Shanghai — 06:00 Hours.
The skyline was still half-drowned in morning haze when Arthur and Yin Yang boarded a private jet bound for the Round Table's Shanghai base—a fortified, subterranean complex buried beneath an abandoned shipping district. Inside the cargo hold, the sealed containment case sat motionless: the Rabbit's Foot.
Arthur wasn't about to risk Director Brassell or any IMF retrieval squad setting up an ambush on Chinese soil.
Two hours later, they arrived at the hidden compound. The reinforced blast doors shut behind them with a heavy hiss. The case went straight into containment.
⸻⸻
An hour after they left the handoff site, Brassell's IMF tactical team stormed the warehouse. Flash-bangs, breaching charges, full clearance protocols—
Empty.
Only the Rabbit's Foot sat in the centre of the room.
"Where the hell is he?" Brassell snarled.
His lead technician scanned the case, confirmed the match, and gave a curt nod. "Authentic, sir."
Brassell exhaled through his nose, fury held tight. "Then Shaw's already gone."
⸻⸻
Shanghai Underground Base — Two Days Later.
In the command lab, Jason Tate entered a command string. The viral compound inside the Rabbit's Foot dissolved under a chemical neutralizer, its molecular structure unravelling into inert sludge.
The system monitor flashed once before fading to black.
SYSTEM TASK COMPLETE
Mission Objective: Neutralize and Erase Bio-Weapon "Rabbit's Foot" (IMF-031) — Fulfilled. Distributing Rewards…
Arthur leaned back in his chair, arms folded.
Host: Cole Shaw
Mobility: 7
Reflex: 6
Endurance: 5
Special Ability: Crisis Perception (600 m radius) +
Skill Points: 2770
System Space: 3 m³ +
Skills: Gun Master • Advanced Combat • Advanced Driving
Attribute Points: 3
Items: IMF-grade infiltration gear / SSS-Class Command Base / Facial-Pattern AI Analysis Suite
He distributed the new points evenly. A pulse of heat rolled through him—muscle density tightening, reflex feedback cleaner.
Arthur passed a secured drive to Dade. "Integrate the new AI suite. I want every face that steps within five clicks mapped and profiled in real time."
Dade nodded, already patching cables.
Arthur allowed himself the faintest smirk. "Brassell knows the Foot's gone. He'll take the fall, not us."
Yin Yang leaned against a console. "And when the IMF starts purging its own?"
"Then they'll eat each other alive," Arthur replied. "Musgrave's the traitor. Let him burn for it."
He stayed calm, analytical. He'd just conned one of the most dangerous intelligence agencies on the planet out of two billion dollars. Retaliation was inevitable—but not immediate. IMF couldn't afford a public scandal while negotiating with the Chinese government.
And Arthur still had leverage—Hobbes.
With Hobbes's Continental network and High Table-adjacent leverage—not any DSS pull—Arthur's name would stay buried long enough for him to expand the Round Table's reach.
The System would handle the rest.
⸻⸻
IMF Headquarters — Langley, Virginia.
Director Theodore Brassell's sedan rolled through security in silence. He'd been summoned to the oversight wing—a summons that never ended well.
Three hours later, his nameplate was gone.
The Rabbit's Foot was destroyed. The mole, John Musgrave, exposed. The operation—disaster. Someone had to pay.
Brassell was escorted out under guard. By nightfall, veteran officer Allen Henry was sworn in as Acting Director.
⸻⸻
Three Days Later.
Arthur and his team remained at the Shanghai base. With Owen Davian captured and Brassell neutralized, the board was quiet for once.
Ghost had erased his digital footprint; SAS believed him KIA.
Hobbes' network was silent, running deep-cover operations in the West. Arthur didn't ask—if something mattered, Hobbes would call.
Through Hobbes' influence, Arthur had brought in a roster of off-record scientists to reinforce Jason Tate's division. Every recruit arrived blindfolded, fitted with a micro-tracker, and confined to compartmentalized labs. No one saw the full layout. No one left without clearance.
⸻⸻
October 8 — Los Angeles, California.
The morning sun cut through a haze of smoke and twisted metal. A convoy of military transports lay gutted on the highway—frames torn open, engines melted, cargo gone.
DSS Agent Luke Hobbes stepped out of a black, armoured Dodge Ram 1500 and scanned the wreckage.
Detective Hicks hurried over with a tablet. "Six injured, twelve vehicles totalled. They took every satellite component. The strike lasted ninety seconds, tops."
Hobbes crouched beside the wreckage, examining the precision of the blast pattern. "That wasn't brute force. That was surgical."
"You think it's Toretto?" Hicks asked.
Hobbes shook his head. "No. Whoever did this moves faster and cleaner. Tactical precision. This feels like family—but not that family."
"Interpol's holding a suspect," Hicks said. "Do you want in?"
Hobbes cracked his knuckles. "Let's go remind those bureaucrats how to conduct an interrogation."
At Interpol HQ, he didn't wait for protocol. The cell door opened; Hobbes walked in and drove a fist straight into the suspect's gut. Another strike followed—bone on bone.
The prisoner doubled over, coughing blood. "Christ! I'll talk, I'll talk!"
Hobbes grabbed him by the collar. "Who hit the satellite convoy?"
The man gasped. "Owen Shaw."
Hobbes' jaw tightened. "Then this just got personal."
⸻⸻
Shanghai — Round Table Safe House.
The room was dark. A shadow slipped through the door, moving with surgical silence.
The intruder raised a boot, ready to strike—
Arthur's eyes snapped open. His right hand shot beneath the pillow, drawing the Mad Dog combat knife. One precise slash at calf-height—fast, efficient.
The attacker twisted away, equally quick.
Arthur rose from the bed, knife reversed in his grip, and closed the distance. Their clash was brutal and fast—steel flashed, elbows blocked, knees slammed into ribs. Every move had weight and rhythm, trained killers fighting with lethal precision and real momentum.
The tempo broke as Arthur hooked the scarf covering the man's face and tore it free.
The world seemed to slow. He stared at the familiar face revealed beneath the dim light.
For the first time that night, Arthur's voice softened—barely above a whisper."…Always and forever."