Nero woke up from his extended nap. The strip of light above his curtain was missing, so it should be night now. There was no telling quite when it was though. Fetter and Don were still up at least, so it was probably before midnight. He rubbed his eye as he sat up. Normally it took him a few tries to get out of bed, lying there in a half awake state until he was almost late for whatever he had to do that day. Today he didn't have that feeling.
Fetter was playing solitaire on Nero's computer, rapidly clicking through the deck. Don was switching the collar around on a shirt, wearing another that he had already done it to. Normally it would just be like a dark cave, but now it was a living place. He could smell something delicious.
"There's some food on the counter waiting for you," Don said, looking up at him.
"Thank you for cooking," said Nero, looking over towards the kitchen area.
"You're welcome," Fetter said, not even looking away from the screen.
Nero got up from the bed, and walked over to the kitchen, still in his clothes from the day. The food on the counter was rice, fried with eggs, carrots, and peas. It was something he never dreamt of making on his own.
"You didn't have any soy sauce, so it's kind of bland," said Fetter, angrily clicking on the X in the corner. He stood up from the chair, leaving it to spin around on it's own for a moment. "I don't think it's a good idea for me to head outside for now, and Don's out of the question, so... could you like... go shopping?"
"Do you have any money?" Nero asked.
"No."
"Neither do I."
Fetter sighed. "Well fuck."
"Hey Fetter, we could ask Uncle for help. Do you have his number?" asked Don.
"No, I had to ditch my phone."
"I have his number memorized."
Nero reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, just a small black clip. "You could use mine."
"No, I..." Fetter paused, his expression souring.
"Why not?" asked Nero.
Fetter let out a sigh. "Look, you don't know, but I'm not on good terms with him. The last time we talked I basically spat in his face and left. I don't expect him to help me."
"We're his nephews, of course he'd help us," said Don.
"Fine. I'll call him." Fetter grabbed the black strip out of Nero's hand, uncurling it to reveal a transparent panel, lit up with a blue background. "What's the number Don?"
As Don read out the number, Fetter tapped it into the phone, each press letting out a fake tap noise. After the last number, Fetter tapped the green phone icon and held his breath. An unfamiliar sound went through.
"Hello?"
"The number you have dialed is not available," answered a monotone voice. "Please check that you have dialed the correct number, or if-"
Fetter hung up. With a click on the side of the black clip, the phone screen rolled back into its sheath.
"What happened?" asked Don.
"The phone didn't connect. I'm going to sleep."
He marched over to the corner, and laid down on the floor, draping his tattered jacket over himself.
"Are you tired too Don?" asked Nero, confused.
"No, it's only nine."
"Alright. I'm just gonna be on my computer. I guess do whatever you feel like," Nero said, sitting down at his desk. Don went and sat down on the bed as Fetter rolled over aggressively.
"Fuck I can't sleep." Fetter sat up on the floor.
"Then why are you trying to?" asked Don, looking over at him.
"Because I don't want to be awake anymore."
"When are you going to tell me about what happened? Why haven't we gone back to the base?"
"I don't want to talk about it. We can't though."
***
Meanwhile, below the surface of the city, a man with white hair stared at a wall of screens. Despite the color of his hair, he didn't look old, rather, he looked young and healthy, though remarkably average, except for his eyes. His eyes were sharp and had a cold, calculating look to them. Others in lab coats scuttled about around him, some tapping away on keyboards, others running across the room with tablets. The hollow sound of shoes clattering against the metal floor was a constant echo off of the pipes on the walls.
"Check District 7 more closely. I have a feeling," the man said. He waved a hand towards a screen on his right. "Enlarge monitor thirty-seven."
"Yes sir," one of others said as the wall shuttered off for a moment, dropping the room into darkness, right before it flashed back on, with all of the screens making up just the one image.
A cloaked woman, standing in the back, asked, "Why District 7?"
"Because I have a feeling that it's the place our target is hiding," he answered. "My feelings are never wrong. You should've known that would be the answer." He turned around, taking a few steps towards her. "Have you had any luck finding the key to our puzzle?"
"The girl? She's in District 5. Rumors of her at least. She's said to be in the care of a serial killer there. Quite an odd situation."
"That sounds like a fine opportunity to look like heroes to a teen girl."
"Manipulative as always, I see. I'm not quite so sure though."
"I just wish I was better at controlling idiots. Mendele has been a constant pain since we springed him from the IMB."
"Dr. Mendele? What'd he do this time?"
"He, of course, used his power, and his project, of course, got away. Now there's evidence that he's alive." The man spoke as though on the edge of just letting out a heavy sigh.
"Do you want me to go beat some sense into him?"
"No. I need you out on another mission. And beating him wouldn't give him any sense."
"So soon again?"
"Walk with me." The man looked over his shoulder, watching the others move about.
The pair left the room, leaving the large metal hatch open behind them. They walked through the tunnel for a while, until the sounds of footsteps behind them went silent.
"If you wouldn't mind soundproofing us," said the man.
The woman flicked her finger, letting a gust of wind flow through the stuffy tunnel. Her tattered brown cloak billowed away from her body, revealing a black bodysuit underneath it. With another wave, the gust came back, stopping right outside the pair of them, like a bubble.
"I'll be heading on a mission with you," he continued.
"Cyrus, you'll be leaving the lab? That's unheard of. You don't have a power capable of protecting you from-"
"Ira, Ira. It'll be fine. I have to do this. I have a feeling."
"You have a feeling, but you don't know what that feeling is leading you to."
"It's fate," Cyrus said. "It has brought me closer to my goals so far. It does nothing to question me on it. You always distrust me, but it always turns out fine, just look how close we are. We have this whole complex researching towards it."
"You are right. Forgive me Cyrus. As your lieutenant, it is my job to follow."
"We will be fetching the girl tonight."
"Tonight? Yes. We leave now." He pointed to a ladder, right next to them. "After you."
"Is this why you switched us to the eastern control room last week?" She started climbing up.
"It seems so."
After she was far enough up the ladder, he followed up behind her. They came out into an alley, safely empty. The woman jumped up into the night sky with a blast of air behind her, while Cyrus casually walked out into the streetlights with his white coat billowing around him.
***
"Stop, we're here," Cyrus whispered.
Ira dropped down next to him. The alley they were in smelled terrible, mostly like garbage but faintly like rotting flesh. Rats freely scampered around, fleeing away when they noticed the pair standing there. Ira looked at the rodents with a puzzled expression.
"Why?" asked a raspy voice.
Ira spun around, a thin man in a black jacket stood behind her. He was skinny and pale, but the look in his eye was intimidating. A knife hung down from his hand, glinting in the faint light from the street lamp.
"Where's the girl?" asked Cyrus, stepping up next to Ira.
"What girl?" the guy scoffed, slowly lifting up his knife.
"Alcina."
He stopped, furrowing his brow. "How do you know that name?" His voice had dropped in pitch, from excited hyena to a growling wolf.
"I know everything about you Jack," Cyrus continued. "From your birth, your parents, even the girl."
"Did she rat me out? No, course not. Where is she?" He went to walk past them.
Ira stepped out in front of him.
"The hell do you want? Don't push your luck any further," he snarled.
Ira slashed her hand, followed by a blast of wind. The man's hand, which was still gripped tightly to his knife, fell to the ground. He let out a squealing yell. As the man curled over, she pulled off her hood, revealing her dark purple hair.
Gritting his teeth, the man shot a murderous glance up at her. "A high level I see. Unfortunately you caught me off guard, Jack won't be so easy to bully now."
Where his hand had been turned pitch black, in a sort of formless shadow. Six tentacles, if they could be called that, sprouted out from behind him, made of the same darkness. He started laughing, like a hyena cornering its prey.
Cyrus walked around the corner of the alley, barely faster than a leisurely stroll. Jack lunged a tentacle forward, aiming straight at his back. Ira launched a blast of wind, swirling into a spike, right at Jack. If it wasn't for the dust it kicked up, it would have been invisible.
Using his other tentacles, he pushed himself off the ground and wall, letting the wind narrowly pass by his waist.
"Just my luck I'd have to fight against a man who never grew up," Ira said, launching more blasts and slices at him.
"Just my luck I'd have to fight a hag," Jack retorted, laughing fiercely. He launched a couple tentacles forward, forcing Ira to dodge.
Jack dashed forward, looking to take advantage of the break in her assault. Ready to thrust with his shadow hand, he jumped towards her, only to be met by a knee to the chest. He flew backwards, landing with a thud on the ground for only a moment before launching himself to the side. A vertical slash passed by where he had been, digging through the concrete ground as it sailed past. Seemingly without recovering, his tentacles dug into the walls, and he crawled along as he turned back to face Ira.
Cyrus looked around the alley, without a clue of what he was doing. After checking behind a few folded over boxes, he started humming.
Ira jumped back as a pair of tentacles slashed at her position, digging down into the concrete. Having missed their target, they were just another stepping stone for Jack to crawl along, seemingly with free movement in all directions. The whole time he just laughed.
Ira drew one of her knives, sliding it out from one of the many sheaths in her bodysuit. She needed all the advantage she could get against a serious opponent. It was likely he was also Level 4. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the knife sailing on a gust of wind towards Jack. Two tentacles jumped in front of it, swatting it out of the air. That knife had been going nearly two hundred miles per hour, and it was swatted from the air.
Jack's laugh changed to a short giggle, before rushing in at Ira again. This time, he was low to the ground, and didn't have an opening. She jumped back and then launched herself off a wall, flipping over to the other side of him.
His voice cracked out between squeals, "It seems... I have to get a little... serious." A white light lit up around him. Two more tentacles sprouted from his back, and a halo of white light formed above his head. The entire alley was as bright as daytime now. The tentacles reached out and stopped in the air, and then, with the tips of them in place, he rose up, hovering above the ground. He stopped laughing.
He was clearly not just Level 4. He really had been playing around. She knew that if she didn't finish him now, she stood no chance. It would be like trying to fight a tank with a pistol. Ira took a step back, her foot touching onto something. A plan clicked into place.
"You are a respectable fighter," said Ira, dropping her cloak to the floor. She wore a skintight suit, covered in straps and pockets of knives, dozens of them, almost like a suit of armor. She grabbed the knives from around her thighs, clenching all eight of them between her fingers.
"As are you. Unfortunately this is over," said Jack.
She threw, all at once, propelled on a blast of wind. In time with the throw, she kicked the knife under her foot behind her, catching it on a draft way into the air. As expected, Jack stopped all the knives with his tentacles, easily, with a smirk on his face. The knife in the air came down, straight from above. He reached up and caught it with his shadow hand.
"Thank you for returning my knife."
A percussive boom rang through the air, followed by the sound of a brass casing bouncing off of the concrete. No sooner had the shot been fired, than screaming came from down the alley. Cyrus put his gun, an ornate revolver, back into the hidden holster in his pants. He walked over to the sound of the wailing girl. The concrete wall that had been a dead end was gone, in it's place, was a small house formed from bricks. The teenage girl was curled up on some cardboard, clutching her head. Cyrus now stood above her, watching her writhe in pain.
Ira reached down, closing Jack's eyes as he lay on the concrete. She had lost, but even that had been taken from her.