Chapter 33 - Chapter 33 — A Day of Conspiracies and Coincidences

February 17, 2014 — Monday — Chicago — 12:26 AM

The hum of the red scooter echoed through the nearly deserted streets of downtown Chicago. The asphalt reflected the glow of the streetlamps in uneven puddles, remnants of the afternoon rain. Rex leaned his body forward, the helmet hiding his face, his eyes heavy after a night without direction.

That was when a shattered window caught his attention — shards scattered across the concrete, smoke puffing out in bursts.

Rex slowed, pulling the bike up against the curb. He removed his helmet and took a few steps, eyes narrowing.

BOOOOM!

An explosion ripped through the silence, blasting a man in dark clothes out into the open. His body was battered with bruises, and a twisted mechanical arm sparked wildly. He rolled across the ground and collapsed, struggling to breathe.

Rex raised his eyebrows, still stunned, but cautiously stepped closer.

"Hey… you okay?"

The man muttered in a faint voice, head lolling to the side.

"Nothing… can kill… Kill Cannon…" Then he blacked out right there.

Rex took another step, but tension rooted him in place.

"HEEEY!"

A shout split the night. Feminine, firm.

Rex instinctively jumped back, grabbed a stone from the ground, and slid across the asphalt into a defensive stance, ready to throw.

"Calm down, calm down!"

A figure emerged from the shadows. Red hair shimmered beneath the streetlight, cascading over her shoulders. The short jacket traced her silhouette, the gleaming pink uniform reflecting as though it had a life of its own. Atom Eve. Her presence carried something magnetic, beauty that drew the eyes before the mind could even register danger.

She raised her hands, a playful smile curving her lips.

"You were really about to throw a rock at me? That's no way to treat a lady—especially one this gorgeous."

The streetlights flickered irregularly, casting long shadows against the cracked concrete and abandoned buildings. Her bright pink uniform looked out of place, almost surreal in that gray, broken setting.

Rex blinked a few times, processing the scene before him, then finally loosened up, dropping the stone and stepping back.

"Alright… wait… I'm not a threat."

He pointed to the unconscious body.

"That guy… he was robbing the bank, right?"

Eve smirked.

"What gave it away, Nancy Drew? The explosion, or the giant sign that says Bank?" she quipped, glancing at the shattered windows before looking back at the villain sprawled out.

Rex glanced again at the man, the mechanical arm sparking against the damp asphalt, the air heavy with the stench of burnt metal and smoke. He raised a tentative finger, still half in disbelief.

"So… he's a supervillain."

"Yeeep." Eve arched an eyebrow, as if the answer was obvious.

"And you stopped him… with your superpowers."

"Uh-huh. Pretty clear, isn't it?" she replied.

Rex rubbed the back of his neck, still watching cautiously.

"So that means… you're a superhero."

"Of course!" She tilted her chin up, spreading her arms in a victorious pose. "I'm Atom Eve, at your service, dear citizen!"

Rex hesitated, his eyes wandering, throat tightening. For a moment, he considered just leaving — getting back on the bike and vanishing into the dark. But something about her tone, the way she carried herself, struck him. This girl… she was what he never managed to be: someone who used power to protect, not destroy.

Her uniform glowing in that grimy street only highlighted the gulf between them. If he was going to open up to someone, if he was going to ask for help for the first time in months… maybe it had to be her. The heroine. The person he deep down wished he could have been.

"My God… okay. I think I need your help."

Eve blinked, surprised.

"What? Seriously? So that's why all the obvious questions. What do you need?"

Rex drew in a deep breath, gaze shifting as he fought for words, his chest tightening with each second. The helmet weighed on his neck, but the true weight sat heavy in his gut. He looked her in the eye, wavering, but forced himself to go on.

"Okay… so… just let me—"

Rex swallowed. The words sat on his tongue—too heavy, too late—

VRUUUUM!

A blast tore through the night.

Kill Cannon shot up suddenly, eyes wild, mechanical arm glowing red.

"I'll kill you!"

The cannon flared with searing light.

Eve shot forward instantly, throwing up a translucent pink barrier around Rex, the beam crashing against it with a deafening boom.

"Hey, kid, get somewhere safe!"

Rex gave a crooked grin.

"You kidding? I just scored front-row seats to an amazing show!"

He grabbed a broken brick, charging it up.

Eve darted toward Kill Cannon, dodging blasts, walls of energy slicing the air.

The air reeked of ozone and gunpowder. Each shot shook the ground, scattering dust across fractured concrete. Eve's energy barriers shimmered like glass under strain, pink light reflecting across parked cars.

"Come on, Kill Cannon, that cannon thing really isn't working out for you!"

CRACK!

A brick shattered near the villain's face, sparks scattering.

Rex stood on the other side, holding only half the brick.

"That was just half. Imagine the whole thing."

Kill Cannon roared, yanking off his combat helmet and hurling it at Eve. The blow struck, making her stumble with a groan, clutching her head.

"Aw, damn it!"

"I'll kill you too!" he bellowed, swinging the cannon toward Rex.

The beam ripped through the air, but Rex slid across the asphalt, the brick in his hand glowing red-hot.

"You thought that was explosive before…"

He hurled it.

"Wait 'til you see this!"

BOOOOM!

The blast engulfed Kill Cannon in flames, shredding his mechanical arm and slamming him against a wall. He collapsed hard, retching violently.

Rex stood tall, hand still extended, as though holding a heroic pose, waiting to see if the villain would rise again. Heat clung to his fingers.

He sauntered closer to the fallen man, casual as ever.

Eve descended, still hovering.

"Wow! Nice work—"

HUUURGH!

The villain retched again, vomiting all over himself.

"Yikes. This guy just puked everywhere." Rex grimaced.

"Gross." Eve muttered, turning away.

She landed beside Rex, curiosity sparking in her eyes.

"So you said you needed help. But you look like you handle yourself just fine."

Rex exhaled, finally pulling off the helmet completely.

"My name's Rex Sloan… and I need advice."

Eve softened, intrigued.

"Nice to meet you, Rex. Tell me how I can help."

And so he told her. They talked for minutes — the dirty work, the mercenary "job," the Pentagon target. The weight he couldn't carry anymore.

The sarcasm vanished from Eve's face. Arms crossed, she listened intently, but her mind drifted elsewhere.

Dr. Brandyworth. All the truths she'd been forced to swallow.

Being with the government doesn't mean being good… I know that better than anyone.

The boy in front of her wasn't just a delinquent. He was lost, drowning in a game far bigger than himself. And for a moment, she saw a reflection of what she could've been — had she taken a different path.

"Believe me," she said, her voice firm. "Government and bad people aren't opposites. Sometimes they're the same. But you… you're telling me you're a hitman. So… are you a bad guy, Rex?"

Rex froze, raising his hands as if surrendering.

"No, no… I mean— I'm a good guy. Tricked into doing bad things. And now, if I don't act, they'll come after me. I might hurt someone innocent. And I've got nowhere to go."

Silence stretched too long. Eve bit her lip, still weighing him. A memory surfaced: how she too had been deceived, how loneliness had nearly crushed her, how doubt once poisoned her identity. Maybe that was why she understood his look — desperate yet resigned.

If someone had reached out a hand when I needed it… maybe things would've been easier.

A fleeting image of the boy who once appeared when she was loneliest, the one she still wondered if was Grey, brushed her mind.

A cold breeze swept the street, scattering loose papers. Eve didn't answer right away. She studied him instead — the calloused, trembling hands, the vulnerability hidden under his bravado. Finally, she sighed.

"You know… I actually have a place. You can stay at my house tonight."

Rex's eyes widened.

"You're serious?"

"I don't usually joke with people who can blow up bricks, Rex."

He ran a hand through his hair, smirking.

"So you're inviting a dangerous stranger into your room? Didn't see that coming. Won't your parents be pissed if they catch us?"

Eve turned her head slowly toward him, eyes narrowing deliberately. A sly smile spread, sharp and mischievous.

"Oh, they'd be very, very pissed." Her grin widened into something bold, her confidence radiating. "Which only makes this better."

Rex blinked, then chuckled — more cynical than shy, but a spark of interest slipping through.

"You're my kind of girl. You sure about this?"

"Completely. But first, let's deal with this guy." She glanced at Kill Cannon, still twitching on the ground, his mechanical arm ruined. Her expression turned serious again.

She crossed her arms, pink aura shimmering faintly against her skin. "Seriously though, are you sure you're not a superhero too?"

Rex laughed dryly, snapping his helmet shut with a sharp click.

"Honestly… I used to think I was."

Pink light rippled across the broken glass as sirens wailed in the distance. Eve glanced at the unconscious villain, then back at Rex. "Let's go."

A few minutes later — 12:52 AM — Wilkins Residence

Eve shut the window behind her with a swift gesture, the pink glow dissolving into the air as Rex slipped inside. The room was lit only by a dim desk lamp, spilling warm light across walls decorated with colorful band posters and a few old photos. The contrast between her shimmering pink uniform and the ordinary teenager's room left Rex momentarily out of place.

Eve crossed her arms with a sigh.

"Yes, I'm pretty sure my parents know I'm a superhero. But both of us avoid talking about it, you know? Things are already too weird between us."

She moved across the room, yanking the curtains shut to ensure privacy. Then she turned back to him, her eyes carrying genuine weariness.

"Parents are way too complicated, you know?" she said with an exasperated grimace, as if the thought alone was enough to annoy her.

Rex set his helmet down on the desk, watching her in silence for a moment. Her honesty caught him off guard. Finally, he answered with a tired half-smile.

"I know. I get exactly what you mean."

Eve didn't linger on the subject. She opened her hand, and with a soft shimmer conjured a divider made of a blanket right down the middle of the room — a makeshift wall to split the space in two.

"Look, we should change for bed. It's fine if you crash here while you figure things out, but I can't stay up all night. I've got things to do tomorrow… things called school." The irony in her tone dragged a half-laugh out of Rex.

From behind the divider came the faint sounds of clothes folding and fabric sliding. Eve emerged soon after, now in simple pajamas, her red hair loose over her shoulders. Yet even like this, she carried the same confident presence she had in uniform.

"Probably not a bad idea if you get some sleep too," she said, straightening the bed as though she wouldn't accept excuses. "Tomorrow you've got a big choice to make about that mission of yours. Maybe the biggest choice of your life."

Rex leaned back on the edge of the makeshift bed she had prepared for him. His eyes wandered toward the divider, as if he could still see her through it. His shoulders sagged, his expression tinged with bitter resignation.

"Yeah… it's an important choice."

The silence stretched. Outside, the wind whistled through the trees, cradling the sleeping city.

But Rex couldn't sleep.

After some time, he got up and walked to Eve's desk. He tore two sheets from a notebook and began to write…

That night, as fate insisted on weaving this unexpected encounter, something dangerous slipped into the wrong hands elsewhere in Chicago.

February 17, 2014 — Monday — Downtown Chicago — 1:40 AM

The cold glow of flickering fluorescent tubes cast twitching shadows along the narrow lab walls. The sharp tang of chemicals clung to the air, mixed with the rancid staleness of old coffee. Russell drummed his fingers on the metal edge of the table, his foot tapping the floor in the rhythm of an impatient metronome. It wasn't irritation — it was anxiety. And that alone unsettled him.

A scientist in a white coat and thick glasses shuffled in from the side, clutching a clipboard nervously to his chest.

"Are you sure they'll bring it tonight? If you'd prefer, we can wait until tomorrow—"

"It'll be here tonight!" Russell snapped, his voice sharp, almost a growl. He leaned forward, eyes flashing with nerves. "That's what I pay you for. Just… wait, damn it!"

His foot hammered the floor harder, betraying the urgency he tried to mask with arrogance.

Damn Salamanca! If those kids figure out the cartels are after me, my leverage with them is gone. I need this now… hurry up, damn it…

From outside came the sound of heavy boots in the hallway. The sharp rattle of a handle being forced, then the back door creaked open. A figure stepped out of the shadows: black military uniform, boots striking the floor with steady rhythm. The hooded intruder who had broken into Radcliffe's mansion — Bruce.

He entered and pulled off the mask. His cold, cutting stare clashed with Russell's barely hidden anxiety. The redhead's heart jumped, then quickly shifted into a wide smile.

"See? I told you. Alone, with my instructions and your powers, it'd be easy! Radcliffe's too busy with the government to even notice. Perfect."

Bruce slammed a steel case onto the table with a harsh thud. "Easy, my ass." He crossed his arms, face like stone. "I scoured Chicago all afternoon hunting for useful abilities. You're lucky I found some nobody with a power to disable alarms. Don't even know who he was — just know it worked. But don't give me that crap about it being simple."

Russell snatched the case with both hands, fingers trembling faintly. He spun the locks, the clicks echoing in the tense silence. When the lid opened, silver light glinted in his eyes: a glass vial, filled with viscous liquid that shimmered as if glowing on its own.

His smile spread wide, almost sickening.

Bruce didn't move, looming overhead with suspicion written across his face.

"Radcliffe's going to know someone broke in. I had to melt the last door with Scott's powers. No alarms, but no way to hide it either. All this… just for this? How's this supposed to solve your problem — or ours?"

Russell closed the case slowly, like sealing away treasure, and slid it toward the scientist.

"This is the greatest masterpiece you could ever dream of. A version 2.0 of the serum you all took — but it's never been tested. They'll prepare it for application now. And once it's ready…" He drew a deep breath, his voice dropping into calm control. "…then we'll have exactly what we need."

He finally raised his gaze, meeting Bruce and the others.

"But there were supposed to be three vials. Where are the other two?"

Bruce shrugged.

"No idea. Only found this one."

Russell sighed but kept the smile.

"That's fine. One is enough. Thank you for your cooperation. That makes us even…" He leaned back in the chair, eyes narrowing, the manipulative tone dripping back into place. "…or rather, I suppose now I owe you."

Scott cracked his back with a loud stretch, yawning as he rose.

"Great, so it worked. But since you're in debt now… find a way to throw us at that Grey bastard again. I'd love to roast him alive. Other than that, I'm done for the night."

Bruce turned and headed for the door unhurriedly. Chris, however, remained seated, eyes fixed on Russell, dissecting him in silence.

"I still don't get it… With all your guards and your people, why the hell have you been holed up in this dump for a week? Who's after you, Russell?"

Russell looked away, elbows resting on the table, his tone deliberately vague, almost casual. "It's complicated. Old business… old enemies."

Chris frowned, clearly unsatisfied, but didn't push further. He stood, adjusted his coat, and followed Bruce out. The silence left behind felt heavier than before.

Russell exhaled slowly, the smile curling back onto his lips. His eyes locked on the case.

You have no idea what's coming.

February 17, 2014 — Monday — Oakwood High School — 6:40 AM

Morning chill still clung to Oakwood as Kai and Viktor slipped through the gates with the first rush of students. Sunlight filtered through the courtyard trees, painting golden bands across the concrete. Backpacks. Voices. The slow grind into Monday.

Viktor tugged the loose school jacket up over his shoulders, hair messier than usual. Kai walked in silence, hands in his pockets, gaze steady yet distant, as if he were already calculating the weight of the day.

Kai glanced at him.

"Find anything on Robert?"

Viktor shrugged, bored.

 "Nothing. I've been watching him since that day and he hasn't done anything suspicious," Viktor said, wrinkling his nose. "And how are you so sure the guy in the uniform was him?"

"It's hard to explain," he answered. "I've fought him before. The regeneration, the way he moves, his build… it's identical. And there are the spikes."

Viktor let out a long sigh.

"Dude, I'm pissed too and I want to nail those bastards, but this school alone is crawling with supers, man. I've clocked more than twenty. Imagine how many are out there? Even on the day of the fight there were two who regenerated and used spikes, right? That already shows it could be someone else."

 "There were," Kai admitted, without losing the certainty he carried. "But I know it was him. I see details you don't."

"Okay, but you can't go around accusing without proof," Viktor countered, raising a hand like he was throwing a brake on the conversation. "You didn't even see the real face, just 'matching' details. Relax—if he does anything that draws attention, I'll know."

Kai held his breath for a second, then nodded, reluctant.

"Fine. Your way, then. It's not like I'm going to go around beating people up and abusing force without being sure," he said, shooting him a sidelong look. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

They walked in silence for a few seconds until Viktor yawned, stretching his arms and slowing his pace.

"Man, today's boring as hell," Viktor grumbled.

"Yeah… that's the first time today I'll agree with you," Kai said, his tone dry.

Viktor kept walking, kicked a pebble along until it pinged off the stairs. He looked up, a mischievous glint in his eye. "We could ditch and train."

Kai raised an eyebrow, not breaking stride.

"No. Weren't you going to keep an eye on Robert? Last week was enough. I'm not in the mood for trouble."

"Trouble?" Viktor chuckled."Trouble is being stuck in class while Mr. Stevenson spits equations on the board like it's poetry. That's torture."

Kai looked away with a huff.

"Can't do it. Besides… I left my suit with Art. He won't hand it over until later."

Viktor laced his hands behind his head, strolling loose. "So what?! My main suit's with him too. The spare's at the GDA base, but we don't need uniforms to train. Don't tell me you need the outfit to remember how to throw a punch?"

Kai shook his head, firm.

"You know getting seen is risky. One more reason not to go."

Viktor pivoted in front of him, walking backward with a crooked grin. "Okay, but listen… I saw you in that fight with the powered guys trying to copy my wind impact… I was thinking of naming it Wind Blast. Better than that 'Black Flash' you came up with. That name has nothing to do with anything."

"You wouldn't get it…" Kai said, eyes fixed on the hallway opening ahead.

Viktor didn't give up. He drifted closer, lowering his voice like he was selling a forbidden idea. "If we train today, we'll dodge at least a dozen boring classes. And I can help you fix that completely off-timing attack of yours."

Kai kept his face neutral, then let out a long sigh and shut his eyes for a second. Once again, he was pulled outside his bubble of control… and his disinterest in the world slipped a little farther away.

When he opened his eyes, a faint smirk had formed.

"…Fine. But if we go, it's got to be far from Chicago. I don't want any risk of people recognizing our school suits," he lifted his gaze to Viktor. "At least I kept the mask. I'm not going out without it."

Viktor's eyebrows shot up, satisfied, and he tapped Kai's shoulder with a light punch.

"That's what I'm talking about! Jenny's got prep class today anyway, couldn't see me. Now the day actually has something interesting."

They turned down a side corridor, weaving past clustered groups of students. The back exit door groaned when Viktor shoved it open. Outside, the cold air cut their cheeks.

Viktor pulled a strip of cloth from his pocket and tied it over his face as a quick disguise, eyes amused. Kai slipped off the camouflage ring; the mask slid over his face, hiding his identity.

"I'll carry you," he said calmly, already taking position. "You take forever when you fly."

Viktor spread his arms, theatrical."Training and a free ride? You're getting less annoying by the day. You're welcome!"

Kai only rolled his eyes before grabbing his friend by the arms and shooting into the sky. Wind sheared past in violent gusts, tugging metallic clatter from the rooftops. In seconds, the school fell behind, shrinking to a distant speck as the two vanished into the clouds.

Meanwhile… 60 km from Chicago — Joliet, Illinois — 7:05 AM

The clatter of rails mingled with the low growl of an armored truck creeping across the freight yard. Between stacked containers and idle cranes, a colossal figure advanced at an unhurried pace, making the concrete vibrate with every step.

Elephant.

His suit resembled a futuristic safari plate: overlapping gray armor, reinforced joints, rounded pauldrons, and a sleek helmet capped with two flattened metal clamps where stylized "tusks" would mount. Nothing subtle. Nothing quiet. He clenched a gloved fist, servomotors whining. With the other hand, he drove his "fingers" like claws into the truck's bumper.

GRRRRRAAAANK!

Metal folded like wet cardboard. The truck tried to accelerate, but the rear wheels spun. Elephant smiled.

"Open up while I'm being polite. If I have to insist, the courtesy ends," he said.

The driver had no time to answer. A streak of orange burned the air above the containers and touched down ten meters away without a puff of dust. Clean. Precise.

Robot.

The automaton's human silhouette gleamed in copper and graphite, joints protected by dark rings, eyes like twin amber lenses making constant micro-adjustments. His voice came out flat, serenely clinical.

"Elephant. Probability of peaceful surrender: 3.1%. Probability of collateral damage if I allow three more seconds of action: 78%"

Elephant turned his helmet toward him, still holding the truck one-handed.

"And the probability I care about your math, what is it?" Elephant said, then answered himself in a forced growl, "Zero!"

Two apple-sized spheres ejected from Robot's back, unfolding into mini-drones that began to orbit the villain. Blue lines swept Elephant's suit in a rapid scan.

"Synth-polymer armor with rigid plating; mechanical reinforcement at joints; power concentration in forearms; tolerance to extreme temperatures; resistant to light anti-tank weaponry."

Elephant cracked his neck and let the truck go. The armored vehicle lurched into a sloppy reverse, engine howling, and vanished behind a container.

"Translation: you talk too much!"

He charged. The ground shook. Robot slid one step sideways with almost no friction, and Elephant's fist passed through where his head had been milliseconds earlier. The automaton answered with a short palm strike aimed at the suit's biceps hinge. TAC. The blow made Elephant's arm lock for an instant — a micro percussion cartridge detonated in Robot's palm, optimized for impact.

Elephant laughed, the sound muffled inside the helmet.

"I like it. Let's go for real, then!"

He twisted his hips and fired a cross. Robot raised his forearm; the shock bent an abandoned beam behind him.

WHAM.

Kinetic dampers in the bracers bled off part of the force. Robot returned three economical strikes, all to the same spot on the shoulder plate — tac, tac, tac — and a small cylindrical cartridge popped free from his belt, rolling to Elephant's boots.

"Smoke? Seriously?" Elephant muttered.

"Ultrasound," Robot replied swiftly.

PRAAAANG — a dry pulse, inaudible to humans, vibrated through the suit. Elephant staggered a step, hand flying to his helmet. The world bucked for a second inside his skull: nausea, vertigo. Robot flowed into that single opening and fired a web of black fibers. The lines snapped out like snakes and cinched tight, anchoring with magnetic clicks to a container's steel and the suit's joints.

Elephant planted his feet, concrete cracking beneath his boots. "You think this—".

He heaved.

CRRRRRRRAK!

The magnetic spikes tore free of the container like pulled staples. Elephant ripped the net apart with a shrug and flung the pieces to the ground. "—is gonna hold me?!"

Robot didn't answer. The left-hand drone blinked and launched a burst of tiny spheres that splattered across Elephant's chest, releasing a translucent gel. In seconds, the gel swelled and hardened.

Elephant looked down, curious. "Foam?!"

He flexed. The foam crackled but held. He flexed harder. The compound's internal fibers began to creak.

Robot extended his hand; a panel in his forearm slid open. A telescoping tube snapped out, targeting the ground between the villain's boots. "Concrete anchors: engaged."

Two metal darts punched into the floor and bloomed into petals beneath the slab, generating counter-torque. Elephant yanked again; the floor answered with fractures but held.

TRRRAAACK

"Police ETA: two minutes," Robot reported, like he was giving a bus schedule. "Recommendation: comply."

Elephant smiled.

"Recommendation: get out of my way!"

He hopped a short step and, with his own body weight, tore the anchors out of the slab. The concrete block came with them, leashed to the darts like a grotesque collar. Elephant swung it and hurled it like a discus at Robot. The automaton calculated the vector, rotated his torso seven degrees, and the block skimmed past — FOOOOM — to crush a drum cradle ten meters away.

In the same motion, Robot launched a capsule that burst into a white arc on contact with the villain's cuirass.

CHFFF.

Cold vapor.

A cryo-compound — not for thermal damage, but to stiffen joint seals and thicken lubricant. The polymer shrugged off the cold, but mobility dipped.

"Confirmation: armor integrity preserved. Mobility reduction across joints at 37% due to viscosity increase. Proceeding with mechanical containment," Robot said.

Elephant bellowed, his voice reverberating.

"Now it's getting personal!" Elephant roared.

.

The sky a few kilometers away carried a column of smoke marking the industrial horizon. Kai flew with Viktor hanging from his arm, wind whistling in their ears—fzzz—when movement caught their attention.

Viktor tilted his chin up, eyes flicking to Kai.

"Shall we?"

"No, man, we're in our scho—" Kai froze in the air for a second, gauging distance, smoke, the chaos. "You know what? We're already doing something stupid anyway."

"That's it! All I needed—enthusiasm. Perfect chance to put that sloppy move of yours into action."

Kai tipped his body and shot forward, cutting the sky toward the commotion, while Viktor tuned the pressure of the air around them to squeeze out more speed.

Elephant planted his foot, wrenched an empty container off its stand like a rotten tooth, and hurled it like a steel discus. The block roared through the air—FOOOOOSH—its huge shadow wheeling over the yard.

A blur sliced the wind beside Robot, arms outstretched as it stepped in front of the container.

The container bled speed, hanging midair. It floated as if it had hit an invisible wall and stopped, groaning, three meters off the ground.

Viktor dropped in a controlled fall, palms open, a makeshift bandana covering his nose and mouth, Oakwood's dark, insignia-less uniform on his back. His boots kissed concrete lightly, still braced on a cushion of wind. He looked up, half-disbelieving.

"Did you just catch that with your hands? Your strength is insane. No wonder you fought those guys alone that day."

Kai landed still holding the container, a white streak against the gray sky—hair almost luminous beneath the mask and the school jacket.

"Yeah, well, this thing is heavy," Kai said.

The container sank in a controlled drop to the side—BAM—settling a hair's breadth from the rail.

Robot tracked everything without moving a muscle. Amber lenses dilated and constricted. In 0.4 seconds, a telemetry block expanded in his HUD.

Analysis:

Subject A: high-precision aerodynamic control; pressure-gradient generation; localized lift (>12 kN). Formal training inferred; stable energy expenditure.

Subject B: unknown energy signature (blue band 430–480 nm), focused in metacarpals and eyes; structural tissue reinforcement during discharge. High subsonic approach velocity. Biometrics suggest adolescent. Probable unregistered status.

Kai watched with the Six Eyes, trying to parse the flow.

"Give it back," Elephant growled, charging toward Kai by the container.

"Got it—so he's the villain," Kai said, sliding into a fighting stance.

"Now!" Viktor shouted, throwing his arms wide.

Kai was already moving: a blue rip through the air. His fist slammed into Elephant's forearm—THUD—azure light flaring like a burnt camera lens. The villain's cuirass dimpled, but didn't give.

"Timing, man! Even your crooked swings that day were better than this." Viktor raised two fingers and began counting, marking rhythm like a coach. "One… two… now!"

Kai slipped past an incoming shot from Elephant, reset his base, shoulder loose, breath locked in the diaphragm. He fired. The blue fist carved a clean arc… and landed a millisecond early.

WHAM.

Elephant staggered two steps, annoyed but steady.

"This guy's tough, huh?" Kai said toward Viktor.

Elephant looked Robot's way in the air.

"You brought friends?" the villain mocked, shaking his arm like shooing flies.

"Collateral rising," Robot noted to himself, then entered. A drone dove and spat dark capsules—ploc, ploc, ploc—peppering the suit's lower back. Microcharges popped inside, frying valves; Elephant's right arm spasmed.

He answered by ripping a steel guide rail from the ground and sweeping it. Robot slid under, boots magnetizing to a container; at the same time, Viktor shoved the rod with a lateral wind lance, bleeding the swing's force. Kai slipped through the vacuum created and detonated a straight to the chestplate—THOOM—blue skimming across the armor. A click short. A heartbeat off.

"Close!" Viktor yelled, wrists circling to spin a ground-hugging vortex. Dust rose, grains ticking against metal—tch-tch-tch.

Elephant roared and dove with a shoulder, trying to snatch Viktor. The wind turned to a blade, skidding his line. Robot took the opening: open palm to the axilla—TAC—percussion cartridge; the shoulder locked for 0.3 seconds. Kai drove a knee into the diaphragm—PUM—and was gone before the clinch snapped shut.

"Déjà vu. Enough grappling for me—I'm not falling for that again," Kai said.

"Again! Match with me!" Viktor lifted his hand, beating the count into the air like a sensory metronome. "One… two… three!"

Kai held the breath on two and released on the turn. Blue condensed around his metacarpals, almost a ring of plasma. The fist dropped clean on the already-primed spot of the suit—THRAM—blue light bursting in petals.

The plate buckled.

Elephant faltered, breath punched out in a UHH. Still, he threw a blind hook that could've decapitated a hydrant.

Robot crossed it with his forearm; the kinetic dampers in the bracers hissed—zzzt—bleeding the force, and in the same motion he sprayed expanding foam into the ankle joints. The villain's leg bit the ground like he'd stepped in wet cement.

"Stay with me," Robot said, voice impeccably neutral. Around them, the drones wove a second mesh; Viktor pressed from above, compacting the foam. Kai dropped a final, measured straight—no overkill, no breaking anyone—just enough to empty the rest of the air. THUD.

Elephant crashed to his knees, his full weight rattling the yard. Robot extended a magnetic cuff; blades shut over the functional forearm—clack—and sealed. The second cuff locked the other wrist. Drones retracted, blue lights pulsing in standby.

Brief silence. Sirens, still distant.

Viktor let his arms fall, drawing a deep breath, and nudged the hardening foam around the villain's boot with his toe. "Better, but your timing still sucks," he said, pointing his chest at Kai, a half-smile in his eyes. "We're gonna train that."

Robot regarded them one by one, amber lenses micro-focusing. His voice came low and exact:

"Improbable coordination for independent agents. Interesting. Effective teamwork applied here."

A flash of icons rolled through his HUD—response-time math, risk dispersion, incident rates.

"Considering the recent rise in meta-human activity, I am evaluating the formation of a dedicated rapid-response unit. Young, adaptable, with broad tactical reach," Robot said.

"That sounds like an invitation… acting together?" Kai asked, drawing the glow back from his hands, blue fading in threads. He glanced at the floating ironclad. "Don't tell me behind that suit you're some billionaire engineer building a team called the 'Avengers Initiative,' yeah?" the sarcasm thick in a joke he knew no one else would get.

Robot stepped closer.

"No match in my database for 'billionaire engineer and Avengers' as an operational entity. But I have recorded your capabilities. It would be logical to operate together,"

"My bad," Kai said, stuffing his hands into his pockets and walking toward Viktor. "I prefer working alone."

Viktor shrugged behind the bandana. "And I already have a team… that does exactly what you just described."

Robot dipped his head by a millimeter.

Correlation: wind patterns consistent with reports on "Vortex." Energy signature and phenotype (light hair + mask) consistent with "Grey," recent media presence in Chicago. Collaboration index: high. Civilian identities: undetermined.

"Understood," he answered, without pressing. "Police arrival in ninety seconds. I will remain for custody and transfer. I suggest you avoid unnecessary public exposure without your suits."

"That's our cue… good work, Iron Man," Kai said, keeping the sarcasm.

Viktor was already looking skyward. "Lift?"

Kai caught him under the arms, tilted his body, and the two rose as a dark slash against the dawn—fwoom—wind carving tracks through low fog.

Robot watched until they dwindled to a dot. Then he turned back to Elephant, checked readings, tightened containment, and when the cruisers swung into the lane with lights dancing off the containers, he lifted a hand in a restrained signal.

"Suspect neutralized. Nonlethal. Recommend transport with hydraulic reinforcement and localized joint cooling. Reports of two unidentified vigilantes assisting; they departed the perimeter."

He didn't smile—he couldn't—but the way he stowed the drones and ordered the chaos bore the methodical care of someone already sketching something larger. The idea of building a team.

February 17, 2014 — Monday — Pentagon, GDA Base — 7:54 AM

The elevators sank deep beneath the Pentagon, and with each level the air took on a metallic scent of central AC and epoxy paint.

A man in a gray suit with a face impossible to remember—close-cropped hair, a personality-free tie, a silver briefcase welded to his side—crossed the sublevel lobby where the GDA kept its discreet reception. The floor shone like dark water; cameras pivoted in silence.

He passed the first turnstile with a curt beep, then the detection arch. The green light flashed without complaint. One agent asked for the case; another, gloved, sent it through the X-ray. The monitor showed only the silhouette of a thick cylinder inside custom-cut foam. A third agent swabbed the handle for a quick chem test. Negative.

The man took the case back and walked to the counter. Reception was a dark wood desk, two monitors with camera feeds, a forgotten mug leaving a coffee ring on the surface.

The attendant—hair in a perfect bun, badge dangling—looked up.

"There's a delivery for Director Stedman," he said, unhurried, setting the case down with mathematical care. "It's already been cleared. I need to return to my duties."

"Okay," she answered, her trained-neutral expression never approaching surprise. She passed a reader over the latch. Silence. Logged it, attached a translucent seal to the handle.

The director's door opened a few minutes later, as the digital clock flipped to 7:58. Inside, Cecil Stedman's office was as welcoming as an interrogation room: gray walls, cold lighting, three monitors with maps, a stack of reports cinched by an elastic band, an unused ashtray, and a cup of coffee that had already lost its fight against bitterness.

Donald stood at attention, clipboard in hand, shirt crisp enough to cut.

"And that's what happened a few minutes ago: that Robot fellow stopped Elephant, sir. Not alone—per his statement to the police, two unidentified vigilantes intervened. Do you intend to recruit him?"

"No." Cecil didn't look up right away, his voice sandpaper on wood. "There are more urgent priorities." He tilted his head slightly toward the half-open door. "Come in."

The receptionist stepped in with the case and set it on the desk as if laying a stone at the bottom of a lake. "Sir, a delivery arrived with your name on it."

Cecil ran his thumb over the latches, feeling the cold metal, and popped them. Inside, nestled in gray foam, lay an ordinary envelope and, beneath it, a perfectly clean white leather baseball, its red seams glossy as sun-dried blood.

He opened the envelope. A short note, confident handwriting:

"I don't know who you are, but I just saved your life."

The room seemed to hold its breath. Donald leaned half a step, eyes moving from the object to his boss. "A gift from whom, sir?"

Cecil didn't answer. He picked up the ball, weighed it, turned it slightly, his thumb grazing the stitches. His head tilted a single degree, as if measuring something invisible in the air—distance, intent, debt.

The monitors kept spitting images without being asked. On the desk, the coffee cooled a little more.

February 17, 2014 — Monday — Radcliffe Manor — 11:38 AM

Rex was back in his room. The zipper tore through the silence as he opened the large suitcase on the bed. T-shirts, two pairs of pants, a hoodie whose color had already died—everything went in on autopilot, hands knowing what to do while his head stayed stuck on the white ceiling he'd stared at so many nights.

"Time to go. You were a good room…" he murmured.

His eyes roamed. The guitar resting on its stand, the dumbbells in the corner, the giant TV aimed at the bed like a spotlight for laziness. He tilted his head, a crooked smile slowly taking shape.

"Just not as good as Eve's room."

He lifted the mattress with one arm, slid his hand under, and pulled out the photo hidden in the slats. A family frozen in some old summer: him, younger, forcing a crooked smile; his mother, distant-eyed; his father, a hand gripping the boy's shoulder too hard to be affectionate. Rex held his breath.

…You sold me out… you bastards.

He shrugged on the jacket. The suitcase snapped shut. The wheels scraped along the waxed hallway.

Radcliffe's mansion was a museum of itself. The main corridor displayed framed moments like medals: Radcliffe younger in an orange desert, soot on his face; Radcliffe in a suit among superheroes posing for the press; Radcliffe in labs, shaking hands with prize-winning scientists; decorations in frames, newspaper clippings, diplomas.

He stopped.

An old photo tripped something in his chest: a row of soldiers beside helicopters. In the middle, Rex's father. Same jawline, same habit of angling for the camera, the same tattoo on his hand.

My dad had ties to Radcliffe?

"REX! You have got to be kidding me!"

The voice detonated down the hall. Rex turned slowly, not letting go of the suitcase.

"Good morning, Mr. Radcliffe. What's the deal with this picture?" he asked, tone steady, forcing the question.

Radcliffe stepped from the opposite shadows, jacket buttoned, the scar dragging his mouth into a hard line. He approached, inhaled through his nose, forced his voice low.

"That? A photo of me and a few soldiers, special operation in the eighties."

Rex pointed again, fingertip almost touching the glass."Yeah, but that guy is my fa—"

Radcliffe opened his arms, slicing the sentence in half, his eyes already burning with something else.

"Rex. I'm trying to understand." The tone went smooth, dangerous. "I have the unfortunate report that I didn't hear anything special this morning. No urgent bulletins. No explosions."

Rex looked away, brow furrowing.

"Why? What were you expecting?"

"I dare say I was expecting an explosion at the Pentagon." The anger cracked the porcelain of his voice.

Rex set his jaw and tried to walk past. "Well… maybe they're covering it up."

"Covering it up?" The words barely left his mouth before the hand followed.

WRAM!

The slap, harder than most men could throw, tore across Rex's face and knocked him onto the slick floor. The taste of iron flooded in immediately.

"Covering it up? How could you do this to me, Rex?" Radcliffe stalked over the syllables, the scar tugging his mouth even tighter.

Rex blinked, hand to his bleeding nose."Me? You're a liar."

Radcliffe took two steps and clamped both hands around his neck like a vise. He drove him into the wood-paneled wall, frames chiming.

"I gave you everything! A home, food, a job, money!"

Rex's voice came broken, rasping.

"Cut it out… you know you can't hurt me." Air thinned. He forced the words. "You turned me into an experiment to make sure of that, didn't you?"

"And that was the other thing I gave you." His fingers tightened. "Power. And I asked one thing in return. Loyalty. Blind loyalty, no questions. Was that too much, boy?"

The chokehold cinched tighter. The edges of the corridor went dark. Rex's body flipped into that old instinct of someone who only survives by shoving the world away. His hand rose on reflex and touched Radcliffe's face, fingertips grazing the metal rim of his glasses. Snap.

"IRK!" Rex's tongue went heavy. "D—do—n't…"

Energy ran down his arm, involuntary, like a spasm. The glasses' rim glowed a dirty red; the lens flashed hairline cracks.

Radcliffe let go, stepping back a few paces.

"What the hell did you do? You used your power on me?" Radcliffe barked.

"Don't touch the glasses!" Rex shouted.

But Radcliffe, acting on instinct, tried to rip them off, fumbling at the hinge.

BOOOM! — SPLAGUKK!!!

The corridor swallowed the sound and spat it back as pieces of Radcliffe's head and blood. The flash was too close. The blast threw Rex to the floor, the suitcase skidding. When the ringing ebbed, the world was skewed, frames on the ground, the air stinking of scorched leather. Radcliffe's decapitated body toppled by degrees, jacket half open, then silence.

"NO!"

Rex gasped, chest heaving, hands shaking. Tendrils of panic climbed his spine, chewing thought after thought.

"I didn't want… I didn't want to do that…"

He staggered deeper down the hall, grabbed the suitcase, dropped it. Training spoke louder than shock. Make the evidence disappear. It always had.

In the office, he yanked a heavy extension cord from behind a cabinet, pulling the line like uncoiling rope in the dark. He went down through the kitchen, past the laundry room, to the service door that opened onto the garden. He tied the end to a metal post, drew a breath, backed up a few steps until he felt the right distance. His heart beat in rhythm with the idea.

"I'm sorry."

His fingers closed on copper. The spark sprinted like a frightened animal.

KABUUUUUUUM!

The mansion opened from the inside out, windows turning to powder, columns splitting in long cuts, tiles leaping skyward like cards. Heat licked Rex's face and shoved him back two more steps.

He just stood there, silhouette lit by the birth of the fire, eyes gone hollow. The tears came on their own, stinging the caked blood in his nose, carving tracks through the soot.

He turned and walked across the lawn, eyes glassy, utterly brimming, but without looking back. The roar of the flames shrank, as if it belonged to another story, someone else entirely.

Same Day — Monday — Chicago — 1:15 PM

The wind from the field still clung to their hair when they touched down in a neighborhood near the Greysons' place and slipped into the corner arcade. The place smelled like fryer oil and damp carpet, an indecipherable mix of dried ketchup and tired electricity. Cabinets were crammed shoulder to shoulder, screens pulsing in blues and greens, an 8-bit soundtrack swallowing any conversation. At the counter, a crooked sign promised a "double combo" of burger, fries, and soda. They said yes without thinking.

They took a seat at a scratched Formica table. Viktor dove into the fries before the tray had even stopped sliding.

"Jenny's on my case," he said through a mouthful, pointing a fry like it was evidence. "Complaining we never double-date. 'We need another couple to balance things out,' blah blah blah."

Kai bit into his burger and nodded, neutral, barely paying attention.

"And, dude, Kiana's gorgeous, she's rich, and she'd do whatever you told her," Viktor said, wagging his eyebrows twice like the solution was obvious.

Kai set the sandwich down and wiped his fingers on a napkin.

"I don't plan on dating. And if I did, those wouldn't be the reasons. I hate people who are shallow or clingy. Not that Kiana is that," he said, choosing his words. "There'd have to be… feelings. I don't have that for anyone."

Viktor made a face and slumped back, theatrical.

"Come on. Stop being a nerd. Just line up a girl so we can go out with Jenny. The girls at your boxing club get hypnotized watching you train. If I were you, I'd have plowed through half of them already…" he laughed, drumming his fingers on his cup.

Kai tilted his head, disapproving. "Plowed through?"

"Relax, it's a figure of speech…" Viktor rolled his eyes at the ceiling, full drama. "The guy was born with a legendary skin and won't even queue. Life gives wings to people who won't fly. Unfair."

"Now you sound like Mark."

"Mark's got style. No powers, but I heard he had two girlfriends at his last school," Viktor looked with a mischievous smile.

Kai chuckled under his breath—an old memory poked his chest—and the smile died fast when Becky's face flashed without the mask, nose bleeding. He looked over at the arcade lights, letting the memory drain through the table's cracks.

"Okay, seriously," Viktor said, knocking back his soda. "There isn't a single girl that, if I said 'date now,' you'd pick?"

Kai opened his mouth, closed it.

A scene ripped through like lightning: Atom Eve hovering in front of him, the rose wall taking the laser that would have cut everything. She was going to sacrifice herself for me. The silence hung heavy for three beats; Viktor clocked it instantly.

"There it is!" he laughed, pointing. "You just thought of someone! You're insane. I don't know what weird mess lives in your head, but you only start when you're kick-started." Viktor said.

Kai let out a breath, faking impatience.

"Yeah… I like avoiding problems."

"Problems are the spice of life," Viktor decreed, shoving the tray aside. "Now eat fast so I can humiliate you on Master of Fighters."

They moved to the machines. Tokens in their pockets, shoulders bumping, the clatter of buttons turning into music. Viktor played with showy aggression, narrating his own moves, swearing at the hitbox, celebrating every pixel. Kai played in silence, precise fingers, hopping over strikes with the timing he swore he didn't have outside a ring.

After three straight wins for Kai without mercy, a kid stepped up. Skinny, big glasses, messy hair, sweatshirt with a cartoon character Mark watched without shame.

"Can I get a few matches with you guys?" he asked, already sliding a token in and locking eyes with Kai. Viktor eased off the cabinet.

They played. The kid lost the first, won the second by a hair, and the third slipped with a sloppily linked super that got a loud "ooh" from a nearby table.

"Finally someone pulled Kai off a cabinet! At least he dropped one this time," Viktor said, laughing from the sidelines.

In the end, the kid stepped back, sheepish, scratching his neck.

"I only won that one by cheating," he said.

Kai and Viktor blinked in sync.

"Cheating how, at an arcade?" Viktor asked, laughing.

The kid pointed to an older cabinet in the corner, bubble screen, dead marquee.

"The owner said the high score on that one—the one with three dots—is yours. That you set it when you were a kid. True?" he asked.

Kai followed the finger to the "..." on the leaderboard, lonely and old. He shrugged.

"It's been a while."

"Sick… I only hit that score by cheating." The kid's smile was half impressed, half embarrassed. "That was awesome." He gave a timid wave and wandered off, swallowed by the blue glow from the dance machines.

Viktor and Kai glanced at each other, a little confused. The arcade noise poured back into the empty spaces between comments.

"Speaking of time," Viktor said, fishing out two more tokens, "you got a little better, but there's no way you're landing the Wind Blast the way you are—you overthink."

Kai didn't answer; he rolled the token between his fingers, thinking. Maybe that really is the problem…

He faced another cabinet, fight sticks worn smooth, and let a small corner-smile slip—one he rarely let anyone see.

"No way I'm calling it 'Wind Blast.' You hit it without thinking because your empty head's full of wind."

"And women," Viktor finished with a grin, already eyeing a girl sitting in the far corner. "Let's play something else and kill some time—enough training for today."

Kai dropped the token. The red light blinked on. "Fine. I've got to wait till dark to pick up my suit anyway."

The next rounds went to autopilot. Kai moved the controls, but his mind kept circling the same frame: Eve suspended in the air, the laser's blade coming, the rose surface blooming in front of him. A "KO" flashed and he didn't even notice the hit landing.

"Hello? That was an easy loss—letting me win or… you're thinking about the girl from earlier when I asked, aren't you?" Viktor nudged his shoulder, laughing.

Kai nodded, no expression. The button-noise faded to a hum while he tied the memory to a point he couldn't ignore: it wasn't just gratitude. The way she looked at him before stepping into the beam… it weighed differently. He hated the name the idea wanted—too big, too dangerous—so he left it unlabeled.

"Who's the girl?" Viktor asked, already pulling another token.

Kai dropped the coin; the light came on.

"I think it might be… Atom Eve."

"Seriously? She's hot too, as much as Kiana. But dude, for the love of—'I think'? You've got some massive trauma, that's the only explanation. How can someone be so locked up?"

Kai just lifted a shoulder.

"I don't know… It's just what came to mind."

He'd spent so long dodging the world he didn't even know what it was anymore—buried under training, missions, secrets—but for the first time, he at least admitted the baseline: not rejecting the idea that maybe there was something there.

February 17, 2014 — Monday — Wilkins Residence — 3:40 PM

Eve's room was steeped in quiet, a messy bookshelf within reach, a notebook open in her hands, ink-scribbled in colored pen. She lay on her stomach across the bed, pencil between her teeth, copying exercises that couldn't hold her mind for more than three lines. Her thoughts skidded—to Rex, to whatever he'd decided, and, uninvited, to the memory of another boy, long before uniforms and missions that still tugged at her heart.

TAP. TAP.

A dry sound on the glass. Eve lifted her head, felt for the curtain, and yanked it aside.

Rex stood outside on the narrow edge of the first-floor roof. Helmet hooked over his forearm, face wet with tears, breath hitching like he'd run the whole way.

"Eve? Can I come in?"

She popped the latch with a flick, threw the window wide, and hauled him inside. The smell of smoke and dust rushed into the room.

"My God, Rex—get in before my parents see you out there!"

He stumbled over the rug and collapsed to a sit on the floor, back to the bed. His hands shook. His voice rasped.

"I messed everything up. I really ruined it, Eve."

She snapped her fingers; on the nightstand, the air shivered and condensed into a clear glass of water that floated to her palm. Eve crouched in front of him and offered it.

"What happened? You look wrecked."

Rex didn't take the glass. He wrapped his arms around his knees, hugging them to his chest like he could fold himself down to silence.

"I went to tell him I was done, that I wouldn't work for him anymore…" His throat failed. "I didn't want to… He tried to kill me… and it was an accident." The words broke. "I panicked and ran."

The glass trembled in Eve's hand; her fingers loosened without meaning to.

PLACK—plink, plink.

Water spread across the floor. Eve didn't even look. She opened her palm, and the puddle gathered into little spheres that spiraled upward, re-forming the glass, which settled back on the shelf like it had never fallen.

"My God, Rex."

He squeezed his eyes shut as if that could undo the sentence coming next. "I blew up the whole mansion."

Eve drew her knees in and sat sideways, jaw tight as she assessed him. The room's light carved half his face; the other half was shadow and soot.

"You blew everything up? Are you sure?"

Rex looked up, lost.

"What? I don't know… most of it, maybe..."

Eve exhaled, clenching her jaw. She rose in a small impulse, restless energy with nowhere to land.

"Okay… let's assume you didn't blow everything. That's bad."

"Why? I didn't even want to blow anything up. What are you talking about?" he asked confused.

Eve locked eyes with him, her voice now clean, no stumbles.

"You said Radcliffe had a mansion with a lab, super soldiers, robots, research into things that shouldn't exist. Who do you think is going to investigate the explosion? And who's going to collect what's left?"

Rex blinked, slow. "I don't know. The government?"

"Exactly." She raked both hands through her hair, scattering the red strands. "And there are bad people in the government, Rex. I've dealt with that. More than once. Including someone tied to Radcliffe. You have no idea what I had to go through."

She paced two steps one way, two back, the floorboards creaking in rhythm with the thought that kept pounding and returning. If anything survived, someone's going to turn it into something worse. Fast.

Rex let his head rest against the mattress edge and spoke low, barely any air, "I… I didn't want to kill him."

"I know," she said, crouching again, eye level. "Maybe it was an accident. Maybe not. What matters is what you do from here."

She set a steady hand on Rex's shoulder.

"First, you need to breathe. Then we'll figure out how to fix this."

Same Endless Monday — Radcliffe Manor — 10:40 PM

Eve sliced the sky on a rose-lit board, the glow skating across blown-out windows and twisted plates of metal. Rex rode just behind, knees bent, trying to keep balance on the smooth surface humming under his feet.

They hovered over the wreck. Between warped beams and smoking concrete, men in yellow hazmat suits moved in lines, dual-filter masks and dark visors hiding their faces. Portable lights washed the crater in a milky glare; detectors chirped in steady patterns.

"As I figured. They got here before us," Eve said, dropping the board and guiding it so Rex could step off beside her.

They tucked in behind a stand of gnarled trees at the property's edge. Rex pulled a pair of binoculars from his jeans pocket and sighted through the leaves.

"Looks like a dozen guys. Not a big deal. Nothing I haven't handled." He tipped the lenses to her. "See for yourself."

Eve pressed the binoculars to her face—then lowered them like they burned.

"What?! No!" Her voice came too tight, too loud.

Rex blinked. "What's wrong? I'm not seeing anything I can't deal with."

She crouched lower, back to the trunk. The look in her eyes trembled with focus and memory. Among the yellow suits, a man in a dark suit was signaling with his hands; beside him, a lab coat with a mechanical eye that whirred and ticked at every adjustment.

"Remember when I said it'd be much worse if certain people in the government found Radcliffe's stuff?" she whispered, never leaving the scene.

"I remember… and?"

"It's exactly the guy I had in mind. We need to deal with this."

Rex nodded, already rising. They moved along the shadows' edge.

"You need a disguise," Eve said. She lifted her hands; threads of light spun from her palms, weaving fabric from the air. Two heartbeats later, Rex wore a black, fitted suit with a slim visor mask and a stylized bomb on his chest.

"Whoa. If you wanted my pants off or me in skintight, you could've just asked."

"Rex, seriously. We have to get in without drawing fire."

"Relax." He touched the gate's padlock. Steel and chain trembled, a dull red washing through the metal.

BOOOM!

The core blew light and smoke; the gate jolted. Eve stared at him, startle flipping to instant reproach.

"What?" Rex shrugged.

Out in the open, the suited man half-turned. "What in hell was that?" He pointed at a trio of blue silhouettes parked by the floodlights—exo-frames stamped USA, white stars on the shoulders, visors down.

"You three. Now. Check that blast. Bring me whoever did it."

CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

Visors sealed with a metallic kiss, and the exo-soldiers advanced in a wedge.

Eve and Rex rose from cover almost in the same breath to intercept.

The first exo boosted at Rex on hip thrusters, a hydraulic fist coming high. Rex slipped, let the gauntlet skim his shoulder, and tapped two fingers to the elbow joint. PZTT— Energy lanced. The arm locked, and a blink later the hinge burst outward, spinning the soldier into a fallen pillar.

Another leveled a pulse cannon at Eve. She flared a rose diamond in front of her chest; the shot ricocheted in an arc and blew a shower of sparks out of a high flood. Eve answered with a flat shove of force, skimming the exo ten yards back, scraping his shell across the gravel.

A third rushed with a telescoping blade. Rex ducked, swept the leg, and in the same motion palmed the edge—TCHK!—killing the blade's vibro-field. A short jab to the torso reactor ended it with a BUMF and a puff of gray smoke.

Across the yard, the suit conferred with the chrome-eyed scientist.

"Rodgers, I'll need my weapon… wait." His gaze fixed on the dust-sliced silhouettes, the colors, the rose glow cutting the dark. "Superheroes." He held out a hand. "Give me the big one."

Rodgers popped a rigid case. The suit slotted his shoulder into a weapon that climbed from chest to jawline, heavy cowling, multi-barrel nose with shining rails.

Eve dropped the last advancing exo and turned—just in time to catch the man grinning all teeth.

"The rule is simple! If they wear uniforms—make them bleed! HAHAHAHA!"

The barrels spun. VRRRT. A hail ripped the air.

Eve and Rex split opposite ways. Rounds chewed the ground where they'd been a heartbeat before, kicking dust and splintering plates.

"What the hell is that?" Eve threw up a twin V of shields—one for her, one for Rex.

"I'll draw the fire," she said, pinning the torrent to her screen and guttering it upward like a chute. "You finish. Break whatever's left."

"Okay." Rex clenched his fists around two melon-sized rocks, both glowing a red heat. He sprinted low, changed direction twice to muddle the aim, and let the first stone fly—the rock crossed the yard and detonated against an exo's chest on the flank. BOOOOM. The shell peeled like a can, the soldier tumbling limp.

Rex vaulted a slab, snatched it by both edges, charged the rim, and hurled it like a concrete frisbee at another raising his cannon.

BOOOOM!

The slab burst on contact, the target turning into a ball of metal and fire that thudded a few yards away.

He grimaced under the mask. "That one's on you, man… we just want to get out of here alive," he muttered, turning away as what was left of the suit clattered down.

Four new armors stepped out from behind a backhoe, rifles up.

"Oh, come on!"

Tracer lines stitched the night. Rex dove, rolled between two streams, felt heat graze his shoulder. "Eve!"

"Got it!" She slammed a rose block up under all four exos, popping them into the air. Rex hurled a charged boulder into the cluster—light bloomed like a grenade, scattering shells in every direction. Before they landed, Eve cinched them in a glowing lash that became chain, then ropes, then something between—tight enough to lock joints and thrusters while she disassembled what she needed to with a thought.

Rex adjusted his visor, hiding the ragged breath. "Swear I had that under control."

"Really? You weren't yelling for help ten seconds ago?" Her look snapped, stern and fast.

He pulled a face beneath the mask. "No idea where they keep spawning from… ah, forget it—"

Another rake of fire chewed the stone at their feet. Lasers traced leaves.

TRRRRRT—TRRRRT.

Rex grabbed Eve's wrist and pulled, sprinting for the trees. They dove behind trunks, breaths syncing while bark chips flicked off into the dark.

Across the yard, the suited man reset his shoulder aim and smiled again.

"Easy—slow down!" Eve panted, running alongside him through trunks and rubble.

"Wait—we're almost out of their range!" He yanked her behind a fallen wall; both tucked in and breathed deep. TAT-TAT-TAT swept the stone a heartbeat later, misting dust.

Rex slapped his knee, thinking fast. "There's something down here—rest of the lab… That rose bubble you did earlier, can you make a giant one?"

"I believe I can. What are you thinking?"

She raised her hands; a dome sealed around them, almost twenty feet across. The skin of it shivered like glass under rain.

SPAK—SPAK—SPAK!

Shots pinged the curve the moment it rose.

"They've got us pegged," Rex said, oddly calm with tracers sizzling nearby. "Here's the issue. You said we need to erase everything, but they won't let us near the manor long enough. I can only get close enough for small pops. I can only energize and blow what I'm touching."

He pointed down. "There should be a gas main under us feeding the manor."

Eve glanced at the ground. "How could you possibly know that?"

"I told you: I've done this a million times…" He crouched, flexed his fingers. "Your shield just has to hold while I dig and get a hand on the pipe—"

"Back up, Rex. Let me handle the digging."

She scythed the air; the rose energy became a spiral cut into the soil, clean, dropping nearly six feet. Silver metal gleamed—fat pipe, caked with mud.

Rex's eyes widened. "Dang… nice!"

He hopped in and pressed his palm to the cylinder. In five seconds, sparks snaked along the steel. KLIK—KLAK—KLIK.

"Hold it right there, son."

Rex looked up. Over the lip, a monster muzzle stared down his chest—stock braced on a shoulder, cowling riding the shooter's cheek. Beside him, two exos had rifles pinned on Eve, hands raised; ten feet back, a third platform—bigger, over eight feet—threw cold LEDs off an elongated helmet.

"See this big gun? I don't think you want to keep doing that," the suited man said, eyes fixed on Rex and the mains.

"Sorry… cutting the hole broke my focus, I slipped on the protection field," Eve said, hands still up.

"What's your name, son?" the man asked.

"Rex—"

"Splode," Eve cut in, eyes wide, stopping him from offering his real name.

"Yeah! Rex Splode," he ran with it without missing a beat.

The suited man slid a look to the girl—and, ironically, even though he'd been responsible for everything that went wrong in her past, he didn't recognize her. Years ago, during her episode, Eve had erased any trace of herself from his memory.

"Sorry, do I know you, girl?" His voice soured with lazy contempt. "Men are talking here. I'll let you know when it's time for tea."

Silence pressed for a beat. He turned back to Rex, smile never reaching the eyes. "As I was saying: my name is Erickson. Steven Erickson. I work for the government. Perhaps you've heard of us. We own the manor you just destroyed."

Rex climbed out of the hole, dusted the suit, and walked toward Eve under the cannon's stare. Erickson relaxed his grin into something almost pedagogical.

"Ordinarily, we send people who destroy government facilities to a special prison where, off the record, we have them eliminated. But you, young man, have a unique talent. Join our 'family,' and I'll make this little extracurricular vanish like it never happened."

The barrel drifted a few degrees off Rex's heart—an invitation.

"A family, huh?" His brow knit under the mask. "So you'd be what—my dad?"

"Of course… you can call me that if you like," Erickson said, smiling again.

Something cinched inside. Doors slamming. Shouts. Empty promises—and the man's face sliding right into the same shelf. Rex drew a breath; his voice came loaded.

"Let me tell you something, government man! I had two dads, and both of them sucked! So you, your mother, and your brothers can all go to hell! I don't need any of you!"

In one snap he looped an arm around Eve's waist and yanked her close—surprising everyone there. With his other hand, he tugged a short iron rod from his belt, stashed earlier.

CLINC—CLANG!

The piece dropped into the pit and pinged off the gas main. Rex lifted his chin, last word edged with challenge. "All I need is my girlfriend!"

Erickson blinked, the smile falling as his gaze followed Rex's. "No! The gas line!"

Under the earth, a vein of energy ran like flame along a fuse. The ground bubbled in a chain—BUM—BUM—BUM—raising ridges of dirt, a domino under their boots driving, relentless, straight toward the manor.

The sky was a cold blade as Kai sliced through the cloud cover, uniform freshly re-stitched by Art, mask cinched tight to his skin. He bled off speed in the quiet air between neighborhoods when, nearly a kilometer away, a ragged flare pulsed—hot reds and whites, like a breathing flame.

The Six Eyes opened inside him.

Flow lines, heat, particulates, vectors—

What?

—everything snapped into contour.

KABOOOOOOOM!

He pitched forward and shot off, Viltrumite flight tearing the dark.

Pavement humped in waves and, a blink later, the hillside manor became a sun of debris, glass, and dust. The shock front shoved air at him like an elastic wall; he steadied, hovering, while the bloom burst into orange petals.

Below: choreographed chaos. Men in yellow encapsulated suits running. A dark gray exo-armor the size of an SUV planted like a steel bull. Scientists barking orders. A man in a suit with a shoulder cannon on his knees, screaming, hands to his head.

"NOOOOOOO! Move, you idiots—save whatever you can!"

Six Eyes swept farther: two silhouettes by the trees. The "hero" in black with a bomb emblem hooked an arm around the girl in pink and pulled her close—and kissed her.

Kai missed a breath in midair.

The blue points of his eyes lit the night, cold, incredulous. For a heartbeat everything receded: the noise, the dust; even the Six Eyes dimmed out.

Eve…?

Memory hit like a fist.

Two seconds—exactly enough to miss the shove, the fury, the context: Eve shoving Rex in the chest, breaking the contact, fury hardening her face.

"What the hell was that?" she snapped.

Rex shrugged, trying not to look thrown. Eve grew a rose board underfoot, the translucent plane groaning in the air, and hooked the masked boy up beside her with a curt flick. Boots scraped the barrier; they arrowed upward.

On the ground, Erickson see-sawed between the inferno and flight. He turned just enough to face the gray mass beside him—an "armor" over eight feet, broad shoulders, thick joints, a dorsal column of thrusters coughing a fresh blue.

"Go get them! Show me this unmanned piece of crap you spent a year building with our powers isn't worthless, kid."

The shell answered with a basso VRAAAM. Thorax panels opened like knife blades, an elongated helmet exposing internal mechanisms—no room for anyone living to be inside. It sprang with animal thrust, clawing ruts before climbing after them.

Kai hung still for half a breath, fists clenched, the blast reflected small in blue irises. Erickson's suit glinted with dust. The exo took the air like a winged bullet. Eve, ahead, banked the board and grew twin faceted shields at her back. Rex, alongside, palmed a fistful of metal shards and set them trembling with charge.

Siren wails below. Above, the armor's slipstream combed the night.

Kai inhaled, chest locked; anger bit, lucidity bit back.

Damn you, Viktor…

In the end it's on me—for letting myself get led by his stupid "advice" and Mark's idiot prods.

He said nothing, exhaled, and let the switch flip—cool, severed, the light snuffed.

The Six Eyes came back as a blade—angles, margins, failure points—no color, no noise.

He drifted into the shadow of a torn cloud, Six Eyes solving angles, distance, routes. Below, the chase truly began—red flare from the manor painting everything like a sunset that refused to end.

The exo closed on Eve and Rex like a steel predator, nav lights blinking, thrusters growling. Eve slalomed upward; Rex lobbed detonating shards—little fire-flowers the shell smothered with reactive plates snapping shut like eyelids over each hit. A forearm weapon spat magnetized darts.

Eve raised two faceted shields; each crack recomposed in the same beat. Still it gained. Faster every yard. Surer.

A slit of light opened on the visor.

A blue streak knifed the night.

Kai cut the sky in a clean line and, at the exact instant, quarter-turned, shoulder first—the perfect check. The hit sounded dry; the gray mass ripped off axis and slammed through a tree canopy, shredding branches in a ringing clatter.

Eve and Rex bled speed, hovering a few meters off.

"Grey!" Eve called, chest tightening despite herself. Nothing answered but their own breath and the distant roar on the slope.

"Hey, thanks, man," Rex tossed out, voice level. "Thought that tin can was gonna kill us."

Kai didn't look back. The blue points were already tracking underbrush—thermal shiver, ground tremor, metal scraping bark. "It's not over," flat as iron.

They dropped near him. Rex lowered his stance, fists set. Eve adjusted the shields over her spine.

"Let's finish it," Rex growled.

Eve angled her face toward Grey, steady, wanting to confirm if he was—or wasn't—the boy she'd met long ago. "We'll handle it. After, I need to ask you something. I'm looking for a—"

"You two are wrecked," Grey cut in, still facing the trees. "Get out. You saved me that day—now I square it. I don't like owing people."

"But then you'll be alone ag—"

He turned just enough—eyes void, emptied of anything human, voice with no overtones, only math. "I don't care who you're looking for. Look somewhere else. Last time I ate hits that weren't meant for me. If you stay, I'm babysitting you and fighting the same fight twice."

She waited—one heartbeat, two—for a flicker of warmth, a misplaced syllable, anything to betray a soul she might recognize. Nothing. The hair, the eyes, even the cadence didn't match—nor did the soul behind the voice.

The fragile maybe she had been carrying snapped without noise.

Eve swallowed the retort; the light in her eyes folded shut.

Rex touched her arm, a quiet pressure. "C'mon. If he says so… let him. We did what we needed."

She nodded without meeting Grey and called the board. A rose slit lifted under their feet and carried them in silence, leaving the blaze behind.

That night, balanced on a fragile hinge—almost swinging into a different life—two things happened at once: one set the destined track back on; the other imploded two variables.

Among trunks and brush the exo burst skyward, thrusters howling. Kai was already there. Six Eyes mapped tolerances, slack, the thorax's thermal mesh, gyro cycle lag.

He dove on the flank, seized a clavicular strut and torqued the assembly, locking the shoulder; the machine answered with a piston punch he caught on his forearm, the jolt ringing bone like a hammer.

Blue lit his knuckles. A ring of energy snapped shut, compressing air with a dull tump; he slid the strike between plates—sparks jetted, rotations fell out of sync.

Another hit, quarter-turn, fingers in the chest seam; he ripped a bundle of power cables, the armor hiccuped in metallic stutters and dropped to a knee, still trying to relight.

He hauled it by the neck yoke and pile-drove it, furrowing the ground. Stood over the wreckage, breath measured, blue fading by degrees.

I'm getting too used to—and too good at—fighting like this.

Now I get what he meant… it's a pain protecting weaker people.

Moonlight glazed white hair as his eyes drifted to the sky, a second before he shot up and vanished into cloud.

A few blocks over, the universe kept its grim joke. The rose board set down on the sidewalk where Kai had hovered before the blast—right in front of a tailor's. February air clawed their faces; dark windows made the block look like it held its breath.

Eve stepped off, light dissolving under her boots. The hardness from minutes ago unwound by a single thread—enough to reach for something living, not imagined. She turned to Rex, closed the distance, and kissed him.

He blinked, lost, not sure why they'd stopped or why now. Hands hovered, unsure where to land.

"What? Didn't you just call me your girlfriend?" An eyebrow lifted, a teasing smile.

"Thought you didn't want that," he said, trying to make sense of any of it.

"Changed my mind," firm, a shy heat fighting the cold. "I've chased ghosts long enough."

A man stepped out as if to close a long day. He eyed their shredded clothes.

"Heroes? Yikes, those outfits are wrecked… Come in, let me help," warmth in the voice of someone used to scenes like this.

They traded a look and followed him—down to a basement lined with super-suits.

Minutes later, Rex tried on his new one: split yellow and red with sealed goggles for a visor.

"Thanks for helping us out, Mr. Taylor. Really cool of you," Rex called from behind a divider.

"Taylor is my job. I'm Arthur Rosebaum—Art. And I can't watch two young heroes sprint around in rags. Breaks my heart."

Rex stepped out in full kit.

"Behold, the man… Who knew a mothballed '90s design would sing on somebody," Art said, admiring the entrance.

Rex thumbed himself, cocky. "That's right—I'm the guy. No offense, Eve, but this is way better than that piece of trash you conjured earlier."

Her smile flipped into an eye-roll. "We both know, unlike me, he's a pro. Speaking of… how do we pay?"

They settled terms and stepped back into the cold. Streetlights doubled the block in wet reflections.

"Eve… what's your history with that man?" Rex asked.

Hand in hand beneath bare branches, she spilled it in sharp fragments: Erickson's name, the lab, a mother turned test subject, Dr. Brandyworth dead, the day her power blew and scrubbed the man's memory—and the silence since, like that spike of power belonged to a past life. Rex listened, jaw tight in his hood, then shared his own.

"You're not alone anymore," he said at last. "If he shows up again, we end him."

She nodded—no bravado. They walked on together, the cold seeming to take a step back. Neither of them alone now; a new bond, a new duo.

The next two days turned like a page to the same landscape. Kai slid back to his axis: the educated emptiness. Not sadness or anything dark—just lack.

At Oakwood, they held a few tributes for the late Radcliffe and the new acting head. Otherwise, the rhythm stayed the same—except Kai stopped indulging Viktor's schemes and walked him through how the last "brilliant" idea blew up: Eve, the fight with the weird android, every step. Point made; bad plan.

Viktor pushed back—coincidence, seize your power, seize your life, you could be the strongest, you could be someone that matters.

This time, submerged in his own void and sure of his convictions, Kai didn't get pulled out; he didn't give in—or rather, he remained nowhere at all.

In training he executed Cassie's drills like a metronome. At home he left the TV on low without watching. When a flash of pink slid across a late broadcast he and Mark liked, he changed the channel before the name could be said. The world went by like rain on glass, sliding without sticking.

February 19, 2014 — Wednesday — Chicago Central Laboratory — 5:52 PM

A man in a wrinkled lab coat approached Russell, who waited impatiently in hiding.

"Sir, the serum is finally ready to be used." The researcher stopped at the glass console. "We don't know what might happen if someone takes it. It could be very dangerous. Who do you intend to use it on?"

Russell rose with the deliberate precision of someone who always chose the moment of the strike. He smoothed down his blazer, the copper of his hair glinting under the white lights.

"On me." His voice was steady, his face radiating the confidence of a man who never accepted being left without an ace up his sleeve.

Minutes later, in the central chamber, he stood wearing only shorts, a lit cigar dangling from his fingers as he faced the machine prepared for him.

"Sir, are you certain?" The scientist clutched a clipboard a few steps away.

Russell dragged long on the cigar — worth more than any of their monthly wages — and exhaled.

"They're coming after me," he said calmly, stepping forward into the machine. "So it's all or nothing."

The metal capsule sealed around him with a hiss. Robotic needles aligned like the pipes of an organ. His cigar rolled outside, still lit, crushed against the anti-slip floor.

The peristaltic pump began to pulse. On the monitor, the line flickered: INFUSION PHASE 1. The first needle pierced a vein. Russell's body arched — veins bulging at his neck, skin first blanching, then flushing in a violent rush. His scream grated like metal on metal, and the technicians exchanged a glance that bordered on panic.

"Blood pressure rising! Saturation unstable!""Maintain the rate," the supervisor ordered, his voice cracking half a note.

Inside the chamber, something inhuman broke through the symmetry. Muscles swelled like coiled cables. Skin dried, cracked, then smoothed again — denser, harder. For a heartbeat, translucent spikes crawled up his arms — shards of ice born and melted in the same instant; sparks raced across his chest like veins of light; a lick of fire flared and was immediately smothered by the suppression system.

"What the hell is this?! He's going to die!" someone cried, hand already on the abort switch."No one touches anything! Those are the orders!" the supervisor barked, though fear wavered in his throat.

The vibration grew. Actuators screeched. Alarms jumped from yellow to red. And then—everything gave way.

BOOOOOM!

The capsule bulged like a can on fire and burst, throwing rings of smoke and shrapnel across the room. The flash killed the lights for half a second; backup power kicked in with a whine. Dust, the stench of fried electronics, fragments tinkling to the ground. Silence—long enough for heartbeats to exist again.

The scientists shielded their eyes from behind the blast-resistant glass, now marred by a crack running edge to edge.

"Dear God! He's done for!"

But as the glow faded, the heavy silence of mourning cracked.

A silhouette rose from the vapor, stepping through the wreckage of the destroyed chamber.

Russell emerged from the haze, each step solid, coated in soot. The redhead looked as if carved by hammer and chisel: fibers denser beneath flawless skin, no burns, no blisters, no bruises. He stopped at the fractured glass and stared at his hands, opening and closing his fingers as if hearing a new sound for the first time.

The scientists rushed into the chamber. One, braver than his fear, stepped forward."Sir… are you alright? We need to run full systemic tests. Blood panel, neurological scans—"

Russell slowly turned his face toward him, cutting the words in his throat. He held the man's gaze for a moment, expression restored, and finally spoke."Indeed…" He tested his voice, then allowed a slow smile to spread. "I feel… incredible."

In the control room, screens blinked with the final logs before the chamber burst:

...Unusual osmotic energy pattern: POSITIVE

Accelerated regeneration pattern: POSITIVE

Self-energy accumulation: POSITIVE

Fiber density increase / superhuman strength: POSITIVE

12 patterns confirmed before interruption…CONNECTION LOST.

Attempting reconnection…FAILURE.

Check central machine interface.

Attempting handshake… TIMEOUT.

Russell glanced over the red warnings, then at the men beyond the shattered glass. The ruined machine exhaled ribbons of smoke, as if fate itself had signed its name in ash.

He inhaled slowly, savoring his own breath like a rare wine.

"Let's see what I can do. I want full awareness of everything." His voice was calm, unhurried—the kind of calm that heralds something great to come. "We have much work ahead of us."

Interlude — Someone to Care AboutFebruary 21, 2014 — Friday — Oakwood

The final bell rippled through the building like a metallic wave. Doors swung open, cold air rushed into the corridor carrying the scent of old rain and disinfectant. Students' voices layered into a mosaic: laughter, complaints about exams, weekend plans. The late afternoon light slanted across the hall, cutting through blue lockers and polished floors.

Kiana walked beside Kai, her hair pinned back with a discreet clip, uniform immaculate. She spoke little, carrying that aura of someone who watched and recorded everything. Kai moved in silence, hands in his pockets, his steps precise. His face revealed nothing—the same detached expression he had worn ever since the day he had seen Eve.

Cassie passed them with her hoodie pulled over her head. The zipper stopped halfway down her chest, the strap of her backpack caught between her teeth. She'd spent the entire day on autopilot—no arguments in History class, no teasing during lunch, no spark in her eyes. Just… distant. Kai noticed. And at first, he let it slide. Three more steps, another corridor, the weight of not getting involved. Then something tugged at him—not strongly, but enough to make him stop.

He let out a short sigh—almost a "whatever.""Cassie."

She turned mid-step, as if afraid she'd done something wrong. "Hey."

"You've been off since this morning." His voice wasn't warm or cold—just direct. "What's going on?"

Kiana edged closer, shifting her body so they wouldn't get shoved by the current of students. Cassie took a long breath, pulled her hood back, and smoothed the strand of hair that always escaped her ponytail.

"I… I arranged to meet my mom." The words came in one breath, followed by silence.

Kiana frowned slightly. "That sounds normal, doesn't it?"

Cassie gave a nervous laugh. Not amused—just sharp with tension. "It could be." Her eyes fixed on a neutral point above a red EXIT sign. "But she left when I was little. One day… gone. My dad was left with everything. The gym, bills, laundry, working morning to night." She paused, licking her lips. "I grew up on the counter at the gym, handling sign-ups, closing the register. Learned to cook by watching him drag himself home beat-up, throwing together instant noodles for the two of us, pretending everything was fine." Another pause. "I think that's when I became 'me.'"

Kai listened with the same expressionless face as always, but inside, a formless memory brushed against him: the weight of someone carrying the world alone and calling it life. Not pity—recognition. Like catching a reflection in a window and seeing something he'd known all along, carried deep since his other life.

"I'm nervous," she admitted, thumb spinning the zipper ring. "I almost canceled. Feels… too much."

"Don't cancel," Kiana said without hesitation. Her voice was firm, but gentle. "If you want answers, you have to read until the end of the page."

Kai stared at the floor for a moment, following the diagonal scuff marks left by countless shoes. All I have to do is say "good luck" and walk away. That would be easier. Lighter. Another image of Cassie rose in his mind—her in the ring, counting the timer with her chin up, fighting him that day in practice. No chance of winning, but no thought of giving up either. Only determination. Only discipline. It irritated him, in a good way. She deserved someone there for her.

"What time?" he asked.

"I set it for one-thirty. At a café downtown."

"I'll go with you."

Cassie blinked, surprise breaking through the hardness she'd worn all day."But aren't you going to the movies with your brother and the others?"

Kiana nodded immediately, already fitting the pieces together."I'll go too. You meet your mom, have your talk, and afterward we'll head straight to the movies with Mark, Derick, Becky, and July. The session's later—it works perfectly."

Cassie drew in a breath like someone surfacing from underwater. "Thanks." The word came fuller than she expected. She pulled them both into a quick, awkward hug—brief, but genuine. The corridor stayed noisy around them, yet for a moment, it felt like they stood in a space apart, carved out for silence.

"Let's go straight there, then," Kiana said matter-of-factly.

Cassie's shoulders relaxed at the lighter tone."We'll swing by my place first. I live downtown, close to the café."

Kai gave a small nod. Inside, some old mechanism clicked halfway—didn't turn fully, but stirred from inertia. It wasn't warmth or excitement. Just enough to shift him a few steps outside the glass wall he had built again.

They left the school together. Minutes later, they climbed the stairs of an old downtown building beside a gym. The railing was cold, steps worn at the center, the air filled with the smell of brewed coffee and freshly wrung rags.

Cassie's apartment was small but tidy in the way routine always revealed itself: rug aligned, a pair of boxing gloves hung on a nail behind the door, a framed photo of her and Henry—both in gi, his smile crooked, her baby teeth still missing.

"It'll just take a sec," Cassie said, moving straight to the kitchen. She opened the fridge, pulled out a labeled meal box—chicken+rice+veggies—and set it on the middle shelf. A sticky note was taped to the door: Dad, dinner ready. Back later. –C.

Kiana leaned against the counter, her eyes drifting over the magnets on the fridge: the gym's schedule, a crumpled pizza coupon, a clipped utility bill. Kai stood near the window, watching the narrow street below, people pulling coats tight against the wind.

Cassie lifted a small pot from the shelf—a plastic plant—and slid out two folded bills hidden underneath. She slipped them into her hoodie pocket. "Emergency money," she explained, sheepish.

"Ready?" Kiana asked.

Cassie gave the apartment one last glance, flicked off the kitchen light. "Ready."