Log 01
Mask Ignition
The sea wind was like a blade.
It sliced the Paradise Island’s lights into fragments.
The four hotels laid out like four exquisite cards—
Buffet: affordable yet extravagant, its 24-hour hypermarket glowing like daylight;
Millennium: the most human in flavor, Hong Kong, Mediterranean, European, and American cuisines rotating onto the table;
Grand Victorium: beneath golden light hid gaming tables, exhibition halls, and the most expensive silence in the world;
Elysian Grandeur: the golf lawn spread like a perfectly laid green carpet—when the wind passed, even the heart softened.
Behind the glass curtain walls were faces carefully polished by light.
Smiles.
Music.
Champagne.
And shadows that did not belong to paradise.
Lee Wai Hing arrived.
He pushed his sunglasses onto his head and let his wife and child enter the Elysian Grandeur Resort to check in first.
Not much luggage. More laughter from a family together.
He said this time was only for relaxation.
No cases.
No guns.
He did not know that paradise strikes best when you are relaxed.
Meanwhile, in the southern district of New City, inside a public housing unit,
a brochure for the Hoolini Bay Integrated Resort lay on the table.
Cheung Man Man, Lau Chee Yan, Lee Mun Tseng, and I had planned to leave tomorrow.
They chose a seaside cabin; I chose the one facing the sunrise.
I set my phone to silent, allowing only one number to break through—Eagle Eye.
Habit.
And a kind of unease.
The Grand Victorium Hotel, lobby.
The marble felt like ice.
The clock pointed to 8:30 a.m.; the lights had just reached that perfectly seductive glow.
Behind the front desk, a towering LED display illuminated the lobby, showcasing Sir Fan Wai-Min’s priceless exhibition pieces. Beneath each image, the exhibition dates, schedule, and venue details glowed steadily—like a countdown no one had noticed yet.
The front desk manager received an anonymous message:
“We will occupy Grand Victorium and take control of Sir Fan Wai Man’s jewels and paintings.
At the same time, the casino vault will return to the hands of freedom. —K”
The manager’s palms began to sweat.
He locked away his smile first, then the side doors, and finally, his own breathing.
At headquarters, police-blue lights moved along the walls.
Police Commissioner Richard Fair listened to the report, his brows deeply furrowed.
He ordered the Paradise Island Police Force to head to The Grand Victorium Hotel,
requested support from his former Blackstar Naval Special Warfare training program teammate, Eagle Eye,
and simultaneously raised the island’s security level to Red Alert.
Eagle Eye was at an undisclosed location.
A long table stood before him, covered with thick folders of intelligence reports.
He flipped through the documents while discussing tactics with several of his squad leaders.
On the other side of the wall was the training ground.
His team members were conducting close-quarters assault drills.
Footsteps, commands, and the sharp sound of bullets striking targets echoed through the room.
Just then—
The phone in his pocket vibrated several times.
Eagle Eye stopped writing.
He picked up the phone and glanced at the screen.
His eyes immediately sharpened.
“Captain Frank.”
A lean, battle-hardened man stepped forward at once..
He is the Falcon team leader in charge of Reconnaissance and aerial coordination,
“Take your team,” Eagle Eye said briefly.
“Move out. Grand Victorium Hotel.”
He then looked at the others.
“The rest of you stay in camp.
Stand by for further orders.”
The command was given, and everyone moved instantly.
Twenty minutes later.
Grand Victorium Hotel.
The lobby was still bright.
A piano played softly in the corner.
Guests walked in and out, unaware that anything was wrong.
Eagle Eye and Captain Frank entered through the side entrance.
The front desk manager was already waiting.
His face was pale.
He handed over his phone.
Eagle Eye glanced at the anonymous message.
His expression darkened slightly.
“Captain Frank.”
“Yes.”
“Pull up all surveillance feeds.”
Eagle Eye scanned the lobby calmly.
“Do not alarm the guests.
Set up a temporary command post here.”
Captain Frank immediately led two operators into the surveillance room.
Screens flickered to life one by one—
the lobby, elevator banks, side entrances, parking garage.
Dozens of cameras running simultaneously.
Then—
“Found something!”
One of the Falcon team members called out.
The main monitor froze on a frame.
The lobby camera.
A man stood in front of the massive LED exhibition display.
He looked like an ordinary guest.
Another operator simultaneously pulled up his data—
identity records, background information, immigration logs.
The profile appeared on the central screen.
Captain Frank studied it briefly.
His brow tightened.
Eagle Eye saw it too.
He recognized the face.
For a moment, the piano music in the lobby seemed very far away.
Eagle Eye said nothing.
He simply picked up his radio.
Pressed the transmit button.
His voice was calm.
“All personnel at base—deploy immediately.”
“Destination: Grand Victorium Hotel.”
He paused for a second.
Then continued issuing orders.
“Iron Wall, secure the perimeter.
Falcon, take control of surveillance.
Hammer, move into the lobby and stand by.
Ghost, disguised as guests, monitoring visitors.”
“We'll have company very soon.”
Eagle Eye stared at the man on the screen.
His eyes were like a eagle’s.
And the entire Grand Victorium Hotel
still had no idea—
The hunt
had already begun.
Muhammad Badr Al-Satiqan.
PhD in Chemical Engineering.
Graduate of the Urelius Institute of Technology (UIT).
Licensed pilot.
Former Black Star Naval Special Warfare program trainee, alongside Richard Fair and Eagle Eye.
Until the war came.
“To combat terrorists, coalition forces bombed the northern city district.”
When he returned home, his house was gone.
The walls remained.
The smiles in the photographs remained.
The people did not.
Rage renamed him.
From then on, he was simply Muhammad. No surname.
He joined KARAM.
Cold, taciturn, unsmiling, resourceful, observant, ruthless.
Assembling nearly impossible-to-defuse explosive devices was his specialty.
KARAM gave him companions:
Saeed Hanifnejad—55, male, former KARAM special forces, assassination expert, a man who walked without a shadow;
Mossad Jabbar—35, male, operations planner, sharpshooter, a cold mind and even colder hands;
Yuliana Mamu—28, female, Mossad’s wife, leader of the suicide squad, petite, agile as a leopard, her smile sharp as a blade.
The four had executed precise strikes in UAS and Gafili, leaving behind newspapers, flames, and unanswered questions.
So when Paradise Island received the threat, Black Whale knew—
This was no joke.
I sat at home looking at the blue sky outside the window.
My reflection in the glass—my eyes slightly brighter than the screen.
I straightened my chair.
That posture meant—
the vacation might be postponed.
My phone came alive.
Eagle Eye.
He did not say “sorry.”
He did not say “disturbing you.”
He only said, “Something’s happened on Paradise Island. We need you.”
“I understand,” I replied.
I glanced at the packing list on the table.
Shorts. Slippers. Sunscreen.
Useless.
I crossed them out in my mind.
Elysian Grandeur Resort.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was a picture of prosperity.
Lee Wai Hing’s child’s laughter passed through the swimming pool like a string of sunlight.
He draped a towel over his shoulder and told his wife, “I’ll get two coconuts.”
He was unhurried.
He did not notice two unfamiliar men now standing by the pool.
Their skin darker than the sun, backs hurried, no sweat.
The Grand Victorium Hotel.
Nineteen minutes after the anonymous email.
The second message:
“Six hours to countdown.”
Coordinates.
Landing precisely on the maintenance corridor behind the casino vault.
Richard Fair crushed out his cigarette.
“Seal the island.”
He said it lightly.
As if giving an everyday reminder.
But everyone knew—it was the gesture that cut Paradise Island from laughter back into reality.
Inside the Raptor mobile command vehicle.
Eagle Eye pulled up a file.
ZETA-2.
Not a person.
Not merely a plan.
Like a shadow that always cleared the road one week before KARAM struck.
Some said it was an algorithm.
Some said connections.
Some said an insider.
Paradise Island Airport.
Man Man, Chee Yan, Mun Tseng, and I met Eagle Eye at immigration and boarded the Raptor command vehicle together.
Eagle Eye briefly outlined the situation.
I do not like guessing.
I only care which side it stands on this time.
He pushed an image onto my screen.
“Look at this.”
The thermal image of the maintenance corridor wall resembled a face unable to hide emotion.
One area showed abnormal heat—
warm.
As if someone were breathing inside the wall.
I remained silent.
Short sentences are habit.
And preparation.
Grand Victorium basement level two.
Casino.
The sound of chips like rain.
The dealer’s fingers moved faster than rain.
No one noticed the surveillance frame rate drop by half a frame.
Just half.
But half a frame was enough to erase a face from the image.
That face belonged to Yuliana.
Her steps were like a cat—
no, like wind trained to have no expression.
Her heartbeat did not rise as she passed security.
Inside her bag: lipstick, a mirror, mint candy.
And a ring unrecognized by any machine.
In light, the ring behaved.
In shadow, it began to speak.
Elysian Grandeur Resort.
When Lee Wai Hing returned with two coconuts, the unfamiliar men were gone.
His child shouted from the pool, “Daddy, jump!”
He smiled and jumped.
Water splashed up like a nearby white cloud.
He did not know paradise was about to change.
Night fell.
Grand Victorium’s exhibition hall changed shifts.
I walked last, like a needle that did not wish to be noticed.
The glass reflections split me into two.
One cold.
One colder.
Man Man called; her voice steadier than the sea wind.
“I’ve canceled the luggage.”
“Good,” I said.
“Watch your step.”
I smiled.
She understood me.
I understood her.
We have lived too long on the edge of a blade—even our breathing has learned to be light.
Police cordons rose across Paradise Island.
Tourists still took photos.
Some said it was a movie.
Some asked which star would appear.
I did not answer.
I know the real star is the bomb.
It always arrives on time.
Never needs an announcement.
The real show begins when you least expect it.
The third email arrived.
Three words: “The wind—has—risen.”
Below, the same coordinates, with one additional dot.
Between Elysian Grandeur and Grand Victorium—an underground connecting corridor.
I spread out the island’s blueprint.
The lines like palm lines.
Fate written across it—no one can read it, only feel it.
Eagle Eye asked, “Your judgment?”
“Not robbery,” I said.
“Occupation.”
He nodded.
“KARAM.”
“And ZETA-2.”
He was silent for three seconds.
“I’ll watch the sky.”
I understood—
air routes, drones, low-altitude signals, satellite blind spots.
He handled the sky.
I handled the ground.
Heaven and hell, separated by a single line.
Grand Victorium rear maintenance corridor.
We found the place “breathing in the wall.”
The thermal image looked like a heart.
I pressed my hand against it.
The wall trembled faintly, like a living person.
We opened it.
Inside was a metal box.
No nails. No lock.
On it were written the words:
“Not disturbing is the deepest form of intimidation.”
I felt a chill.
Not because of the box.
Because the sentence felt like me.
I often choose not to disturb.
But tonight, I knew I could not.
“Open it.”
The engineer’s hands were steady as a straight road.
The box opened.
No explosives.
Only a photograph.
Two unfamiliar men by the Elysian Grandeur pool.
Backs turned. No faces.
In the corner, faint words:
“Family Day.”
I gripped the photo.
The world narrowed its focus.
I saw Lee Wai Hing.
Saw his child’s smile.
Saw paradise’s most fragile place.
The air outside the casino vault grew lighter, as if pressure had been drained in advance.
I heard a faint “click” in the distance.
As if someone unseen had placed a chess piece.
I slipped the photo into my pocket.
“All units, move into shadow.”
The lights of paradise remained bright.
But I knew the real drama unfolds only in darkness.
The sea wind shifted.
Flags turned with it.
Elysian Grandeur’s lawn rippled like a sea about to swell.
Grand Victorium’s crystal chandeliers swayed gently.
Millennium rang with the first clink of cutlery.
Buffet’s shopping carts glided like silver arrows across the floor.
I stood inside Wansheng’s doors.
Watching paradise put on its face.
I put on mine.
This face had no expression.
Only a pair of eyes.
Paradise was burning.
Hell had not yet awakened.