MTL NOVEL Chapter 24: Chapter 25 : Blacksteel
The motel thrummed with restless noise, its sagging walls shuddering under the din of teenage chatter and scampering feet.
Kids along with teens darted through the hallway, some hauling scavenged goods—dented cans, frayed blankets—into rooms alive with activity.
The air hung heavy with damp rot and a flicker of hope, a defiant spark in Chernobog's desolation.
Alexander sat in her room, perched on a wobbly chair, her bluish-silver ponytail catching the weak glow of a buzzing lamp.
Liora slept nearby on a cot, her bandages crisp, her breathing a soft rhythm of recovery.
Alexander pulled a battered phone from her pocket and dialled.
It rang twice before a gravelly voice rasped through.
"Yeah, hello?"
"Howard," she said, her tone steady, a faint smile tugging her lips.
"You sound like you just crawled out of a coffin."
He grunted, sheets rustling faintly.
"Flattering. What's up?"
"Things happened," she replied, glancing at Liora.
"A big name's gone. Freed some captives from his grip. They're here now, loud, needing… everything."
Howard yawned, cutting in.
"Don't bother with the play-by-play. I'm tuned to your head, your will—I know almost everything. You need funds to keep those kids going. I'll send it soon."
Her smile softened. "Thank you."
"Anytime." The call dropped, leaving the room hushed but for Liora's snores.
Alexander stood, pocketing the phone, and stepped into the bustle outside.
Teens swarmed her with demands—food, beds, safety—and she waded through, calm and commanding, shaping their chaos into order.
***
Howard leaned against a desk in the polished office of Aether Legal Solutions in Lungmen, the city's neon haze seeping through the blinds.
Two juniors stood before him, shifting under his lazy grin. He greeted them with a breezy air, hands in his pockets.
"Morning, rookies. You look like you've seen a ghost. Or maybe just my charming face."
Kaelin, a wiry Sarkaz with stubby horns and a jittery stance, fidgeted. Mira, a feline with sleek black ears and a tablet gripped tight, held his gaze briefly.
They'd clocked a year at the firm, slogging through minor cases, but now they needed Howard's signature to prop up Ironclad Ventures, a client teetering on collapse.
Howard tilted his head, snagging a file.
"So, why's Ironclad crying for us? Go."
Kaelin swallowed hard.
"Their Originium shipments got nabbed—customs flagged unlicensed hauls. They need our muscle to negotiate a release, or they're sunk."
Howard sighed, tossing the file to Mira with a flourish. His grin faded, eyes turning sharp as knives.
"You think I'm brain-dead? Or the firm? Kaelin, you're a nervous wreck—Mira, you're too clever for this. Tell me why I shouldn't sack you both on the spot."
Mira's tail stiffened. "Sir, we just—"
"Quiet." Howard leaned in, voice a razor.
"Let's do law. Lungmen Trade Code, Section 19-C: 'Agents facilitating unlicensed Originium transport over fifty kilograms face felony conspiracy—ten years, total asset wipeout.' Legal Practice Act, Clause 12: 'Attorneys aiding violators get disbarment and a nice prosecution bow on top.' That's you two, geniuses—caught red-handed in the muck."
Kaelin's horns drooped, voice cracking.
"We didn't mean—"
Howard smirked, steamrolling him.
"Oh, you meant it. The only reason you've been running this scam under our banner is because Camelia's got a lawsuit primed—not for Ironclad, but for you idiots. Next time learn how to scam better."
He straightened, leaving them stunned, and strolled out. In the hall,
Camelia—her equine features could still be noticed even now—leaned against the wall, smirking.
"Cracked it, huh?"
Howard sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Even a stray mutt could smell that rot."
She handed him a crisp commission paper, and his brows shot up.
"Another job? Already?"
"You're climbing the fame ladder, hotshot."
Camelia said, tail swaying. "Guess who sent it?"
He skimmed it, then froze, jaw slack.
"Blacksteel? The Blacksteel Company?"
"Yep," she grinned. "Someone's stirring waves out there. They want your brain on their payroll."
Howard stared at the paper, his expression darkening briefly as he murmured.
"Waves, huh? Guess some shadows out there are brighter than I thought."
The fact that such a large corporation hired them indicated that something was wrong.
***
Blacksteel Worldwide's headquarters squatted on the fringe of Columbia's industrial sprawl, a bastion of smoked glass and tempered steel that loomed over the landscape.
Barbed wire traced its crest, shimmering faintly in the dying light of dusk, while floodlights carved ceaseless paths across the grounds.
Drones buzzed overhead, their crimson lenses slicing through the twilight murk—vigilant wardens of a private military titan.
Blacksteel was no mere PMC; it was a colossus, its influence threading through Terra's conflicts, its operatives the subject of muted whispers from Lungmen's shadowed corners to Ursus's frostbitten plains.
And now, they had called upon Howard Leyman.
He alighted from a matte-black sedan, the gravel yielding a subdued crunch beneath his polished boots.
A restrained smile touched his lips as he adjusted his coat against the evening's chill.
The air carried the bite of oil and static, underscored by the drones' ceaseless drone.
Two operatives stood guard at the entrance—Blacksteel's vanguard, their visors blank, rifles resting low yet primed. Howard presented his commission papers, the Aether Legal Solutions seal catching a fleeting gleam.
"Howard Leyman," he announced, his voice crisp and deliberate.
"I am here at your summons. I presume this matter justifies the urgency."
They offered no response, merely nodded, and guided him inside.
The lobby struck with its stark austerity—ivory walls, floors polished to a mirror's sheen, the air laced with antiseptic and a faint, metallic hint of discharged rounds. At its core, a holographic display pulsed, cycling Blacksteel's sigil—a crossed rifle and blade, bold against a crimson field, flickering with quiet menace.
His escort directed him to an elevator that descended with a soft hum, plunging into the complex's depths.
Howard stood erect, his mind attuned—this was no trivial pursuit.
This was a case of profound importance. They were desperate enough to hire their firm.
The doors parted to a war room steeped in gloom, lit by the cold radiance of recessed panels.
A vast touchscreen table dominated the space, its surface a map pierced by four red dots—omens of loss pulsing in sync.
Around it stood Blacksteel's cadre: a weathered commander, his prosthetic arm a gleam of chrome; a woman in tactical attire, her fingers poised over a comms unit; and a suited figure, his smooth countenance belied by hands etched with scars.
Their gazes turned to Howard, appraising him with the scrutiny reserved for an unproven tool.
"Mr. Leyman," the suit began, his tone sharp and precise, stepping forward.
"Frank Morrison, Blacksteel Liaison. Your recent achievements with the Lungmen Police Department have garnered attention. We require your brilliant mind for this critical endeavour."
Howard inclined his head slightly, hands clasped behind his back.
"I am gratified by your regard, Mr. Morrison. Pray, elucidate the particulars of this assignment."
Morrison tapped the table, the map magnifying to reveal four cargo routes threading through Columbia's wilds.
"Four shipments—Originium-enhanced munitions, artillery of cataclysmic potential, valued at twenty billion Lungmen Dollars. They vanished two weeks ago. Yet, consider this."
He gestured, summoning grainy footage—four armoured cargo haulers rolling into a Blacksteel depot beneath the harsh glow of sodium lamps.
Their hulls bore no marks, no gouges; doors remained sealed, engines thrummed with a low, steady growl.
"Returned intact," Morrison continued, his voice tightening. "But within? Nothing. Empty as a mausoleum."
Howard's faint smile vanished, his gaze honing as he approached the table.
He studied the routes—one slicing through the sun-scorched desert flats, another tracing the rugged coastal cliffs, and two threading the mist-shrouded mountain passes.
"Vehicles unmarred, contents excised without evidence," he mused, his tone steady.
"This is no haphazard theft but an operation of meticulous design. Who, may I ask, has preceded me in this investigation?"
The commander's growl rumbled forth, his prosthetic fist striking the table with a metallic clang.
"All have proven wanting. The Columbian NSA deployed their premier agents—operatives equipped with advanced devices and elevated clearances. Three firms as well—Ravencloak, Silverpoint, Lee's Agency, and an Ursus contingent of notable tenacity. Each returned with naught. The trail is barren, and our losses—twenty billion LMD—threaten both fortune and prestige."
Howard examined the footage anew, the haulers' pristine shells replaying in silent defiance—locked, unblemished, yet hollow.
"Four shipments, retrieved without sign of violation, valued at such an astronomical sum," he said, his voice measured.
"This bespeaks a force of extraordinary discipline—perhaps former special operatives or a PMC turned renegade. You confront an adversary of formidable cunning, Mr. Morrison, one who exploits your vulnerability with exactitude."
He straightened, the weight of the task settling upon him like a mantle.
"Why entrust this to me?"
Morrison's lips curved faintly, a shadow of a smirk.
"Your assistance to the LPD. You dismantled a Reunion smuggling network in Lungmen—Originium traffickers, deeply entrenched. Your reputation precedes you. We seek one who perceives what others overlook."
The woman—her tag read Liskarm—interjected, her voice honed to a point.
"We possess a fragment of intelligence. A coded transmission was intercepted near the coastal route, encrypted beyond the federal capacity to decipher. Are you capable?"
Howard's smile returned, tempered yet resolute.
"Provide me with the transmission, a pot of strong coffee, and a space free of interruption. I will try my best to decipher it."
He met their scrutiny with unwavering poise.
The commander inclined his head, a grudging respect in his steely gaze.
"Proceed with haste, Leyman. Time is a resource we cannot spare."
Howard turned, his mind alight with calculation.
It was time to unveil the truth