The Merzia Clan was not a building.
It was a city inside a fortress.
From the iron gates to the deepest corridors, it could take hours to walk across. Towers, underground labs, training halls, weapon rooms, living quarters—everything built inside one controlled empire.
Power didn't live here.
It ruled here.
Inside the clan, there were four ranks.
Rank D — the lowest. New blood. Survivors of brutal training. Many never moved up.
Rank C — field operatives. Clean-up missions, smaller operations, constant survival pressure.
Rank B — elite executors. Strategic missions. Dangerous, precise work.
Rank A — the top six.
Only six people stood there.
The most dangerous inside the clan.
The Godfather's Son
His Right-hand Man
The Top Hacker
The Best Driver
Two elite female fighters
Rank A didn't train.
They commanded.
After three days outside the country on a high-level operation, Rank A returned.
The entire clan gathered.
Rank D filled the yards.
Rank C lined the corridors.
Rank B stood silent at attention.
Even the Godfather himself came out.
Because Rank A never moved as one unless something big had happened.
The massive gate opened.
Vehicles rolled in.
One by one, Rank A stepped out.
First—two elite women fighters.
Then—calm silence.
Then—
The Godfather's Son.
Cold. Detached. Unbothered by the crowd.
But his eyes didn't linger.
Because something was missing.
Then came the Right-hand Man.
And he wasn't alone.
Over his shoulder—
a body.
Still.
Weak.
Barely conscious.
A girl.
The crowd shifted instantly.
Whispers spread.
Confusion.
Shock.
Suspicion.
The Godfather stepped forward.
His voice was low.
GODFATHER What is that?
No one answered immediately.
Even Rank A didn't speak.
The Right-hand Man finally stopped.
Calm. Controlled.
Then he lowered the girl slightly so they could see her face.
Bruised. Bloodied. Almost lifeless.
RIGHT-HAND MAN Asset retrieved.
Silence hit the yard.
The Godfather's Son finally looked directly at the girl.
For the first time.
A long stare.
Unreadable.
Then a faint shift in his expression.
Not concern.
Not pity.
Something closer to curiosity.
He stepped forward.
But the Right-hand Man had already turned.
Walking past him.
Heading inside.
Carrying her deeper into the clan.
The crowd slowly began to disperse.
Still talking.
Still unsettled.
Because something about her didn't look like a victim.
It looked like something that survived on purpose.
NIGHT — MEDICAL WING (CLAN INTERIOR)
The room was quiet.
Machines beeped softly.
The girl lay still.
Bandaged. Treated. Stabilized.
Then—
her fingers moved.
A small twitch.
Then stillness again.
Her eyes slowly opened.
Dim light.
Unknown ceiling.
Unknown place.
Unknown danger.
She didn't panic.
She didn't call for help.
She only listened.
And smiled faintly—
like she had arrived exactly where she needed to be.
"In the Merzia Clan, the dead are not always dead… and the weak are never what they seem."