Time: 2:00 PMLocation: Aiden Blake's Office
Stacks of reports, news articles, and military records covered Aiden Blake's desk.He sighed heavily.
Vincent Kang.No official ID.No military records—either scrubbed or classified.Yet, blurry glimpses of him appeared in foreign footage.
Aiden leaned in toward his screen, replaying a video.
Middle East, 201X.A black ops mission.The camera caught a fleeting image. He froze the frame.
"There you are."
Though unclear, the build, the posture—it had to be him.Cross-referencing began.
Operation Red EaglesOfficially labeled a failure.Almost all documentation… gone.
Aiden frowned.Even the press had been scrubbed.
"That's not just protocol. That's suppression."
He dug deeper into Dominique Scott's business history.Then, something clicked.
Dominique had launched development projects in the same country.Right after the failed mission.
Infrastructure. Mining. Political lobbying.
"Wait a second…"
Aiden grabbed his pen and jotted it down.
Vincent Kang – Operative in Red Eagles
After the mission failed, Dominique moved in
Scott International led post-war reconstruction
Coincidence?Or design?
"Was the mission set up to fail?"
If so, it wasn't just business.It was war profiteering on a whole new level.
And now, Vincent's story wasn't a simple whistleblower tale—It was the unraveling of a geopolitical conspiracy.
He started reaching out to old contacts, tapping into deep networks.
One name surfaced.
Feynman.
Time: 2:30 PMLocation: Feynman's Hideout
Feynman casually peeled open a chocolate bar, eyes glued to the monitor.He had been tracking Dominique's financial trails for hours.
Arms deals. Civil infrastructure.Post-conflict monopolies.
"Son of a bitch's more than a weapons dealer."
Then he saw it.
Dominique had invested in the same country tied to Operation Red Eagles.Right after the chaos.
Feynman compared timestamps between military reports and corporate filings.It aligned—too perfectly.
Failed mission.Reduced government presence.Dominique moved in.New regime—deeply tied to Scott International.
Feynman tapped the desk.
"He staged it, didn't he?"
The playbook was clear:Start a war. Sell weapons.Then, rebuild the ruins for profit.
Feynman messaged Vincent.
Feynman: "Did you know Scott had business in the same country you deployed to?"
Vincent: "What do you mean?"
Feynman: "Post-Red Eagles, Scott pushed infrastructure projects. He also sold weapons beforehand."
Vincent: "…"
Silence.Feynman smirked.
He knew exactly what Vincent was thinking.
Operation Red Eagles had cost them everything.Now, the possibility it had been orchestrated—
That changed everything.
Feynman stretched and muttered,
"Time to bring down a goddamn empire."
*******
"When the Shadows Move"
Location: PMC Tactical Briefing RoomTime: 8:00 AM
Gabriel stood with arms crossed, eyes scanning the group of hardened PMC operatives in the room.
This mission wouldn't be simple.
Primary Target: Vincent Kang
Secondary Objective: Neutralize Aiden Blake
He pushed his chair back and stepped forward.
"Our main target is Vincent Kang. And he's not like the others we've dealt with."
The men nodded. They'd seen what Vincent could do firsthand.
But this meeting wasn't about Vincent.
Gabriel pointed at the monitor behind him.
"We've got a loose end to tie up first."
A photo appeared on the screen—Aiden Blake.
Former journalist, New York Times
Investigating Dominique Scott
Digging into buried records
Emily folded her arms."You're saying we kill a journalist?"
Gabriel smirked and shook his head."No. Killing him would only make things worse. He's got public eyes on him."
He motioned to two of the PMC men.
"Just rough him up. Nothing fatal. Make sure he knows there's a line he shouldn't cross."
Objective:
Intimidate Aiden Blake
Suppress his investigation
Deliver a physical warning
Gabriel turned back to the monitor, his voice cold."Before we take out Vincent, we silence the noise."
Location: Feynman's SafehouseTime: 9:30 AM
Feynman sipped coffee as his eyes darted across the screens.
He'd been monitoring Aiden Blake's activity for hours.
AI-tracked movements across social media, emails, and CCTV
Recent data logs confirmed Aiden's deep dive into Scott's background
Unusual PMC activity detected near his location
Feynman clicked his tongue."Poor guy's just a journalist."
But then he saw it—
Aiden had stumbled across critical intel
The same intel Feynman was chasing
Which meant... the PMC saw Aiden as a threat too.
He began running risk assessments.
74% chance: direct physical intimidation
26% chance: verbal threats only
Feynman weighed his options:
Warn Aiden directly
Might spook him into silence.
Track the PMC movements
Learn their tactics. Intervene if necessary.
Tell Vincent
But if Vincent acts, this turns into full-on warfare.
He narrowed his eyes.
"…Let's see how they play this first."
His fingers danced across the keyboard, adjusting his tracking algorithm.
Moments later, he saw it—The PMC team was closing in on Aiden.
Location: A Café in New YorkTime: 1:00 PM
Aiden Blake sat with his laptop open, piecing together the puzzle.
Dominique Scott's shady past.Vincent Kang's disappearing footprints.It was all starting to connect.
Then—A shadow fell across his table.
Two men.Large. Intimidating.Definitely not here for coffee.
One of them planted a hand on Aiden's table.
"Mr. Blake, isn't it?"
Aiden didn't need to ask.This wasn't an interview request.
He stayed calm."Who are you?"
The men forced polite smiles and took the seats across from him.
"Just here to give you a little advice."
The second man casually placed his hand on the table.
"You've been writing some dangerous stories, Mr. Blake. Sometimes, there are things the world isn't meant to know."
Aiden exhaled slowly.These weren't thugs.They were professionals—PMC muscle.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Feynman:"Get out. Now."
Aiden hesitated.But he already knew—It was too late.
Inside the CaféTime: 1:10 PM
One of the men stood up.
"We're busy people, Mr. Blake. So we'll keep it simple—watch your step."
Just as Aiden began to speak, the second man grabbed his shoulder—hard.
"And when we say 'watch your step,' we don't mean it metaphorically."
Then—
Police sirens.
A cruiser stopped outside the café.
The PMC men exchanged glances.
"Shit. We stayed too long," one muttered.
Aiden's phone buzzed again.
Feynman:"That wasn't me. You pulled that heat on your own."
Aiden smirked, looked up at them.
"So… we done here?"
They didn't respond.They stood, straightened their jackets.
"We'll see you around, Mr. Blake."
And then they were gone.
Aiden checked his phone again.
Feynman:"You almost died. Be careful."
He exhaled and replied.
Aiden:"That's why I need your help."
Feynman:"You're a pain in the ass. Fine. We need to talk."