Apocalypse Trade Monopoly
Chapter 94: : Secrets Updates

Chapter 94: : Secrets Updates

A glowing, semi-transparent line formed from their current location all the way to the hidden intake.

Step by step infiltration.

[ROUTE PLANNING COMPLETE][ENTRY PLAN GENERATED – TEN STAGE BREAKDOWN]

She scrolled through it silently as Lucas waited:

Approach South Wall via alley bypass to avoid east-facing cams.

Dismantle surface crates—move silently, minimal noise profile.

Bypass heat shielding via narrow vent shaft, crawl entry.

Drop into sublevel corridor through rusted access grate.

Disable motion sensor array located under west stairwell.

Trigger manual override on stairwell lock—requires localized EMP burst.

Descend 15 meters—no direct lighting, path will be in blackout.

Face biometric lock—needs spoofed pheromone signature + eye scan.

Divert patrol loop—guards rotate every 7 minutes.

Split access—choose Logistics or Housing wing on entry.

Ava nodded once, then pushed the data to Lucas’s system with a flick of her finger.

[ROUTE TRANSFER COMPLETE – SYNCED WITH MONOPOLY SYSTEM: L.BAI]

"There," she said. "He’s telling the truth. This gets us in clean. One route. Ten moves."

Lucas’s eyes scanned the projection, the ghost-map hovering just behind Ava’s shoulder. He whistled low, impressed.

"Beauty, you just made this look surgical."

Lucas tilted his head, eyeing the man like a puzzle he was already halfway through solving.

"Let’s just see if he bleeds truth or fiction."

He took a slow step forward, eyes sharp. "Level One," he said, voice cool, clinical. "Those are the drones. The ones who only take orders and don’t even know what they’re guarding. Level Two?" He stopped right in front of the spy, crouching just slightly. "That’s where the data lives. People with context. With mission logs."

He smiled, thin and edged.

"So tell me, friend—what were your last two missions?"

The spy’s jaw clenched.

Lucas cocked his head. "No answer? That’s disappointing."

Ava didn’t respond. She was already watching the twitch in the man’s shoulder, the subtle angle of his heel shifting back.

The spy moved fast—lunging toward her with a desperate twist, both hands reaching for her shoulder and waist in a sloppy grappling hold.

Ava didn’t even flinch.

She ducked under his arms, pivoted, and slammed the back of her elbow into the base of his skull. He crumpled forward just as her boot came up, slamming into the side of his knee and sending him crashing to the ground.

Hard.

Lucas didn’t lift a finger. Just watched, amused.

"Damn," he said, laughing as the spy groaned. "You really tried it. I admire the spirit, hate the execution."

He crouched beside the man and pulled a knife from the sheath at his thigh—sleek, black, the blade gleaming with cruel precision.

"I like blood," he murmured. "It’s honest. Doesn’t lie. Doesn’t stall."

He pressed the flat edge of the blade lightly against the spy’s cheek, not cutting—just making a point. Literally.

The spy froze, breath shaking.

Lucas turned his head slightly, addressing Ava without looking away.

"I forgot to mention something fun, Beauty."

Ava raised an eyebrow.

"I got an update," he said casually, dragging the blade down to the man’s collarbone, just enough pressure to make skin stretch. "Small mutation thing. Apparently, mutants can drink blood now."

He flashed a grin—wide, toothy, dark.

"And we like it."

Ava gave him a long, unimpressed look. "You’re joking."

"I wish I was." He tilted his head. "Slightly addictive too, according to the logs. Nutritional value varies by target."

The spy whimpered. Lucas grinned wider.

Ava shook her head. "So what—you’re a vampire now?"

Lucas finally looked up at her, golden eyes gleaming.

"Only on special occasions."

A beat.

"You want a sip?"

Ava rolled her eyes. "No thanks. I prefer coffee and terrible choices."

Lucas laughed, pushing off his knee and standing.

"Good. Because this guy’s blood probably tastes like stale orders and cowardice."

He spun the knife once in his hand, then glanced back down.

"So... missions?"

The spy, bleeding lightly now, finally coughed out a reply.

"...extraction. And tracking."

Lucas’s smile faded slightly. "Go on."

"We were ordered to watch sync pairs crossing into Dust Market zones."

Lucas looked at Ava, grin returning.

"Now that’s a useful answer."

Lucas stood a little straighter, flipping the knife once more before sliding it back into its sheath.

"Let’s dig in then. Start with the sync pairs. Who’s on the list?"

The spy winced, blood trickling from his lip as he adjusted his position on the ground. His eyes flicked between them, calculating whether silence would be worth another blow.

It wasn’t.

"There are six pairs we were told to monitor." His voice was low, strained. "Five confirmed. One noted."

"Names." Lucas’s tone didn’t rise, but it didn’t need to.

"Keel and Farrah. Sector Four. Mutant pair. High physical sync—explosive type.""Cassi and her second—Tanner. Tracker and interface system, low volatility.""A Tier-One match from Bunker Fifteen, all muscle—no finesse. Already collapsing.""One civilian duo from the North Vault, rich kids pretending to be rebels. Staged."

Lucas didn’t react.Ava crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing.

"And us?" she asked.

The spy looked at her, then quickly back to Lucas.

"...You two are the outlier pair."

Lucas didn’t smile. Didn’t blink.

"Say that again."

"Zhao’s intel listed you, Bai, with five possible sync pair matches," the spy continued. "But only one got flagged in red. Your name showed up with Ava Zhang—classified as unconfirmed mutant with unknown system type."

Ava’s system pinged quietly behind her eyes.

Lucas didn’t move.

The spy swallowed."They had almost nothing on her. She’s marked as the most problematic on the tracking board."

"Why?" Ava asked, her voice steady, unreadable.

"Because we can’t track her. No system pings. No combat recordings. Only sync spike that come out of nowhere, and there’s no base file. It’s like you don’t exist... until the sync lights up."

Lucas’s eyes sharpened.

"So you’ve been trying to fill in the gaps."

"Yes."

Ava looked at Lucas.

The spy swallowed hard, sweat lining his temples now. He shifted slightly, trying to find a position that didn’t scream submission but also didn’t invite another knife.

"So..." Ava stepped forward, her voice cool, measured. "What does your boss—the big mafia ghost of Bunker Eleven—want with us?"

The man’s eyes flicked up, then dropped again.

"We were ordered to watch. Nothing more. Surveillance only. Movement reports, proximity data, no engagement."

Lucas arched a brow, pulled the spy’s pack off his shoulder, and started rifling through it with one hand. After a second, he pulled out a sleek metal case, black with a faint blue pulse along the edge.

Inside—custom restraints. Clean. Sleek. And expensive.

"A little fancy for ’just watching,’" Lucas muttered.

He tossed one of the handcuffs toward Ava.

She caught it without missing a beat, turning it over in her palm. Her system activated immediately.

[OBJECT IDENTIFIED – CUSTOM DUAL-LOCK WRIST RESTRAINT]

[MATERIAL: TITANIUM-FLEX CARBON COMPOSITE]

[SECURITY GRADE: MILITARY CLASS C+]

[ENERGY RESPONSE TRACER: ACTIVE – PULSE EMBEDDED]

[IMPROVEMENT SUGGESTIONS – 16 RECOMMENDED MODIFICATIONS]

[NOTES: BATCH FABRICATION POSSIBLE – ADD TO QUEUE?]

Ava blinked, a little impressed. "These are better than most government gear. Whoever designed them knew what they were doing."

She twisted the hinge, revealing the internal sensor alignment. "Could tighten the lock rotation by 4%. Add sync-interrupt coating. Replace the pulse tracer with adaptive field dampening. I could batch a dozen of these in two hours."

Lucas gave a quiet laugh. "That’s why I keep you around. Beauty."

Then he turned back to the spy, crouched again, voice quieter now—more dangerous for it.

"So. Surveillance gear. High-grade restraints. Quiet tracking. And you want me to believe you weren’t told to act?"

The spy didn’t answer.

Lucas studied him for a long second, then stood and dropped the restraint back into the pack.

"Fine." His voice chilled.

"Your real order was to capture her." He didn’t ask. He knew.

The spy twitched—small, but enough.

Lucas stepped closer, voice dropping again.

"Get up," he snapped, no charm, no patience.

The spy stumbled forward with a hiss of pain, arms nearly yanked from the sockets as Lucas began dragging him along the cracked path, boots slamming into dirt and rubble. There was no warning now, no measured steps—just force. Sudden, sharp, and clearly meant to hurt.

"Lucas—" Ava started, her voice low but clear.

He didn’t answer.

He just kept walking, jaw clenched tight, eyes forward, his grip on the cord like a man holding onto a trigger.

Ava kept pace, her system silently scanning Lucas’s vitals. Elevated heart rate. Spiked adrenaline. Breathing irregular. Nothing he couldn’t control—so why wasn’t he?

He wasn’t even pretending to play nice anymore.

Ava narrowed her eyes, watching him drag the spy like excess cargo, step after step. The silence was more dangerous than shouting. Lucas never stayed quiet when he was fine.

This wasn’t tactical.

This was personal.

She didn’t say anything for the first stretch. Let it ride. Maybe the stress, maybe the mutant blood thing still settling. Maybe.

But five minutes in, she knew better.

"Lucas," she said again, this time stepping up beside him. "What are you doing?"

His grip didn’t loosen.

"Dragging a liar," he muttered. "What’s it look like?"

Ava didn’t stop walking.

But her voice dropped colder.

"It looks like you’re spiraling."

Lucas didn’t respond, but the twitch in his jaw said she hit something.