Chapter 135: Saviour!!

Click.

Crowds across the world flinched, eyes shut tight. In the Indian market that filled the feed, vendors clutched their children, prayers spilling from their lips. People braced for pain, for blood, for death.

T +35.

The screen showed chaos—people pushing, screaming, some falling to the ground in fear. But not a single body bled, not a single soul collapsed the way Atropos promised.

T +40.

Atropos froze. The mask tilted, stunned. Her hand jabbed the button again.

Click.

Still nothing.

The President leaned forward in the conference chamber. “What’s happening?”

The NATO representative’s face was pale. “I don’t know, Mr. President. Looks like… something interrupted her trigger.”

On the screen, Atropos pressed again, frantic now. Click. Click. Nothing. Her laugh cracked, faltering.

And then—movement behind her.

A new figure stepped into the frame. Another mask, but different. Slim, sharp. The figure grabbed the corner of the green backdrop behind Atropos and ripped it down in one smooth pull. The illusion tore apart, exposing the room she was truly in.

The masked woman leaned down beside Atropos and spoke directly into the feed. Her voice was clear, cold, but almost playful.

“Hello, Miss Atropos… time to sleep.”

A single, brutal strike—Atropos’s head snapped sideways. She crumpled to the floor, unconscious, her mask rolling away across the tiles.

The intruder stood tall, her own mask glinting under the harsh light. She faced the camera, tilted her head slightly, and then her voice rang out across every screen on earth.

“Hello, my dear earthlings. No more threat for anyone. Enjoy your life.”

She raised a hand in a mock salute. Then—blink. The entire broadcast cut to black.

The countdown vanished. The feed ended.

The roar rose like a festival. In streets and living rooms and packed stalls, people screamed, hugged strangers, wept with relief—like their favorite team had just won the World Cup. For a few impossible minutes, the world forgot fear.

Back in the virtual conference room, the tone had flipped as fast as the headlines.

“Who was she?” the prime minister asked, voice small and incredulous.

“She saved the world,” another leader said, as if saying it out loud would make it true.

“Thank God,” someone else whispered.

The moment hung there—a breath of relief—until the NATO representative’s phone buzzed, sharp and unwanted. He glanced at it, then at the screen, an expression sliding from hope to caution.

He tapped the line. “What?” he said into the handset.

He listened a beat. Then he looked up, eyes narrowing. “Mr. President,” he said, voice a notch higher. “I have breaking news.”

All heads turned. The representative shared his screen; a text message appeared, simple and impossibly calm.

Hello,

This is to inform you all that the dormant compound present in bodies, air, water, or any other host has been completely neutralized.

Do not worry. It will not come back. Tell your people to relax and continue their normal activities.

Your saviour

You do not want to know me.

Silence slammed back into the room. A few people laughed, a short, disbelieving sound. One minister reached for his throat, as if the air were suddenly fragile.

The President leaned forward. “Is this a joke?” His tone tried to be light and failed.

The NATO representative turned to the lab feeds. “No, sir. Our teams just ran confirmatory assays. The compound has vanished from every tested sample. The robot fly we had in evidence—it doesn’t react to any sample. Every specimen we took shows neutralization without residue.” He swallowed. “We don’t have an explanation yet. The scientists are baffled.”

A murmur—this time edged with incredulity and a touch of fear mixed into relief. One leader folded his hands, whispering, “God sent help,” and others nodded, grateful or relieved or simply exhausted.

But the President’s face hardened as the applause outside spilled into the streets and the world began to normalize on live feeds. Relief was contagious, and dangerous if mismanaged.

“Whoever did this,” he said, voice tight but controlled, “treated people like pieces on a board. I don’t care whether they tried to kill us or ’save’ us — playing with lives as if it’s a game is unforgivable.” He looked to the NATO representative. “Put together a task force. Full authority. I want every intelligence channel on this in forty-eight hours — financial trails, tech traces, camera footage, ISP logs, bank transfers, lab records. Find whoever’s pulling these strings, and tell me everything.”

“We will, sir,” the representative said, the weight of it already settling across his shoulders.

The President tapped his pen against the table. “And brief me directly. I don’t want any intermediate filters. No leaks. I want facts before the press spins this into myth.”

“Understood,” the NATO rep replied.

Around the virtual room, leaders began to give orders—security sweeps, monitoring, covert teams mobilized. Relief had arrived, but so had suspicion. No government wanted some anonymous saviour to outshine its authority, or to hold a power they didn’t control.

Star Harbor, Cinder Square — Sterling Enterprises

Miles stood beside June in his office, both facing the wide TV mounted on the wall. The news anchors were already spinning the miracle, clips of cheering crowds and smiling faces looping again and again.

June let out a long sigh. “Standing here and saving the world like this… Boss, that’s the kind of achievement people should build statues for.”

Miles shook his head, arms folded. “It’s not just mine. Nothing ever is. It was a team effort.” He paused, eyes softening. “Besides, this all started with my father. Dad’s research created this problem by accident. He spent his last days of life trying to destroy it. Now he’s gone, so finishing what he started—it’s my responsibility.”

June glanced at him, lips curling in a small smile. “I know he’s proud of you.”

Miles allowed himself the faintest grin before June ruined the moment. “But… there’s one issue.”

Miles raised a brow. “What now?”

“We’re going to have to pay a massive electricity bill.”

For a beat, silence. Then Miles sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Well… everything comes with a price.”

….

Flashback

The line crackled softly in his ear.

“Where did you find it?” Monica’s voice was sharp, urgent.

Miles looked at the small picture frame “It was hidden in the frame. A family picture frame my mom always carried.”

Monica’s breath caught. “Unbelievable… This isn’t just a design—it’s a perfectly tuned set of frequencies. It neutralizes the compound completely. Our antidote had limits, but this? This overcomes everything. So… how do we use it?”

Miles’s eyes hardened. “Through air telecommunications.”

She hesitated. “…Wait, you’re not actually thinking—”

“Yes,” Miles cut in. “Pull the funds from the reserve. Start building the equipment. Every network tower, every antenna, every satellite dish we have across the world—we’ll sync them all. When the time comes, we’ll flood the skies.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then Monica’s voice, calm and steady. “I’ll prepare everything, boss.”

—

Present, Mt. West — Reaper Entertainment, Secret War Room

Screens flickered across the darkened room, feeds cutting one by one as masked operatives secured their targets.

“Good work, everyone,” Monica said into the comms. Her tone was cool, but her hands trembled just slightly as she touched her headset. “Bring everyone in—except Kyle Sterling. Boss will handle him personally.”

“Copy that,” a female masked agent replied.

Monica leaned back in her chair, looking past the glass walls to the sky outside. It was blue, quiet, utterly at peace.

Her thoughts drifted back three days earlier.

—

On the call, her voice had been sharper. “Boss, have you seen the broadcast?”

“Yes.” Miles’s voice had been flat.

“It looks like we’re late,” she muttered. “One day too late.”

“One day doesn’t matter,” Miles replied. “Only criminals were hit. Is the tech functional now?”

“The final tuning just finished. We’re one click away.”

“That’s enough.” A pause, then his voice softer, almost relieved. “Good work.”

—

Now, Monica closed her eyes and whispered into the quiet war room, as if her words were meant for the absent man.

“Finally, it’s done. Boss… you always asked me what to do with this much money.”

She opened her eyes again, looking at the sky that seemed untouched by all the chaos of the last days.

“We do this.”

Night, Citadel City — Kyle’s Manor

Kyle stirred on the cold floor, a low groan escaping as consciousness returned. His head throbbed. He pushed himself up slowly, hand gripping the side of his skull.

The room was silent. Too silent.

“…Hello?” His voice echoed against the walls. No reply.

He staggered forward, calling again, louder. “Where are you all?!”

Nothing.

His eyes adjusted to the dim light. The manor didn’t look like the polished palace he left behind—it looked ransacked. Drawers yanked open. Papers scattered across the carpet. Sheets torn from beds. Even the curtains half-hanging from their rods. It wasn’t theft. It was a search.

Kyle’s steps grew frantic as he crossed into the hall. The hum of his hidden equipment was gone. The broadcast consoles, the servers, the custom rigs, everything had vanished. All that remained were tangled wires and empty racks.

“No… no, no, no…”

He stumbled to the living room, grabbed the remote with shaking hands, and powered on the massive TV screen. The glow lit his face.

The headlines hit like bullets. UNKNOWN WOMAN IN MASK SHUTS DOWN ATROPOS. WORLDWIDE THREAT NEUTRALIZED. GLOBAL RELIEF CELEBRATIONS.

Clips rolled across every channel, crowds in India cheering, fireworks in Europe, prayers in temples and mosques, anchors smiling as they declared the end of the terror.

Kyle’s lips trembled. His eyes widened, then hardened, veins rising on his neck. He had spent seventeen years weaving this plan, building the networks, bending every resource into his grand design. And now, in one night, a shadow had cut it all apart.

His hand clenched into a fist. He screamed, a raw, furious sound that filled the empty halls.

“Seventeen years!” His voice broke into rage. “Seventeen years… ruined by a ghost I can’t even see!”

The manor swallowed his cry, walls echoing back nothing but his own frustration.

Kyle collapsed into the chair, chest heaving, eyes locked on the endless news ticker. Somewhere out there, his enemy was smiling.

And Kyle Sterling’s fury burned hotter than ever.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep