Sudburtee, Hanoi (2026)

29/03/2026

Sudburtee produces and distributes high-quality T-shirts. Link in bio. We also offer courses on how to start your own T-shirt business—from choosing the right equipment to launching and selling successfully.

08/03/2026

CHAPTER 7
THE ROAD TO SUDBURY

Highway 400 stretches north.

Night falls faster here than in Birmingham.

Dark pine forests press against both sides of the road, broken only by the distant glow of occasional gas stations.

The black Range Rover moves steadily along the center lane.

The pale blue light of the dashboard reflects faintly on her sunglasses.

Inside the car, silence lingers.

Only the steady engine and the wind sliding along the body of the vehicle.

Ryder looks forward through the windshield.

The highway runs straight into the darkness.

After nearly twenty minutes, he speaks.

“You know A.P.”

Not a question.

Sloane keeps her eyes on the road.

“No.”

Ryder turns slightly toward her.

“But you work for him.”

A truck passes in the opposite lane.

Headlights sweep across the cabin and disappear behind them.

Sloane remains silent for a moment.

“I met him once.”

Ryder says nothing.

Sloane keeps driving.

The forests grow thicker.

Traffic becomes scarce.

After a moment she continues.

“I was eighteen.”

“In an alley in downtown Sudbury.”

Ryder watches the road ahead.

“What happened.”

Sloane exhales slowly.

As if opening an old memory.

“After a night shift.”

“A bar near Regent Street.”

“Dirty snow along the sidewalks.”

She pauses.

“There were three men in the alley.”

Ryder says quietly.

“They stopped you.”

Sloane nods.

“Yes.”

Another pause.

Then she continues.

“A car stopped at the end of the alley.”

“A black sedan.”

“The engine still running.”

The door opened.

A man stepped out.

Slow.

Silent.

The three men looked at him.

One laughed.

Another cursed.

The third stepped forward.

Ten seconds later…

the alley was quiet.

No gunshots.

No shouting.

Only the sound of boots crushing snow.

Ryder watches the dark road ahead.

“Silence.”

Sloane doesn’t deny it.

“Maybe.”

The Range Rover continues north.

The highway climbs gently through low hills.

Then she continues.

“He walked toward me.”

“He didn’t ask my name.”

“He didn’t ask if I was hurt.”

He simply took a card from his coat.

Black paper.

Thick.

He placed it in my hand.

Ryder says softly.

“Gorilla Boss.”

Sloane glances at him briefly.

“You’ve seen it.”

Ryder doesn’t answer.

She continues.

“There was a symbol in the corner.”

“A gorilla wearing red glasses.”

“A cigar in its mouth.”

“Looking straight ahead.”

A short silence.

Sloane continues.

“Below it were two letters.”

Ryder says quietly.

“A.P.”

She nods.

“And an address.”

“I went the next day.”

She pauses.

“And from that day…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence.

The Range Rover takes a long curve.

Ahead on the horizon, the lights of a city slowly appear.

A large road sign stands beside the road.

SUDBURY — 12 km

Ryder watches through the windshield.

In the distance, steel towers from the nickel mines rise like giant skeletons against the night sky.

Sloane says quietly.

“Sudbury.”

A moment of silence.

Then she adds.

“This is where everything began.”

06/03/2026

CHAPTER 6

TORONTO PEARSON

Toronto Pearson International Airport — Afternoon

The aircraft touches down.

A brief vibration runs through the fuselage.

The engines slow.

Outside the window, the sky over Toronto is pale grey.

Not as dark as Birmingham.

But still cold.

The plane taxis slowly across the runway.

Large aircraft stand at distant gates.

Boeing.

Airbus.

Ryder Kean watches through the window.

No reaction.

The long flight hasn’t exhausted him.

No one is waiting for him.

At least… that’s what he assumes.

⸻

Immigration Hall

Toronto Pearson is far busier than Birmingham.

Announcements echo across the terminal.

Lines of travelers stretch toward passport control.

Suitcases rolling across polished floors.

Voices in different languages.

Ryder waits in line.

When it is his turn, the officer examines his passport.

“Purpose of visit?”

Ryder answers simply.

“Travel.”

A stamp hits the page.

The passport slides back.

“Welcome to Canada.”

Ryder nods once.

⸻

Arrival Hall

Automatic doors slide open.

Airport air rushes in.

Bright lights.

Voices.

Families greeting each other.

Drivers holding signs.

Ryder steps out.

He pauses for a moment.

Observing.

Then he sees her.

A woman leaning casually against a steel column near the pickup area.

Wearing black sunglasses.

A tight black leather outfit.

A fitted leather jacket outlining her shoulders and waist.

Black leather pants.

High boots.

Her figure stands out sharply against the crowd.

Confident.

Controlled.

Not a tourist.

She holds no sign.

She doesn’t need one.

She is looking directly at Ryder.

As if she knew exactly which door he would exit.

Ryder stops a few steps away.

She removes her sunglasses.

Sharp eyes.

No smile.

“Ryder Kean.”

Her voice calm.

Not a question.

A confirmation.

Ryder looks at her.

“Who are you.”

She puts the glasses back on.

“The one taking you to Sudbury.”

Ryder says nothing.

She turns.

“The car is outside.”

Ryder stands there a moment.

Then follows.

They walk across the terminal.

No further words.

Around them, travelers continue moving.

Phones ringing.

Suitcases rolling.

No one notices.

Another story has just begun.

⸻

Airport Parking

Cold wind moves through the parking lot.

Rows of parked vehicles.

She stops beside a black Range Rover.

The doors unlock.

She turns toward Ryder.

“You can call me Sloane.”

A brief pause.

Then she adds.

“Sloane Rivera.”

Ryder studies her.

“You know A.P.”

Not a question.

Just an assumption.

Ryder doesn’t answer.

Sloane opens the driver’s door.

“Sudbury is four hours away.”

She sits behind the wheel.

Before closing the door, she says one more thing.

“And you’re not the only one who received the call.”

05/03/2026

CHAPTER 5
THE FLIGHT
Birmingham — The Next Morning

The sky over Birmingham is still grey.

No sunlight.

Low clouds covering the entire city.

Ryder Kean pulls a small suitcase out of his apartment.

He closes the door.

The lock clicks softly.

The hallway is empty.

Cold fluorescent lights still humming above.

Ryder walks down the stairs.

He doesn’t carry much.

One suitcase.

One small bag.

The cream-colored envelope rests inside his coat.

The red gorilla stamp remains still on the corner.

Outside, Birmingham begins a new day.

Buses pass.

A few shops open their doors.

Commuters walk quickly across damp sidewalks.

Ryder takes a taxi to the airport.

The driver doesn’t speak much.

Only asks for the destination.

“Birmingham Airport.”

The car moves through familiar streets.

Old industrial blocks.

Concrete walls.

Faded billboards.

Ryder watches through the window.

Not thinking.

Just observing.

Birmingham Airport is busy in the morning.

People dragging suitcases.

Announcement speakers echoing.

Wheels rolling across polished floors.

Ryder checks in quickly.

No checked luggage.

Only a cabin suitcase.

His flight connects through London before crossing the Atlantic to Toronto.

He sits in the waiting area.

A row of seats near a large glass window facing the runway.

Planes take off.

Planes land.

Everything looks normal.

But Ryder feels something.

Something has begun.

Not random.

Not accidental.

A chain of events.

Prepared in advance.

The envelope.

The money.

The plane ticket.

And the name.

Sudbury.

The boarding call sounds.

Ryder stands.

Takes his suitcase.

Walks through the gate.

Without looking back.

Over the Atlantic

The aircraft flies across the night ocean.

The cabin is dim.

Most passengers are asleep.

Small reading lights glow quietly above seats.

Ryder sits near the window.

Outside is only darkness.

The ocean invisible below.

Only distant stars.

He takes the envelope out again.

Under the cabin light, the red gorilla stamp looks darker.

He opens the card.

The same sentence.

If you are reading this, the silence has begun.

Ryder studies the line.

For a moment.

Then folds the card again.

Slides it back into his coat.

He looks out the window.

Ahead of him.

Another continent.

Another city.

Another story waiting.

05/03/2026

CHAPTER 4
THE LETTER
Birmingham — Late Afternoon

The sky over Birmingham is still grey.

After the funeral, the cemetery slowly empties.

Cars leave one by one along the narrow road leading out of the grounds.

Ryder Kean does not leave with anyone.

He is one of the last to walk away.

The road back toward his apartment passes rows of old brick houses darkened by rain and age.

The streets are quiet.

Only a few cars move slowly across the wet asphalt.

Ryder walks most of the way home.

Not fast.

Not slow.

Just steady.

His black coat shifts slightly with each step.

The afternoon wind moves through the street.

No one pays attention to him.

A young man walking alone in a large city is nothing unusual.

Ryder’s apartment building stands four stories tall, old grey brick walls, narrow windows.

The main door opens with a key card.

He steps inside.

A narrow hallway.

Cold fluorescent lights humming above.

Ryder walks up the stairs.

His footsteps steady.

Leather soles tapping lightly against metal steps.

Third floor.

Last apartment at the end of the corridor.

He stops.

Something lies on the floor in front of his door.

An envelope.

Cream-colored paper.

Thin.

Simple.

Just noticeable enough.

Ryder looks at it for a few seconds.

He does not pick it up immediately.

The hallway door behind him closes with a soft metallic click.

No one else is there.

Ryder bends down and picks up the envelope.

In the upper right corner there is a small red stamp.

On the stamp is the image of a gorilla wearing red glasses, holding a cigar in its mouth.

It is not a postal stamp.

It looks more like a private symbol.

In the center of the envelope two lines are printed.

From: Mr. A.P

To: Ryder Kean

Clean black lettering.

Minimal.

No return address.

No logo.

No postal mark.

Ryder unlocks his apartment door.

Steps inside.

The room looks exactly as it did that morning.

Small.

Quiet.

The white LED ceiling light casts a cold glow on the stained wall.

He places the envelope on the wooden table beside the bed.

Takes off his coat.

Hangs it on the rack.

Then returns to the table.

The envelope remains where he left it.

No one else in the room.

Ryder opens it.

Slowly.

Inside are three items.

A card.

A printed sheet.

And a plane ticket.

Ryder takes the card first.

Thick paper.

White.

One sentence printed in black.

If you are reading this, the silence has begun.

No signature.

No explanation.

Ryder studies the line for a moment.

Then places the card down.

He picks up the printed sheet.

It is a bank transfer confirmation.

Amount:

£300,000

Already deposited into his account.

Transaction time:

02:18 AM

Four minutes after the hospital message.

Ryder shows no reaction.

He picks up the plane ticket.

Flight:

London — Toronto

Departure:

Tomorrow.

At the bottom corner of the ticket there is a small printed word.

Just one.

Sudbury

Ryder places the ticket back on the table.

The room falls silent again.

Outside the window a car passes.

Yellow headlights slide briefly across the wall.

Ryder looks once more at the envelope.

His finger touches the small red stamp.

The gorilla wearing red glasses continues to stare outward.

Cigar between its teeth.

Expression unreadable.

Ryder turns off his phone.

The room grows darker.

He stands there for a moment.

Then turns toward the suitcase in the corner of the room.

05/03/2026

CHAPTER 3
THE CEMETERY
Birmingham — Three Days Later

The sky is a flat grey sheet.

No sunlight.

No rain.

Just a heavy layer of cloud hanging low over the city.

The cemetery sits on the edge of Birmingham, behind a narrow road lined with old brick houses.

Wet grass.

Soft soil.

Rows of old gravestones leaning slightly with age.

A small group of people stands around a freshly dug grave.

Not many.

A few distant relatives.

A couple of old acquaintances of Ryder’s father.

No one speaks loudly.

Only quiet murmurs.

Ryder Kean stands a few steps apart from them.

Back straight.

Hands relaxed at his sides.

A man in a black suit stands near the grave reading a short prayer.

His voice is steady.

No one really listens to the words.

A cold breeze moves across the cemetery.

The white shearling collar of Ryder’s coat shifts slightly.

The wooden coffin is slowly lowered into the ground.

The ropes slide through the metal pulleys with a faint creaking sound.

Ryder watches.

He does not blink.

He does not bow his head.

He simply watches.

A middle-aged woman — a distant relative — steps closer.

She places a hand gently on Ryder’s shoulder.

“Your father was a good man.”

Ryder does not turn.

He does not answer.

The hand remains there for a few seconds.

Then slowly withdraws.

The coffin touches the bottom of the grave.

A dull wooden sound.

One of the men picks up a shovel.

He throws a shovel of soil.

Thud.

The dirt hits the coffin lid.

Dry.

Heavy.

Ryder blinks for the first time.

Just slightly.

No one notices.

But something in his eyes shifts.

Not grief.

Not anger.

Just…

a space closing.

After a few minutes, people begin to leave.

Quiet condolences.

Brief handshakes.

Small nods.

Ryder remains where he is.

Alone.

When the cemetery is almost empty,

he steps closer to the grave.

Looks down.

The soil has not been fully filled yet.

A cold wind moves through the trees.

Ryder adjusts the collar of his coat.

He speaks quietly.

Not a prayer.

Not goodbye.

Just one word.

“Rest.”

Then he turns.

Walks away.

Without looking back.

05/03/2026

Sloane is waiting for Ryder at the airport.

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