|| TORONTO, ONTARIO — 06:31 || Kadence's Apartment Complex Penthouse Unit

---

The screen shows Toronto's skyline at dawn. Then cuts to the news desk.

Anchor Rachel Goldstein, perfectly composed despite the chaos behind her, speaks directly into the camera.

"—confirming reports of a credible threat to Toronto. The device in question is believed to be a thermobaric weapon capable of leveling several city blocks. Authorities are urging residents to remain calm while—"

The broadcast cuts. Static. Then—

A man appears on screen.

Ezekiel. Tall, bearded, wearing tactical gear with a Star of David patch. Behind him, the silhouette of a massive device—cylindrical, covered in warning labels, connected to electronics.

His voice is calm. Measured. Absolute.

"People of Toronto. I am Ezekiel, commander of the Architects of Zion. For too long, this city has been ruled by criminals. Gangs. Syndicates. Mercenaries who profit from chaos and sin."

He steps closer to the camera.

"Today, that ends. We possess the means to reshape Toronto. To purify it. To build a righteous order under God's will."

Pause.

"This is a declaration of war. Not just against the Holidays—against ALL who oppose divine justice. The Red Collective. Sun Yee On. Every faction that has poisoned this city."

His eyes bore into the camera.

"You have seventy-two hours to evacuate Toronto. After that, the old world burns. And from the ashes, we build God's kingdom."

Static. The screen goes dark.

---

Everyone's here.

The entire Eve Club stands in Kadence's living room, watching the blank TV screen in silence. Mika's face is pale. Jessie's smoking despite Kadence's rules. Yuna's seated, hugging her own legs. Erka's clutching Adam.

And then there's the others.

Saint Nicholas sits on the couch, aviators on, face unreadable. He looks older somehow. Tired.

Smike stands by the window, arms crossed.

And Esther Bunny—elegant, mid-fifties, wearing a cream blazer and pearls—sits beside Nicholas, one hand on his shoulder. She looks devastated.

"Jack," she whispers. "He was with us from the beginning. Twenty years, Nicholas. Twenty years and he—"

"I know." Nicholas's voice is flat. "I know, Esther."

Kadence stands by the tactical wall, arms crossed, staring at the red strings connecting targets. Her jaw is tight. Her muted-blue eyes are distant.

"They have Rosen," Mika says quietly. "And the weapon. And they just declared war on the entire city."

"Seventy-two hours," Jessie adds, lighting another cigarette. "Then they blow Toronto off the map."

Yuna's voice is small. "Are we... are we gonna die?"

Nicholas stands slowly. He's silent for a long moment. Then he claps his hands together—once, sharp—and the sound cuts through the tension like a gunshot.

"ALRIGHT!" His voice booms, that manic energy returning. "Time to save my niece, stop a thermobaric device, and remind these Architect BASTARDS why you don't fuck with the Holidays!"

He spins toward Kadence, pointing directly at her.

"Kadence. You're leading the rescue operation."

Kadence blinks. Straightens. "Yes, sir. The Eve Club is ready for deployment. I'll have a tactical plan in—"

"No no no no NO." Nicholas waves his hand dismissively, grinning now. "Not JUST the Eve Club, dear. THE HOLIDAYS. The ENTIRE coalition. Every operative. Every asset. Every favor we're owed."

Kadence's face goes completely blank. Shocked.

"Sir, I—" She stops. Her voice comes out quieter, uncertain. "I can't. The two billion hit was my failure. The volleyball mission was reckless. I lost your niece. I—"

Nicholas crosses the room in three strides and grabs her shoulders.

"Kadence." His voice drops—serious now, no manic energy, just raw honesty. "We were working with a TRAITOR among us. Jack fed Ezekiel our routes, our timing, our movements for MONTHS. If there's someone to blame here, it's ME. For trusting that backstabbing son of a bitch for TWENTY YEARS. And even so, you don't carry any casualties on your lines."

His grip tightens slightly—not harsh, but grounding.

"Ezekiel knows how I think. He knows MY tactics. MY plans. He's been studying me through Jack's intel." He grins—sharp, dangerous. "But he doesn't know YOU. He doesn't know how that beautiful, terrifying brain of yours works."

He releases her shoulders, stepping back.

"You're the best tactician I've ever known, Kadence. Better than me. Better than Jack ever PRETENDED to be. Better than anyone else in this city." His voice softens. "And I trust you. Completely. With my niece. With my coalition. With EVERYTHING."

Kadence stares at him. Her hands tremble slightly—just once—before she clasps them behind her back.

Esther stands, walking over gracefully. She places a gentle hand on Kadence's arm. "We believe in you, darling. All of us."

Smike nods once from the window.

Mika straightens. "Whatever you need, boss."

Jessie exhales smoke. "Let's get her back."

Yuna's eyes are shining. "I'll run faster than I've EVER run!"

Erka raises her camera. "Adam says you're gonna be AMAZING."

Kadence's jaw tightens. She blinks once—hard—then turns to the tactical wall. Grabs a red marker. Her hand is steady now.

"Okay." Her voice is cold, controlled, but there's fire underneath. "This is the plan." She pauses, drawing a large circle around the Synagogue. "And we're gonna need something bigger than just the Holidays."

---

|| TORONTO, ONTARIO — 09:47 || The Roundtable — Neutral Ground Underground Conference Hall

---

The room is massive.

A circular space carved from concrete and old brick, lit by industrial lights hanging from chains. In the center: a huge round table covered in maps, tablets, and weapon cases. Around it stand the most dangerous people in Toronto.

Viktor "Papa Bear" Bob—six-foot-five, built like a tank, wearing a tracksuit that costs more than most cars. Red Collective tattoos crawl up his neck. His enforcers line the walls behind him, armed and silent.

Uncle Woo—older, slighter, wearing an immaculate suit. Sun Yee On operatives flank him, dragon masks hanging from their belts. His expression is calm, resolved.

Saint Nicholas stands with Esther Bunny at his side, her cream blazer now swapped for tactical gear that somehow still looks elegant. Smike's behind them, motionless. Christmas and Easter themed enforcers—red and white tactical gear, candy cane and bunny ears patches—fill one section of the room.

And then there's the Eve Club.

Mika, Jessie, Yuna, Erka—and {{user}}—stand together near the wall. Watching.

In the center of it all, commanding the room like she was born to do it, stands Kadence.

She's wearing full tactical gear now—black bodysuit with red accents, thigh holster, twin knives at her belt. Her muted-blue eyes are sharp, focused, absolutely in control.

She's finishing the plan.

"—eastern facility, central safehouse, command center. Three targets. Simultaneous strikes. No room for error." She looks around the table, meeting every pair of eyes. "The Architects expect us to be fractured. Chaotic. They expect us to turn on each other while they reshape this city into their vision of paradise."

She pauses.

"They're wrong."

Her voice rises—not loud, but commanding. Absolute.

"For the first time in Toronto's history, the Holidays, the Red Collective, and Sun Yee On stand together. Not as allies. Not as friends." She places both hands on the table. "But as people who refuse to let zealots with a bomb dictate what THIS city becomes."

Viktor nods once. Uncle Woo's expression doesn't change, but there's respect in his eyes.

Kadence straightens.

"We're criminals. Mercenaries. Gangsters. We've spent years fighting each other for territory, for profit, for pride. But this city—OUR city—belongs to US." Her voice drops, cold and precise. "And we're going to remind the Architects of Zion exactly who runs Toronto."

Nicholas grins—wide, manic, proud.

Kadence's muted-blue eyes sweep the room one final time.

"We move in two hours. Synchronize your teams. Radio silence after deployment. Trust your people. Trust the plan." She pauses. "And when this is over, we go back to hating each other."

Silence.

Then Viktor slams his massive fist on the table. "For Toronto."

Uncle Woo nods. "For Toronto."

Nicholas raises his hand, grinning. "For Toronto!"

The room erupts into motion. Enforcers move toward exits. Viktor's crew files out. Uncle Woo's operatives disappear like shadows.

The Eve Club stays.

Kadence turns to them, her voice dropping slightly—still commanding, but softer. "Mika, Jessie, Yuna, Erka and {{user}}—you're with Nicholas and Smike. Central safehouse."

She meets {{user}}'s eyes.

"Get her back. All of you."

---

|| CHAPTER 7: - We Wish You a Merry Christmas || || TORONTO, ONTARIO — 11:34 || Industrial District Ohel Avraham Synagogue — Exterior

---

The warehouse looms ahead—three stories of reinforced concrete and steel. The same building Rosen infiltrated alone. The same building where she was taken.

Christmas enforcers spread out in formation—twenty, maybe thirty—red and white tactical gear blending surprisingly well with the urban decay. They move with military precision, securing perimeter positions.

Nicholas stands at the front, aviators on, crimson coat swapped for tactical gear that somehow still looks theatrical. Smike's beside him, utterly silent, checking his weapons with mechanical efficiency.

Mika's got her suppressed Stinger ready. Jessie's already on a rooftop, scope trained on the warehouse. Erka is hiding somewhere, nowhere to be seen. Yuna's bouncing on her heels, gloved fists clenched around her metal bat, ready to move.

And {{user}} stands with them, armed, prepared, part of the team.

Nicholas raises his hand. The enforcers freeze.

Then—

The warehouse doors open.

Figures pour out. Not Architects. Wrong colors. Orange and black. Pumpkin patches on their shoulders. Halloween enforcers.

And leading them—

Jack Pumpkin.

He's wearing that same bright orange suit, that manic grin stretched across his face. But there's something wrong about it now. Something desperate. He spreads his arms wide.

"NICHOLAS! Old friend! I was hoping you'd come!"

Nicholas grins back. He cracks his neck with a head movement. "Jack."

"I know, I know!" Jack laughs—high, nervous. "You're probably a LITTLE upset about the whole betrayal thing! But you have to understand—Ezekiel's building something BETTER! A righteous Toronto! A CLEAN Toronto! No more chaos, no more—"

"You sold us out." Nicholas's voice turns cold. "For twenty years, Jack. Twenty years we stood together. And you sold my NIECE to zealots with a bomb."

Jack's grin never falters. "Nicholas, please, if you just LISTEN—"

Smike steps forward, drawing his pistol in one fluid motion.

Jack's enforcers raise their weapons. Christmas enforcers do the same. Thirty guns pointed at thirty guns.

It's a mexican standoff.

Nicholas turns slightly—just enough to look at Mika, Yuna, and {{user}}. "The warehouse. Now. We'll hold them here."

Mika nods sharply. "Copy."

Yuna's already moving toward the side entrance, fast and low.

Jessie's voice crackles through the earpiece. "I've got overwatch. Move."

Nicholas pulls off his aviators.

"Jack. You and I are gonna have a LONG conversation about loyalty."

Jack's grin returns—manic, unhinged. "I was HOPING you'd say that!"

The first gunshot cracks through the air.

Chaos erupts.

Nicholas lunges forward. Smike moves like water—fluid, precise, deadly. Christmas and Halloween enforcers collide in a storm of gunfire and violence.

And through it all—

Nicholas's voice cuts through, directed at {{user}} as they move toward the warehouse entrance with Mika and Yuna.

"{{user}}!" He's smiling broadly—manic, wild, ALIVE. "GO SAVE MY NIECE!"

The warehouse door looms ahead. The sound of gunfire echoes behind. The clock is ticking.

The mission has begun.