CHAPTER 172: THE FARMER’S ASSOCIATION!!

Daniel’s birthday special lunch was served warm and bright, the table filled with Elena’s love and the twins’ chatter.

They ate, they laughed, they teased each other.

Family — loud, messy, perfect.

Later, all of them gathered in the living room.

Daniel leaned back on the sofa with a soft, proud smile.

"Thank you everyone for making this day so special,"

he said, voice full and warm,

"I love you guys."

Hope threw her tiny arms around him,

"I love you Daddy!"

Asher puffed his cheeks, not to be outdone,

"I love you more than her!"

Daniel laughed, pulling them close.

Miles sat nearby, watching quietly — warmth spreading through him.

Moments like this... he didn’t get them for seventeen years.

He didn’t take a single second lightly.

Then — buzz buzz —

his phone vibrated.

He glanced at the caller ID: Sterling Security Base.

Miles excused himself, stepping to the window.

"Yeah?"

The agent on the line sounded tense.

"Boss, you should see this..."

Miles’ expression shifted instantly — warmth vanishing, steel replacing it.

"When? Send me the feed."

He listened, jaw tightening.

"Keep everything locked. I’m coming."

He didn’t bother saying goodbye — just grabbed his keys and strode out.

Outside, the villa gate slid open.

Miles’ car shot out like a bullet.

Elena looked from the balcony, arms crossed.

"This boy... always rushing somewhere."

Daniel placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, smiling softly,

"Let him work, dear. He has responsibilities few can imagine."

"Hm..." Elena sighed, not fully convinced but trusting her son regardless.

Miles tore through the city streets, engine roaring, cutting clean through afternoon traffic.

Minutes later, he rolled through the perimeter checkpoint of the Sterling Security Base.

Only one thing was wrong.

An unfamiliar vehicle sat parked near the entrance — matte black, tinted windows, civilian plates but... off.

Foreign dust on the tires.

Too clean to be normal — too dirty to belong here.

Miles’ stride turned sharper as he entered the compound gate.

Soldiers saluted — quiet, tense.

They could feel the weight in the air too.

Miles’ eyes narrowed.

Miles stepped out of the car, shoes crunching on gravel. The night air still clung to the base — cold, quiet, heavy.

Charles was already waiting.

"Boss," Charles bowed slightly, falling into step beside him.

They headed toward the basement hallway — sterile lights, steel walls, security doors humming.

Miles’ voice was sharp.

"Mr. Charles, tell me everything. When did you find out?"

Charles kept his hands behind his back, tone tight.

"A few hours ago, boss. Two cars stopped near the check-post. Both drivers stepped out, shouted — ’we have a gift for you’ — then got into one car and drove off."

Miles slowed. "So sudden?"

"It created panic," Charles nodded.

"We thought it might be a bomb. We scanned the car. Cleared it. No explosives. The trunk was unlocked, we found him inside tied, mouth taped"

They reached the lower corridor. Reinforced glass lined the wall — and through it, the interrogation room.

Kyle Sterling sat inside.

Blank expression.

Body curled.

Murmuring like a broken machine.

Miles’ eyes narrowed.

"You talk to him?"

Charles swallowed.

"We tried. He only repeats one sentence."

"A sentence?"

"You should hear it yourself."

Charles opened a tablet, tapped play.

On the screen, Kyle rocked back and forth — eyes hollow, lips trembling, repeating like a child lost in nightmares:

"He will kill everyone... he will kill everyone... he will kill everyone..."

Miles’ jaw clenched.

"He?"

"We asked who," Charles said. "He just repeats. No response. No name."

"Is he on drugs?" Miles asked.

"It’s possible. I’m calling a medic to run tests." Charles said as he texted someone.

Miles stared through the glass. Kyle suddenly jolted — as if sensing him.

Charles lowered his voice.

"The two drivers — we’re tracking them. The second car was abandoned five miles out. Rental vehicles. Fake IDs."

"...Of course," Miles muttered.

"Open the door."

Charles hesitated only half a second.

"Yes, boss."

Metal clicked. Door swung open.

Miles stepped in. The room felt colder inside — like dread lived in the walls.

Kyle lifted his head. Eyes wild. Skin pale with panic.

Then he saw Miles.

And the terror multiplied.

"N–No... no no no..." Kyle gasped, scrambling back like a beaten dog.

Miles’ voice was low, steady, razor sharp.

"Kyle."

Kyle’s breath shook.

"He will kill us... he will kill us all... he will end the Sterlings... he will—"

"Who?" Miles leaned in.

"Who will kill us, Kyle? Say the name."

Kyle only clutched his head, rocking harder.

"He’s coming... he’s coming... the end..."

Miles stared at him a moment, then stepped back.

"He’s not in a state to talk," Miles murmured, stepping out.

"Keep him monitored. The second he says anything else — I want to know."

"Yes, boss."

Miles walked upstairs, each step like a ticking clock. Outside, that mysterious car still sat — there, silent, wrong.

Questions flooded his mind — ugly, sharp.

Who sent Kyle back like this?

Why return him at all?

And who is this phantom "He"?

Miles dialed.

Monica picked up instantly.

"Boss?"

"You seeing this?" said Miles.

"Yeah," she exhaled. "I’m just as confused. Do we... have a new enemy?"

"Possibility," Miles said.

"I assumed it was the WEB. Now it doesn’t look like them."

Monica’s voice hardened.

"I still think Princess has her fingers in this somehow. She helped you — even though Kyle was her client."

Miles rubbed his forehead.

"It’s possible."

"We’ll start with the two men who dropped the cars," Monica said.

"They’re the immediate thread. Pull it."

"And Silvey needs to know," Miles added.

"He said — Sterling’s enemy. If someone new entered the field, we need intel."

"Call her," Monica agreed.

Beat.

"By the way... how was the birthday?"

Miles’ voice softened.

"It was great. We had a special lunch."

"Tch. I’m jealous," she muttered with a smile he could hear.

Miles exhaled quietly.

"Sometimes I think of moving the Reaper HQ from Mount West to Star Harbor."

"You can’t, boss. Mt. West is a ghost fortress. Strategic advantage."

"I know."

His tone held regret.

"Don’t worry," Monica said lightly. "I already called Uncle Daniel."

Miles smirked.

"I thought so."

"Stay sharp, boss. I’ll handle the rest."

"Take care," Miles said.

The call ended.

Miles stood in that cold hallway, looking at the silent car

He didn’t recognize the battlefield.

And that meant only one thing:

The real enemy hadn’t shown their face yet.

And they were already close.

Charles approached, steps controlled but quick.

"Boss... we got something on them."

Miles turned, gaze sharp.

"What is it?"

Charles handed over a folded printout.

"Found this while digging. Let me show you."

Miles unfolded it — a grainy newspaper clipping.

Headline bold across the top:

"Farmer’s Association on Hunger Strike — Mayor Resigns Amid Pressure."

Miles frowned.

"A protest?"

"Yes, boss. Silverline City. Seven months ago. This strike forced the Mayor to resign — big scandal at the time."

Charles tapped the image.

"Look closely. These two, holding the poster."

He zoomed in.

Miles leaned forward, studying the faces — scruffy hair, caps..

His expression hardened.

"These are the same two who dropped Kyle."

"Exactly," Charles said.

"And Silverline City is far. Very far."

Miles’ brows knit.

"So this isn’t local. Someone’s playing long-range games."

"We’ve already dispatched agents to Silverline," Charles continued.

"And boss — this protest... look at the crowd."

Miles scanned the picture again.

Not sun-burnt laborers.

No weathered hands.

Feet straight, posture ready — like trained bodies pretending to slouch.

"These men aren’t farmers," Miles said quietly.

"No," Charles shook his head. "They stand like... operatives."

Miles’ pulse tightened.

"So someone used a ’farmer protest’ to topple a Mayor. And now they’re dumping Kyle at my gate."

Charles swallowed.

"It looks like someone controlling the government from shadows. Using civil unrest as a tool."

Miles tapped the picture, eyes cold.

"Find the truth behind this Farmers Association. And dig up the current Mayor’s entire history — from the cradle to breakfast today."

"Already on it," Charles nodded.

"Do you think this connects to the WEB?"

Miles exhaled slowly.

"No. I don’t think so, there are no tattoo’s on their wrists"

His voice dropped lower.

"This... is someone else."

Charles straightened.

"Understood. We’ll map every name in that protest."

"Take Monica in loop, she will get you the information on Mayor" said Miles

Miles turned toward the exit.

"I’m heading back. Call me the second anything moves."

"Yes, boss." Charles bowed

Miles paused, eyes still fixed on the photo.

Silverline City.

Scripts behind protests.

A ghost hand manipulating power.

And now taking an interest in the Sterlings.

He walked out, expression unreadable.

Whoever they were — they weren’t farmers.

Miles drove through the quiet streets toward Pearl Villa, city lights sliding across the windshield. His mind wasn’t in Star Harbor — it was already digging through Silverline’s shadows.

He pulled out his phone.

Scrolled once.

Pressed call.

It rang only half a second.

A lazy female voice answered — smooth, teasing, dangerous underneath.

"Well, well... look who decided to call. The ice-king himself. Did the cold finally melt, Ghost?"

Miles didn’t waste a breath.

"Kara, I need information."

She hummed, amused. "Tsk. Straight to business. Not even a hello. What happened to manners?"

"Kara."

That was enough. The tone shut the playfulness down just a little — enough to show he wasn’t in the mood.

She exhaled lightly. "Fine. Tell me. How can this Kara help the mighty Ghost today?"

Miles’ fingers tapped the steering wheel once — a habit when he was threading through unknowns.

"What do you know about the Farmers Association in Silverline?"

Silence.

Not long — but enough to say she recognized the weight behind the question.

To be continued..