We arrived at the gate to The Balk, situated between The Ville and E Town. The whole ride lasted about four hours, the interstate traffic cleared by a series of squad cars to expedite our arrival. The facility loomed ahead, an imposing structure designed to hold the most dangerous supervillains. As we approached, Sergeant Duke radioed in, "Two supers, one villain and one hero."
The first gates opened, and we passed over a bridge spanning a minefield. Two soldiers opened a secondary high-security gate, allowing us entry. We circled the facility, passing through a series of detectors and inspections, the process thorough and meticulous, before parking in a lot behind the building. A loud buzz vibrated through the van, and the asphalt rectangle beneath us began to lower the van into a subterranean space.
A detector whined around the van, the sound reminiscent of a metal detector, but likely more advanced—perhaps an explosive detector? Three military personnel opened the back door and rolled Muscle-Chain out, flanked by nine heavily armed men, into a separate chamber. Two men in suits walked in, their confidence evident in their gait.
One of them spoke up, "Sergeant, what's the rundown?"
Duke responded, "Brute Class, 10 tons. He's in emotional distress. Possible cognitive alteration."
The agent entered all of that information onto a computer tablet and walked off. The other agent remained, looking us over. "Who's the tall one?" he asked, nodding towards me.
"He's new, just wanted to show him the motions," Duke replied.
The agent raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with that answer. "Hybrid, Brute and Runner. Laid that one out with one punch. Speed is unknown. He beat Ingenia, even after she went full glow. Mach 8 to hazard a guess."
The agent inputted that information into his tablet computer. "Got a name?" he asked, looking directly at me.
"Not yet," I responded.
The agent gave a slight nod, accepting the answer for now. "Alright. Follow me."
Duke and I followed the agent deeper into the facility. The corridors were lined with reinforced steel, and the air was thick with an atmosphere of foreboding. Each step echoed, the sound bouncing off the walls and adding to the sense of confinement. Each step added to an itch on the back of my head, like I was being watched.
We were led to a large processing chamber where Muscle-Chain was being secured. He lay restrained on a gurney, his eyes still closed, a team of medical personnel checking his vitals and securing him further.
"Emotional distress and possible cognitive alteration, you said?" one of the doctors asked, looking up from Muscle-Chain's chart.
"That's right," Duke confirmed. "He's been through a lot. Whatever caused this needs to be identified and treated."
The doctor nodded, making notes. "We'll run a full battery of tests. If there's anything affecting his cognition, we'll find it."
"If and until then, he is a criminal and will be treated as such." The agent coldly said. "Thanks for bringing us another one, Duke."
Duke scoffed then signed some paper work a young woman with glasses handed him.
"All yours." The sergeant then turned to me, "Time to head back to Bluff."
"I suppose. We've got everything we need. Thanks again Sergeant." The agent met my eyes, "Hope to see you again soon, hero."
I pushed through my mounting migraine to reply with a smile beneath my face mask.
Duke and I walked back to the SWAT van. As we drove away, I couldn't shake the pestering pain at the base of my skull. Something there was off.
The trip back to Bluff City was a blur of exhaustion and contemplation. The four-hour ride gave me time to mull over everything that had transpired—Muscle-Chain's breakdown, Ingenia's fury, and the overarching sense that something bigger was at play. The sergeant and his team were quiet, perhaps reflecting on the events as well.
One of the SWAT guys waved to grab my attention. A young man with a grin that seemed out of place after the night we'd had.
He said, "Hey, Vance, got any tips for getting blood out of a costume? Asking for a friend."
I laughed, but it was a hollow sound.
"Cold water, maybe?" I replied, but internally, I was grappling with the phantom pains of knives being buried in my skin.
When we finally arrived in Bluff City, the van veered away from the main entrance of the metro hospital where Michael Pembrose was being treated. Instead, we rounded the block and pulled up to a seemingly nondescript rear entrance. The sergeant leaned out of the window, muttering a code into an intercom. A moment later, a hidden door slid open, revealing a ramp that led down a brightly lit corridor.
"This is where you get off," Sergeant Duke said, helping me out of the van. "We're taking you to the subhospital. It's a bit more private."
I stepped out, my legs feeling like jelly, and followed Duke down the ramp. The brightness of the corridor was almost blinding after the dim confines of the van. As we emerged into the subhospital, my fatigue was momentarily forgotten, replaced by sheer amazement.
The facility looked like a normal hospital at first glance—sterile white walls, nurses bustling about, the hum of medical equipment. But as I looked closer, I realized the entire place was filled with costumed heroes and vigilantes, some tending to their wounds, others visiting friends. It was a hidden world within the city, one I had never known existed.
A tall man with a visor and a sleek black suit, nodded at me as he passed. Nearby, a woman in a bright orange outfit, her hands glowing with a faint light, was chatting with a nurse.
Further down the hall, a duo caught my eye—a burly man with tattoos running up his arms, and a large metal prosthesis over his jaw. A lithe woman with whips that coiled around her wrists and a large shield on her back.
"This way," Duke said, leading me through the bustling hallway. "We'll get you checked out and make sure you're in good shape. Then you can rest."
As we walked, I spotted more heroes— a gadgeteer with a suit bristling with various devices. I shivered at the memory of the last person I met with gadgets. Someone dressed in a purple stage magicians outfit with accents of neon green and a pair of bunnies on his shoulder. She walked alongside a woman made of ice and a man made of fire.
We finally reached a private room. Duke gestured for me to sit on the bed. A nurse came in, checking my vitals and bandaging the few wounds I had that hadn't already healed.
"Welcome to the place that heals people that save people," Duke said with a smile. "It's where we bring in our own when they need help. You're one of us now, Vance. We take care of our own."
I nodded, feeling a sense of belonging wash over me. Despite the chaos, the battles, and the pain, there was a strange comfort in knowing I was part of something bigger.
"One of us? I am not a cop." I replied.
"Oh?" Duke said, "Well, I am not just a cop."
I gave a quizzical look, but our conversation was cut short when my doctor walked in. I recognized him immediately.
"Doctor Walters," I said as he entered the room. He looked at me with a puzzled expression, clearly not recognizing me under my makeshift outfit.
Sergeant Duke, who had been seated in the second chair beside me, gave a nod.
"I'll be outside if you need anything," he said, respecting my privacy.
He left the room, closing the door behind him.
"Do I know you?" he asked, pulling up a chair to read through the nurses comments.
"It's Vance," I replied, wincing slightly as I shifted on the bed. "Vance from the subway explosion."
Walters' eyes widened in recognition.
"Vance? The Vance who made that miraculous recovery from the burns and fractures?" He looked me over, noting the uniform. "Well, you've certainly had an interesting turn of events."
Walters retrieved his own medical instruments and began his examination, his hands gentle but thorough. "You've been through quite the ordeal again," he commented, examining the cuts and bruises that were already beginning to heal. "This is beyond what we saw last time. You're healing incredibly fast, even by superhero standards."
I nodded, trying to focus on the doctor's words despite the exhaustion weighing down on me. "Yeah, it's... it's been a rough night."
Walters gave a sympathetic nod, continuing his work. "Why are your undergarments stiff?"
"It's my blood."
"Sweet cherry pie!" Walters exclaimed. "You lost that much blood and still are conscious? Alive?"
"I was patching up the cuts as fast as I got them. For minutes." I weakly said.
"I wish I could get you a CAT scan." The doctor sighed and continued his examination.
As he finished up, he looked me in the eye. "You're going to be okay, Vance. But please do not stress your system too much. As much as saying it to any of you lot is worth: You are still human. You can still die."
I gave him a tired smile. "Thanks, Doc. I wish I could repay you."
Walters nodded, standing up and packing away his medical kit. "I challenge you to get some sleep and eat a hardy breakfast. That's repayment enough."