Eight hundred miles south, President Rivera stood on a platform overlooking the new housing development in what had once been Sector Nine. International observers from the League of Nations flanked him, their leather portfolios documenting Costa del Sol's transformation with barely concealed amazement.
"Eighteen months ago, this was a cartel stronghold," Rivera explained to the delegation leader, a stern woman from Norway whose enhancement ports were elegant brass and copper fixtures rather than the military-grade steel of combat models. "Today, it houses three hundred families who never have to worry about paying protection money to criminals."
Construction crews worked below them—former gang members now earning legitimate wages operating steam-powered machinery and precision tools. The art deco apartment blocks rising from cleared rubble featured clean geometric lines and tropical motifs, a blend of international modernism and local craftsmanship.
"Mr. President," the Norwegian observer said, her voice carrying decades of diplomatic experience, "while we acknowledge the dramatic improvements in civilian safety and economic indicators, the League remains concerned about the methods employed during the transition period."
Rivera's jaw tightened slightly. The same conversation, every delegation, for months. "Mrs. Eriksen, with respect, Costa del Sol's civilian casualties dropped to zero in the final six months of operations. Our enhanced operatives employed necessary measures—"
"Enhanced operatives," interrupted the observer from the German Republic, his own ports gleaming with Bavarian precision engineering. "Is that what we're calling the Void Killer's activities?"
"We're calling them effective," Rivera replied firmly. "Results speak louder than philosophical debates about methods. Would you prefer we had allowed the ATA and cartels to continue trafficking children?"
The delegation exchanged uncomfortable glances. Rivera had learned to read these international bureaucrats like tactical maps—they wanted to condemn his methods while secretly wishing they had someone like Kasper in their own arsenals.
"The enhanced individual in question," Mrs. Eriksen continued, consulting her leather-bound notebook, "Kasper de la Fuente. Our intelligence suggests he's no longer in Costa del Sol."
"Mr. de la Fuente served his country with distinction and has returned to civilian life," Rivera said carefully. "As is his right."
What he didn't mention was the brass communication console in his office, still configured with vacuum tube relays that could reach Kasper anywhere in the world. Some weapons, Rivera had learned, were too valuable to completely demobilize.
In the port district of the capital, Elena wiped sweat from her forehead as she helped her father Miguel secure the morning's catch. The harbor had transformed since the final offensive—legitimate steamships now outnumbered smuggling vessels ten to one, their art deco smokestacks creating an orderly forest of progress where chaos had once reigned.
"Mija, you're distracted today," Miguel observed, his weathered hands mending nets with practiced efficiency. "Thinking about that boy again?"
Elena glanced toward the north, where passenger steamships departed for New Karenan twice weekly, their art deco smokestacks visible for miles. "It's been three months, papá. Not even a telegraph."
"He said he needed time," Miguel reminded her gently. "Men like him... they carry different wounds than the rest of us."
Around them, the port buzzed with legitimate activity. Elena had been working with local community organizations, helping establish oversight committees to monitor enhancement technology distribution. The work kept her busy, but couldn't fill the void left by Kasper's absence.
A young woman approached their stall—Dr. Sofia Mendez, one of the new medical coordinators. Her enhancement ports were civilian-grade brass fittings, designed for medical diagnostics rather than combat.
"Elena, we need your help with the fishing community outreach program," Dr. Mendez said, consulting her clipboard. "The new enhancement regulations require medical monitoring for anyone working with maritime equipment."
"More paperwork," Miguel grumbled good-naturedly. "In my day, you just pulled nets and trusted God to keep the boats afloat."
"In your day, papá, the cartels controlled half the harbor," Elena reminded him. She turned to Dr. Mendez. "What kind of monitoring?"
"Basic health assessments, enhancement compatibility tests. Making sure the technology serves the community instead of being exploited by criminals." Dr. Mendez paused, her expression growing serious. "Elena, there's something else. We've been tracking unusual enhancement component orders through our telegraph networks. Someone's been purchasing materials that could be used to recreate ATA-style modifications."
Elena's blood ran cold. "Here? In Costa del Sol?"
"No, thankfully. The orders trace back to several different countries. But the pattern suggests someone's trying to reverse-engineer the copper-traced enhancement technology."
Elena thought of the coordinates hidden in Kasper's belongings, of unfinished business that might call him away from whatever peace he'd found. The war wasn't over—it had just moved to a different battlefield.