The Retired Young Mercenary Is Secretly a Billionaire

In the heart of the city, nestled among government towers and corporate high-rises, the Phoenix Clan Safehouse buzzed with quiet urgency. Holographic screens lined the curved walls—streams of surveillance feeds flickering in real-time. Hospital corridors. St. Patrick’s University. The perimeter of Miles’s home. Even the neon-lit alleys surrounding Paradise Club. All monitored. All watched.

Captain Ken stood at the center, arms crossed, jaw tight. His sharp eyes scanned the feeds with military precision. His team operated like a silent machine—analyzing, tracking, alerting.

Then, something changed.

A corner screen flashed—four ambulances, entering the hospital compound one after another. Quiet. No sirens. Just ghostlike arrival in formation.

Ken’s brow furrowed. "That’s not right."

The drivers stepped out—one by one—stiff posture, alert eyes, identical uniforms. Too clean. Too synced.

"Tag them," Ken barked. "I want everything. Now."

Facial recognition kicked in. The screen blinked.

Match Found.

The system pulsed red—an alert vibrating through the room.

Blackfield Mercenary GroupStatus: Lethal OperativesEngagement Level: Extreme Risk