Thug and Idol: 10X Rewards Second Identity System

There was a second of silence as Michael's last words echoed in the house.

Then Tristan grabbed Michael's camera, threw it on the floor, and smashed it into pieces.

"It will be your—"

Before Michael could finish whatever he wanted to say, Tristan ran into the kitchen, located a dynamic in the corner, and smashed it on the wall.

Finally, blessed silence returned.

Tristan couldn't feel any more cameras watching himself. He scanned the kitchen for more dynamics, but found none. There weren't any cameras, either.

He went to look at other rooms. The bathroom was empty, but in the bedroom Tristan found another camera watching himself. This one had a dynamic built in.

"I know what you did, Tristan. You found me—so you KNOW I'm already near your family. I will kill them faster before you can do anything, believe it."

Tristan reached out for the camera, but felt the pressure of its gaze disappearing before he could destroy it. Michael turned his devices off.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

'He realized I traced his connection,' Tristan thought darkly. 'And now he will try to fulfill his threat.'

Tristan looked around the bedroom. In this place could still exist more clues about Michael's location, his abilities, and his goals. But now Tristan wasn't sure if he had even an hour to spare on finding them.

He had to hurry. He had to be elsewhere.

'No. Fuck it, an hour won't change things. And if it will, so be it. My "family" as Ass-Angel said… They weren't my family a long time ago.'

Tristan scowled just remembering his parents, the way their lives moved on without him like Tristan had never existed. His grandparents… Maybe they thought differently about Tristan's disappearance, but if they really cared, why didn't any of them come to visit him while he was in the hospital after the car crash, or afterward?

'Also, while I'm busy here, my subordinates can prepare for my trip.'

With that thought, Tristan purged any fear of them and began typing messages.

***

An hour later.

Tristan and Cutout had scoured every square meter of the house as much as they could within an hour. They could do more only by tearing down wallpaper and pulling off floors.

Michael was smart enough to not leave behind anything too personal, but he clearly had too many things to just bring with himself.

He had a lot of paper books, for one thing: there were psychology and fake psychology books about being charismatic and convincing, esoteric books, and a copy of a Bible.

There were also some tools for working with electronics—but from what Tristan could judge, most of his collection of them Michael had taken with him.

Besides that, if Michael had any sensitive information, he kept it on an electronic device or in his memory.

Thankfully, all the noise didn't make the neighbors call the police.

"What now, boss?" Cutout asked when Tristan declared the search to be over and walked out to the porch. "Are we packing anything from there?"

Tristan shook his head.

"No. Let's go—we have a long trip ahead of us, and the team should be waiting for us already."

***

Half an hour later.

By "the team" Tristan meant three people with guns and a car large enough to fit them and some extra equipment. Besides Cutout, all his best people were injured, so he had to ask for the second best.

Two of them were grunts Tristan knew—not the best shooters, but loyal and cunning like dogs. But the third…

"I thought you were on a sick leave, Damien," Tristan said with a frown. "What are you doing here?"

Damien grinned from ear to ear. From the shining in his eyes and his wide pupils, Tristan knew he was at least 10% high on painkillers.

"I know you are going to take down that bastard, boss—and I want a hand in it, too. The doc said I will be fine with some running and gunning, and I got my meds all in. Your third—fourth, should I say?—guy is still waiting for you if you want to send me home, but… You know how it is."

Damien winked conspiratorially. His speech was coherent, and his movements were smooth and even despite the painkillers.

Tristan still looked at him with a frown. He wasn't in the mood for this.

"You will just be a liability, Damien. Stuff your recklessness… Somewhere."

"Hey, hey! Look, boss—at least out of the guys who will be on this, I'm the only one who knows what we are dealing with besides you, boss!" Damien paused and looked at Cutout. "Alright, the knife guy too—but he's not much of a talker, isn't he? He won't take charge of your second team. And you have a second team preparing at our destination, don't you?"

Tristan huffed, but nodded.

This was true—when he asked for his Los Angeles team to gather, he also asked Leon Clavon, the leader of his home city enclave, to gather one there. Damien was smart enough to do something similar in Tristan's shoes.

'And Damien is right that it will be better if this team had someone who knows what Michael can do.'

"Alright, Damien. You have convinced me—but it will be your funeral. And your prolonged stay in a hospital…" Tristan shook his head.

Damien grinned wolfishly.

"Oh, trust me, some pain is nothing. I will even be fine not tearing the man's asshole apart personally, boss."

The team packed into the car. Tristan took the driver's seat, and Damien sat shotgun—only to almost immediately doze off. It was hard to say whether it was the effect of painkillers, or the late hour.

Probably the former—Damien was one of the people who had copied Tristan Hayes's night owl schedule.

'It will take half the night to reach my city. I hope my absence as Tristan Gemello won't be long enough that I will have to come up with excuses,' Tristan thought as he drove on the night road.

The confrontation with Michael and with his family loomed ahead of him like a dark mountain on the horizon.