Chapter 1: The Return

Five years have passed.

I stood at the exit of Los Angeles International Airport, dragging a worn-out canvas bag.

"elder brother!"

Tommy squeezed through the crowd.

I was stunned.

His right hand was in a cast and sling around his neck. He was pale, with sunken eyes and unshaven stubble on his chin.

What happened to your hand?

"We'll talk about it when we get home." His voice trembled.

Inside the taxi, Tommy stared out the window without saying a word. I looked at his profile; his shirt collar was wrinkled, and bloodstains were seeping from his cast.

Something's not right.

Tommy.

"Brother, let's really talk about this when we get home."

I didn't ask any more questions. He's always been like this since he was little; he handles things on his own.

The car was parked downstairs at the old apartment building. I followed Tommy upstairs; his hand was trembling as he took out his keys.

"What happened?"

The door opened.

The living room was a mess. Chairs were overturned, the coffee table was overturned, and there was blood on the floor.

I went inside and inspected the scene.

There wasn't much blood; it probably came from Tommy's wrist. One of the chair legs was broken, likely kicked off. There were seven or eight cigarette butts on the coffee table, of different brands.

At least four people.

When did they arrive?

"Last night," Tommy said, sitting on the sofa with his right hand hanging down, "at three in the morning."

How many people?

"Four. Masked."

Did you call the police?

"It's no use," Tommy shook his head. "They said if we call the police, we'll lose our left hand too."

I stared at his right hand.

Beneath the plaster cast, his wrist was swollen like a steamed bun.

Who did it?

Tommy was silent for a few seconds.

"Alan Cross."

I was stunned.

Allen.

Comrades who turned against each other during a mission in Baghdad five years ago.

"He bought your debt?"

"Yes," Tommy said. "My company owed $2 million, but it was bought out three months ago. I only found out last week that it was Allen."

"What does he want you to do?"

"Give me the money. Within seven days." Tommy gritted his teeth, "Or I'll have you escort a shipment for him."

arms.

Allen now controls Los Angeles’s largest underground arms network.

I walked up to the coffee table and saw a note.

"Pay back 2 million within seven days, or your brother will escort a shipment for me. Otherwise, you'll lose your left hand too. — Allen"

I clenched my fist.

A familiar sharp pain suddenly shot through my spine.

Limiter.

That damn chip is warning me: you have the ability to fight back.

But I can't use it.

Ten years ago, the military transformed me into a stealth soldier, implanting a limiter between my third and fourth vertebrae. I signed a confidentiality agreement: unauthorized use of abnormal abilities = violation of national security laws = life imprisonment.

For the past five years, I have relied on my physical abilities to make a living and have never used my skills.

I can't break this rule just because of Allen.

"Brother, what do we do?" Tommy grabbed my arm.

"Take care of your hand first." I re-bandaged his cast. "Go to the hospital tomorrow for X-rays to see if surgery is needed."

"But Allen—"

"I will handle it."

My phone rang.

Text message from an unknown number.

"Tomorrow at 3 PM, Pier 47, come alone. — Allen"

I stared at the text message.

He knew I was back.

"Brother, don't go, that's a trap," Tommy said.

"I know."

"Then you still—"

"I have to go," I interrupted him. "Go to the hospital tomorrow and have the doctor treat your wrist."

"But--"

"Listen to me."

Tommy nodded.

I didn't sleep that night.

I sat on the sofa, pressing on my spine. That damn chip was embedded in my bone, sending stabbing pains through me every now and then.

The limiter's function: completely blocks stealth capabilities + 24-hour GPS tracking.

As long as it exists, the military can locate me at any time. If I use my abilities without authorization, a military base 300 kilometers away will receive an alert and send a recovery team to capture me.

But for Tommy's sake, I have to think of another way.

Negotiate with Allen without using your abilities.

I looked out the window. The Los Angeles night sky was starless, with only the red signal lights of helicopters flashing.