Chapter 5 - The Salford Quays TrapThe Ford Transit rumbled to a halt outside an abandoned maritime warehouse near Salford Quays. The rain had cleared, leaving behind a cold, metallic fog that rolled off the dark waters of the Manchester Ship Canal, obscuring the skeletal outlines of old shipping cranes.
"This doesn't look like your secondary vault, Roses," Declan said, shifting the van into park and keeping his hand near the shotgun. "This looks like a graveyard for cargo ships."
Alexander looked down at the dashboard. The GPS screen—mysteriously reprogrammed during the drive by the tan puppy's tiny paws—flashed a single flashing coordinate: Pier 4, Sub-Level 3.
"It's not a vault," Alexander said slowly, a creeping realization chilling his blood. "It's a data node. One of the old transatlantic fiber-optic landing stations. Takahashi’s network isn't just routed through Tokyo—it originates here, right under Manchester's docks."
"Well, look who decided to show up to his own funeral," a smooth, cultured voice echoed from the shadows of the loading dock.
Alexander stepped out of the van, Declan right behind him. Standing by the edge of the misty pier, flanked by four armed mercenaries, was Marcus Vance—Alexander's chief financial officer. He was holding a glass of scotch as if he were standing at a charity gala rather than an industrial wasteland at midnight.
"Marcus," Alexander said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I thought you were in Frankfurt closing the German bond issue."
Marcus chuckled, taking a slow sip of his drink. "Frankfurt was a decoy, Alex. Just like your precious four-hundred-million-pound Tokyo merger. We never wanted the robotics firm. We wanted the infrastructure—the underground data networks you spent the last six years building across the UK."
"You sold us out to Takahashi," Declan spat, raising his shotgun.
"Sold out? Please, Declan. It’s called evolution," Marcus replied, his eyes flashing with greed. "The traditional corporate world is dead. Takahashi offered a trillion-dollar partnership in cybernetic integration. All we had to do was hand over your security protocols—and get rid of you."
Marcus waved his hand. The four mercenaries raised their weapons.
Alexander didn't flinch. Instead, he reached into his vest, pulled out the white puppy, and gently set it down on the concrete. Beside it, the tan puppy stood tall, its fur bristling, its eyes locked onto Marcus Vance with an intense, otherworldly focus.
"You made one fatal mistake, Marcus," Alexander said, stepping forward.
"Oh? And what’s that? Trusting a greedy CFO?" Marcus sneered.
"No," Alexander said, a faint, razor-sharp smile cutting across his face. "You underestimated who really runs this company."
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At that exact second, the tan puppy let out a sharp, piercing howl that didn't sound like a dog at all—it sounded like a high-frequency digital broadcast.
Instantly, every single security camera, floodlight, and crane along Salford Quays sparked, flickered, and went blindingly white.
