Extra Basket-Chapter 92 - 79: Syndicate Arc (2)

The words hung in the air like a nightmare coming to life. Ethan’s mind raced. Brandon’s father was involved in something horrific, something that made Ethan question everything he thought he knew about this novel.

"Brandon... where is the kid now? Do you know where they took him?" Ethan asked. He kept his voice level, but his other hand was already scribbling furiously into his notebook. His heart was pounding.

Brandon’s breathing stuttered on the other end. "I don’t know... I don’t know where they took them. But when I—when I stole files from my dad’s laptop, I copied them onto mine. At first I didn’t understand what I was looking at. But then..."

He took a breath. "I found images. Grainy, but real. A facility... underground levels. There were rooms—cells—equipment I don’t even recognize. The basement of some place he wasn’t supposed to know existed. But he did. And he was there."

Ethan sat up straighter, his body coiled with adrenaline.

"Security logs showed names, Ethan. People. Transfers. Everything. And one line stood out—it was in red." Brandon’s voice lowered like he was reciting something burned into his memory.

"Shipment: July 14th – 3 subjects – Estimated Arrival: Site E."

"Site E?" Ethan repeated. He underlined it in his notebook, twice.

"Yeah..." Brandon’s voice was shaky again. "That’s all it said. No location, no map coordinates. Just that. I don’t know what Site E is. Only my father would."

Ethan leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, trying to make the puzzle pieces fit. July 14th. That was just a few days ago. Which meant... those kids were already there. Or worse, already being used.

"Three subjects," Ethan murmured, repeating the words. "Not just one kid..."

"They’re taking more," Brandon whispered. "My dad is involved; it means it’s organized. Big. Not just a bunch of criminals—this is a system. A syndicate."

Ethan didn’t answer right away. He could feel something shifting beneath the surface of this world, like a storm building. This wasn’t just about a missing kid anymore. This was something deeper, something the novel version of this world had glossed over—or maybe something the protagonist, Lucas, was never meant to uncover until it was too late.

But Ethan wasn’t Lucas.

"Alright," Ethan said finally, his voice cold with purpose. "We find Site E. We find those kids. And we find out who’s really behind this."

Brandon hesitated. "What if... what if my dad tries to stop us?"

Ethan’s grip on the phone tightened. "Then he becomes part of the problem."

A pause.

Brandon spoke quietly, almost like he was confessing. "Ethan... I don’t know if I can face him again. Not after what I saw."

"You don’t have to," Ethan said. "Not yet. But I need those files. Every single one. I’ll figure out what Site E is."

"I’ll send them tonight," Brandon said. "Just promise me something."

"What?"

"If I don’t answer next time... if something happens to me—don’t stop. Don’t let this go."

Ethan’s chest ached, but his voice was steady. "I won’t. I swear."

The call ended.

Ethan stared down at the word Site E glowing on the page.

Something terrible was happening behind the scenes of this world. Something the story had never prepared him for.

And now?

Now it was up to him to bring it to light.

....

Back to Brandon

Brandon ended the call, but the tremble in his fingers remained. He lay in the dark, tucked beneath a pile of blankets, his heart hammering against his ribs. The blue glow of his laptop screen lit up the corner of his room as he lifted it carefully from beneath the bed. He flinched at the soft ding of the power-up chime—too loud in the dead silence of the house.

He glanced at the door. Still shut.

His mother was a light sleeper. If she woke up and found him awake at this hour—after what had just happened with Gerald downstairs—there’d be questions. And no answers he could safely give.

His password screen blinked on. Brandon typed it in quickly, double-checking that his VPN was active. He couldn’t take any chances. His dad wasn’t just some thug on the street—he had training. Military background. Taught Brandon to scrub metadata off photos by the time he was 10. If Gerald ever suspected Brandon had copied those files, it’d be more than just grounding.

The desktop loaded.

Brandon opened the hidden folder—nested deep in an obscure directory, disguised as a system log. Inside were hundreds of files: surveillance screenshots, encrypted messages, and a set of labeled folders. One was titled "Black Ridge". Another simply said

"Transfers." But the one he clicked on was labeled:

Project Eden / Site E.

He scanned it quickly—though he’d already read it multiple times.

There were security logs with lines like:

SUBJECT 004 | Bio-augmentation incomplete | Status: Unstable

SUBJECT 006 | Neural interface initiated | Prep for Phase 2.

Transfer to Site E approved – pending arrival confirmation.

And then... images. Blurry. Dim. But real.

A boy in a cold room—chained, hunched, with a thick metallic brace fused into his spine.

Tubes. Wires. The expression on his face was dazed... but his eyes—his eyes were still human. Still aware.

Brandon swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

I have to send this.

He opened his email—but stopped. Too risky. His dad might have keyloggers or alerts.

Instead, he opened a secure file transfer app Ryan had once installed on Brandon’s computer during a late-night gaming session, back when they still trusted the world around them. Back when they were just two kids trying to get better at basketball.

Brandon zipped the files into an encrypted archive and created a custom passphrase:

WingsCollapse13 — a phrase Vorpal members would recognize. A reference to a move Brandon had failed to master in their last training. Something obscure, but unmistakable.

He launched the file transfer, attached a note:

"If you get this, be careful. It’s real. I saw him. I saw everything. – B."

The progress bar crept forward.

1%... 12%... 47%...

A creak outside his door.

Brandon’s breath caught. He froze, hand on the lid of the laptop.

Silence.

Then footsteps—faint, retreating.

He waited. Thirty seconds. One minute.

The file hit 100%.

Transfer Complete.

He shut the laptop, yanked the charger, and stuffed the device back under the bed beneath a towel. Then he slid back under the covers, his hands trembling.

Outside, the suburban night was still and quiet. But inside, Brandon Young was wide awake, listening for his father’s footsteps, and praying that this time... Ethan would know what to do.

.....

Ethan sat hunched at the edge of his bed, staring at his phone like it might explode. The call with Brandon kept playing in his head—bits of it on a loop. Metal hooked into his back... They hurt him... My dad is involved...

His gut twisted. He’d been trying to strategize, to stay calm, but that calm was unraveling fast.

Then — ding.

A notification.

His laptop, sitting on the desk by the window, flashed with a message:

Secure File Received – Sender: Brandon

Ethan crossed the room in two steps and opened the lid. The transfer app Brandon had used lit up green, waiting for the decryption code.

Password?

He paused. Thought back. WingsCollapse13 — he typed it without hesitation.

The folder unzipped. Dozens of files spilled out. Logs. Images. Notes. Ethan scanned through quickly, fingers trembling over the trackpad.

And then—

He clicked on an image.

The screen flashed to life: a dimly lit room with concrete walls. A young boy sat on the ground, slouched forward, wires snaking from a metallic brace embedded into his back. His arms were thin, restrained. His head drooped low, but Ethan could see just enough of the boy’s face.

His eyes went wide.

He knew that face.

The jawline, the cheekbones — younger, but unmistakable. The resemblance was clear now that he was looking for it. The kid in the picture... he was related to someone Ethan knew from the novel.

He opened one of the attached reports. In the details line, it read:

Subject 007 | Name: Caleb Carter | Age: 11 | Transfer: Site E Pending

"Carter..." Ethan breathed.

Then it all snapped together like the final piece of a puzzle falling into place.

Jalen Carter.

One of the rising stars in the novel. A combo guard who dominated in the second arc of the tournament. Confident. Explosive. Fearless.

But in the original storyline... Jalen didn’t play in the early rounds. He was mentioned, but always off-screen — "personal reasons." the novel had said.

Back then, Ethan didn’t think much of it. Just another mystery the author never fully explored. But now... it all made sense.

Jalen wasn’t playing because his brother was missing.

Ethan leaned back, breath stolen from his lungs. His heart pounded against his ribs like a warning.

That’s why Jalen went quiet in the early tournament arc. Not because of injury. Not because of training.

His younger brother had been taken.

And now Ethan knew why Jalen had never recovered emotionally, why his story took a dark turn after that arc—spiraling into fights, suspensions, and ultimately fading out of the spotlight.

Because no one ever saved Caleb Carter.

Until now.

Ethan shut the laptop slowly, every instinct inside him flaring to life.

This is the divergence point. This is where the story starts changing.

He stood up, clenched his fists, and whispered under his breath:

"I’m not letting this play out the same way again."

.....

Meanwhile — The Carter Residence, 11:47 PM

The hallway light flickered above as Jalen Carter sat on the stairs, staring down at his phone, refreshing the same missing persons thread for the hundredth time.

No updates.

Still no leads.

Just comments—some supportive, some cruel. All useless.

The glow of the screen lit his face, casting shadows over the bags under his eyes. He hadn’t slept properly in days. He couldn’t. Not while Caleb was still out there.

From the living room, he could hear his mother on the phone — her voice breaking again.

"We gave you everything we had... Please, just—just check the footage again. Please."

Jalen closed his eyes. He’d heard the same call five times tonight alone. His mother cycling through private investigators, friends of friends, old church contacts. His father sat quietly on the couch, holding Caleb’s old hoodie like it was the last thing anchoring him to reality.

Jalen’s jaw clenched.

He should’ve been with Caleb that day.

He was supposed to walk him home after practice, but Coach had held him back to talk about college offers. Five minutes. That’s all it took. Five minutes for someone to pull up in a van near the school and—

He stood up sharply, trying to shake the memory out of his head.

He walked into Caleb’s room.

Everything was exactly the same. The blue bedsheets. The half-built LEGO set on the desk. A crumpled drawing of the two of them—Caleb had given it to him the day before he disappeared. "Me and Jay at the tournament." freewёbnoνel.com

Jalen knelt by the drawing and picked it up, smoothing it flat.

His phone buzzed.

He snatched it up. But it wasn’t what he hoped.

Just Coach Jenkins, again:

"Let me know if you’re still planning to play next week. We’ll support whatever you decide."

Jalen didn’t reply.

He stared at Caleb’s desk, eyes darting to the family photo on the shelf.

A quiet promise formed in his heart, burning steady:

"I don’t care about the tournament anymore. I just want my brother back."

To be continue