The rain hit Tasik Harbor like falling needles—sharp, fast, relentless.
Roman adjusted his hood and kept moving. Beside him, Misha moved with calculated grace, every step deliberate. Her eyes never lingered. Her hands never twitched. She was always a step ahead, even in a storm like this.
Roman, however, wasn't calm.
Not inside.
The static hadn't stopped since they left the market. It flickered under his skin like nervous electricity, dancing across his nerves in unpredictable bursts. His fingertips buzzed. His breath steamed. His mind spun.
"I can't shut it off," he muttered.
Misha didn't slow.
"Good," she said.
They took shelter in a new place, the concrete cracked and streaked with rust. The upper floors had collapsed years ago, leaving a jagged roof that let the rain drip through in a steady rhythm.
Roman paced beneath the driest corner.
"It's not like before," he said. "Rage made me stronger. Fear made me faster. But this…" He looked down at his palm, where a faint, blue glow pulsed just beneath the skin. "It's alive."
Misha finally looked at him.
"You didn't just mimic Hex's power," she said. "You took a piece of him with it."
Roman stopped pacing.
"You're saying… I'm becoming like him?"
She gave a slight nod. "Electricity responds to emotion. But more than that—unstable emotions feed it. If your mind fractures, the power won't follow logic. It'll detonate."
Roman leaned back against a column, breathing heavily.
"I don't want to become someone else," he said quietly.
"You're not," Misha replied. "You're becoming someone more."
A flicker—like static across his vision.
Suddenly Roman wasn't standing in the parking lot anymore.
He was crouched beneath a table, small hands trembling, ears filled with the sound of screaming. A woman's voice. Slurred. Furious. The air smelled like gas and smoke.
A spark. A scream. Then flames.
Roman blinked—and the vision vanished.
He staggered forward.
"Hex," he breathed. "I just saw his memory."
Misha's eyes narrowed.
"That's new."
They didn't speak again until they reached the train station.
Or what remained of it.
The stairs leading down were buried under graffiti and soot. Beneath the platform, twisted rebar jutted like ribs from the scorched foundation. This had once been a rebel safehouse—destroyed, abandoned, forgotten.
Perfect.
Roman ducked under the remnants of a barrier, landing inside what was once the station's utility office. A single battery-powered lantern still glowed in the far corner, casting everything in pale amber.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
Roman sat down beside a busted vending machine, electricity still dancing in his joints like an echo he couldn't quiet. He tried to steady his breath, but the crackle remained.
"I feel like I'm short-circuiting."
Misha sat beside him. "You're not."
He looked at her, skeptical.
"You're afraid," she said. "That this mutation is permanent. That every time you steal, you lose something of yourself."
He didn't respond.
"I've seen what happens to people who stop choosing who they are," she continued. "I don't want you to become one of them."
Roman turned away. "You keep saying that like you care."
Misha didn't blink. "I do. Just not in the way you want me to."
That stung more than he expected.
Elsewhere — Othernesia diplomatic room.
Darius Dorgu sat alone near the back of the diplomaticroom. The window beside him showed nothing but black clouds.
In his lap, a sealed folder.
He opened it.
Inside were surveillance photos—grainy, heat-scanned, timestamped. Roman Ravenscroft, hood up, fists clenched. Armenia's agents lay scattered around him in a ruined alley.
Each was broken.
The report said:
> Subject exhibited signs of enhanced physicality and short-range burst speed under duress. Trigger believed to be emotional—likely fear or rage. No confirmed mutant classification. No external changes observed. Possibly non-standard mutation type.
Dorgu raised an eyebrow.
No external change. No signature trace.
Not even an identified mutation type.
Just raw chaos.
He flipped to the next page. It was blank except for a single line:
> Directive: Confirm and extract mutation profile via Static Imprint.
Dorgu shut the folder.
So that was it.
They didn't know what Roman could really do. They'd only seen what looked like a frightened, angry boy breaking bones.
But he would find out. One scratch. That's all it took. Just a shallow wound, and the power would transfer. Temporarily—but long enough to know what Armenia really wanted.
His metal-infused fingers drummed lightly on the armrest.
He didn't care about Roman's background. Or the alien tech buried in his blood.
He cared about clarity.
What are you really hiding, Ravenscroft?
The report stated: Subject exhibited signs of uncontrolled soul mutation in response to external emotions: fear and rage. No evidence of additional abilities. Dangerous but unrefined.
Dorgu closed the file, frowning.
"Rage and fear," he murmured. "Primitive."
He touched his wrist—still plated in faint chrome, the gift of his current borrowed power.
Metalization.
Taken from a mutant in Cell Eleven. The effect would last for days, longer with repeated use. His skin could harden like tungsten. His bones were denser now. Faster. Sharper.
Roman didn't know what was coming.
Dorgu smiled, thin and grim.
But Misha did.
Back in the Station Ruins
Roman's breathing slowed. But the power didn't.
The lightbulb hanging above him flickered.
Then hummed.
Then lifted.
It rose into the air, gently spinning, powered by nothing but the field now emanating from Roman's skin.
He stared at it.
"I'm not doing that," he whispered.
"You are," Misha said calmly. "You're a conductor now."
"I don't know how to stop it."
"You don't need to stop it. You need to direct it."
Roman clenched his jaw. "And if I can't?"
Misha looked away.
"Then he'll kill you."
Roman's heart stopped.
"what do you mean?"
"He's coming," she said. "Metalized. Hardened. Strong enough to crush a car. If you want to survive that… you'll need to hit him with electric power."
"His ability," Misha said quietly, "is to temporarily copy the power of anyone he wounds."
Roman's breath caught. That explained a lot—and made everything worse.
She continued, her voice steady. "After what you showed during our escape from Armenia's agents… he's not taking chances. This time, he's coming equipped—with metalization."
Roman looked up, alarmed. Misha's expression didn't change.
"It makes him nearly immune to physical damage," she explained. "Even energy-based attacks barely faze him. Except—" her eyes narrowed slightly, "for electricity."
Roman felt a flicker of static across his fingertips.
"If you can master this new power," she said, "you'll stand a chance against him."
Then, more sharply: "But don't let him wound you. Not even a scratch. If he gets your blood… he'll know exactly what you are."
Roman looked at his hand—blue static swirling just beneath the skin.
"I don't even know what I am anymore."
Misha's voice was quiet.
"You're a fuse. Waiting to choose what you'll ignite."
Outside, the wind shifted.
Armenia Surveillance Node – Zharin Republic Airspace
"Ping confirmed," said the operator, eyes locked on a glowing monitor.
Commander Kael stood over his shoulder, arms crossed. "Where?"
"Southern quadrant, Tasik Harbor. Trainyard ruins. Thermal disturbance matches last signature."
He call Dorgu.
Dorgu didn't need more explanation.
Tasik Harbor, Abandoned Industrial Zone – four hours Later
Dorgu stood alone beneath the overpass, staring at a rusted CCTV camera that was—until an hour ago—completely dead.
It was an old Armenian trick.
Let the city think the cameras were broken.
Let the fugitives grow careless.
He raised his wrist, the implanted command chip humming faintly beneath his skin. A portable scanner unfolded in his palm.
> Scanned Mutant Trace: Detected heat signature, Probability: 91% — Target: Roman Ravenscroft
He stared at the result for a moment, then clicked the scanner shut.
He followed it.
Even hidden mutants leave warmth behind. The kind you can't feel—but the technology derived from alien technology can.
Armenia's drones picked it up ten minutes ago.
A heat bloom under an abandoned station.
People might dismiss it as electrical equipment or vermin.
But Dorgu knew better.
He entered the ruins without hesitation.
Every footstep echoed off rusted metal. The static in the air thickened. His skin tingled—not from fear—but from anticipation.
He could feel the tension in the atmosphere—like a fuse waiting to burn.
Roman was here.
And he wouldn't be leaving unseen.
A soft metallic thump echoed from somewhere distant—like armored boots hitting concrete.
A shadow moved through the ruins above.
Closer.
Watching.
Waiting.
And below, Roman's breath hitched as a final jolt surged through his spine—power begging to be used.
He didn't know it yet…
But the storm had found him.