Bryce arrived at Onyx Technology at four p.m. precisely, meeting the three-hour deadline Elara had given him.
She was waiting in the reception office. Without a word, she handed him a card.
On it was a code: wen.blaqhore.com
Bryce chuckled. "An outdated domain. No wonder the Dark web stayed under my radar for so long."
"Enter that code into any search engine," Elara instructed, ignoring his jab. "It will bring up a blank space. Type 'replicate.' It will generate a new code ending in blaqhore.com. Enter that one, and you will have access."
Bryce didn't reply. He stared at her, his silence making the air grow thick and suffocating. Elara found she could no longer hold his gaze.
"What is the purpose of the prisoner?" Bryce's voice was cold. "Why not just give me your code to replicate?"
"A new code can only be generated from a user who has been expelled from the community. When he was imprisoned, he was stripped of his access." Elara's reply was swift. His calm is more dangerous than his rage, she thought. He'll burn the entire dark web to the ground.
"Bryce." She reached for his hand. He flung it away, but she pressed on. "I know how much the dark web infuriates you. But to access their services, you must reveal your identity. The moment they see it's you, they'll shut down. Whatever you want from them, let me handle it."
Bryce fixed her with that unnerving, vacant stare again. "I want the Quantum Hacking Device in their possession."
"I'll get it for you. Give me thirty minutes." Elara stood, ready to move.
"Elara." The single word stopped her. "If I do not have that device in thirty minutes, or if you get me a fake one, I will personally ensure you rot in a prison that makes Ironwood look like a resort."
She nodded, a quick, tight motion.
"Where is the prisoner?" Bryce asked.
"Do you still need him?"
"Where is the prisoner?"
"Vault 902. The empty one."
"Bring the device to Onyx Medical." Bryce turned and walked deeper into the building.
He went to his private office, entered the elevator within, and pressed 902 on the button. The descent was deep and silent.
The vault door hissed open. A lean man sat shivering on the sterile white floor, hugging his knees. His skin was pale, and patches of ice crystallized on his visible part of his skin.
"Do you know me?" Bryce asked the moment he entered.
The man scrambled to his feet. "Yes, sir."
"How many years until your freedom?"
"Four years." The man knelt, bowing his head. "Thank you for removing seven years from my sentence."
Bryce scoffed. "Elara removed seven years for that code. How many did she deduct to get her own?"
"Ten…..ten years Sir. She... she said you sent her. Thank you, sir." He bowed again.
Bryce's right hand transformed, the flesh and bone elongating into a blade so long its tip scraped a faint line in the floor as he advanced. The man scuttled backward in terror until his back hit the cold wall.
"Since you know me," Bryce said, his voice devoid of all emotion, "you know I can kill you and face no consequence. It would be a pity to die so close to freedom. To avoid that, you will give me every piece of information I require."
"O-Okay... okay, Sir!" The man's stammering intensified.
"Do you know Raymond Law?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is he a member of the dark web?"
"No, sir."
Bryce produced a pen and a slip of paper from his inner pocket. "Write down the name of every Caliph who is a member." He handed them over. "One more thing. If I later discover you omitted a single name, I will bury you alive in the corporate morgue."
The man's hand shook violently, but he scrawled thirty-one names and thrust the paper back.
Bryce chuckled, a dry, humorless sound as he read the list. He shook his head. "More than half of them." The words were a quiet, disgusted mutter.
In one fluid motion, the bladed hand lashed out, piercing the man's neck. The prisoner choked, a wet, gurgling gasp of shock escaping his lips as blood welled around the steel. With a brutal, almost clinical twist of the bladed wrist, he severed the man's head from his body. It hit the floor with a soft, final thud.
"The world would be a better place if I had purged the bad eggs long ago," he soliloquized to the corpse.
His hand retracted, transforming back to its human form, now dripping with crimson.
He blinked, activating his B-Wax.
"Send a private cleaning crew to Vault 902," he ordered, his voice flat. "There's a spill to contain."