February 8th, 2014 — Saturday — Back at the Warehouse — Chicago — 9:26 PM
The warehouse had already become a battlefield. The young team kept fighting against unknown enemies. Smoke hung heavy in the air, clinging to the fractured concrete. Shouts, impacts, and splintering debris echoed between the stacked crates, a suffocating cacophony.
Silver twirled her dagger in hand, her eyes locked on Scott, dressed in those military fatigues that refused to burn. He advanced, flames dancing up his arms. Beside her, Vortex clenched his fists, streams of air roaring in spirals across the ground.
Scott laughed, summoning a burst of fire that lit the warehouse like a hellish spotlight.
"Let's see you block this!"
Silver raised her dagger and, in an instant, the blade glowed incandescent red. It absorbed part of the flames, fire coiling around her arm like a controlled serpent. The heat scorched her skin, but she endured it, shaping the element against its own master.
"I already showed you. You're not the only one who knows how to play with fire."
Vortex seized the moment, unleashing a gust of slicing wind. The current struck the blaze, scattering it into sparks across the air.
Even so, Scott kept smiling behind his mask.
"Interesting... but you still don't get it. This is only the warm-up."
He raised his hands, releasing an even greater explosion of fire.
Silver and Vortex braced themselves, but they wouldn't be fast enough.
That was when the ground trembled.
A pink wall surged before them, solid as steel, repelling the wave of fire with ease. lames splashed harmlessly against the energy barrier, lighting up the determined face of Atom Eve.
"If you want to play with fire... then play with me."
Scott's eyes narrowed, but before he could react, another flash cut through the warehouse.
Chris entered the fight.
Lightning crawled across his body, veins of blue lightning pulsing with each step. He moved like lightning. His body pulsed, muscles glowing with streaks of blue electricity racing down every nerve. In a single leap, he crossed the space at absurd speed and rammed his shoulder, charged with energy, into Eve's stomach.
The impact cracked the air. She flew like a doll, smashing through crates before slamming the wall. Concrete split, dust raining down.
Chris landed without a word, his visor reflecting the sparks still flickering across his arms.
"Where did this one come from?" he asked coldly. "We only want Grey."
Silver charged him with her dagger, but Chris sidestepped with an almost imperceptible movement. A heartbeat later, he struck her abdomen with such speed that the sound came after. Silver was thrown back, spinning through the air before crashing hard against the floor.
Scott turned to Chris, spreading his arms in disdain.
"You're ruining all the fun, damn it."
On the far side, Reflex staggered under Tom's assault. Each fist was a wrecking ball, smashing the floor into spiderwebs of cracks. Sweat burned in her eyes as she dodged, barely, her clones flickering to life at the last second.
"Let's see if you can hit this one, big guy."
She feinted forward, left a double in place, then blinked behind Robert. Tom's fist obliterated the clone — and plowed into his teammate. Robert was hurled across the warehouse, buried under splintered wood.
"Damn it!" Tom roared, realizing too late what he had done.
The greatest surprise was hearing the giant gorilla actually speak in a guttural voice.
"He talks?" Reflex muttered, catching her breath.
Tom's answer was another swing, the air itself shuddering under the weight.
Chris didn't flinch at Robert's fall. Electricity arced and he shot at Vortex, fists snapping like thunderbolts. Vortex staggered back, his own winds howling into spirals to shield both himself and the reeling Silver. Each strike made the metal beams groan like the warehouse was caving in.
Silver dragged herself upright, vision swimming. She gathered the residual electricity from the air, channeling it into her dagger. And for the first time—perhaps driven by adrenaline—she managed to merge another element alongside it: the fire still flickering in the room.
She charged Scott, her blade blazing with lightning and flame, while Vortex redirected the air to carve space against Chris.
Scott repelled her with an explosion in front of him, forcing her back.
The rhythm spiraled into chaos.
Chris weaved at superhuman speed, appearing and vanishing like a living thunderbolt. Every blow landed with electric shock and raw impact, leaving Silver staggering, surviving only thanks to Vortex's constant wind barriers.
On the other side, Ghost Girl tried to weave through Charlize — but every invisible strike was caught, countered, punished. Charlize's smirk made it worse.
Atom Eve rose once more, wiping blood from the corner of her mouth. The concrete wall behind her still smoked. With a sharp gesture, she conjured a platform of energy, lifted herself into the air, and hurled a pink wave that struck Scott, slamming him into a burning pile of crates.
She landed, grabbed Silver's arm.
"You holding up?"
"I always hold up," Silver growled through clenched teeth.
They shared a quick look of unspoken resolve before dashing apart—Eve toward Charlize, Silver toward Chris.
Silver closed in with her glowing blade, but Chris swerved and backhanded her. The strike sent her crashing into a heap of boxes. The impact left her dizzy. She coughed, trying to recover, but her trembling arm betrayed the effort it took to stay standing.
Eve unleashed a blast of pink energy that struck her opponent's abdomen, forcing the woman back. Ghost Girl reappeared at that moment, delivering a clean kick aimed at Charlize's jaw.
But before it landed, spikes ripped through the air.
Robert was already on his feet again, blood dripping from his lips. His arms sprouted jagged bone blades like armor. He fired a barrage of projectiles toward the heroines, forcing Eve and Ghost Girl to scatter.
Scott brushed ash from his uniform as he stepped out of the crates, cracking his neck.
"Grey hasn't shown up yet. Let's take this a little more seriously now."
The battlefield, chaotic as it was, had tilted dangerously against the Young Team.
Scott surged forward like a living storm of fire, his incandescent arms lighting every shadow in the warehouse. Flames swirled in waves, tearing a path toward Vortex with the promise of reducing everything to ash.
The oxygen was thinning, breathable only through the upper vents—clearly prepared in advance to handle such a battle. Russell had planned it all.
For a moment, Vortex froze. The searing heat reflected in his eyes, sweat rolling down his forehead under the mask. But instead of retreating, he drew a deep breath. He remembered, almost instinctively, what he had witnessed in Kai—the invisible barrier he called Mugen, where everything stopped before reaching him.
If fire needs to breathe... then I'll take its breath away.
With a sharp gesture, Vortex drew all the air around himself and removed it. The space became a suffocating vacuum, a bubble without oxygen. When Scott's flames engulfed him, they struck invisible glass—sputtering, dimming, extinguishing into dying sparks.
"What?!" Scott's voice snapped with irritation behind the mask.
Vortex smirked.
"Not this time, pyromaniac. Try burning without oxygen in the air."
Angry, Scott unleashed explosions of fire in every direction, while Vortex answered with torrents of air that cracked like invisible whips, cutting, dispersing, redirecting every spark.
Each clash boomed like muffled thunder, waves of heat and wind colliding, knocking over crates, shaking steel beams, spinning the smoke into wild spirals.
Across the room, Robert emerged from the shadows, fury carved into every muscle. He lunged for Reflex, fists armored with hooked bone blades. Reflex dodged at the last second, clones flickering in and out to throw off his aim.
Still, some blows came too close, splitting crates and fracturing concrete pillars.
"You made a fool out of me, you—!" Robert roared, but his heavy breathing forced him to stop. Regenerating his bone spikes so quickly drained even the vast stamina his healing granted. He was forced to rely on his fists alone.
Reflex's breaths came ragged, her body twisting and spinning, clones popping in and out like echoes of her movements. But every duplicate drained her stamina, her vision beginning to blur. She knew if she pushed it further, she wouldn't keep her clones solid long enough.
A punch missed her face by inches, the wind of the blow shoving her aside. She knew—if she was caught clean, she might not get back up.
At the corner, Silver rose again, still aching from the crash. She barely caught her breath before a colossal shadow fell over her.
Tom roared, bringing his fists down like hammers.
CRASH!
Silver rolled away, feeling the ground quake as the strike obliterated the wood behind her.
"You're big…" she panted, circling, every muscle screaming. "But not fast."
Her dagger carving shallow cuts across the gorilla's thick hide. Scratches opened, but none deep enough to topple the beast.
Tom roared louder with each pass, his massive arms flailing like furious tree trunks. Silver, nimble as a dancer, darted out of reach each time, always one step ahead of his destruction.
And high above, Chris pressed Atom Eve harder. Each strike shattered her barriers like glass, driving her higher, pinning her against the ceiling. Sparks bit her skin. Her breath came ragged, heart pounding against her ribs.
She hurled bolts of pink energy down in desperation — but Chris cut through them like a blade of lightning.
Reflex, lungs burning, saw Ghost Girl faltering and acted on instinct. She let Robert chase a clone — he hammered at the illusion like it was real — and slid across the floor to join Ghost Girl in a double strike against Charlize.
A flash of bone ended it. Charlize snatched a jagged spike from the ground and, in a single motion, caught Ghost Girl by the throat, dragging her down. The blade pressed cold against her skin.
"Enough!" she snapped, voice cutting like steel. Her glare locked on Reflex. "Stay there. Call Grey. He's the one we came for."
Ghost Girl struggled, but Charlize yanked her mask off and slammed a fist into her face. Blood splattered, her head snapping sideways.
"Well, well… the princess likes playing hero. She bleeds like anyone else."
Reflex lunged, shouting, "Let her go!"
Robert intercepted, his boot smashing Reflex down again. She hit hard, blood streaking her mask.
Atom Eve dived to snatch Ghost Girl away — but Chris blurred in. His elbow crashed into her spine, driving her face-first into the concrete. Sparks of pain ripped through her as the floor cracked beneath the impact.
"Don't get involved in other people's personal matters," Chris said, calm as thunder.
Scott's flames howled louder, licking the warehouse walls. Vortex held on with sheer will, carving vacuums of air to choke the fire, but his eyes darted to Reflex beaten down, to Ghost Girl coughing blood under Charlize's grip, to Eve crumpled on the ground. His chest tightened. One lapse — and the firestorm nearly swallowed him whole.
Damn it, Kai… where are you now?
Charlize bent close to Ghost Girl's ear, whispering like poison.
"So delicate. Nothing more than a child. Easy to fix — call him, and this ends."
"I… I can't. And even if I could, I wouldn't," Ghost Girl hissed, trembling but defiant.
The bone pressed harder. Another punch left blood dripping down her chin.
In that suffocating storm of fire, wind, and steel, one truth became clear: The Young Team was breaking
Outside, the skies waged a battle of their own.
In the middle of his fight, Atlas's communicator buzzed.
"Atlas, this is Mirage. What's the situation in the warehouse?"
Between blows, Atlas barked back, trying to keep focus.
"Are you not watching me fight? I'm busy, damn it!" His eyes snapped toward the warehouse. "They're fighting inside too."
"Is Grey with you already?"
Atlas charged like a thunderbolt, each punch leaving streaks of energy in the air. Bruce met him blow for blow, blocking, countering, each clash detonating like a cannon across the industrial district. Neither man seemed willing to yield.
And then— a figure cut across the sky.
Black suit white hair gleaming, blue eyes incandescent. It wasn't Atlas's x-ray vision—he didn't see through things as if they were transparent, but his Six Eyes read everything at once — currents of fire, threads of wind, every intent burning inside the warehouse.
In a heartbeat, he understood. And without hesitation, he dived for the fight.
Bruce ignored Atlas instantly, From behind his cracked dark visor, his eyes locked onto the black-and-white figure.
Pivoting to follow the blue glow. For him, Atlas ceased to exist.
Atlas's blood boiled.
"You've GOT to be kidding me?!" he roared, hurling himself back into Bruce with savage blows. "What the hell does he have that everyone wants?! I'M the strongest, DAMN IT!"
He slammed a hand to his communicator.
"Grey's here. Now stop bothering me!" he growled, tearing the device from his ear and crushing it in his hand before blasting forward.
He crashed into Bruce, forcing him to stop. The impact thundered through the air, Atlas's rage erupting in a frenzy of blows. Bruce raised his arms to block, realizing he had no choice—he would have to fight to the end right here.
Kai never looked back. The warehouse was his only target.
Inside, the tension had reached its peak.
Charlize gripped Ghost Girl by the hair, forcing her to face her friends. The bone spike pressed to her throat, a thin trickle of blood running down her collar. Becky's mask lay on the floor, her young face revealed, drenched in sweat, nose bleeding, eyes wet but defiant.
Charlize lifted her chin, her tone sharp as glass.
"We're stronger. Just obey. Bring Grey!"
The air vibrated.
A presence cut through the warehouse like a blade. In less than a blink, Grey burst from the smoke. Mugen shimmered faintly around him, Blue energy surging through every muscle. Chris didn't even react before a kick sank deep into his gut.
The impact detonated. Chris's body launched like a missile, tearing a hole in the concrete wall as night air and dust flooded in.
The echo rumbled like an explosion.
"Finally, asshole!" Vortex shouted, his face lit by Scott's flames.
Silver, bruised and panting, let a tired smile slip. That aura—it felt like hope itself had stepped into the room.
Robert snarled, firing volleys of bone spikes.
Grey didn't panic. He simply saw.
Through the Six Eyes, every trajectory lit up before the bones even left Robert's skin. He shifted with minimal elegance—shoulder rolling, head tilting, hips sliding. The spikes cut nothing but air.
Robert had no time to understand.
In a blink, Grey seized Robert's arm and yanked him forward. His forehead cracked into the villain's mask.
Bone snapped. Blood sprayed from Robert's mouth.
Without pause, Grey hurled him aside like trash. Robert's body crashed straight into Scott's flames, forcing the pyrokinetic to cut his attack or roast his own ally.
Hovering a meter off the ground, eyes blazing incandescent blue, Grey's voice cut through the chaos, steady and cold.
"Sorry I'm late. I'm here now."
That sentence, somehow, carried the certainty that everything would change. For his friends, it was hope; for his enemies, it stung more than any insult he could have uttered.
He dropped, offering a hand to Atom Eve. She met his gaze— brief —before he turned.
And then he saw it.
Becky. Mask gone, lips bloodied, dragged in Charlize's grip. Childhood laughter, school memories, a dozen forgotten moments slammed into him.
Becky... she's Ghost Girl?
Shock collided with rage.
How did I never realize?
Kai's throat tightened, jaw locking, his eyes flaring bright blue as every strand of white hair lifted, the void's energy spilling out.
That, he would not forgive.
"Atom Eve," his voice came out clipped, heavy, fighting to restrain the void's hunger, "help Silver with the gorilla."
"But then it'll be three against one—" She stopped the moment she saw his eyes. She only nodded and flew.
Kai's breathing came heavy, each heartbeat pounding in his temples. His eyes blazed, the void throbbing as if demanding blood in return.
Charlize, still clutching Ghost Girl's hair, felt a chill crawl down her spine as Grey advanced a few steps.
But instinct screamed at her to retreat—so strong she dropped her hostage to unleash her Ego.
Too slow.
Her arm was wrenched aside, the spike ripped away by a shimmering blue sphere.
And then he was there—face to face. His grip crushed her collar, dragging her close.
His fist slammed into her stomach. The air burst from her lungs in silence.
From outside, a commanding voice shouted through the hole in the wall.
"Damn woman focus! Use your Ego!"
Still holding her, Grey rocketed forward. He twisted mid-air, extending his leg.
His kick smashed squarely into Chris's chest just as he returned to the fight. The impact launched him like a cannonball through the hole in the wall, vanishing into the dark night again.
She gagged, doubling over, but his voice cut colder still.
"You said the strong decide what the weak will do."
He twisted mid-air, boot smashing into her ribs. Her body rocketed through crates, blood spraying with the crash.
"So when I beat you down... you'll obey in silence."
Grey hovered above, mask shadowing his face, eyes incandescent.
Charlize staggered outside the warehouse, coughing blood, legs trembling to stand.
Above her, Grey floated—every muscle taut, void energy storming around him like a chained beast.
But... a familiar shout cut the air.
On the other side, Scott's flames roared and Tom's heavy steps echoed. The balance had shifted.
"Hey Grey, a little help over here!" Vortex backpedaled behind a wall of fire, sweat dripping down his brow. "You tossed porcupine-boy my way when I was already dealing with fire-boy! Two on one's rough, you know?"
Grey blinked, his burning eyes softening for a breath. The sound of his friend's voice pulled him back from the brink.
He glanced aside: Becky lay crumpled, panting, her face battered. Reflex could barely stand, propped against shattered crates.
Without hesitation, Grey swooped down, gathering both of them in his arms and carrying them to the farthest corner of the warehouse, behind broken walls and debris.
"Stay here. Catch your breath. I'll handle the rest."
Reflex tried to protest, but his look left no room for argument.
The next instant, Grey shot back into the air, cutting through the smoke. Thoughts churned in his head.
They're calling these powers Ego? Is that what it's called in this world? I've never heard it before.
He soared toward Vortex.
Chris had already returned through the hole, electricity crackling across his body, his visor glowing like lightning in the dark.
He charged straight for Grey.
Grey didn't back down.
In midair, the two collided in an explosion of light.
Fist against fist, electric charge against blue energy.
KRAKK-BOOM!
The impact shook the warehouse, toppling crates and tearing nails from the walls.
"Took you long enough," Vortex called, raising his hands. Air vibrated, invisible currents swirling to pin Scott and Robert inside an unstable cage. "Thought you were gonna let me fry alone."
Grey smirked.
"I don't let my friends burn that easy."
Together, they advanced in sync.
Scott thrust his arms, unleashing a colossal wave of fire, a wall of flame rushing forward like a hurricane. Vortex spread his arms in response, the wind roaring, forming a tunnel that swallowed the blaze and spun it upward into a vortex that exploded against the ceiling, flooding the warehouse with searing light.
Grey darted through the maelstrom, eyes blazing, colliding shoulder-first into Scott and slamming him into a concrete wall.
"You should really save your oxygen before wasting it on so much fire," Grey said dryly, hovering above him.
Scott rose, his uniform scorched.
"Is that all you've got? Then take this!" he snarled, unleashing another torrent of flames.
From the other side, Robert charged in, arms covered in bone spikes like jagged blades. He lunged at Grey, who twisted in the air, pulling a massive crate with Blue and hurling it straight at him.
Robert shredded it to splinters, but the force still flung him aside.
"He's weaker—handle him fast!" Vortex shouted.
Grey dove low and smashed his forehead into Robert's nose, following with a brutal punch that slammed him against the ground. For a moment, the bone spikes retracted, his frame trembling from the shock.
Chris struck like lightning. He flickered across the warehouse, materializing behind Grey before the hero could turn. A fist crashed into Grey's jaw, the second already cocked back.
But Vortex reacted. Air pressure erupted behind Grey, forming an invisible wall. Chris's strike hit it and rebounded, hurling him backward. Sparks tore from the floor as he skidded to a halt, jaw clenched.
"Thanks," Grey said.
"Friends are for that. But I'm running out of juice here," Vortex answered with a crooked grin, though his ragged breaths betrayed the truth.
Scott rose again, hatred blazing in his eyes.
"Damn wind Ego! So damn irritating!" His voice cracked with fury as flames spiraled around him, a tornado of fire that lit the rafters in a hellish glow.
He raised his hands and unleashed an explosion that devoured half the warehouse in incandescent waves.
Grey didn't flinch. Standing at Vortex's side, he narrowed his eyes.
"My turn. Cover me."
Blue flared from his core, a blazing aura surging through his frame. Vortex spread his arms wide, pulling every gust of air into a single channel.
Fire and wind collided.
The blaze howled as it was sucked upward, twisted into a whirling storm of compressed flame and air. Through the chaos, Grey cut forward, shielded by the vacuum corridor. He burst through the inferno like a spear of light, his fist smashing into Scott's chest with a thunderclap.
Scott screamed as his body shot across the room, crashing into the far wall. Blood sprayed from his mouth when Grey followed up with a clean strike to his jaw, rattling his skull and dropping him to one knee.
"That's one down," Grey muttered, rising again.
But Chris was already on him. Electricity crawled over his body, sparks racing down every nerve as he launched forward. His strikes cracked like thunderbolts, fists flashing too fast for normal eyes to follow.
Grey saw them all. The Six Eyes traced every twitch, every surge of current before it became motion, but it was very difficult to keep up with his speed. Some slipped through, jolting his body with raw current.
Vortex forced himself back into the fight, bending air into sudden barriers that diverted the lightning arcs. But every clash still made the warehouse tremble, steel beams groaning as if the building itself begged for release.
Grey wiped the sweat dripping down his cheek. For the first time, the battle felt balanced.
But then—Scott staggered up again, fire still alive in his fists.
He was tougher than Grey expected.
His glowing eyes swept the battlefield.
Reflex still gasped weakly in the corner. Becky was recovering... but even if she could fight, Grey would never let her step in. Silver and Atom Eve, both driven to exhaustion, pushed back step by step as Tom's colossal gorilla form smashed concrete to powder with every strike. Eve's barriers shattered like glass, and Silver's dagger trembled in her hands.
At this pace, they would lose.
Grey's gaze locked on Vortex. No words—just a look. Understanding passed between them.
Vortex nodded once, firm. His hair whipped in invisible gusts.
"Go!" he shouted.
The air roared alive. Twin streams collided, carving a tunnel of compressed pressure straight through the battlefield.
Grey braced. Blue ignited around his legs, energy vibrating like a storm. Mugen shimmered, bending space at his command. Then he charged.
Chris blurred forward to intercept. But the wind tunnel detonated sideways, blasting him off his path. Sparks screamed from the floor as he skidded away.
Through the opening, Grey became a streak of blazing blue. The air cracked like a gunshot as he broke the sound barrier mid-dash. Both legs extended, his body a missile.
"HAAH!"
His flying kick connected with Tom's chest. The impact boomed like a thunderstorm, the colossal body hurling back through crates and smashing into the reinforced wall. Concrete caved, dust rained from the ceiling, steel beams buckled.
For the first time, Tom roared in pain. The monster staggered, shaking off the rubble but visibly rattled.
The warehouse groaned in protest. Beams screeched, sparks showered from falling metal. It was no longer clear whether they were fighting their enemies—or the building itself.
Grey slid to the floor, stabilizing himself. Vortex landed at his side, chest heaving, close to collapse. Eve descended, her face streaked with soot but her eyes sharp. Silver limped forward, dagger in hand, trembling but unbroken.
Grey clenched his fists. He could keep fighting—but not while shielding everyone else.
Meanwhile…
Atlas and Bruce still spiraled in the skies, trading brutal blows. But Bruce's muscles were straining, veins bulging under the overload. His body wasn't accustomed to carrying so many Egos at once, not for long. Still, with Robert's regeneration fueling him alongside Atlas's strength, he kept going, recharging like a living engine.
Then Bruce saw her.
Charlize, sprawled outside the warehouse, coughing blood, dragging herself weakly across the rubble.
He froze midair, fury twisting his face.
"Damn it… I just want Grey. This is personal! Why the hell are you in my way? You don't even like him!"
Atlas's brow furrowed, his voice sharp.
"Personal? What the hell do you mean by personal?"
So it wasn't because they thought Grey was stronger?
Atlas brow furrowed, jaw tight.
Bruce's cracked visor caught the moonlight as he turned. His words seethed.
"That bastard... that pest keeps interfering. Always sticking his nose where it doesn't belong." His voice seethed with rage. "We're only here for him. We don't care about this damn warehouse."
Atlas's breath hitched. For the first time, his fury faltered—hesitation creeping in.
His pride warred with reason, silence stretching between them.
Bruce's gaze flicked upward. A drone hovered overhead, recording the battle. His eyes flared red—and a beam cut through the sky, detonating the machine in flames.
Atlas tracked the wreckage as it spiraled down. His pride burned hotter. The thought of someone else—Grey—stealing the spotlight gnawed at him like poison.
He spat toward the ground, but didn't move. Indecision bound him in place.
Bruce dropped with a thunderous crash, dust exploding around him. He lifted Charlize from the rubble.
"You alright?"
She was in pain, but conscious.
"Yes… it was Grey. That bastard. Again."
Bruce propped her against shattered concrete.
"Can you stand?"
Charlize nodded, shaky, but strong enough to lean on the rubble.
"Be ready. Go through the passage inside the warehouse. Keep it ready for when we pull out."
And with a burst of rage, he shot back into the warehouse.
Inside, the Young Team—bruised, bleeding, barely holding—stood surrounded.
Tom, monstrous.
Robert, armored in jagged bone.
Scott, fists blazing.
Chris, electricity arcing over his body.
Grey was ready, but... another figure flew in through the warehouse breach. His eyes scanned every one of them.
Vortex's face lit up.
"Atlas! Finally!"
The fight, already against them, had just become worse.
And his friends were in danger.
"It's not Atlas," Grey said grimly, rising into the air slowly, inch by inch, subtly pulling away from the others.
The air froze. The silence was heavier than the chaos before. Smoke stung their lungs. Blood and iron clung to the floor.
Blue aura shimmered around him, his eyes fixed on the enemies encircling them.
The tension had shifted.
Every gaze fixed on him. Alone, yet unshaken, his decision already made.
In a defiant and determined tone—which seemed to announce that if they did not join forces against him, they would never win—his voice cut through the silence.
"I'm the one you want." His fists clenched, ready for war. "Then come for me."
BOOM!
The air shook as Grey shot upward, pulling away from the Young Team. He knew if he stayed, they'd be slaughtered alongside him.
The void roared in his chest, condensed energy blazing in his eyes.
Scott was the first to charge. Flames consumed the warehouse, heat spiking in a single instant.
Grey raised his hand. Blue ignited, a swirling vortex snapping into existence.
The Blue sphere devoured the inferno completely.
Already anticipating the next strike, perception sharpened to a razor's edge, adrenaline pounding like war drums, Grey flicked his wrist. The sphere spun aside, tearing through the volley of bone spikes Robert had unleashed. They disintegrated midair.
"Shit! How did he—?!" Robert snarled, hurling another barrage—several spikes slicing through the air like bullets, pouring every ounce of his remaining energy into blind rage. No openings. No escape.
Robert's lips curled into a grin. This time Grey couldn't slip through—he had him.
But Grey was already elsewhere.
His pupils dilated.
The void answered.
He activated Mugen.
Space bent.
The spikes slowed, stopped—hovering inches from him, suspended as if the air itself had turned liquid.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Instead of piercing him, they clattered to the floor, harmless.
Robert's knees hit the ground. His voice cracked, strangled by disbelief.
"The fuck… how this… miss?"
None of them understood how he'd slipped through.
Grey didn't reply. His fist answered for him. A punch snapped Robert's head aside, and before he could even gasp, Grey seized Tom's massive arm mid-swing and hurled the gorilla across the warehouse.
But there was no pause.
Chris struck like lightning.
ZUUUUM!
He flickered into existence behind Grey, electricity sparking across his body. An electric fist hammered into Grey's ribs before he could even turn.
The current ripped through his nerves like knives of thunder.
CRAAASH!
He crashed into the concrete ceiling, stone fracturing, a steel beam hanging loose like a guillotine ready to fall.
Blood trickled from Grey's lips.
I can't stop now.
He drew a sharp breath, Six Eyes widening.
With a burst of Blue, he launched himself back.
Blue trailed his fists as he rammed Chris with three consecutive blows, the final strike hurling him across the room. But Bruce intercepted, crashing into him with monstrous force.
BOOOM!
Grey flared another Blue sphere, stopping his fall midair, then shot at Tom. He slipped past the gorilla's arm, spun, and hammered both feet into the beast's jaw.
The giant staggered back, but didn't fall.
Chris flashed in again with sparks bursting from his frame. This time, Grey evaded, countering with a fist that drove straight into Chris's chest, hurling him away.
Bruce seized the opening.
ZZZZZT!
A red beam cut the air. Laser eyes seared Grey's shoulder, ripping a guttural cry from his throat.
"ARGH!"
His suit burned, flesh scorched.
Bruce hovered, visor glowing with Atlas's stolen eyes. Grey clenched his teeth. He couldn't afford to give in.
"You'll have to do better than that," Grey roared, fury spiking through pain.
He hurled himself at Bruce, Blue flooding his fist—this time mimicking Vortex.
My own version of Black Flash, asshole. Take it!
The punch detonated on impact.
THOOM!
The shockwave rattled the wreckage. Part of the second floor caved at one end.
Bruce was hurled back under the crushing blow. It hadn't been perfect, but forcing Blue's pull to crash against the strike's momentum was like two cars colliding head-on.
How does wind-brain pull that off every damn time? Grey thought, frustration and admiration flickering.
Bruce braced midair, his stolen abilities working overtime. Atlas's durability. Robert's healing. Scott's flames and much more—they kept him afloat.
He was a one-man army, naturally born to be a protagonist—maybe by coincidence, maybe because the universe itself wanted it that way. But never before had he fought with so many powers at once, at such intensity. And he had felt that punch—harder than anything he had ever taken in his life.
"What the hell kind of Ego is that? This son of a bitch is strong!" Bruce growled, eyes narrowing as he dove back, fist raised.
Their blows collided, shockwaves ripping through the air.
Chris arrived again like lightning.
Despite seeing, there was no time to react... But this time Grey was prepared.
As soon as he took the blow and Chris slowed, he grabbed his arm. The next punch landed squarely on the chin, sending him rolling backward to the ground.
Scott lunged behind him, fists blazing. Grey spun in midair, his heel catching Scott's jaw and flinging him across the wall.
Tom's colossal fist came next.
Grey slid aside, weaving in close, his own punch cracking into the gorilla's ribs.
The beast staggered, howling.
But Bruce was already on him again.
He used Scott's flame power to propel himself.
Grey blocked the punch, both arms out in front of him, but was still thrown. The clash hurled him to the center of the warehouse, concrete splintering under his back.
I have to thank Cassie... the way she moves, the way she turns raw strength into precision—it slips into my body as if it had always been mine. Her fighting style fits everything. Even here, in the middle of hell, I can feel it guiding me.
As he recovered, his enemies were already on their feet.
From the center, he could see the rest of the young team behind the destroyed chunks of concrete, recovering.
That was all the motivation he needed.
He was giving everything he had— And it was working, at least until now.
Scott nodded at Chris, his face furrowed, and launched a blast of flame toward Silver, Vortex, and Eve.
"No!" Grey shouted.
He blurred forward—too much power. His body screamed as he overcharged Blue and Mugen together. He appeared between Scott's inferno and his friends. His palm stretched out—
A sphere of Blue devoured the flames whole before vanishing with a pop.
His breathing was heavy.
That was the opening they needed.
Chris struck him from behind.
Scott unleashed a wall of fire across his flank.
Grey twisted, Mugen flaring to life. The flames dissipated harmlessly.
But from behind—Tom.
The gorilla's massive arms locked around his torso, squeezing to crush his bones.
Mugen resisted, but the sheer force drained him, forcing the barrier to collapse.
CRACK!
Grey gritted his teeth. His ribs screamed. Sparks rained down with every blow Chris landed.
When Chris finally paused for breath, Grey lifted his legs, twisting with the gorilla's crushing grip, and kicked Chris hard—sending him flying into Scott just as another burst of fire left his hands.
Both went down together in a tangle of flame and sparks.
But Tom still had him.
Grey barely had a second before Bruce appeared. His eyes blazed like torches.
"This ends now!"
A laser condensed, sharp as a spear. A direct shot—unblockable in his current state.
Grey's eyes widened.
It'll end me.
He forced everything he had into his gaze, clawing for his version of the ultimate technique—Muryuu Kusho.
His eyes blazed—
For a heartbeat, the universe itself seemed to crack.
Then the light sputtered out.
Failed.
The energy was not enough.
He closed his eyes prepared to receive the blow.
VOOOSH!
A pink barrier blazed into existence. The beam struck it, hissing against its surface. Cracks spread immediately.
Atom Eve hovered, arms outstretched, face set firm.
"You think you're doing this alone?" she gritted out, voice trembling with the strain.
ZZZZZZZT!
Cracks spread across the shield.
"Damn it! Move, or you'll get burned alive!" Grey roared.
"No chance!" she shot back instantly.
With a surge, Grey snapped his head backward, skull crashing into Tom's jaw with a brutal crack
THUD!
The gorilla's grip faltered.
Grey seized Eve around the waist, Blue igniting as he rolled them aside.
The beam sliced through empty air—
ZZZZZT!
—and struck Tom full in the chest.
The roar shook the rafters. Flesh seared, fur burned, his chest left charred and raw.
Grey collapsed to one knee, Eve in his arms. His eyes still blazed—but exhaustion dragged heavy chains across his body.
The walls were blackened, concrete fractured, the air thick with smoke and blood.
It was only a matter of time before the warehouse collapsed on them all. And everyone—friend and foe—knew it.
Eve stood again, braced on Grey. Moments later, Vortex and Silver appeared through the dust.
Across the battlefield, Chris scanned his team.
Across the field, enemies regrouped. Robert slumped, barely conscious. Charlize bled in shadows. Tom shrank back to human, his gorilla form broken—the burn on his chest refusing to heal.
The scorched wound from Bruce's lasers remained, shrinking with him, but still raw and burning.
Only three remained capable of fighting: Scott, fire still raging. Chris, crackling with lightning. Bruce, silent and furious, visor fractured but body unyielding.
Still, the three breathed hard behind their visors.
This is way over the top. This guy is dangerous and Atlas still could show up, Chris thought as he analyzed every detail. He raised his arm, signaling.
"That's enough." His voice cracked like thunder, eyes turning to the hidden passage they'd entered. "We leave now, before we no longer have a way out."
Scott growled, but didn't argue.
Bruce landed beside him. His jaw tightened.
"I stay. I finish him here."
Then Charlize's voice rang out, raw from the shadows.
"If you stay, then I stay too."
Bruce froze, teeth grinding, eyes locked on Grey.
Charlize bent low in the back, unseen, retrieving something hidden beneath debris near the doorway. She hurled it forward—
SSSHHHHH!
Smoke erupted, a dense curtain swallowing the battlefield. Heavy boots echoed over concrete.
"They're escaping! Can't see a damn thing!" Silver shouted, dagger clenched tight.
Through the haze, Bruce lunged suddenly. His shoulder slammed into Vortex, hurling him into the wall. He swung wide, sending Silver sprawling like nothing.
"You're not going anywhere!" Grey's eyes narrowed. "You think I can't see? I see everything."
And he did. He caught their movements—a crawl of energy, slipping through a gap between wall and floor.
A hidden passage. Subterranean. Concealed beneath collapsed crates.
Their escape.
Grey shot forward, Blue blazing. His arm thrust down.
BOOOOM!
The wall split apart, the blue sphere revealing the tunnel beneath.
Without hesitation, he plunged inside.
The tunnel was narrow, lined with lead and broken concrete, dimly lit by weak bulbs.
Bruce was there, blocking the way. His silhouette filled the passage.
The first punch hit like a battering ram.
CRAAASH!
Grey smashed into the wall, cracks spiderwebbing behind him.
He countered with a Blue sphere, wrenching Bruce's arm aside, landing a punch at his visor. Bruce staggered, but held.
The rest of the enemy pressed deeper while the two of them clashed in the confined corridor. Each blow thundered through the underground.
BOOM! THUD! CRACK!
Grey fought for ground, but Bruce shoved him back—until they struck at once.
BAAAAM!
Fists colliding in a brutal double blow that blasted them apart.
Grey blasted back into the collapsing warehouse. Bruce smashed deeper into the passage.
The ceiling shuddered. The tunnel walls split.
Bruce steadied himself, fury blazing, jaw tight. He glanced back—saw the passage crumbling. He was ready to end it here and return to finish Grey.
Then sparks flickered beside him—Chris appeared, gripping his shoulder firmly.
"We leave now, or they'll bury us too." His voice carried both command and concern.
"Damn it! I wanted to finish him!" Bruce snarled.
But as always, he listened.
He raised his fists and drove them into the tunnel walls.
CRUUUUMBLE!
The passage gave way in a deafening roar. The earth trembled as tons of dust and stone poured down, sealing the escape for good.
When silence settled, the enemies were gone.
Grey on his knees, blue eyes blazing defiantly.
He pushed to rise again—ready to chase.
But Vortex's voice cut through the ruin.
"Hold up. We need to check on Atlas. He might need backup."
Grey froze, breath ragged, fury simmering.
The mission was over.
The warehouse was theirs—or what was left of it.
But victory had slipped through the cracks, buried with the escape tunnel.
Moments later…
Warehouse Exterior — Chicago — 9:52 PM
The warehouse was in ruins. Walls split open like festering wounds, twisted beams jutting out, the stench of burnt concrete and heavy smoke hanging in the air. The silence after battle was deafening, broken only by ragged breaths and the crackle of embers smoldering in piles of shattered crates.
Outside, the Young Team gathered slowly. Reflex supported Becky, helping her pull her mask back into place. Behind dried blood and tear-streaked eyes, Ghost Girl's identity remained hidden from everyone—everyone except Grey, who couldn't shake the image of her exposed face from his mind.
Silver wiped sweat from her forehead, dagger sheathed again at her waist. Vortex steadied his breathing, his uniform torn in several places. Eve pressed her aching shoulder but stood tall, gaze still firm.
Grey stood a few steps ahead, his blue eyes still glowing—until the light faded, leaving only fatigue and a heavy stare fixed on Atom Eve.
Reflex activated her comm, voice hoarse from strain.
"Warehouse secure. Repeat, warehouse secure. Six individuals escaped through an underground route. No team casualties."
A low hiss carried through the channel, now stable again. Mirage answered, relief barely contained.
"Copy that, finally! You nearly gave me a heart attack. But you held the line on your own... Good work, everyone. GDA is on its way to sweep the area."
At central command, Cecil's dry voice cut in.
"Six powered individuals loose. That's going to bite us later."
Donald interjected quickly.
"But they survived. No backup. No Guardians. That says plenty."
Mirage exhaled, calm as ever in the monitoring room.
"You did well. Now leave the rest to us."
Grey closed his eyes for a moment, still turned toward Eve. The memory replayed vividly: the instant she had raised her pink wall against the laser, stepping in front without hesitation.
And with it came another memory—her younger self, speaking about being a hero, saving that boy on the bike, gazing at fireworks with hope in her eyes on New Year's Eve.
She... was ready to sacrifice herself for me.
Eve would've done the same for anyone there. But for someone who came from a world where no one sacrificed for anyone... that gesture, that intensity, shattered something deep inside him—another wall he had built long ago.
Nearby, Vortex approached Reflex, his voice softer than usual.
"You okay?"
She drew in a shaky breath, still leaning against the remains of the wall.
"I've been worse."
A tired smile flickered between them, a fleeting glance betraying a quiet intimacy.
Silver, wiping blood from her lip, noticed the way Grey's eyes never left Atom Eve. How he followed her every movement, as if etching her into memory. Silver said nothing, only looked away with a quiet sigh.
"Who were those people?" she asked.
Grey stepped closer, speaking low enough for only her and Vortex to hear.
"The one with the spikes... he's the same guy Viktor fought in his first school match. I'm sure of it."
They narrowed their eyes, trying to piece together what that meant.
Ghost Girl limped closer, still clutching her shoulder. She stopped in front of Grey, mask back on, but her voice carried gratitude.
"Thanks for the help. If it weren't for you..."
He only nodded. He couldn't even manage a smile, still reeling from the revelation that Ghost Girl was Becky—his childhood friend—and she had no idea who stood before her.
The sound of air being cut drew their eyes upward.
Atlas descended from the sky, uniform torn in places but arrogance intact. His gaze crossed Grey's for an instant. Neither looked away.
"You alright, man?" Vortex asked, concerned.
Atlas gave a curt nod.
"What happened out here? We were barely hanging on inside without you, I thought you'd lost... I don't know."
Atlas chuckled.
"Me? Lost? The fight carried us far. The masked guy pulled away after, my comm got fried, and I lost track of him. But..."
Eve rolled her eyes as he landed, clearly exhausted with his presence. Still holding a grudge from the giant monster incident in Chicago, she cut him off with a flat tone.
"Work with you? Not a chance."
She gave the team a brief wave before flying off, streaking pink light across the sky.
Atlas frowned but pressed on, jaw set.
"He had the same powers as me. And more. Not gonna lie, it'd be tough... but not impossible to beat him." His tone never lost its bravado.
Red lights streaked down the nearby street, announcing the GDA's approach. Armored vehicles sealed off the block.
Grey turned to Vortex and Silver, a weary half-smile tugging at his lips.
"Well... that's my cue. I need to clean up this blood before I get home. And my brother's waiting for me with pizzas. If I'm late, he'll kill me."
Vortex laughed.
"Knowing him, he'll give you a two-hour lecture instead."
Silver held his gaze, brushing her hair back with a delicate hand.
"Your shoulder... is it okay?" she asked, voice soft with concern.
"I'll live. Nothing serious."
"Let me check," Vortex said—before slapping his shoulder hard.
"ARGH! What the hell's your problem?" Grey barked, wincing.
Vortex grinned.
"That's for taking so damn long to show up... Now patch yourself up," he added with a smirk.
Grey exhaled, weary.
Silver let out a genuine laugh, relief breaking through as she realized everyone was still standing. Her own body bore bruises and light burns, but nothing serious.
And so, they parted ways.
Grey gave the group a final wave, his eyes lingering on Ghost Girl—long enough to burn the sight of her into memory.
Then he shot into the sky, vanishing into the night.
Chicago Underground — 10:10 PM
Footsteps echoed through the narrow sewer tunnels. Fetid water trickled along the edges, the stench of rust and rot clinging to the damp walls. Masked silhouettes moved through the darkness, heavy breaths betraying the toll of battle. The metallic scrape of a grate broke the silence, followed by the faint light of the surface as an iron cover was shoved aside.
Their steps were heavy, bodies dragging more than walking. Every wound throbbed, every bruise screamed.
One by one, they emerged from the underground into a commercial building. Though abandoned on paper, it was far too orderly to be truly deserted. Located on the edge of Chicago's outskirts yet still in a decent neighborhood, the place was clean, intact, and discreet. Metal shutters sealed off the windows, hiding the safehouse Russell had prepared for them.
The shadows stretched across walls far too pristine for an abandoned structure, exposing how meticulously this refuge had been set up. Spare clothes, first-aid kits, showers—everything had been arranged.
Chris was the first to speak, his voice sharp and cutting as he strode forward with heavy steps.
"I told you this was a bad idea." He slammed his hands against the counter, jaw tight. "And you? Why the hell didn't you use your damn Ego when he showed up?"
Only then did he glance at Charlize. Her ripped clothes, bloodied lips, body hunched in pain made him narrow his eyes. With a sigh of frustration, he pinched the bridge of his nose.
Bruce cut in, voice deep and commanding.
"She wasn't in any condition to use her Ego."
Charlize drew a slow breath, forcing firmness into her tone.
"I didn't get the chance."
Chris exhaled, calmer now but still laced with irony.
"I can see that..."
Behind them, Tom grunted, one hand pressed over the scorched wound that still seared across his torso, while Robert supported him by the arm.
"Why didn't you copy her power and use it, Bruce?" Robert asked.
"Because I don't understand how it works," He answered curtly, turning his face aside.
"Damn it... feels like I got run over by a truck. And this burn—seriously, Bruce, what the hell," Tom growled.
The burn across his chest glowed an angry red. His shirt had been shredded with his transformation, leaving only the main section of his pants. Sweat and blood streaked his skin. Every breath tore a muffled groan from him as Robert lowered him heavily into a chair.
Scott had already thrown himself into a metal chair against the wall, flipping a coin between his fingers, annoyance written across his face.
"All that crap for nothing! At least I had some fun." His lips curled into a sadistic smile before souring again. "Until Grey showed up."
He slammed his heel against the floor, restless. Robert cast a quick look at Charlize, as if silently questioning whether she truly couldn't have done more.
Unbothered by the tension, he crouched by Charlize with a first-aid kit. He cleaned a gash on her face, focused only on her.
"No need for all this. We reek of sewer; we should clean up first," she muttered.
Bruce hushed her with a quiet "Shh," and kept treating the wound.
Chris leaned on the counter, studying them from a distance.
"I thought you'd finish Atlas with all those powers. Was he really that strong?"
Bruce slowly raised his eyes to meet his.
"It's complicated. Too much power to control. I was trying to understand it, conserve energy. I can only fight well with powers I grasp instinctively. Normally, each one feels like moving an arm or a leg—you don't explain it, you just act. But Atlas… it was like suddenly having dozens of arms at once, each pulling in a different direction. And then there were the other powers I copied but didn't test. If I fought them again... I'd be ready. I'd do better. Maybe it was even good not to show everything I had. Atlas saw my face."
Chris arched a brow, curiosity flickering under bruises.
"Interesting."
Bruce returned to Charlize's wounds.
"That guy's the real deal... but it wouldn't be impossible to bring him to our side," he said firmly.
Chris scoffed, a short, bitter laugh as he kicked an empty can away.
"Doubt it. The guy craves fame and attention. With the heroes, he's got everything he wants."
Bruce said nothing. The image of Atlas hovering still, letting him withdraw, lingered like a thorn. His eyes narrowed, but he didn't argue.
"And his x-ray vision?" Chris pressed. "Did you copy it? Did you see Grey's face behind the mask?"
Bruce shut his eyes briefly, exhaling before answering.
"I saw. Familiar. Like I'd seen him before. But white hair and blue eyes? I don't remember anyone like that. Maybe a former student... dyed."
Chris clicked his tongue in irritation.
Bruce went on.
"Atlas's powers are fascinating. I didn't learn who Grey is... but I saw two things you won't like."
Chris frowned.
"What?"
Bruce locked eyes with him.
"Vortex. He's the rookie who beat Robert last year."
"Son of a bitch! He's in my class," Robert roared, slamming a kick into the wall, rage raw.
"And Silver..." Bruce's tone sharpened. "It's your girl. Kiana."
A low whistle slipped from Robert. Even Scott looked up from his coin, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.
Everyone waited for Chris's reaction. Silence stretched. His gaze hardened, but no emotion showed—just a resigned lift of one brow.
"Whatever. She'd rather hang out with those nobodies at school. She's not fit to be my girl. And we're not playing supervillains. Our issue is with Grey. Nothing else."
He turned to Robert.
"Don't even think about attacking him or doing something stupid that outs us."
Robert scowled but nodded.
Scott, lounging in his chair, drummed his fingers on his chin with disdain.
"So what's all this philosophy crap for, huh?" he muttered, snatching a spare outfit from the counter before heading to a bathroom.
The sound of running water soon filled the air.
Chris shifted his gaze back to Bruce.
"And Grey's powers? Did you figure out anything? A weakness?"
Bruce stayed composed.
"When I copy powers, I feel different frequencies. Born abilities. Genetic alterations. Experiments. Each has a signature. And I can sense it. But Grey's..." He paused, meeting Chris's stare. "Some of it felt the same as ours. Same frequency. But in him... it's like he's the source itself."
Chris's eyes narrowed, trying to process.
Bruce continued. "All of the Young Team. Their powers resonate with ours. Except the girl in pink—the energy one. Hers is different. Atlas... his powers are similar to ours too. But there's something he, that girl, and Grey share. It feels like they were born with those powers."
Chris leaned against the counter.
"Maybe all three are experiments. Lab-born."
For two of them, it was almost the truth.
Bruce looked back at Charlize, finishing the bandage on her shoulder.
"Maybe. I couldn't understand or copy anything from Grey. Not his eyes, not that blue energy. Nothing. His physical strength was absurd, like ours—that I could've taken when he showed up. But I didn't re-trigger the drain. Atlas wasn't near, and I didn't want to lose the part of him I still carried."
Chris tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the counter. Silence pressed over the group. The failure hung heavy. They hadn't taken Grey. Worse—they'd seen his strength, greater than they imagined, enough to stand against them all alone. And they'd wasted Russell's carefully laid opportunity.
But for some, it wasn't the end of the world.
Charlize tugged Bruce's hand, placing it on her thigh, leaning to whisper in his ear.
"Enough playing nurse. If you're done with the bandages... I'll need help showering. Without missing any spots."
Without hesitation, Bruce scooped her into his arms and carried her toward the spare bathroom.
"Wonderful. Exactly what we need after a failed mission—turning the safehouse into a damn motel" Chris muttered with a sigh, disgust in his tone.
The door slammed shut. Seconds later, the hiss of the shower filled the air, steam fogging the mirror.
Water traced down the tiles, streaking red as it mixed with blood.
Charlize leaned against the cold ceramic, nearly unrecognizable in the harsh light. Her dyed black hair clung wet to her skin, her lips cracked and bloodied. Yet her brown eyes still burned, sparking with something closer to desire than pain.
Her body, marked with cuts and bruises, held defiant poise, refusing to show weakness.
Bruce towered over her like a fortress of muscle in the mist. His bowlcut hair dripped sweat and water down sharp features, his veins still swollen from copied powers. His gaze wasn't that of a warrior—it was one of possession, cold and predatory.
He pinned her to the wall firmly, his calm breath contrasting with her burning stare.
"Careful with my legs," she murmured, arching her back. "I'll need them working tomorrow."
Bruce's eyes scanned her, analytic yet intent.
"I'll be careful... with the legs."
Charlize let out a husky laugh, leaning in.
"I just got my ass kicked, and you still don't show me mercy?"
Her laugh dissolved into the hiss of water and the pounding of droplets against tile.
Outside, the others only heard pipes groan and the steady drip of water.
Robert grabbed fresh clothes from the counter.
"When Scott's done, I'm next. The other bathroom's busy for a while." He glanced at Tom, sprawled in his chair, hand over his chest. "All that whining over a little burn? Drama queen." His grin made clear it was a jab.
Tom scowled, shifting painfully.
"Easy for you to say. Your body heals in minutes. You didn't take a goddamn laser to the chest."
He forced himself up, rummaging through the first-aid kit. With a twisted smile, He uncapped the bottle and poured alcohol straight over it.
The liquid hissed, biting into the wound.
Tom clawed the chair, veins bulging while he swallowed the scream.
"This is how real men treat wounds," he growled at Robert, his forced smile betraying nothing but pain.
Robert chuckled, half-impressed.
"You're a legend."
Chris snorted, shaking his head.
"Legend, my ass. You're all lunatics."
The pounding shower and dripping pipes filled the silence. Outside, cars rolled by, oblivious.
Inside, failure lingered like smoke. They had lost Grey. Lost Russell's perfect setup. And what stung most wasn't just the escape—it was the first time, they had faced prey who turned the hunters into the hunted.
But for them... it was just another round in a game far from over.
Grayson Residence — Living Room — 10:24 PM
The sound of a key turning in the lock broke the silence of the house, followed by the creak of the door opening. Kai stepped inside slowly, balancing three stacked pizza boxes in his arms. The chill of the night clung to his clothes, but the smell of cheese and freshly baked dough filled the room within seconds.
Thank God most of the injuries aren't in visible places, Kai thought.
The TV flickered in the corner of the room. Mark sprawled across the couch, legs stretched over the coffee table, an empty plate abandoned beside him. The bluish glow of the episode lit his face as he turned at the sound of his brother.
"Took you long enough!" he complained, his voice full of mock indignation. "You've already missed two episodes, and we're halfway through another. And I'm starving, man."
Kai shut the door with his foot and made his way into the living room, dropping the boxes onto the table with a tired sigh.
"The line at our usual place was insane. So I went to one across the city."
Mark scoffed but seemed to accept the excuse. As he shifted on the couch, something caught his eye.
"Wait a second… what the hell is that on your face?"
Kai turned slightly, and the glow from the TV revealed a thin cut on his eyebrow and a faint bruise along his jawline. Nothing severe, but enough to raise suspicion.
Kai looked away, his voice flat and annoyed.
"Tripped. Don't ask."
Mark burst out laughing, nearly dropping the remote.
"You? Falling while running? I wish I'd seen that!"
Kai leaned back with a resigned sigh, pulling open the first box. The hot scent of pepperoni spilled into the room, mingled with melted cheese. He flipped open the second box, revealing a mixed pizza chosen on purpose.
"Got an extra one… surprise. Just in case you're tired of the same old thing."
Mark leaned forward, his eyes lighting up as if it were his birthday.
"Dude, you're the best. Greatest brother ever! Did I ever tell you that?"
Kai glanced at him.
"You do. Every time I save your ass."
The dry comeback made Mark laugh harder, because even wrapped in Kai's sarcasm, it was true.
They both grabbed slices, strings of melted cheese stretching as they took bites. The room filled with the sound of chewing and the muffled dialogue of the show running in the background.
Then, between bites, Mark narrowed his eyes and glanced at his brother.
"You went running because you got all hyped about that Atom Eve on TV again, didn't you?"
Kai froze mid-chew, turning his head slowly, brows furrowed.
"What?"
Mark grinned wide, barely holding back his laughter.
"I knew it! You're either her fanboy or you've got a crush on the hero."
Kai leaned back into the couch with a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes.
"Your logic is as flawless as ever." His voice dripped with sarcasm.
Mark just laughed, satisfied with his jab.
But the annoyance lingered in Kai longer than he'd admit. The name Eve echoed in his mind, dragging with it the vivid memory of her standing in front of him, raising a wall of light against the laser without hesitation.
She had been ready to burn alive just to shield him.
That image… wouldn't leave him.
It lingered deeper than the pain in his body.
He chewed slowly, the taste of melted cheese dull against the memory. The laughter in the room felt far away, drowned by the echo of that moment.
Two Days Later… Monday — February 10, 2014 — Chicago, 5:10 PM
Outside the world of heroes, the corporate and financial world moved along as usual. The late afternoon painted Chicago in shades of orange as Russell descended the marble steps of a skyscraper in the financial district. He wore a flawless dark suit, mirrored sunglasses concealing his weary gaze. Two bodyguards cleared the way, and the driver was already waiting beside the armored black sedan, gleaming under the fading sunlight.
Russell entered the car in a hurry, tossing the leather briefcase onto the seat beside him. The door shut with a muffled clac, the soundproofing silencing most of the city noise outside.
"Let's go. I hate this evening traffic."
The car glided through the avenues, tinted windows reflecting the urban scenery. But as they left the main road and turned into a quieter street, the calm shattered.
First came the deep growl of engines.
Then, in the rearview mirror — three black SUVs closing in at high speed.
The screech of tires tearing asphalt filled the air, followed by the first gunshots.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Bullets hammered the car. The metallic clang echoed like a drum beaten by iron fists. Sparks flared against the windows, but the armor held. Still, the sheer force shook the cabin violently.
"Motherfuckers." Russell gripped the seat, face tight with fear. "Mexican bastards! Think you can hunt me down? In the middle of Chicago?!"
The sweating driver kept a firm grip on the wheel. "The car will hold, sir! Just stay down!"
The bodyguard in the front passenger seat opened a hidden compartment in the floor. A small metallic hatch creaked.
Russell's eyes widened.
"What the hell am I supposed to do? Crawl under the car?!" He slammed his palm against the seatback. "I can't believe this is how I'm going out."
"Twenty meters ahead — now!" the guard barked, holding the hatch open.
The driver slammed the pedal. The engine roared, the sedan shooting forward.
Outside, the cartel SUVs tightened their formation, cutting off the flanks.
Two men stepped out of the lead vehicle. Identical.
Sun-scorched bronze skin, black tattoos winding across their necks and arms, and eyes as sharp as blades. Every step cracked the pavement like it wasn't made for human weight. They advanced without haste, predators who knew the prey had nowhere to run.
The first reached Russell's sedan. With a single motion, he gripped the rear door. Veins bulged along his arm. The armored steel groaned like paper tearing until it gave way with a sickening crack.
CRAAACK!
The door was ripped free and hurled onto the asphalt. The car's interior was empty. Only an open hatch in the floor revealed the escape.
The man glanced at his twin.
The other smirked, placed a foot against the sedan, and shoved. The car slid across the asphalt with a screech, exposing a slightly ajar sewer grate beneath.
That was when the driver, still in the front seat, raised his gun in desperation.
BANG! BANG!
Bullets pinged uselessly against the tattooed man's chest, leaving only sparks and shallow marks.
The twin stepped forward, one hand snatching the driver by the throat and lifting him into the air. His feet kicked wildly, face purpling under the crushing grip.
The other asked, his tone heavy with a Mexican accent.
"What do we do with this one?"
The twin didn't hesitate. His gaze was cold, empty.
"Kill him."
Minutes Later — Chicago Sewers, 5:25 PM
Filthy water splashed against Russell's expensive leather shoes, staining the cuffs of his trousers. The stench was suffocating — rust, rot, and stagnant filth clinging to the damp concrete walls. Dim lamps flickered along the narrow tunnel, throwing trembling shadows that made the passage seem even more claustrophobic.
Ahead, the bodyguard — drenched in sweat, breathing hard — held a flashlight and pushed forward quickly. The muffled echo of gunfire above still haunted them.
Russell, soaked and panting, muttered curses through clenched teeth.
"Bastards… think they can corner me like some street dealer? Two-bit cartels… Chicago isn't your backyard!"
The guard glanced back, anxious. "Sir, we need to keep moving. They might force their way through the manhole."
Russell raised a hand for silence. He wiped sweat and grime from his face with his sleeve, straightened his back, and lifted his chin. The man who had just been spitting curses now wore the mask of the calculating boss once more.
His eyes gleamed with steel in the dim light. His voice was no longer shaky, but cutting, certain.
"Looks like I'll need to call in favors sooner than expected."
The words echoed through the tunnel, carrying not just anger, but a promise that someone would pay dearly.
The guard swallowed hard and kept moving. Russell followed, his stride steadier now, as though already plotting his next move in a larger game.
Later That Night — February 10, 2014 — Chicago, 11:40 PM
The wall clock above the counter neared midnight. The fast-food joint in downtown Chicago was nearly deserted. A sleepy clerk wiped down trays while the fryers exhaled the rancid smell of old oil. The second floor, lit by flickering fluorescent lights, was empty — scratched metal chairs, greasy tables, and the constant hum of the drink machine providing the only soundtrack.
Russell sat in the farthest corner, back against the wall for a full view of the place. He smoothed his well-kept red hair, but his eyes betrayed unease.
In front of him sat three figures who didn't match the banality of the setting.
Bruce was pristine, as if untouched by the brutal battle from two days earlier against Atlas and Grey. Scott, however, carried a dark bruise running from his jaw down his neck, while Chris bore a cold glare, a dried cut marking his brow.
Scott slapped the table, making the metal screech.
"What the hell is this dump to call us for an urgent meeting? You've lost it, Russell?"
The redhead frowned, fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the greasy tabletop. His voice was steady, firm.
"Someone tried to kill me today."
The three exchanged glances in silence. Even Scott, brimming with anger moments before, shut his mouth.
Russell continued, "I might be under surveillance. Meeting at the warehouse wasn't an option."
Chris leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes sharp as knives.
"Let me guess. You want a favor now… and for us to handle it."
Russell leaned back, fingers laced on the greasy tabletop. The faint smile that appeared didn't mask his fatigue, but it did reveal control.
"Actually… I've been following the news about your little attempt. I know you didn't get what you wanted. But I have a plan that can solve both my problem… and yours. We're partners. And who always shows up with the solution?"
Chris let out a loud sigh, arms crossed over his chest, but didn't look away.
"Fine. Talk."
Russell let the silence linger, the refrigerator's hum filling the air. Then he leaned in, voice low and precise.
"I need you to retrieve something for me," he said, before shifting his gaze past Scott and Chris to lock eyes with Bruce. "From a place you already know."
Bruce's brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing as if deciphering the hidden weight of those words.
The silence thickened, turning the empty fast-food joint into a stage for conspiracy.
And the night closed in, wrapped in mystery.
Interlude — Part 1: Movies, Feelings, and Secrets
February 12, 2014 – Oakwood Highschool Academy
After the noisy mission, the following days passed in a calmer rhythm. The next week brought back Oakwood's predictable routine.
Cassie was already back to normal, talking loudly through the hallways. Kai's bruises had nearly vanished, Viltrumite regeneration working faster than before. Viktor, however, kept his eyes discreetly on Robert, trying to confirm what Kai had mentioned days earlier.
Perhaps the only outlier was Kiana. She still found herself bothered by the way Kai had looked at Atom Eve — though even she wasn't sure if there had really been anything there. And much less Kai.
The phone vibrated on the desk. Mark.
"Kai, the movie we agreed to watch together comes out next week."
Kai frowned, typing back.
"Which movie?"
"Lord of the Relics, already forgot? The one we talked about at the mall, when you were with Kiana, your girlfriend."
"She's not my girlfriend."
"Oh, right. You've just got a crush on the pink heroine… kidding. Anyway, let Kiana know, she said she'd go. And Derick wants to know if you can invite Cassie. It's next Friday. We already set the date so you can't use the club as an excuse."
Kai let out a low sigh, lowering the phone. In the classroom, Kiana was digging through her backpack and Cassie was finishing off a water bottle.
"Hey, Lord of the Relics premieres next week. Mark's calling everyone. You two going?"
Kiana's head shot up immediately, her eyes lighting up.
"Of course! I've been waiting for that movie since you guys mentioned it at the mall that day."
Cassie bit her lip for a moment and shook her head.
"I'd love to, but I already have plans that day. Rain check."
Kai simply nodded.
"Alright."
He returned to his phone and replied to Mark:
"Kiana and I are in. Cassie has plans."
The answer came almost instantly.
"Good. It's set. No backing out."
Kai dropped the phone onto the desk, sinking into his chair while the classroom chatter filled the air.
His gaze drifted off for a few seconds.
looks like I'll be seeing Becky soon… Ghost Girl… Is she doing any better?
Interlude — Part 2: From the Viewpoint of Explosions
Somewhere in the U.S.
In the past months, the name Rex Sloan had all but vanished from civilian life. What remained of him was only the shadow molded by Radcliffe's orders.
In vague warehouses across the Midwest, in abandoned port hangars, even in discreet houses tucked into the suburbs, Rex had been sent to "clean" strategic targets.
A warehouse in Kansas: the stench of gunpowder lingered as Rex blew apart the last group of men. Remnants scattered across the floor, walls stained with blood, silence pressing down like a suffocating weight.
A speakeasy in Detroit: he stormed through overturned tables, hurling energized projectiles that turned bodies into debris midair. The screams were drowned out by the roar of explosions.
A cabin in rural Ohio: three targets fleeing, one improvised grenade. Trees ignited, the blast echoing as corpses were flung yards ahead.
And many more.
Rex carried out every mission. Always. But with each strike, no matter how efficient, the feeling of being used grew heavier.
February 16, 2014 — Sunday — Chicago — Radcliffe's Office
The office was cold, lined with dark wooden furniture and shelves crammed with documents that never saw the light of day. Heavy curtains smothered the single window. At the center stood a robust desk, lit only by the warm glow of a lamp.
Rex sat across it, dossier open in his hands. His eyes scanned the pages with a mix of disbelief and unease. He finally looked up.
"You're serious?"
Across from him, Radcliffe shifted in his chair. The scar carved from his forehead to his mouth gave his face a grotesque cast, reinforced by the glasses glinting under the light.
"I don't usually joke about special operations, Rex."
Rex shook his head slowly, still trying to process.
"Yeah, I know… but the Pentagon? I'm pretty sure the people there work for the government. I thought WE were with the government."
Radcliffe calmly removed his glasses, setting them on the desk. He leaned forward, his voice steady.
"Let me clear this up for you, Rex. For a while, the Global Defense Agency really was aligned with the U.S. government. I used to run things there. But the current director — my former subordinate — he's crossing lines that should never be crossed. He has to be stopped."
Rex slammed the dossier onto the desk, the papers sliding to the center.
"Fine, I believe you. But there's not even a name here, just an address. How am I supposed to eliminate someone I don't even recognize?"
Radcliffe interlocked his fingers atop the desk, his face grim.
"Don't worry about that, Rex. Even if the target is the director…" — he paused, his expression tightening before continuing — "I want you to bring the whole place down. They're prying, investigating, interfering in operations meant to protect our country. They're out of control."
Silence stretched thin. Rex stared at the papers, jaw clenched.
Radcliffe leaned back, closing the conversation.
"Now go get some rest, kid. This mission is critical. You'll carry it out tomorrow."
Rex's Room — 10:50 PM
Lying in bed, Rex stared at the ceiling for hours. The digital clock on the nightstand glowed 10:50 PM. He still wore his black T-shirt and worn jeans. The dossier lay open on the floor, ignored.
Something didn't feel right.
In truth, nothing he had done in recent months felt right. It was hollow. Every explosion he triggered, every life erased — the weight pressed on him, unbearable now.
Was he protecting the country, or just cleaning up someone else's mess?
Suddenly, he sat up. It wasn't hope, not exactly. Just impulse. He shoved in a few clothes carelessly, along with his wallet and motorcycle helmet. The uniform, the gloves — none of that came with him.
Moving quietly down the stairs, Rex pushed open the back door. The night air hit his face. His bike, a simple red Biz, waited under the dim glow of a streetlight.
He turned the key. Vrrummm. The engine shattered the silence.
Perhaps the most ironic part was that, while Rex slipped out through the back of the mansion, the red Biz humming quietly beneath the night, another presence was crossing through the front gates.
Firm, steady steps. A silhouette advancing through the shadows as though the place was familiar territory, moving in ways no ordinary human could replicate.
The black military uniform absorbed what little light touched the garden, each seam stretched tight against the frame of a body built for precision. A mask concealed the entire face, the visor reflecting the cold gleam of the lampposts — like soulless glass eyes.
The front door creaked as it was pushed inward, the intruder moving as if following precise instructions on where to go and how to pass unseen.
Each step was silent, calculated. The polished wood of the hall briefly mirrored the fleeting outline as the figure advanced deeper into the mansion.
While Rex vanished into the streets of Chicago, speeding away as though fleeing from his own sins, the mansion welcomed a new visitor.
And the gears began to turn once more.
That night felt like the unfolding of something larger, as though the universe itself had prepared a joke — as if every piece had been decided by dice, falling perfectly into place so that fate would continue its course.