Prologue

  Niko sat in the corner, his finger tracing the rim of his half-full glass of Mekhong whiskey. It burned less now. Months of drinking had dulled the sting.

  Sweat dripped from his forehead, slicked his palms, and dampened the shirt under his arms. Those damned armpits. No matter how long he stayed, he couldn’t get used to the tropics.

  The air was thick with smoke, swallowing most of the yellow light. Voices mixed with the clink of bottles and bursts of laughter. He wasn’t drunk, yet, but the whiskey dulled the worst of it. The fear, the regret. Everything he had worked for, the future he had once envisioned so clearly, was now a smoldering wreck. A few months ago, he had been on top of the world. Now, he was a wanted man lost in the backstreets of Olongapo.

  Then he heard it.

  “Esteemed colleagues, welcome to the future.”

  Niko turned toward the sound his own voice. Someone’s phone on a nearby table played a video of him. There he was—confident, standing before a crowd, delivering the keynote that had made him famous. The memory felt distant. He remembered the sweat on his neck, the roar of applause.

  For a moment, he couldn’t help himself. He chuckled bitterly, raised his glass, and shouted, “Welcome to the future, assholes!”

  The glass hit the bar with a sharp clink as he tossed back the last of his drink. The sound seemed to punctuate his outburst, and all eyes turned toward him. Niko stiffened as the weight of their stares pressed down on him. The bartender, a young woman with kind eyes, approached cautiously.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  He wiped some of the drink which had clung to his thick stubble away and rubbed his weary eyes. “Yeah. Just got carried away.”

  Before he could sink back into his corner, a man with a phone stepped forward, grinning. The camera’s flash went off. “Holy shit, you’re that guy,” the man exclaimed, loud enough for the entire bar to hear.

  A small group began to form around him. They peppered him with questions, their voices overlapping and their phones pointed at him like guns. Panic surged in Niko’s chest.

  He mumbled an apology, slipping off the barstool and heading for the bathroom.

  Inside the cramped space, he splashed cold water on his face, gripping the edges of the sink as he stared at his reflection. “What is wrong with you?” he chastised himself. He lost track of time until his phone jolted him back to the present.

  Pulling it out, he saw the notification. Just one word, in capital letters:

  RUN

  His blood ran cold. They had found him.

  Niko cracked the bathroom door open, his eyes scanning the bar. Two police officers in light blue uniforms and black berets were speaking to the bartender, who pointed in his direction. His stomach churned.

  “Think, think,” he muttered under his breath, adrenaline surging.

  His eyes darted to the tiny window above the toilet. He moved quickly, wedging himself through the narrow opening just as the bathroom door burst open behind him.

  The humid night air hit him as he landed outside in a heap. He could hear sirens closing in, their wails cutting through the noise of the city. He scrambled to his feet, darting down the alleyway, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He vaulted over crates, dodged startled vendors, and ignored the shouts of passersby as he barreled through the chaos.

  A sharp whistle caught his ear. He turned to see two officers on his left, their eyes locking onto him. Niko pushed himself harder, his legs burning as he veered down a side street, narrowly avoiding a fruit cart.

  The marketplace saved him. Vendors shouted over one another, customers bartered loudly, and the dense throng of people provided the perfect cover. Niko ran until his lungs burned, then ducked into a corner, hands on his knees, as he tried to steady his breath.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he whispered harshly to himself. He had been reckless.

  “Kumusta.”

  The voice startled him. Niko looked up to see a small girl standing in front of him, her face smudged with dirt but lit by an innocent smile. She held out a piece of candy. He must have looked like a beggar to her.

  He hesitated before taking it. “Thanks…um, sorry, salamat,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  The girl giggled and ran off, disappearing into the crowd.

  Niko sat there, staring at the candy in his hand. The world was cruel. Unforgiving. But kindness still found a way to exist.

  Maybe that meant it was worth fighting for.

  1

  The Failed Scientist

  Three years earlier

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  Niko woke up in a cold sweat. Nightmares. Again. “What’s the time?” he asked into the darkness, yawning.

  A calm, automated voice responded from above, “It is five fifteen a.m., Singaporean Standard Time. The weather is currently 27 degrees Celsius with 80% humidity.”

  Niko groaned, rubbing his temples. “I didn’t ask for a weather report,” he muttered, rolling out of bed. Smart clocks, always trying to do too much. It was too early to start the day, too late to go back to sleep. Work it is, then.

  He stood up and walked into the small kitchenette. The smart panels on the walls adjusted the lighting and temperature as he passed. In the corner, his most valuable possession—his computer—hummed. The voice-activated coffee maker chirped, “Good morning!” as it started brewing his lifeline.

  Niko looked around with a tired gaze. His modest apartment on Petain Road was little more than a box with a shower—the overcrowding of the past years had driven comfort to the brink. The living area was sparse, with just a single reclining chair and a work desk buried under a mountain of holo-screens, each flashing with research papers still needing attention. At difficult times like these, he used to reach for a bottle, but now all that remained was the work. “Study something that pays well!” he remembered his parents shouting. This wasn’t it.

  He shuffled to the bathroom and caught sight of himself in the mirror. Damn. Once upon a time, he’d turned heads on Orchard Road. Now, a haggard face with uneven stubble and dark bags under the eyes stared back at him.

  Almost two decades of chasing scientific breakthroughs had taken their toll. Overtime in the lab, endless nights buried in textbooks and data sheets, writing grant applications on weekends. Each wrinkle, each gray hair, was a badge of honor. “When did you get so damn old?” he muttered to his reflection. He let out a weary sigh, shaking his head before turning away to get dressed and face the day ahead.

  Stepping outside with his bike, he confronted Singapore’s relentless weather. The constant rain of the wet season hammered down in sheets, turning the streets into rivers. The gray sky hung low, oppressive and unyielding, as if determined to drench every inch of the city. The air was thick with the smell of wet asphalt and the faint scent of jasmine from the nearby park. Niko knew he’d be soaked by the time he reached work. At least it gave him something to bond over with his colleagues. Lately, things in the lab had been…less than stellar.

  For nearly two decades, Niko had immersed himself in the world of nanomedicine, dreaming of breakthroughs in treating neurological diseases like Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s. His work was pioneering, but progress came agonizingly slow. The challenge lay not only in the technology but in the brain’s stubborn defenses.

  The blood-brain barrier remained a formidable adversary. It allowed only select particles through, making it hard to deliver drugs where they were needed most. And even if he could breach this barrier, the brain’s delicate tissue posed another hurdle. One wrong move, and you could do more harm than good. Plus, the immune system had an annoying habit of destroying his nanoparticles before they could get to work.

  Niko often thought about how impressive his job sounded. “I’m basically trying to inject microscopic surgeons directly into the brain,” he’d explain. It sounded cool, and honestly, that was part of the appeal. Cutting-edge science with a pinch of showmanship.

  As he sloshed through the wet streets, Niko felt the weight of sixteen years of struggle. At forty-two, single, and feeling a lot older than his years, he knew something had to give.

  He passed by the bustling hawker centers, the smell of curry and spices mingling with the scent of rain. Even the towering Finance District was obscured by fog. Navigating between puddles that reflected neon signs of every color, Niko felt his coat getting soggier with each splash. He sensed the city's tension. The government’s grip was tight, and everyone seemed to be living on edge these days. The bright lights that once felt festive now felt more like interrogation lamps.

  By the time he cycled into the Singapore Technological University campus, the downpour had already drenched him to the bone. He parked his bike and hurried inside, shaking off his coat in the foyer and splattering water droplets on the polished floor.

  His friend and colleague, Ryan Lee, greeted him with a smirk. Tall and handsome, with a chiseled jawline and perpetually tousled hair, Ryan always looked like he belonged on a magazine cover rather than in a lab. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he took in Niko’s frenzied appearance. “Morning, boss. Raining outside?” Ryan’s voice had that usual lazy drawl, his casual demeanor a contrast to Niko’s discomfort.

  “Just a little,” Niko replied, continuing to shake off his coat. “Is someone in the meeting room?”

  “Two suits. Government types. Didn’t say much.”

  Niko’s stomach knotted. Unannounced visits were never a good sign. However, the figures in the conference room weren’t the usual officials from the Singaporean Ministry of Health—two elderly Hokkien ladies who loved to joke about how Niko’s research budget could probably fund a small country. “Morning, Professor Goldmine,” one of them would always quip with a laugh. “How’s the secret vault coming along? Or are you building a spaceship with all that grant money?”

  “It’d be easier if we just sent that cash directly into a black hole, lah!” the other would chime in, barely stifling her giggles.

  Niko would chuckle along, even though the teasing was half-serious. What else was he supposed to say? They were right.

  Today, however, it wasn’t the familiar jesting faces that greeted him, but two strangers who exuded an air of authority. The man was towering and muscular, his face marked by acne scars, giving him a rugged, intimidating presence. His dark suit barely contained his broad shoulders, making him resemble a bear ready to break free. The woman beside him, with elegant poise and a flawless appearance, offered her hand with precise and confident movements. Her eyes locked onto Niko’s as they shook hands firmly.

  “I’m Operations Officer Priya Najjar from the CIA,” she said in a clipped Southern American accent, her tone brooking no argument. “And this is Detective Singh from the Ministry of Defense of Singapore. We need a moment of your time, Professor.”

  Niko’s anxiety spiked. “What’s this about?”

  “I work for representatives of the Western Bloc, and we have a proposition for you. We need you to come with us on an urgent project, located overseas.”

  Niko’s eyes widened, his breath caught mid-inhale. “Wait—what? This…this has to be a mistake,” he stammered.

  Najjar shook her head firmly. “No mistake, Professor. You were specifically selected for this job.”

  “Why me? Why not someone from the States?”

  “We’ve already recruited Thomas Edmundsson from Caltech, someone I believe you’ve collaborated with in the past. His insight has been invaluable, but we need your expertise as well. Trust me when I say this, Professor: this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

  “I’m guessing this isn’t optional,” Niko said, brows raised. No response. Great. “What’s the project about, exactly?”

  “I’m not in a position to share any details with you at this moment, Professor, but you’ll be briefed on all the project details upon your arrival.” Najjar looked at her watch.

  With a rush of indignation at the woman’s attitude, Niko scoffed, “Look, I don’t know who you think you are, showing up out of nowhere and expecting me to drop everything without even explaining what this so-called ‘opportunity’ is. What kind of bullshit is this?”

  Najjar’s eyes hardened, the light in them turning cold. Before she could respond, however, Singh spoke in a baritone voice, still maintaining a semblance of friendliness, unlike his counterpart.

  “Unfortunately, you have no choice, Professor. You have been selected. In my hand, I have the sabbatical notice you will turn in today to the Ministry of Health, effective immediately. You are expected to leave with Officer Najjar. Today. If you don’t comply, you will face detention and jail time in Singapore.”

  Niko’s mind spun. The Singaporeans had sold him out to the Western Pact. The noose was tightening.

  Najjar added, “Our plane leaves in three hours. Be on it.” Singh handed him the papers and walked out with Najjar, whose heels clicked sharply against the floor. They took the air in the room with them, leaving Niko stunned and reeling.