READ NOVEL ONLINE Chapter 1: Chapter 1
Maximus Jones was not an ordinary man. At first glance, he could have been mistaken for anyone, but those who looked closely would quickly realize otherwise. His face was always hidden behind a black mask, perfectly fitted, revealing only his eyes. Those amber eyes, deep and piercing, darted around with a calculating gaze, unable to linger on any one spot for too long. It was as if his gaze were constantly searching, analyzing, evaluating—as if the world itself were just a puzzle waiting to be solved. At sixteen years old, his eyes told stories his face refused to share: years spent on the streets, escaping, making precise and silent moves.
He had learned to move in the shadows like a ghost—silent, invisible, and leaving no trace. The towering skyscrapers surrounding him rose like concrete monsters, but he knew their insides better than anyone. Every crack, every nook in that urban jungle was his domain, and the adrenaline of the night coursed through his veins. He was a thief, yes, but not just any thief. He followed a strict code: steal only from those who truly deserved it.
The night embraced him, dark and silent, and Max took full advantage of the shadows. His steps were light, calculated, and nearly imperceptible. Every leap between buildings was as quiet as the brush of a feather in the wind, just a whisper. His dark blue hoodie, worn and faded over the years, moved fluidly with him, like it was a part of his body. His black pants, loose and with multiple pockets, conformed to his movements, while his white sneakers, frayed from use, barely touched the ground. Yet the faint echo of his steps carried an eerie familiarity.
When he reached his destination, he paused at the edge of a rooftop. From there, the luxurious penthouse before him stretched out like an unreal dream—a private paradise for the wealthy. The glass windows reflected the moonlight, while the music of the party inside reverberated through the air. Laughter, chatter, clinking glasses. No one knew that just meters away, an intruder was watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Max wasn't there by chance. For weeks, he had tracked the penthouse's owners, a corrupt official who sold out to the highest bidder, dealing with criminals of all kinds. He knew that tonight they were hosting an extravagant celebration, dripping with opulence and excess. The gleam of champagne glasses and the sparkle of decorative lights filled the air, while the hosts lost themselves in their own indulgence. No one seemed to notice the subtle chaos creeping into the party, too absorbed in the music and laughter to detect any unusual movement around them.
Taking advantage of their lax security, Max quickly scanned his surroundings, assessing the scene. Then, he slid down the building's side wall, moving with the precision of a phantom. He found the side window he had scouted days before, and with a quick, fluid motion, he used a grappling hook, ensuring the sound of his action was drowned out by the distant vibrations of the music. The window's glass broke softly, almost soundlessly, and Max slipped inside with the deftness of a ghost in the dark.
The room he entered was unremarkable. Leather furniture, collectible watches, marble statues—all meticulously arranged to impress. Max wasted no time heading to the safe, where he expected to find what he really needed: cash. There was more to this theft than just greed. His mother, sick and bedridden, needed expensive medication, and the money he could get here would be enough to keep her going for a while—maybe longer. But when he opened the safe, his heart sank.
Only watches. Expensive, luxurious watches, but not a single bill. Max sighed, silently cursing. They were useless to him. He needed cash. These damn rich people thought they could hide their wealth in shiny, ostentatious objects, but they didn't understand what it meant to survive day by day. Without wasting more time, he stuffed the watches into his backpack, though frustration gnawed at him. He couldn't afford to waste any more time searching for something that wasn't there.
Maximus closed the safe with a soft thud, making sure the sound was no louder than a whisper. Frustration clawed at him, tightening every muscle in his body. He glanced around, eyeing the watches with disdain. The music from the party continued to echo faintly in the background, oblivious to the tension building in the room. The wealthy inside, unaware of the small storm brewing within their walls, remained blissfully ignorant of how their ostentatious luxury had drawn the wrong kind of attention.
This wasn't the first time he found himself in such a situation, but it never stopped bothering him. He needed the money, and those damn watches wouldn't help. His mother needed him. That woman, who had been bedridden for years, battling a merciless illness, while he was forced to steal to keep her breathing.
Maximus clenched his fists, glaring at the watches one last time before shoving them into his backpack. His mind began to drift, pulling him away from the present and back into memories of the past few years.
His mother. As far back as he could remember, she had always been sick—a shadow of the woman she could have been. A wheelchair. That was the only thing he could recall about her: her tired face, her lifeless eyes, her hands that sometimes trembled as she tried to hold a cup of tea. And though she had never taught him to fend for himself, Max had learned to do so the only way he knew: alone. On the streets, stealing when necessary, surviving. It was always the same—survive, find enough to keep his mother from slipping further into her misery.
As the years went by, his mother grew increasingly unstable. Sometimes, when he looked at her, it seemed like the woman she had once been faded a little more each day. She began talking about strange things—stories of spies and secret missions, of a father he had never known who, according to her, had left for mysterious reasons. Max had learned to ignore these stories, to act as if he hadn't heard them. He knew his mother had lost her sanity, that the pills she took daily kept her just calm enough not to destroy everything around her—but even that was unraveling.
Maximus took a deep breath, letting out a heavy sigh as he sat on the edge of a table in the room, the watches now safely tucked into his backpack. He wasn't going to find what he really needed here, and his mind couldn't stop racing over what was at stake. His mother needed him. The medications, the doctor's visits, the treatments—they all cost more than he could afford. And how could he give her what she needed if he couldn't get enough?
It was at that moment that his phone vibrated again, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced at the screen, not expecting much, but there it was—a message from Scott:
Scott: "Hey, Max, how's the job going? Hope you got what you needed. You know we've got that big job at Vistacorp in three days. Everything's almost ready. The crew's assembled, we just need the pickpocket—and you're the only one who fits. Don't forget what I said; it's going to be a big score."
Max stared at the message in silence. He had been clear with Scott many times: he didn't like big jobs. He didn't want to get dragged deeper into the criminal world, into something bigger than a small-scale theft. He didn't want to be part of something so risky.
But Scott's words, his persistence, began to weigh on him more than he liked. The pickpocket, the crew, the big score... Vistacorp was big, yes, but if Scott said the payout was good, maybe it was worth considering. Maybe—just maybe—this job could give him what he desperately needed. Give him a way out for his mother. Give him a chance for things to get better.
Maximus closed his eyes for a moment, frustrated with himself. He didn't want to accept the idea of taking on something bigger, but the reality was that he didn't have many options. What else could he do?
With a sigh, Maximus checked his backpack again, making sure everything was ready before leaving. As he did, his mind kept turning over the decision he had to make. Maybe what he needed most was a change—something to pull his mother out of the pit she was trapped in. If taking on a bigger job, one at Vistacorp, was what it took to give her a chance, maybe there was no other choice.
He glanced at the clock: 11:59 p.m. It was December 31st, the end of a year marking the arrival of 2008. The city, oblivious to his dilemmas, celebrated the close of a cycle. But for Maximus, life remained the same. A new year, yes, but with the same shadows always chasing him.
Finally, with a mix of resignation and hope, he sent a brief reply to Scott:
Max: "I'll think about it. Just give me time."
Minutes later, a notification came through. Scott had responded almost instantly:
Scott: "Just answer me soon. And... Happy New Year, Max."
He put his phone away with a sigh, Scott's words still echoing in his mind. Leaving the room, he slipped back into the darkness of the night, as the sound of fireworks and New Year's celebrations faded into the distance. The city was starting a new cycle, but for Maximus, time seemed to remain stagnant. He left behind the laughter and festivities, carrying the weight of his own uncertainty like a clock that never moved forward, accompanying him with every step.
Maximus reached his neighborhood, one that could only be described as dangerous. The poorly lit streets echoed with distant laughter, filled with lost souls spending their time on vices and broken promises. It wasn't the kind of place anyone would choose to live, but Maximus had grown up there, in the shadows of gangs and violence. The house he called home, a small two-story apartment, was old, with creaking walls and windows dirtied by the passage of time. He lived on the second floor with his mother, in a cramped space that seemed to close in on him every time he stood there.
The house had no luxuries, but to Maximus, it was his refuge—a place that, despite everything, held memories of his mother and moments when, even with all he had lost, he felt safe. Though the neighborhood itself was dangerous, Maximus had earned a certain respect on the streets, not only for his ability to move through the shadows but also for the mask he wore during his "jobs." Here, he was known as "Shadow," a mysterious figure no one could identify, but one who always left his mark.
That night, Maximus didn't want to attract attention. He quickly walked to the alley behind his building, where the fire escape, rusted but functional, led to the second floor. With a practiced maneuver, he pushed off the brick wall with one foot while grabbing the railing of the staircase with the other, climbing up with ease. It was a move he had rehearsed countless times and had become part of his nightly routine. The stairs groaned under his weight as he ascended, but nothing stopped him. In a matter of seconds, he reached his bedroom window, which was slightly ajar, allowing him to slide inside effortlessly.
His room was small, cluttered with scattered belongings and clothes that rarely found their place. On the wall, a half-peeled Captain America poster served as a reminder that, despite everything, a small part of Maximus still dreamed of being something more. The light from the street filtered through the window, illuminating the gray walls and disorganized furniture. His bed, small and unassuming, was where he spent most of his nights—sometimes thinking about his future, other times simply resting from the life he had to endure.
Maximus dropped his backpack, which contained stolen watches and jewelry, beside the bed, feeling as though he had done what needed to be done. A quick glance at his phone showed it was already 2 a.m. "Damn, that place was farther than I thought," he muttered, leaving the phone on the table with a sigh. He pulled off his hoodie, letting the weight of the night fall from his shoulders, and made his way to the bed. The exhaustion from a long and tense day overtook him immediately. He lay down, turned off the lamp with an automatic motion, and closed his eyes, surrendering to the deep sleep he so desperately needed.