Apocalypse Trade Monopoly

This was a mistake.

Ava's stomach twisted.

She knew this place.

Lucas pulled back the tarp, stepping inside like he owned the place.

Ava followed. Carefully.

Because this?

This wasn't just any trader's stall.

This was smuggler den.

The air smelled like oil, gunmetal, and old-world tech. Disassembled parts littered the table—half-repaired weapons, torn circuit boards, encrypted drives that still held secrets worth killing for.

And at the center of it all—Mikhail Antonov.

The Russian born man leaned back in his chair, arms draped over the sides like a king sitting on his throne. Broad. Built like a war machine. His silver-streaked buzz cut did nothing to soften the sheer brutality of his face—jagged scar down his left cheek, piercing blue eyes that looked like they could strip a man down to the bone.

His voice rolled through the room, thick with a Russian accent.

"Bai." A slow, amused smile stretched across his face. "I was wondering when you would crawl back in."

Lucas grinned. Relaxed. Effortless. "Miss me, Antonov?"

Mikhail chuckled. Deep. Heavy. Like distant thunder.

"I miss many things, Bai. My homeland. My good vodka. My peace."

Then—his gaze flicked to Ava.

Sharp. Calculating.

"But mostly?" His voice dropped, colder now. "I miss doing business without little spies sniffing around my den."

Ava didn't move.

Didn't flinch.

But her system did automatically.

[WARNING: High-Risk Individual Detected]

[Subject: Mikhail Antonov]

[Threat Level: 87%]

[Combat Readiness: Unknown]

Ava's pulse didn't change. She had expected as much.

Lucas? He just sighed.

"I don't work with spies, Antonov." His golden eyes flickered. "I work with investments."

Mikhail snorted. "That so?"

Slowly, deliberately, he reached beneath the table.

Ava's muscles coiled, and before she even gave the command—

[SCANNING OBJECT…]

[Material: Reinforced Tungsten Alloy]

[Length: 9.2 Inches]

[Power Source Detected – Unstable]

[Recommendation: High Caution]

A knife.

Not just any knife. Custom-modified.

Antonov let it sit on the table. Didn't pick it up.

Didn't need to.

His point was already made.

Lucas, still casual, only raised an eyebrow. "That for me?"

Mikhail leaned forward, resting thick forearms against the table.

"Depends. What are you giving me, Bai?"

Lucas reached into his jacket.

Pulled out a gold-plated circuit chip.

And tossed it onto the table.

Ava's system immediately reacted.

[SCANNING OBJECT…]

[Encryption Chip Detected – Military Grade]

[Type: Alpha-6 Secure Key]

[Function: Decrypt Restricted Data Vaults]

[Trade Value: EXTREME]

Mikhail's smile vanished.

The air in the tent shifted.

The kind of tension that preceded violence.

Lucas, as always, remained unbothered.

"You want it or not, Antonov?"

A beat of silence.

Then—

Mikhail laughed.

Loud. Deep. A sound that rattled the entire den.

He reached under the table again, this time pulling out a small, reinforced lockbox.

Ava's system pinged instantly.

[SCANNING OBJECT…]

[Containment Unit – Model X-22]

[Temperature Regulated – High-Security Seal]

[Possible Contents: Advanced Biotech / Chemical Storage]

Her stomach tightened.

Lucas caught the lockbox easily.

Mikhail's blue eyes gleamed. "You always bring interesting things, Bai. One day, it will get you killed."

Lucas chuckled. "Maybe."

He tapped the lockbox twice.

Turned to Ava.

And smirked.

"Now, Beauty—"

He gestured toward the exit.

"Time for the best part."

Lucas tapped the lockbox twice, his smirk barely shifting.

"Now, Beauty—" He flicked his wrist, motioning toward the back of the tent. "Time for you to leave."

Ava's brows furrowed. "Excuse me?"

Lucas sighed, stepping closer, voice dropping to something smooth. Convincing. Dangerous.

"You're going to take the back exit, go home, and act like you were never here." His golden eyes gleamed, sharp as a knife edge. "Meanwhile, I'll give our lovely audience out front something else to look at."

Her jaw tightened. "Which is?"

Lucas grinned.

And then—he pulled a cloth from his coat.

A simple, dark wrap. Worn at the edges, soft enough to look harmless.

Except—she knew what he was about to do.

Ava's stomach twisted.

"You're going to act like you're carrying me?" she muttered, voice flat.

Lucas shrugged. "People see what they expect to see."

Mikhail Antonov chuckled from behind them, voice rich with amusement. "Smart boy. A man leaving with a body? Nobody questions that."

Ava shot him a glare. "Not helping."

Mikhail just smirked.

Lucas tossed the cloth over his shoulder. Easy. Effortless. Like he'd done this before.

Ava didn't like how comfortable he was with it.

"You think they'll buy it?" she asked.

Lucas laughed. "Beauty, in this market? People disappear all the time." He leaned in, voice brushing against her skin. "Just make sure you're not one of them."

Ava exhaled sharply.

Her system activated on its own.

[CALCULATING EXIT ROUTE…]

[Risk Factor: 24%]

[Back Door – Unmonitored]

[Recommended Action: Move Now]

She didn't argue.

Didn't fight him on it.

Because as much as she hated it—Lucas was right.

The longer she stayed, the more eyes landed on them.

More eyes meant more risk.

Lucas watched.

Watched as Ava slipped toward the back, boots barely making a sound against the dirt.

Watched as she moved fast, precise, disciplined.

Watched as she reached the exit—a narrow hatch hidden beneath a stack of rusted crates.

She didn't hesitate.

Didn't second-guess.

A quick flick of her wrist, and the metal latch clicked open.

Below—darkness.

A passage, carved deep beneath the market. Old maintenance tunnels. Cramped, filthy, but untraceable.

Lucas's golden eyes followed her every movement.

Ava swung one leg over, then the other—lowering herself down.

One final glance up.

Their eyes met.

No words.

Just a brief, sharp moment of understanding.

Then—she dropped.

The tunnel swallowed her whole.

Lucas exhaled, rolling his shoulders.

Then—he turned.

The cloth draped over his shoulder, his expression smooth, unbothered. Like nothing had just happened.

Ava was gone.

Which meant it was time for the real business.

Mikhail Antonov hadn't moved. He was still seated at the cluttered table, watching.

Not impatient. Not irritated.

Interested.

Lucas knew that look.

It meant Antonov was waiting.

Lucas pulled up a chair, flipped it around, and straddled it, arms resting over the back.

Casual. At ease.