The Patron Saint of Debt

A concrete box wedged between tenements. Windows bricked. One steel door. Above it: a faded mural of a haloed SAINT holding a LEDGER. Bullet holes for eyes.

RYLAN VOSS checks his watch. Military calm. LT. ANYA KADE watches the street, badge tucked, pistol low.

Between them, SILAS GRIGG smiles like a man selling insurance at a funeral. He holds up a SYNDICATE TOKEN — stamped with stair-steps.

Two minutes. In, up, out. Missing pages are in the chapel room.

No heroes.

No witnesses. No burn.

We’re here for paper, not a body count.

Silas taps the mural — the saint’s ledger.

Saint of Debt. They pray to numbers now.

Door code’s clean. You won’t even have to—

A TINY RED LIGHT blinks in the saint’s painted halo. Rylan’s eyes catch it.

Trap.

Silas’ smile never moves.

Protocol, Voss. Everybody pays interest.

Rylan grabs Silas by the collar, slams him against wet brick.

You said clean.

I said you’d get in.

Kade yanks Rylan off, hard.

We don’t have time.

Rylan’s jaw tightens — vow or not, the clock is real.

He turns to the steel door, pulls a compact breaching charge from his courier bag, places it—precise.

On my mark, you move.

I’m already moving.

Rylan clicks the detonator.

BOOM— the door folds inward. Smoke and plaster. A narrow concrete stairwell rises like a throat.

Rylan and Kade push in. Close quarters. Harsh fluorescent hum. Somewhere above: muffled voices, boots.

Rylan takes point—suppressed pistol up. Kade covers rear.

This is insane.

It’s a staircase. Stairs don’t lie.

They climb fast—one flight—two—

A METALLIC CLACK echoes above them.

Rylan freezes.

Down.

They drop to the steps as a HOMEMADE GRENADE tumbles past—clinking—then—

WHUMP. Fire blooms on the landing below. The stairwell becomes a chimney.

Heat punches their faces. Smoke pours upward.

They’re lighting the whole stack!

Rylan looks down: the only exit is now a wall of flame.

Above: a door with a painted SAINT symbol — the “chapel room.” The only way is up.

Move.

They surge upward through smoke, to the saint-marked door.

Kade kicks it—locked.

RYLAN shoulders it. The frame cracks.

Inside, faint PAPER RUSTLE—someone shredding.

They’re destroying it.

He drives his shoulder again—door bursts—

A cramped room dressed like devotion: candles, cheap icons, and a metal desk bolted down.

On the desk: the LEDGER, opened—MISSING PAGES half-torn out.

An ENFORCER in a balaclava yanks pages free, feeds them into a SMALL INCINERATOR.

Kade snaps her gun up.

Police—!

Rylan’s hand clamps her wrist, forces her muzzle down.

No names.

The enforcer turns—raises a pistol—

Rylan fires twice. Suppressed pops. The enforcer drops, spasms, still clutching paper.

Kade stares at Rylan — the “no witnesses” vow has weight now.

You said no burn.

Rylan crosses to the desk, grabs the ledger, flips—furious.

The missing pages are in the enforcer’s hand… already blackening at the edges.

Rylan digs into the incinerator with a knife, fishing out half-scorched sheets.

Rylan— we’re out of time.

The room shakes. Fire ROARS outside. Smoke knifes in under the door they came through.

Rylan spreads the salvaged pages on the desk—charred, but readable in fragments.

On one page: a NAME— the STRANGER’S NAME— stamped “DEFAULT.” Under it: a second stamp: “CLEARED UPON PAYMENT.”

Rylan’s eyes lock. This is it. Proof. The math of mercy.

Take photos. Now.

Rylan pulls a small scanner from his courier bag—old-school, rugged—begins scanning.

The door behind them CREAKS—heat warping hinges. Flames lick the frame.

Rylan!

If these burn, they die twice.

Kade grabs his arm, tries to pull him away. He doesn’t budge.

The scanner BEEPS—page one complete.

A distant LAUGH filters through the smoke—Silas, somewhere outside, walking away.

SILAS GRIGG (O.S.)

Everybody pays, Voss!

Kade hears it, rage flaring.

He set this. He set all of this!

Rylan keeps scanning. Hands steady, eyes hard.

Then we collect.

The ceiling above the desk POPS—sparks rain down.

Kade rips her jacket off, smothers a small flame crawling toward the pages.

Your vow is going to get you killed.

Rylan finishes the last scan—BEEP.

He yanks the pages into his bag, grabs Kade’s wrist.

Not today.

They run to the window—bricked.

Kade looks—no way out.

RYLAN scans the room—sees a narrow SERVICE HATCH behind the icons, half-hidden.

He rips the icon off—reveals a maintenance chute.

Stairwell’s gone. We go through the walls.

Kade hesitates, then nods—trust forged in heat.

They drop to their knees, claw the hatch open.

A final gust of flame blows the chapel candles flat.

RYLAN looks back once—at the saint mural painted on the wall inside, ledger in hand—now melting, halo black.

RYLAN (CONT’D)

No more saints.

He shoves Kade into the chute, then follows.

TITLE OVER BLACK: “THE PATRON SAINT OF DEBT”