Meanwhile back in the warehouse, Seb exhaled heavily into his headset, disillusionment thick in his voice.

  “I hate this crap,” he muttered.

  In his fifties, with no savings, no family, and no future, Seb was a man worn down by time. He’d once imagined retiring to an exotic beach—or at least living on the run from Interpol. Instead, he was robbing office workers via remote-controlled robots.

  Adam listened silently, a ghost in the system. Seb didn’t relish the violence. He offered victims a chance to comply. He hadn’t hurt Daisy—that cruelty had come from the other operator.

  Adam switched feeds to Mikal’s bot. What he saw turned his stomach.

  The robot crouched over a man, its arm retracting from a vicious blow that had shattered the victim’s nose. Blood shimmered in the moonlight. On Mikal’s screen, the body lay sprawled and unmoving. The bot prodded it for signs of life. There were none.

  Mikal smiled.

  He’d crossed a line—and liked it. No longer just a petty criminal, he was now a killer. His father would rage, Seb would scold, but Mikal didn’t care. This was proof he was something more.

  Adam clenched his jaw. Guilt and fury twisted inside him. If he’d stayed on Mikal’s feed, he might’ve stopped it. Now he was sure: Mikal had attacked Daisy. Retribution was coming.

  Hours passed. As the robots’ batteries dwindled, they returned to the dockside warehouse, slipping through a side window like shadows.

  Adam had seen everything.

  Seb’s targets were always wealthy men. He gave them chances—violence came only when they resisted. Still, Seb’s temper flared easily. Adam didn’t understand those who fought back. Metal always beats bone.

  Mikal’s bot was worse. It beat everyone, compliant or not. The sound of bones breaking and Mikal’s laughter filled Adam’s headset. More than once, he had to look away.

  Back at the warehouse, the bots dumped the stolen goods and slumped on a bench, looking like exhausted workers. Seb knelt by the haul, quietly slipping a few rings into his jacket. Cameras might be watching, but he took the risk.

  “Leave the gear. I’ll sort it,” Mikal said. “Make us both a hot drink.”

  Seb hesitated—was it a ploy to get him away from the loot? He forced his nerves down and went to the kitchen.

  Adam, watching, began plotting.

  He would wipe the servers. Delete all victim files—especially Daisy’s. All except one: the murder footage.

  Mikal? He deserved more than justice. Adam would break his hands and leave him tied up for the cops. But first, he had to stay hidden. Stipe Industries must never know he’d breached their “impenetrable” VPN.

  Seb? He had a heart of brass, not gold—tarnished, but never rotten. Adam would let him go.

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  Seb returned with one mug.

  “Here your drink. I’m off,” he said flatly.

  “Tonight then,” Mikal replied, smirking.

  Mikal powered down the computers and plugged in the robots. Adam tried to move the bot’s arm—nothing. He’d forgotten to upload the new limb-control code.

  Swearing, he realised he had only a few hours before Sophia and the rest of the staff arrived.

  Meanwhile, Mikal had retreated to his bedroom. He lay on the bed, reflecting.

  His father’s enforcers mocked him behind his back—he knew it. But tonight’s kill would earn their respect. And if not, he’d settle for their fear.

  He would be his father’s son—ruthless and successful. What else could he be, raised by a crime lord, taught through violence, encouraged to brutalise? No junior baseball for him. But he had swung a bat—just not at a ball.

  Half an hour later, Adam had complete control of the robot. He tested punches, jabs, and balance. Then he deleted every file—except one.

  The murder stayed.

  He guided the bot across the dim factory floor. It felt like a grim video game. He paused outside Mikal’s room, nerves twisting. Even remotely, delivering a beating wasn’t easy.

  Adam stepped away from his desk and grabbed a beer from the communal fridge. The strongest lager they had—the one nicknamed “Domestic Incident.” He drank one. Then another. The alcohol dulled his fear. Sharpened his resolve.

  He returned to the controls.

  The robot crept into Mikal’s room.

  Mikal snored, oblivious.

  Adam leaned into the mic.

  “Wake up.”

  No response.

  The robot shook him.

  Mikal jolted upright.

  “Hello, Mister Mugger,” Adam said. “It’s retribution time.”

  “Wait! You don’t know who my father is!”

  “No,” Adam replied coldly. “Do you?”

  “It’s Viktor Romanov! He’ll hunt you down! You and your family.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  The robot slapped Mikal. Hard. He gasped.

  Then Mikal grinned. “The Night Reaper. Control override.”

  The robot froze.

  Mikal laughed. “I’m in charge now.”

  The robot powered down for a moment, raising Mikal’s expectations—then powered back on and winked.

  “I’m messing with you,” Adam mocked. “Override? That’s it for safety, is it? Normally, you would have something in the code that says ‘don’t harm humans.’ But you ripped the gizzard out of this bot and put your own system in, didn’t you? You’re an amateur when it comes to robotics. I’m here to teach you a lesson, but it’s not technical.”

  His voice darkened. “You hurt my sister. You threaten my family?”

  Mikal scrambled under the bed. “Please! I’ll pay!”

  The robot dragged him out.

  Mikal twisted, grinning madly, gun in hand. He fired.

  Bullets tore through the robot. It collapsed.

  Mikal stood over it, panting. Victorious.

  Adam, miles away, took another swig of beer, eyes locked on the screen.

  This wasn’t over.

  Not even close.