Thug and Idol: 10X Rewards Second Identity System

Below the rafters, the show was going on in full blast. Spotlights danced around and pointed at Nel, who was singing his heart out and making wild things with his guitar. There were even background dancers dressed in full-body catsuits with abstract shapes printed on them, moving in dream-like waves.

Tristan wished he was watching all this instead of standing here, about to face off with the bomber.

The man with the explosive was standing only seven meters away from Tristan. The light from the stage below lit him enough that Tristan could make him out without switching to heat vision.

The bomber was tall and broad, with muscular shoulders and a beer gut. On his shoulder he was carrying a large cardboard box with the explosive inside. A badge was hanging from his neck—even without looking closer, Tristan guessed it was the same badge all the concert hall workers wore.

A lot of people in the concert group were hired by Nel's agency, but plenty worked for this concert hall, only cooperating with the performing artists temporarily. This included most of the security and stage technicians.

The badge meant that either this person was an impersonator, a long-time plant, or not someone actually trained to blow people up.

Tristan's mood soured even more.

But for now, the bomber didn't notice him in the shadows, too busy walking and not observant enough.

Tristan hurried after him, now employing his stealth to the maximum. He moved with the shadows, became one of them, and was acutely aware of when the bomber turned in a way that put Tristan in his field of view.

Whenever the man looked around or just turned his head sideways, Tristan was always already hiding in the shadow of a support pillar or a massive spotlight.

From three meters away, Tristan could make out the details of the bomber's relationship threads. There were many, but most of them were thin, which implied a barely there connection. Most of them were also black, which suggested hatred.

There were no threads between the bomber and Tristan. At least Tristan Hayes. But there was a thin black thread going from the man and below, toward Nelson.

Stay connected via empire

'This is far from enough hatred to justify blowing a person up! Especially together with yourself.'

In the meantime, the bomber reached the place he wanted to be. He set his box down and opened it.

Tristan moved forward, hurrying to cross the last meters while still unnoticed.

The man pulled out a megaphone out of his box, and Tristan lunged.

He didn't stand a chance—Tristan was upon him in a blink of an eye. Next, Tristan put his elbow over the bomber's neck until he could only wheeze and bulge his eyes out.

At this moment, a round of applause came from below, as another song ended. There was a brief period of relative quiet, and Tristan used it.

"How were you going to detonate your bomb? Just nod or shake your head as an answer. Do you have a remote detonator on you for it? Or is there a detonation button on the bomb itself?"

In the eyes of the pinned down man, Tristan looked like an angel of death that came for his soul. The unnatural lights from the stage made his angelically handsome face look pale and otherworldly, and his dark clothing blended with the shadows around.

But most of the impression came from the death and terror that was pouring from Tristan's eyes.

The bomber could only shake and nod, praying for his soul in his mind.

"And why is there a bomb in a box? Was blowing this place up your own idea?" Tristan continued asking.

The man nodded shakily again, gasping through Tristan's hold.

If he was lying, then he was an absolutely legendary actor—to be able to pretend to be scared out of his mind, despairing and religiously awed at once. And so well, too.

Tristan frowned, wondering if he should let this guy breathe a little more, so he could answer more complex questions—but then the music below started again.

'Whatever. I should interrogate him better somewhere more private. How nice that I have both the place and people to bring him there…'

First, Tristan took off the man's badge. The synthetic ribbon it hung from was thick and wide enough for Tristan to tie the man's wrists behind his back with.

It was far from perfect, but as long as Tristan glared in his direction from time to time, he didn't struggle and only kept crying and muttering something under his breath.

Prayers?

Next, Tristan typed a message for Vargas, who always had men on hand in case of shit in need of sorting; and who answered Tristan's messages at any point of the day.

The message just asked Vargas to send a pair of men with handcuffs and a car with tinted windows toward him as soon as possible.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

And finally, Tristan went for the bomb. Having so much primed explosive material so close was really uncomfortable.

'A megaphone, too. Why did the bomber have a megaphone? Was he about to make an announcement? It looks more and more like an insane terrorist attack. But why here, why now? Just because the man worked here?'

While Tristan was thinking this, his hands were digging into the box. Most of it was taken by a large, crude bomb—just several lumps of explosives, all tied together by ropes and wires.

On top of the lump was a large detonator box with a single switch.

'On and off. Off—nothing happens. On—boom. Or… it just booms.'

Yes, Tristan definitely could see it happen. This explosive was already primed, and it was just the type to go off from a wrongly cut wire.

'And all wires are black, because of course they are.' Tristan huffed. 'Whoever made this bomb has no sense of style.'

He pulled out his knife, without which he didn't go anywhere.

'Alright… There's no way I can do this wrong. Just no way in hell.'