Nigeria, August 2023
The Nigerian night was a living thing, thick with humidity and the distant hum of nocturnal creatures. The air clung to Michael Amadike's skin like a second layer, sweat beading on his brow as he crouched behind a rusted shipping container. The camp's warehouse loomed ahead, its corrugated metal walls pocked with dents and streaked with grime, a relic of some forgotten industrial era. Floodlights cast harsh shadows, slicing the darkness into jagged patches. Michael's heart pounded like a war drum, each beat echoing his mix of excitement and dread. Tonight was his chance—his shot to level the playing field in a world where everyone but him seemed to wield godlike powers.
Beside him, Alvin Ifeanyi Orike, his cousin, shifted restlessly. A faint orange glow flickered around Alvin's hands, his flame powers barely contained. His dark eyes darted toward the warehouse, reflecting the distant lights. "You sure about this, Mike?" he whispered, his voice tight with concern. "This gauntlet better be worth risking our necks."
Michael flashed a grin, masking the knot in his stomach. "It's my ticket to keeping up with you freaks. I'm tired of being the weak link." His words carried a bravado he didn't fully feel. At fifteen, Michael was fit—years of push-ups, sprints, and makeshift weights had sculpted his frame—but in a camp full of superhumans, his human strength felt like a cruel joke. Alvin could summon flames hot enough to melt steel. Ekene could bench-press a truck. Even Ella, with her cheeky X-ray vision, could see through walls. Michael? He had grit, charm, and a stubborn refusal to stay sidelined.
Ekene, hulking and broad-shouldered, knelt on Michael's other side, clutching the stolen key card. His knuckles whitened around the plastic, his strength barely restrained. "We're in deep now," he muttered, his deep voice laced with a mix of thrill and caution. "No turning back. You ready, Mike?"
"Born ready," Michael said, his confidence half-genuine. He adjusted the black cap pulled low over his eyes, his muscular frame tensing beneath a fitted black shirt. The plan was simple: sneak into the warehouse, swipe the gauntlet—a rumored artifact that could amplify strength to superhuman levels—and get out before the camp's guards noticed. They'd spent weeks plotting, eavesdropping on camp staff, and mapping patrol routes. The key card, lifted from a distracted guard during a chaotic camp soccer match, was their golden ticket.
Alvin's flames dimmed as he focused, his lean form blending into the shadows. "Let's move. Patrol's changing in five minutes."
The trio darted across the open ground, their sneakers silent on the cracked asphalt. The warehouse's side door was unguarded, just as their intel suggested. Ekene swiped the key card, and the lock clicked with a satisfying beep. The door creaked open, revealing a cavernous interior lit by flickering fluorescent bulbs. Crates and machinery lined the walls, their silhouettes looming like silent sentinels. In the center, a reinforced vault gleamed under a spotlight, its steel surface etched with warning symbols.
Michael's pulse quickened. "There it is," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the warehouse's ventilation system.
They crept forward, Alvin's flames casting fleeting shadows. Ekene's eyes scanned the room, his heightened senses picking up every creak and rustle. "Something feels off," he murmured. "Too quiet."
"Paranoid much?" Michael teased, though his own instincts prickled. He pushed the doubt aside. They'd come too far to back out now.
The vault's control panel glowed faintly. Ekene swiped the card again, and with a low hiss, the door slid open. Inside, on a sleek pedestal, rested the gauntlet—a metallic glove that shimmered with an otherworldly blue pulse. Its surface was smooth, etched with intricate circuits that seemed to hum with latent power. Michael's breath caught. This was it. His chance to be more than the powerless kid trailing behind his superhuman friends.
He reached out, slipping the gauntlet onto his right hand. It fit perfectly, molding to his skin like it was made for him. A surge of energy coursed through his arm, his muscles tingling with newfound strength. He clenched his fist, and the air around it seemed to ripple. "Holy shit," he breathed, grinning. "This thing's legit."
Alvin smirked, his flames flaring briefly. "Looking like a badass already, cousin."
Ekene clapped Michael's shoulder, nearly knocking him over. "Now you might actually keep up with me in a fight."
Michael laughed, flexing his hand. "Let's get out before—"
The warehouse doors slammed open. Floodlights blazed, and a dozen guards stormed in, their stun batons crackling with electricity. Their uniforms bore the camp's insignia—a stylized eagle clutching a lightning bolt. Weak individually, their numbers were a problem. And they were prepared.
"Ambush!" Alvin shouted, flames erupting around him. His body ignited, transforming into a living torch, the heat warping the air. "Mike, behind you!"
Michael spun, the gauntlet amplifying his reflexes. A guard lunged, baton aimed at his chest. Michael sidestepped, his fist connecting with the guard's jaw. The impact sent the man crashing into a crate, wood splintering. "Damn," Michael muttered, staring at his gloved hand. The gauntlet was everything he'd hoped.
Ekene roared, grabbing two guards and slamming their heads together with a sickening crunch. Alvin's flames swept through the air, forcing the others back. But more kept coming, their batons sparking. One caught Michael's arm, sending a jolt through him. He gritted his teeth, the gauntlet absorbing most of the shock. He retaliated with a punch that dented the guard's chest plate.
"Ekene, call for backup!" Michael yelled, ducking another baton swing.
Ekene fumbled for his phone, his massive fingers clumsy in the chaos. "On it!"
But the tide was turning. The guards coordinated, splitting to flank them. Alvin's flames faltered as he dodged a barrage of stun shots. Michael's gauntlet-enhanced punches kept them at bay, but his human stamina was waning. Ekene tossed another guard into a wall, but a second wave emerged from the shadows—reinforcements.
"We're screwed," Michael panted, his back to Alvin and Ekene. The gauntlet hummed, but it wasn't enough against this many.
Then he felt it—a presence behind him. Too fast, too quiet. He turned, but not in time. A guard, his hand gleaming with a hardened, metallic sheen, plunged it toward Michael's chest. Pain exploded, a white-hot agony that stole his breath. His vision blurred, the warehouse fading to black. Alvin's scream echoed faintly as Michael's body hit the ground.
Aftermath****
Alvin's flames surged, a primal roar tearing from his throat. His guilt and rage ignited something new—his fire shifted from orange to a searing blue, hotter than ever. The hardened-hand guard didn't stand a chance. Flames engulfed him, reducing him to ash in seconds. Ekene stood frozen, clutching Michael's limp form.
"We need Faith!" Alvin shouted, carrying Michael to the boys' cabin. The camp was a blur, his blue flames leaving a trail of scorched earth. Their friends gathered, horror etched on their faces. Faith burst in, her healing aura already glowing, but Michael's pulse was gone.
The heist had failed. Michael was dead. But something greater was stirring—something that would change everything.