Extra Basket-Chapter 99 - 86: Syndicate Arc (9)

The gym was quiet except for the soft sound of a basketball bouncing on the hardwood.

Charlotte Graves was at center court, alone, practicing like she always did before the sun came up. Her short black hair was damp with sweat, and her silver eyes were sharp with focus. She moved with purpose—each step and dribble full of intent.

At just fifteen years old and already in her third year, Charlotte wasn’t just another player—she was a symbol. The Captain of the Thunderhawks, known by many names:

"The Commander Hawk," "Silver Falcon," and just "C.G."

She didn’t speak often. But when she did, people listened. On the court, she led with action, not words.

Charlotte took a deep breath and got to work. She started dribbling at a fast pace, feet light, eyes forward.

Crossover—the ball snapped from her right hand to her left.

Between the legs—quick switch in direction.

Behind the back—clean, smooth, like she’d done it a thousand times.

Then a fast spin move, and she darted toward the hoop.

No defender. No noise. Just the sound of the ball, the floor, and her breath.

As she moved, she pictured her teammates:

Izzy, deadly with her quick shot.

Lena, tough as nails on defense.

Sakura, strong in the paint.

Carmen, the wall at center.

Everyone was showing up. The team was ready. But...

One person was missing. Again.

Natalie "Nattie" Carter.

Charlotte came to a stop near the baseline, the ball under her hand, her heart suddenly heavy.

So many days has passed by

No Natalie at practice.

No texts.

No calls.

No explanation.

It wasn’t like her. Natalie was the kind of player who never missed a workout, who was always moving, always shooting. She wasn’t just a forward—she was a part of the team’s soul.

Charlotte looked over her shoulder as her teammates began to arrive.

Izzy Moreno walked in, earbuds in, heading straight for her corner to shoot.

Lena Kowalski was already doing defensive slides down the sideline, her eyes full of fire.

Sakura Tanaka and Carmen Delgado headed to the post to work on rebounding drills.

Even the bench players were stretching and warming up.

But still...

No Natalie.

Charlotte moved back to half-court and started passing drills against the wall.

Chest pass. Bounce pass. Overhead pass.

Again. And again.

The ball slammed the wall, bounced back into her hands, and she fired it off again.

She didn’t say it out loud, but the whole team felt it:

Something wasn’t right.

A few minutes later, everyone gathered around half-court for a quick meeting.

"Anything from Nattie?" Carmen asked, wiping sweat from her brow.

Charlotte shook her head.

Izzy frowned. "I called her last night. No answer."

Lena crossed her arms, her tone sharp. "It’s not just skipping practice. Something’s going on. She wouldn’t just vanish like this.

Just then, Coach Lory walked into the gym, whistle around her neck and a clipboard in her hand.

She clapped once, loud. "Let’s go, Thunderhawks! Scrimmage time! Charlotte, set it up."

Charlotte nodded, grabbing the ball and turning to her team. Her voice was calm but firm.

"Delta Hawk," she said. "Motion left. Izzy takes the baseline. Lena swings high. Carmen post up. Sakura, screen top."

Everyone moved to their spots. The scrimmage started.

Charlotte ran the offense like a conductor leading an orchestra.

Crossover, drive, bounce pass to Izzy—shot.

Spin move into the lane—defender bites.

Overhead pass to Carmen—layup.

It was clean. Sharp. The Thunderhawks looked like a well-oiled machine.

But Charlotte could feel it. A rhythm was missing.

Natalie’s rhythm.

After a few plays, Coach Lory blew the whistle. "Pause."

She waved Charlotte over.

Charlotte jogged to the sideline, wiping sweat from her face.

Coach Lory gave her a long look. "I know what you’re going to ask."

Charlotte didn’t speak, just waited.

Coach sighed. "Still nothing official. Just that she’s ’excused for personal reasons.’ I’m not getting any more than that."

Charlotte’s jaw tightened slightly. "Do we know if she’s okay?"

Coach Lory shook her head. "I wish I could say. But this isn’t like a twisted ankle or a family trip. It’s... different. Confidential. I’m being told not to push."

There was a silence between them for a moment. Charlotte looked back at her team.

They were laughing, stretching, refilling water bottles—but there was a quiet unease behind their eyes.

Coach Lory stepped closer. Her voice was softer now.

"Listen, Charlotte. This team? It runs because of you. They follow your lead. Whether Natalie comes back or not... they need you to keep them focused. Can you do that?"

Charlotte nodded, slow but sure. "Yes, Coach."

Coach smiled faintly. "I know you will. You’re not just the captain—you’re the anchor."

Charlotte turned back toward the court and whispered to herself:

"Then I won’t let us drift."

The scrimmage picked back up.

Charlotte moved with even more intensity.

Behind the back, spin, quick bounce pass.

Crossover, fake pass, chest pass to the corner.

Step-back, overhead pass to Sakura—open shot.

Every play was tight. Sharp. Perfectly timed.

But no matter how well they moved, how strong they looked...

There was still an empty space.

A spot where Natalie would usually be cutting, shooting, running—always moving.

Charlotte didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. The team felt it too.

And somewhere deep down, she knew one thing for sure:

They were going to need her.

And Charlotte wasn’t going to stop until they were all back together again.

.....

Next to her, Jalen Carter, her older brother, held a rolled-up missing poster in one hand. His Oak Hill practice jersey peeked out beneath a light jacket. He hadn’t stepped on a court since his little brother disappeared.

"I checked the rec center," Natalie said, eyes on the road. "Coach Lory said he hadn’t seen Caleb since the last youth session. That was six days ago."

Jalen didn’t look up. "I checked the bus station again. Same thing. The guy behind the counter was like, ’We already told you, kid.’"

She sighed and sat on the curb beside her. "We’re running out of places."

"I know."

The air was still. Behind them, the River Mart convenience store played old pop music from a dusty speaker above the door. A couple kids passed by on bikes, one of them bouncing a basketball. Natalie stared at it.

"I should’ve stayed home that day," she muttered. "I told him to leave me alone. I had a match to prep for. I just wanted him quiet."

Jalen didn’t answer at first. Then he said quietly, "I told him I’d take him to practice. I was late. I figured he’d be fine waiting."

They both went quiet. The guilt sat between them like a third person.

"He was eleven, Brother," Natalie whispered. "Eleven."

"I know," Jalen said. "He’s smart. He wouldn’t go far." Said, trying to ease his sister.

"It’s been days," she replied, looking up finally. "Smart doesn’t matter anymore."

Jalen stood. "Let’s go. There’s a couple old warehouses behind the diner. If someone dragged him in—"

"Don’t say that," she snapped. "Please."

He nodded. "Sorry."

They started walking again, past empty storefronts and slow-moving traffic. Natalie looked around, her eyes scanning every corner like she was waiting to see her little brother’s red jacket pop out of a crowd.

A car pulled up behind them—a Toyota then their dad stepped out.

"Nothing?" Eddie Carter asked.

Jalen shook his head. "No one’s seen him."

Eddie handed Natalie a fresh stack of posters. "Print shop made more. Drop these off at the diner, the barbershop, and that gas station near the middle school."

Natalie took them wordlessly. Her eyes were rimmed with red.

"You okay?" Eddie asked gently.

She didn’t answer. She just walked away.

Eddie turned to Jalen. "You’ve covered the trail by the school?"

"Yeah. Checked the bus stop, the warehouse, even talked to the guy who runs the used CD shop."

Eddie nodded. "Alright. Come on. Let’s hit the lake path."

Back inside the car, Natalie stared out the window. Her phone buzzed—another dead lead from a Facebook post. Someone "might’ve" seen a kid in a red hoodie near the woods two days ago, but no one followed up.

Natalie turned her phone face-down.

As the car rolled through the small Virginia town, the missing posters fluttered on every wall and window. A town full of basketball dreams now held its breath, hoping one boy would come home.

Somewhere beyond the roads, beyond the screens, beyond the reach of family—

Caleb Carter was still out there.

..

Site E, East Wing

Caleb Carter

The silence in the room was a second skin.

Thick. Suffocating.

Caleb lay still on the concrete floor, the rope frayed slightly from hours of slow twisting. His wrists were raw, but he’d managed to loosen the bindings—enough to get a hand free if he tried again.

But he didn’t move yet.

He listened.

To the hum of the ventilation above him. The scuttling of something small and alive near the crates. His own shallow breath, trembling in his throat.

And beneath all of it, the memory of a voice.

Freeman.

"You’re here because of your father"

Caleb closed his eyes. Not to cry. He had done that already. Quietly. When the lights first went out. When Freeman left the room with his whistle swinging and the locks clicking shut.

That was two hours ago.

Maybe more.

He didn’t know.

Time didn’t exist in this place. Just fear. Just cold. Just the dark.

But inside that dark, something else had started to grow.

Not hope. Not yet.

But decision.

He was eleven years old, and he didn’t have anyone coming for him. No sirens. No secret team. No Dad busting through the wall like a superhero.

Maybe they didn’t even know he was gone.

That hurt more than the rope burns.

Still... he had his hands. He had his breath. He had the echo of his father’s words.

"Your mind is the last thing they can’t chain. Use it."

He gritted his teeth and pulled.

The rope scraped his skin as it slid tighter—then gave. One hand slipped free.

He gasped.

Then sat up, slow, careful, like a deer in a clearing. One eye on the door. One hand on the crate beside him.

He didn’t know what was behind that door.

But he was going to be ready for it.

If no one was coming—

He’d escape on his own.

He stood for the first time in hours. Legs shaking. Bare feet pressing against cold concrete.

Not a hero.

Not a fighter.

Just a scared kid... learning how not to be.

....

The top floor of the BAC U.S. Training Complex shimmered with a quiet, futuristic calm. Though it was 2010, the facility stood a few years ahead of its time—touch-responsive glass panels, silent gliders zipping over the training courts, and biometric logs displayed across translucent screens. At the center of it all stood the executive boardroom: stark white, polished steel, and silent as a church.

Romanov Graves, Executive Director of BAC’s U.S. branch, stood before a wide terminal, her fingers pinching across a digital map. Her gaze was sharp, lips drawn, posture firm—until a call interrupted the silence.

The voice on the other end was low and slightly breathless.

"Ma’am. This is Norris. I’ve been assigned shadow duty on Lucas."

Romanov’s brows lifted just slightly. "Report."

"We were returning from morning drills. He got a ping on his school device—nothing standard, no BAC encryption. He broke from his school near the east trail. I followed per protocol."

Romanov’s tone cooled. "And?"

"He slipped through the old fence line. ended up near Site E."

Romanov stilled. "Site E...?"

To be continue