The construction site buzzed with the sound of forced labor. Captain Zhao Feng knelt in a puddle of motor oil, his hands raw and bleeding from hauling concrete blocks. The [Debt Collection Notice] floating above his head pulsed red with each heartbeat—2,753,000,000 credits and climbing with compound interest. Around him, a hundred Alliance soldiers worked like pack mules under the watchful eye of Marcus "Fatty" Wang, who'd traded his usual tracksuit for a hard hat and clipboard.
"Move it, move it!" Marcus barked, playing his role as foreman to perfection. His belly jiggled as he gestured dramatically at a pile of rebar. "These foundation stones won't lay themselves! You owe the boss 2.8 billion credits, so every minute of daylight counts!"
Zhao's face twisted with humiliation. Sweat mixed with oil stains on his cheeks. His former subordinates avoided eye contact, their pride shattered along with their equipment. Some wept silently as they hauled buckets of cement. Others stared into the distance with the hollow eyes of broken men.
From his elevated position on a steel beam platform, Ethan Su observed the scene with clinical detachment. His black suit remained immaculate despite the dust and chaos below. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the construction site, and somewhere in the distance, the city's evening traffic hummed like white noise.
Beside him, Lyra Qing took notes on a tablet, her fingers dancing across the screen as she catalogued assets and labor hours. The Nightmare Lord lurked in the shadows of a half-built wall, its thousand eyes tracking every movement with predatory interest.
"Productivity is up twelve percent from yesterday," Lyra reported. "At this rate, we'll have the foundation completed ahead of schedule."
Ethan nodded, but his attention was elsewhere. Something felt wrong. The air tasted metallic, and the hairs on his arms stood on end despite the warm evening breeze.
The ground trembled.
At first, it felt like a minor earthquake. Workers paused, looking around nervously. Tools rattled in their hands. Then the trembling intensified, concrete cracking beneath their feet in spider web patterns.
"What the hell—" Marcus started.
The earth exploded upward in a geyser of dirt and debris. Chunks of concrete flew like shrapnel. Workers dove for cover as a massive shape burst from the crater, rising like a mechanical leviathan from the depths.
**Black Dragon MK-VII.** Fifteen meters of death and destruction, its black and crimson armor gleaming with weapon systems that could level city blocks. Steam hissed from hydraulic joints as the mechanical giant straightened to its full height, casting a shadow across the entire construction site. Missile pods bristled from its shoulders like deadly flowers. The main cannon was larger than a subway car.
Ethan recognized the model immediately. Military-grade assault mech, fusion-powered, worth more than most countries' annual defense budgets. The kind of weapon that ended wars by existing.
The cockpit hissed open with a pneumatic sigh. A man in pilot gear emerged, standing on the mech's shoulder like a conquering general. Dragon Long, boss of the Black Dragon Syndicate, surveyed the scene with predatory satisfaction. His pilot suit was custom-made, adorned with gold trim and dragon motifs. Even from a distance, his arrogance was palpable.
"Well, well." Dragon's voice boomed through external speakers, each word echoing off the surrounding buildings. "Looks like someone's been playing with my business partners."
Zhao's eyes lit up with desperate hope. He struggled to his feet, oil dripping from his knees. "Dragon! Thank God! This maniac has enslaved Alliance personnel! He's using some kind of system exploit to bypass military authority!"
"I can see that." Dragon's gaze fixed on Ethan like a targeting laser. "You must be the famous tax collector. I've heard some very interesting stories about your... methods."
Ethan remained motionless on his platform, hands clasped behind his back. His expression was calm, almost bored. "Mr. Long. I wasn't expecting a house call."
"House call?" Dragon laughed, the sound echoing from the mech's speakers like thunder. "This is an eviction notice, little man. You've been playing in the wrong sandbox."
The Black Dragon's weapon systems came online with mechanical whirs and clicks. Targeting systems painted red dots across Ethan's position. Missile pods opened like deadly flowers, revealing rows of high-explosive warheads. The main cannon swiveled toward the platform with the grinding sound of massive gears.
"Kill him!" Zhao screamed from below, his voice cracking with hysteria. "Blow this whole place to hell! Turn him into paste!"
Dragon's smile was visible through his helmet visor, cold and predatory. "My pleasure. But first—" The mech's systems flickered as additional shielding activated. "I know your tricks, Taxman. This beauty runs on isolated analog systems. No network connections, no wireless signals. Pure mechanical and hydraulic operation. I'd like to see you 'audit' a machine that doesn't exist in any database."
The mech raised its massive foot, hydraulics whining under the strain. A hundred tons of military-grade death machine poised to crush Ethan like an insect. The foot blotted out the sky, casting everything below in shadow.
Workers scattered like ants. Marcus dove behind a cement mixer. Even some of the enslaved soldiers broke formation, survival instinct overriding the system's compulsion.
Ethan sighed and turned to the Nightmare Lord. "The noise ordinance clearly states construction hours are 8 AM to 6 PM. It's currently 7:43 PM." He made a note on his phone with deliberate slowness. "I'm docking your security bonus for allowing this disturbance. Fifty credits."
The eldritch horror's eyes dimmed with what might have been embarrassment.
"Are you insane?" Dragon roared, his voice distorting through the speakers. "I'm about to paste you across the pavement!"
Ethan looked up at the descending foot with mild interest. "Before you do that, I should mention you're in violation of several municipal codes. Unlicensed heavy machinery operation. Failure to file environmental impact reports. Destruction of public property." He sniffed delicately. "And thermal emissions violations. That fusion reactor is generating heat signatures well above legal limits."
"I don't give a damn about your bureaucratic—"
The massive foot slammed down. At the same time, the mech's cockpit flashed crimson—a localized EMP field designed specifically to fry electronics.
Dragon Long laughed maniacally. "No system signals can penetrate my Faraday shield!"
Ethan didn't blink. "EMP shields stop signals. They don't stop thermodynamics."
He snapped his fingers.
```
[TAX AUDIT: INITIATED]
[Method: Thermal Signature Hijacking]
[Target: Black Dragon MK-VII War Mech]
[Bypassing Digital Locks... PHYSICAL CONFISCATION ENABLED]
[Violation: Undeclared High-Energy Consumption]
[Reactor Output: 847 Terawatts/hour - Thermal Signature Analysis]
[Tax Evasion: 99.7% of energy usage unreported]
[Penalty: IMMEDIATE ASSET SEIZURE]
```
The descending foot froze three inches from Ethan's head. Dragon's triumphant roar cut off mid-syllable as every system in his mech began to fail—not from electronic interference, but from fundamental physical breakdown.
"What—no! This is impossible!" Dragon hammered at his controls with increasing desperation. "The systems are hardened! Analog backup! Mechanical override!"
```
[ENERGY CONFISCATION: IN PROGRESS]
[Method: Converting Unpaid Tax Debt to Entropy]
[Fusion Reactor: THERMAL DRAIN - 100%]
[Backup Systems: HEAT DEATH - 100%]
[Mechanical Components: ENTROPY ACCELERATION - 100%]
[Asset Status: PHYSICS BREAKDOWN INITIATED]
```
The Black Dragon's eyes went dark. Its weapon systems powered down with dying whines. Steam stopped hissing from its joints as hydraulics failed. The mechanical giant became a statue, frozen in its moment of intended triumph.
But the system wasn't finished.
```
[COLLECTION PROTOCOL: ASSET DEPRECIATION]
[Converting Unpaid Debt to Universal Entropy]
[Initiating Accelerated Aging Process...]
[Rationale: Tax Evasion Generates Cosmic Disorder]
[Estimated Completion: 3.7 seconds]
```
Rust bloomed across the mech's armor like a fast-spreading disease. Paint peeled away in sheets, revealing corroded metal beneath. Hydraulic lines cracked and leaked, spilling fluid that evaporated before hitting the ground. The pristine war machine aged decades in seconds, metal corroding and components failing in a cascade of mechanical death.
Dragon screamed as his cockpit began to collapse around him. Control panels crumbled to dust. The pilot seat started to disintegrate. He slammed the emergency ejection button just as the entire system failed, launching himself twenty feet into the air before crashing into a pile of construction materials.
The Black Dragon MK-VII, worth forty billion credits and capable of destroying armies, finished its transformation into a heap of scrap metal. Bolts scattered like rain. Armor plates clanged to the ground with hollow, empty sounds. The fusion reactor, once capable of powering a small city, became a hollow shell of corroded metal.
Silence fell over the construction site like a burial shroud.
Ethan stepped down from his platform and walked to the wreckage, his footsteps echoing in the sudden quiet. He kicked aside a rusted missile pod and picked up the only component that remained intact—a thermal regulation module about the size of a briefcase.
"Hmm." He examined it critically, turning it over in his hands. "Cooling capacity is adequate. Should work as a central air unit for the new office." He handed it to Lyra. "Add this to fixed assets. Mark it as 'salvaged equipment, fair market value: one credit.'"
Dragon, bleeding from multiple lacerations and struggling to breathe through what might have been broken ribs, heard every word. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed, unconscious from a combination of physical trauma and sheer, overwhelming rage.
"You heard the boss," Marcus called to the shell-shocked soldiers. "Start breaking down this scrap. Separate the metals by type. Copper goes in the red bin, steel in the blue. Aluminum gets its own pile."
The Alliance troops moved like zombies, their minds struggling to process what they'd witnessed. A war mech—a symbol of ultimate military power—reduced to recycling material in under ten seconds.
Ethan was already walking away when the air around him began to shimmer. The edges of nearby buildings seemed to blur, as if reality itself was losing focus. A metallic taste filled his mouth.
His system interface flashed urgent red.
```
[ALERT: HIGH-DIMENSIONAL SCAN DETECTED]
[Source: ENTROPY COUNCIL PATROL VESSEL]
[Classification: MULTIVERSAL TAX AUTHORITY]
[Estimated Arrival: 47 minutes, 23 seconds]
[WARNING: Reality Erasure Protocols Detected]
[Threat Level: EXTINCTION CLASS]
```
For the first time since the confrontation began, Ethan's expression changed. His casual confidence evaporated, replaced by sharp, predatory focus. The Entropy Council wasn't some local enforcement agency or criminal syndicate. They were the real deal—interdimensional auditors with the power to erase entire timelines for tax violations.
He looked up at the darkening sky, where stars were beginning to appear. But some of those stars were moving, and they weren't stars at all.
The game had just changed.
"Lyra," he said quietly. "Accelerate the construction timeline. We need that shelter operational in the next six hours."
"Sir? The original plan called for—"
"The original plan assumed we had more time." Ethan's jaw tightened as another building in the distance flickered out of existence for a split second before returning. "We don't."
Above them, reality itself seemed to bend as something beyond human comprehension turned its attention toward Earth.
The audit was coming.