted his right foot backward, shifting his weight to prepare for the onslaught.
Suddenly, Victor Reed burst out from the treeline.
He held his hands high in the air, gripping two round, metallic objects.
The SWAT officers squinted through the dark.
The hairs on the back of their necks instantly stood up in sheer terror.
Victor was holding two live fragmentation grenades.
He had already pulled the pins, keeping the explosive levers clamped down tightly between his own teeth.
“Hayden!
Mia is dead!” Victor roared hysterically, charging straight toward the wall of riot shields.
“I am a pathetic failure of a father!
I have nothing left to live for!” “But you are stronger than me!” Victor screamed.
“Use the chaos!
Go save the little girl!” Hayden moved with blinding speed.
He closed the distance in a fraction of a second, grabbing Victor’s trembling arms.
Before Victor could even react, Hayden snatched the grenades and expertly shoved the safety pins back into place.
“Live,” Hayden ordered.
He patted the broken father firmly on the shoulder, his eyes burning with absolute, unwavering determination.
Directly behind Hayden, a corrupt SWAT officer swung his heavy steel baton.
The club whistled through the cold air, aimed squarely at the base of Hayden’s skull.
Time ground to a glacial halt.
Hayden casually flipped his right hand, materializing a razor-sharp combat dagger out of his inventory.
The deadly whistle of the swinging baton stopped abruptly.
With the heavy club less than four inches from his head, Hayden drove his dagger straight up through the corrupt cop’s chin.
The blade pierced deep into the man’s brain cavity.
A blood-red notification exploded across Hayden’s retinas.
He mentally opened his System panel.
His Juggernaut kill streak was still locked, but the Trench Raider icon was flashing a brilliant, violent red.
“Overclock,” Hayden whispered.
Heavy plates of trench armor instantly materialized out of the digital void, wrapping his entire body in jagged, blade-like steel.
A terrifying silver skull mask encased his face, fitted with dark, rounded combat goggles.
A heavy Trench Mace dropped into his gauntleted hand.
The weapon featured a lethal iron head lined with razor-sharp steel teeth that gleamed coldly in the police lights.
The mace looked primitive, but the moment Hayden gripped the leather handle, he felt an overwhelming, destructive aura surging through his veins.
Holding this weapon, he knew with absolute certainty that he could shatter anything in his path.
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