The streetlights slid past in long, hazy streaks, almost hypnotic against the empty road. After breaking through the tree line and reaching the main highway, I'd seen several airships and at least one hero cutting through the sky toward the facility. Probably more were out there, but on a mostly starless night they were hard to spot. What mattered was that none of them dropped out of the sky in front of my van demanding I pull over. I'd stashed the van in a dense patch of woods near the facility, no cameras that I could see, though with someone like Dr. Techshield, you could never be sure.
City highways were never truly empty, even at this hour, but the moment I realized I'd actually gotten away, the adrenaline carrying me finally hit a wall. All that jittery, wired energy that kept my hands shaking on the wheel drained out of me at once, leaving behind a kind of exhaustion I'd never felt. In the span of minutes I went from unable to sit still to struggling to keep my eyes open. Unfortunately, something new had arrived to take adrenaline's place. The pain.
As the pain-reducing effects of the adrenaline faded, I became acutely aware of a great many injuries. My back felt the worst. I'd taken several hits. I had stopped a short while ago, once I felt I was out of immediate danger of being found and removed my suit, and did some first aid. That was when I discovered my back armour had basically melted into slag. It was a wonder it had held at all. I could feel many spots on my back that were, or soon would be, bruised or burned.
My hand had given me the biggest scare. When I removed the burnt glove, the unfortunate victim of my blaster exploding. A small pool of blood poured out as my torn and burned hand came free. The glove had done its job and protected the hand, mostly. The metal studs meant to shield the knuckles had all melted or blown off. The hand had still taken damage, and it hurt. I wrapped it as best I could with the first aid kit. I might need a few stitches in the index finger; it could have been much worse.
Unfortunately, I had to keep using the injured right hand to drive, because my left arm still wasn't responding properly. "Note to self, get better painkillers," I muttered as the hand throbbed. Additionally, I ached everywhere, something I'm sure I'll be feeling even more in the morning
The transition from the wooded backroads to the outskirts of the city happened quickly. The drive was a little over an hour, giving me far too much time to fight off sleep. My sluggish eyes almost missed my exit. I pulled onto a dim street dotted with pockets of late-night traffic, sinking deeper into the seat with every minute. A short drive from there brought me to the dark, empty road I'd been searching for. My hideout was a flex unit tucked into the industrial sector of the city cramped, bland, and forgettable, exactly what I needed. I pressed the door opener, and the garage door on the plain cement building rumbled its way up. I backed the van inside, where a blue tarp hung from the ceiling, creating a makeshift partition and a little sheltered pocket just big enough for the van.
I got out of the van and just stood there. I couldn't help but look out into the empty street as the door rumbled down no heroes came slamming down to crater the pavement just to arrest me. When the door finally clanged shut, it felt like it sealed off the rest of the world. I moved to the back of the black van, popped the door open, and looked at the pile of junk that had once been my prototype suit.
It lay in bits on the floor of the van. I hadn't tried to secure it I was too hurt and too tired to care. I'd made sure it was tied down properly before leaving for the facility, handled it with such care, and now it looked like burnt garbage. "I'll deal with it tomorrow," I mumbled, reaching in to get the only important thing.
The case was heavy, heavier than I expected. I got it out and walked through the tarp. Beyond it, the main floor opened up into a machine workshop and lab. It had everything I needed to build and maintain a suit at least as much as I could get or build. In the back corner, barely visible in the dim lighting, was my current pride and joy: the Mark 1. Sleeker than the prototype, still a bit bulky. It was opened up, wires running to a laptop. It was almost done, almost there just a few more things to add, like a power source and, as always, more time.
I was far too sore to do anything except make my way to the back of the unit and climb the stairs that led to the two small offices and the lunchroom what I called "home." At the top I passed my dark, empty kitchen and headed into the room I used as a computer space. Inside sat a battered desk and a loyal coffee maker, surrounded by scattered papers and cups. I set the crate down in the same spot it had occupied a few hours earlier, now minus its contents. I let out a tired sigh, reached up, and with a couple of metallic clicks detached my left arm.
I spotted the issue right away. The black robotic replacement for my left arm had a deep indent, burned and frayed wires exposed where the metal cover used to be. A shot had gone through, maybe the one that took my shoulder plate, maybe another. But it explained why it wasn't responding properly. I stared at it, more annoyed than exhausted now. I built it; I could fix it. It was just one more thing on the list. With a sigh, I turned and headed back down the stairs for a much needed shower.
After a hot shower and a mouthful of stronger painkillers, I sat staring at my torn-up hand. It was obvious it needed more than a bandage. I dug around until I found my old prosthetic—the cheap one the hospital gave me before I built my own. It wasn't great, but it worked, and trying to treat an injury with only one hand was impossible. Under better light I could finally see the damage clearly: the skin definitely needed something to hold it together. Getting those adhesive strips on with stiff plastic fingers was a battle, but I managed. I cleaned the area, took out the little hooked tool, and paused.
"This is going to suck."
I'd already used a topical painkiller, but it barely helped. I took a sharp breath and pushed the hook in.
I was walking back up to my living area, my hand throbbing beneath clean white cloth and a strong drink in my other hand. I have earned one. That was when it happened. My mood was crushed in an instant thanks to a ringing phone. I had two phones; one never rang, so I already knew who it was.
I picked it up. "Private." flashed across the screen. With a knot of dread tightening in my stomach, I answered.
"You did it," a gruff voice said the second the line connected.
"Boss wants to meet. Tonight. Same place."
"Yeah," was all I managed before the call cut off, leaving the unease twisting even harder inside me. This was the part I'd been dreading more than the break-in itself.
I set the phone down and let out a slow breath looking at nothing before turning to look at the case holding the three sun cores. I owed one to the broker who'd gotten me the device that made this whole operation possible. She would almost certainly turn around and sell it to one of the very villains or gangs I'd sworn to eliminate.
I had refused her the first time she made the offer. I went back to my workshop to do it myself and failed to solve the power problem, and then ran out of money and with that, ran out of options. I'd felt sick since the moment I realized I had to make that call, and now it was time to follow through with my deal with the devil.
At least I could get some sleep before worrying about that. I glanced at my clock: 6:17 a.m. I blinked slowly. "Well… a little."
I felt worse than I had before going to sleep. I probably needed to hibernate to recover fully and honestly, I wanted to. Getting up was a struggle; so much of me was sore. I choked down a meal bar with more pills before starting to pull the shattered pieces of my prototype suit out of the van. It felt like removing a dead friend but it had died well, at least it had that. I also had to clean the pool of dry blood from the floor. The hard flooring made that easy, but the seat back was another story. Apparently, I'd been bleeding from my back last night. Who knew?
When it was finally time to get moving, I climbed into the van wearing black fatigues I'd picked up from a surplus store. My cracked helmet and prototype blaster sat on the seat next to me. I hadn't shown my face to these people, and it was probably best to keep it that way.
It wasn't a long drive—just one of those darker streets that runs beside the main ones. I parked down the block and sat there for a moment, staring at the single light over the door I was supposed to go to. A very large man stood under it, smoking.
I took slow, steady breaths and lifted the case, now holding only one core. Did I really want to do this? Silly question. I absolutely did not. But crossing these people—especially this early in my campaign—wasn't an option. A broker coming after me would turn into a problem fast, probably a fatal one. And as much as I hated to admit it, I needed this.
With a frustrated growl, I popped another pair of pills and washed them down with a water bottle I didn't remember leaving in the van. It tasted like it had been sitting there a while. Whatever.
I put the helmet on. A small battery pack on my belt powered it, though the HUD was still broken the crack running across the visor made sure of that. At least the built-in voice distorter still worked. Hopefully it would make it harder to identify me, or hide any nerves that slipped into my voice. Or maybe I just looked silly and transparent.
I slipped a blaster into a regular thigh holster. It was only a test device only good for maybe three shots, and at reduced power. It was never meant for the field, but I didn't have anything else.
I drove the short distance to the small parking lot enclosed by a brick wall, parked, and got out, case in hand. The man by the door watched me the whole way but didn't move until I reached him. He exhaled smoke, flicked the cigarette aside, and knocked on the door without even turning around. It cracked open, and he said, "He's here." The door shut, then opened fully. Inside stood two more guards another man who could've been the first one's twin, and a rough-looking woman with glowing red eyes. Behind them was a heavier, reinforced door.
"Hand it over," the second man said, holding out a hand.
"I'll give it to your boss," I said, my voice deep through the helmet.
"Not the product. The weapon." He pointed at my thigh.
Of course they wouldn't let me walk in armed. I stared at him for a moment, wanting to argue, but thought better of it. I pulled the blaster free and handed it over.
"It won't fire for anyone but me," I lied; even the better version didn't have that feature. "So don't play with it if you plan to use that hand again."
The man eyed me, then the blaster, then his hand—as if suddenly unsure it still belonged to him—before taking it and letting me in. The door behind me closed, and after some scraping sounds, the metal one unlocked and swung open. Another man—who looked exactly like the first—stood behind it. I flicked my gaze between him and the one holding my blaster. They smiled in eerie, practiced tandem.
"Your poor mother," I muttered under my breath, more automatic than brave, before being led inside.
It was a short walk down a poorly lit hallway, doors closed on either side, to a room at the end. The man opened the door and led me into a well-appointed office space, a stark contrast to the hallway. To my left, a well-stocked bar with a pair of guards leaning on it. Comfortable couches sat to my right, and across the room stood an expensive-looking desk, behind which a white-haired woman in a purple dress drank from a crystal glass. She sized me up, though her playful smile didn't reach her eyes; it had a well-practiced, fake quality.
"Well, well, look who it is," the woman—Renia Sato, the broker I'd made the deal with—said the moment I stopped in the center of the room. "The League of Heroes' current number one most wanted." Her smile almost reached her eyes. "And they don't even know your name."
I just stood there. I hadn't planned to say anything. Honestly, I didn't know what to say.
"You know, we really didn't think you could pull it off," she continued when I didn't respond. "A nobody, showing up looking for very specific tools…" She tilted her head. "But I suppose that little trinket did the job. No security to interrupt your tour?"
"It didn't get all of them."
"I suppose that explains your cracked helmet and why you're favouring your left side." Her gaze lingered on my gloved right hand.
"I wasn't exactly a welcomed guest," I muttered.
She pointed her glass at the case. "And I assume you have the product. You're not here to beg for an extension?"
"I have it," I said—and realized one of the guards, the thinner one, had appeared at my side, hand outstretched. I hadn't noticed him move. I handed over the case. He took it… and then he was gone. A blink, a shimmer—teleporter.
I turned back to Renia. The guard was now beside her desk, the case open. She peered inside, and her first real smile appeared—a predator's smile that made the hair on my neck stand up.
"Most people make sure their payments are ready before handing over the goods," she said as the man closed the case and vanished again with it. "To make sure they get paid."
"You will," I said, suddenly very scared she might not and was completely powerless to do anything about it.
She smiled, and we stood in silence for a moment. Then the same man appeared in front of me again, holding a different case. Annoying way to teleport.
I took the case.
"Not going to check?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No." She wouldn't short me. She was a professional. Besides, I couldn't force anything if I wanted to.
"Well, Mr. Nobody, if you ever want to make a deal again, I'd be very happy to do business."
"Thank you," I said, hoping I'd never need her or anyone like her again.
I was led out by the same man who had walked me in and handed my blaster back the moment I stepped outside. Nothing needed to be said. I got into my van and drove off. A few blocks later, I stopped, took off my helmet, and opened the case filled with cash. A sigh of relief escaped me. The deal had been unpleasant, but with the cores and this money, I could finally finish my suit and get started for real. I was sure I'd live to regret it, but for now, it was all I had to move forward.