Chapter 8: The Power Struggle (0x08TPS)

The rain’s been pouring for hours, hammering down on the streets of Seattle like it’s got beef against the city. My hood is pulled low, hiding my face from the worst of it, but there’s no escaping the chill that seeps into my bones. I’ve been on edge since I left Oz’s studio, the weight of the mission pressing down on me like a lead blanket. This one’s different. Bigger. And I can’t shake the feeling that tonight’s going to be a turning point—one way or another.

The Rolin system’s been quiet since it gave me the mission, which is almost worse than the constant buzzing. It’s like it’s waiting, watching, seeing how I handle this on my own. But I’m not alone. Not entirely.

Lyle’s beside me, his usual cocky grin replaced by a grim determination that tells me he knows how serious this is. He’s been quiet too, only speaking to go over the plan one more time, making sure we’ve got our angles covered. But even the best plans can go to shit in the blink of an eye, and I’ve got a feeling we’re about to test just how good we really are.

We’re standing outside a rundown warehouse on the edge of the docks, the kind of place where deals go down and people disappear. The gang we’re up against tonight—one of the most ruthless in the city—has its claws deep in the underworld, and their leader, a brute of a man named Bishop, is known for being as cunning as he is brutal. And he’s got what we need—a decryption key that Oz says is essential to cracking the chip we stole.

"Ready?" Lyle asks, his voice low, his eyes scanning the darkened street.

"Ready as I’ll ever be," I reply, clenching my fists inside my pockets, trying to steady the nerves that are threatening to take over. The system is there, humming beneath the surface, waiting for me to tap into it, to unleash the power it’s been promising.

"Remember, we get in, get the key, and get out," Lyle says, giving me a final nod. "No heroics, no distractions. We stick to the plan."

"Got it," I mutter, though I know as well as he does that nothing ever goes according to plan.

We move toward the warehouse, keeping low, our footsteps muffled by the rain-soaked ground. The place is eerily quiet, but I can feel the presence of others, the weight of eyes on us as we approach the entrance. They’re waiting, just like we are.

The door creaks as we push it open, the sound echoing in the huge space beyond. Inside, the warehouse is a maze of stacked crates and rusted machinery, with a single, dim light hanging from the ceiling. And there, in the center, surrounded by a group of hulking figures, is Bishop.

He’s even bigger in person than I expected, a mountain of muscle and scars, his bald head shining under the light. His eyes, dark and sharp, lock onto us the moment we step inside, and a slow, predatory smile spreads across his face.

"Well, well," Bishop rumbles, his voice like gravel grinding against stone. "Look who decided to show up. I was starting to think you boys got lost."

"We’re here for the key," I say, stepping forward, my heart pounding in my chest. "Hand it over, and we’ll be on our way."

Bishop chuckles, a low, dangerous sound that sends a shiver down my spine. "You think it’s that easy? You catwalk into my place, make demands, and expect to walk out of here in one piece like som’ sissies?"

"We’re not here to fight," Lyle cuts in, his voice steady. "Just give us what we came for, and we’ll leave you to your business."

Bishop’s smile widens, but there’s no humor in it. "See, that’s where you’re wrong. You’re in my territory now, and nobody walks out of here without paying the toll."

Before I can react, Bishop snaps his fingers, and his men move in, surrounding us in a tight circle. The air’s thick with tension, the kind that coils tight in your gut, ready to snap at any second.

"Looks like we’re paying the toll," Lyle mutters, his hand inching toward his pocket.

I don’t wait for things to go south. I tap into the Rolin system, feeling it surge through me, the familiar rush of power that makes my senses sharpen, my reflexes quicken. Time seems to slow as I assess the situation, every detail coming into sharp focus. There are six of them, plus Bishop. Seven against two. Not great odds, but I’ve faced worse. I guess.

The first thug lunges at me, a knife flashing in his hand. I dodge to the side, my movements fluid, almost effortless. The system’s guiding me, pushing me beyond my limits, and I’m starting to see just how far I can go.

I catch the thug’s arm, twisting it with a force that surprises even me, and the knife clatters to the floor. I don’t give him a chance to recover, landing a solid punch to his jaw that sends him sprawling. The others hesitate for a moment, and in that brief pause, I strike again, moving faster than I thought possible.

It’s a blur of motion, fists, and grunts, the sound of bodies hitting the floor. The system’s whispering in my ear, feeding me data, calculations, angles of attack. I’m not just fighting—I’m dissecting, breaking them down piece by piece.

But then, Bishop’s on me, his massive fist connecting with my ribs, and I feel the breath whoosh out of me in a painful gasp. The impact sends me staggering, my vision swimming, but I recover quickly, the system kicking into overdrive.

I dodge his next swing, rolling under his arm and landing a kick to the back of his knee. He grunts but doesn’t go down, turning with a speed that belies his size. His hand closes around my throat, lifting me off the ground like I weigh nothing.

"Not so tough now, are you?" Bishop growls, his grip tightening, cutting off my air. "You think you can just walk in here and take what you want?"

I can’t breathe, my vision starting to blur, but I force myself to focus, to push the system harder. There’s a crackle of energy inside me, something new, something raw and powerful. I reach for it, feeling it surge through me, and then I let it loose.

A shockwave bursts from me, slamming into Bishop with the force of a freight train. He stumbles back, his grip loosening just enough for me to break free and drop to the floor, gasping for air. I don’t stop to think—I drive my fist into his midsection, pouring every ounce of strength the system’s giving me into the blow.

Bishop lets out a roar of pain, but he’s not down yet. He’s tougher than I expected, and I know I’ve only got seconds before he recovers. I have to finish this.

The system’s whispering again, guiding me, showing me the weak points, the openings. I move in, dodging his wild swings, and land a series of rapid, precise strikes to his chest, his ribs, his jaw. Each hit is fueled by the system, by the Essence coursing through me, and I can feel the impact reverberate through his massive frame.

Finally, with a grunt, Bishop goes down, crashing to the floor like a felled tree. I stand over him, breathing hard, every muscle in my body screaming in protest, but I’m not done yet. Not until I’ve got what I came for.

I reach down, searching Bishop’s pockets until I find it—the decryption key, a small, nondescript device that’s worth more than its weight in gold. I pocket it, then turn to Lyle, who’s just finishing off the last of the thugs.

"You okay?" I ask, my voice hoarse from the strain.

Lyle nods, wiping blood from his lip. "Yeah. Nice work, by the way. Didn’t know you had it in you."

"Neither did I," I admit, glancing down at Bishop, who’s out cold, his chest rising and falling in labored breaths. "Let’s get out of here before more show up."

We make our way out of the warehouse, the rain still pouring down as we step into the night. My heart’s still racing, the adrenaline refusing to let go, but there’s something else now, too—satisfaction. The system’s still humming, feeding me the Essence I’ve earned, and I can feel it building inside me, making me stronger, faster, more capable than ever.

But as we disappear into the shadows, I can’t shake the feeling that this power comes with a price, one I haven’t fully grasped yet. And with every step I take, that price gets steeper.