Sebastian Forsythe killed the engine of his black Aston Martin and stepped out into the crisp mountain air, his handmade Italian leather shoes crunching on the gravel path. The contrast between his immaculate charcoal suit and the dilapidated building before him couldn't have been starker. Weathered wooden boards hung at odd angles, paint peeled from every surface like diseased skin, and broken shutters dangled from rusted hinges. This place looked like it hadn't seen proper maintenance in decades.
He adjusted his platinum cufflinks and surveyed the ramshackle structure with calculated interest. Finding the mysterious "Black Cat" had proven more challenging than anticipated. Three weeks of following leads through the city's underground networks had finally brought him here, to this forgotten corner of the mountains where civilization seemed to have given up entirely.
The Sterling Industries's most advanced prototype chip-worth fifty million dollars and three years of research-had vanished from their supposedly impenetrable vault. Industrial espionage of this caliber required someone with exceptional skills, someone who could slip through security systems like smoke. Someone like the Black Cat.
Sebastian straightened his silk tie and started up the uneven path toward the front door. Weeds pushed through cracks in the concrete steps, and he could hear the distant sound of children's voices echoing from somewhere inside the building. An orphanage, according to his intelligence. The perfect cover for someone who needed to stay invisible.
A rock whistled past his left ear with enough force to split his scalp if it had connected. Sebastian froze, his hand instinctively moving toward the concealed knife at his waist before he spotted the source of the attack.
Five children, ranging in age from perhaps seven to twelve, had emerged from behind a cluster of overgrown bushes. The oldest boy held a slingshot loaded with another stone, his face twisted in fierce determination. The younger ones clutched an assortment of rocks and what appeared to be a homemade catapult constructed from rubber bands and wooden spoons.
"Get out of here, mister!" the boy with the slingshot shouted, his voice cracking with pre-adolescent fury. "We don't want your fancy building company tearing down our home!"
A gap-toothed girl who couldn't have been older than eight stepped forward, brandishing a particularly sharp-looking piece of gravel. "Yeah! And we don't want to buy whatever you're selling either! Duncan says salesmen are just liars in expensive suits!"
Sebastian raised both hands in a gesture of surrender, though he couldn't suppress a slight smile. The children's protective instincts were admirable, even if their aim left something to be desired. "I'm not here to tear anything down, and I'm not selling anything."
"That's what they all say!" The oldest boy pulled back his slingshot again. "You rich people think you can just show up and take whatever you want. Well, not our home!"
Another rock sailed through the air, this one coming close enough to Sebastian's shoulder that he felt the wind displacement. His smile faded. These children weren't playing-they were genuinely afraid, and fear made people dangerous regardless of their age or size.