-
-
DATE:8th of July, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
-------------------------------------------------
-
-
The side of the building loomed over us as we approached, its glass panels reflecting the faint city lights. Alice gave me a reassuring nod before placing her hand on my shoulder. In an instant, I felt the weight of my body practically vanish. She was already starting to float herself, and with a subtle motion, she began guiding me upward toward the vent door.
I tapped my earpiece. "Emily, shut off the AC."
"Done," her monotone voice responded.
As we ascended, the wind picked up, a sharp, biting chill cutting through the air. I had to brace myself against the glass as it pushed us around, but Alice's mastery of her power kept us close to the surface. Her movements were precise, calculated, making sure we didn't drift too far or lose control.
We reached the vent door, and I pulled out my screwdriver, beginning the tedious process of loosening the bolts. Alice, ever resourceful, used her gravity manipulation to make them even easier to unscrew, practically lifting the weight off them.
Once the last bolt was removed, I handed the vent panel to Alice. She took it, steadying herself in the air. "Get the others up here," I said quietly. "I'll head in and find the exit point."
She nodded, lowering herself back toward the others as I slipped into the vent.
Inside, the metallic surface was cold against my palms, and every movement echoed slightly in the confined space. "Emily, guide me," I whispered, crawling forward.
"About ten meters ahead," she replied, her tone calm as ever. "There's an exit vent into an inventory closet."
The crawl wasn't difficult, but disconnecting the next vent panel was a different story. The screws were rusted and cheap, and the contractors clearly hadn't cared much for quality. After some struggling, I gave up trying to be subtle and simply broke the bolts loose. The metal creaked as I pulled the vent open.
I peered into the closet below. It was a standard inventory room, filled with shelves of office supplies—reams of paper, ink cartridges, pens, and a few cleaning supplies. No immediate threats.
Behind me, I heard the faint sound of Ulkip moving in the vent. I turned and put a finger to my lips, signaling him to stay quiet. He nodded, crouching just out of sight of the opening.
I carefully lowered the vent door, ensuring it didn't slam or make any unnecessary noise. "Stay here until Alice and Amelia get up," I whispered to Ulkip. "I'll scout ahead."
He gave another curt nod, staying put as I dropped silently into the inventory room. The faint hum of the building's systems buzzed in the background, but otherwise, everything seemed eerily calm.
Time to move.
I stepped into the office corridor, taking in the untouched desks, computers, and scattered personal items. It was eerie how normal it looked, as if the employees had simply left for the day, completely unaware of the chaos that would follow. Emily's sensors swept the area ahead of me, her detached voice confirming, *"No devices detected. IR, night vision, laser, and frequency scans are clear."*
It seemed they didn't anticipate anyone coming up from the lower floors. They might have assumed a helicopter landing would prompt an assault from above. If they'd reinforced anything, it would have been those stairs. I still couldn't be sure, but the lack of traps here meant one thing—I had a clean route to the 17th floor.
After confirming the way to the stairs, I circled back to the inventory room. Everyone was already there: Ulkip, Alice, and Amelia.
I glanced at Ulkip and then at the ceiling above us. "Think you can punch through this? Create a distraction right above the meeting room?"
He gave me a dubious look, his brow furrowing. "You realize floors like these are reinforced with rebar, right? I might be able to destroy the padding, but making a full hole big enough to drop through? Not likely."
It was what I expected, but chaos had its uses. "Do it anyway. Hit it as hard as you can. Noise might make them scatter or panic. We need any edge we can get."
Ulkip nodded, cracking his knuckles.
I turned to Emily. "Inject the serum."
*"Understood."* The earpiece buzzed faintly, and I felt a familiar sharp warmth course through my veins, followed by the heightened awareness that always came with it. Time would soon be in my favor.
I outlined the plan. "We go in from the stairs. Alice, Amelia—you two take out anyone in the manager offices or hallways. Clear stragglers. I'll handle the meeting room and their leader. Mark Dwaine's mine."
Before we could move, a noise drew my attention—a faint creak from the floor above. I froze, gesturing for silence, and then I saw him.
A gangster, descending from the 19th floor, his weapon in hand, scanning the 18th like a scout. He hadn't noticed me yet.
I didn't give him the chance. In one fluid motion, I drew one of my knives and flung it. The blade sailed through the air, embedding itself in his neck with a sickening *thud.* He gasped, dropped his gun, and collapsed to the ground.
I moved quickly to recover the weapon, pulling my knife free and wiping it on his jacket. Blood pooled around him, the metallic tang hitting my nose.
"They'll know we're here now," I said, glancing at the others. "Get into position. It's starting."
I ran downstairs followed by Alice and Amelia
While Ulkip destroyed the ceeling with a maximum strength punch. The whole floor shaked. And most of the glass panels and windows broke.
I use my abilities to run past the van guards right when they start raising their guns.
It was hard to see in the meeting room with all the debris in the air, but I look for the managers and check under their vests. Yup, they all had bombs strapped to them.
I start cutting the belts in that slowed time, carefully removing the explosive vests and throwing them outside. They stopped in the air about 5 m due to the fall in momentum, but I wasn't going to jump out to push them further.
Emily confirms he is another man.
He looked scared. Was he a new recruit? Or perhaps... No.... Could Dwaine have replaced their clothes and this is one of the managers? I regretted not having a picture of the hostages to reference. I take out the gun in his hand and throw it out before looking around the room.
The gangsters are starting to be react, not understanding who was moving in the room. I was too fast for them to see.
I start taking out their masks, and realize a strange coincidence. Not all, but a lot of them don't have thefaces of criminals.
Sure, these days everyone wants to say that there isn't "a face of a criminal", but that is preponderous. You can tell a criminal by his scars or tattoos. Some of these men didn't appear like that. No, they look like civilians.
Did Dwaine swap managers and gangsters?
It made sense in a way. It was almost a bluff. If I killed any of them I could have been labeled as a villain. Half of the goal of the Combine gang is discrediting the heroes. That is an exaggeration but not having us around with certainly made their job easier.
I stop myself from exhaling, realizing the severity of the situation. My mind races as I try to piece it all together. If the hostages and gangsters were swapped, if this whole setup was a game, then every move I made would be scrutinized. One mistake, one misstep, and I would be done.
"I can't confirm if the bombs are real," she says. "The slowed-time environment is interfering with analysis."
The fake leader in front of me trembles, his face pale. I grab him by the collar and shake him slightly, trying to get any hint of a response. He mumbles incoherently, fear plastered across his features. If this is Dwaine's game, then this man is either a planted manager or a decoy.
I shove him to the side, careful not to injure him, and focus on the remaining gangsters. I begin pulling off their masks one by one, confirming the same unsettling pattern: some look like hardened criminals, others look like office workers, their faces far too clean for this kind of life.
I toss another vest out the broken window, watching as it hovers momentarily before starting its descent. My lungs burn—four and a half minutes.
"Emily," I whisper, my voice strained. "How many gangsters did we see coming in? Is the number adding up?"
There's a pause, and then her reply: "It's close, but the gangsters accounted for are slightly less than the number in the database files for this group."
"Meaning there are still real gangsters unaccounted for."
"Possibly, yes."
The dust finally begins to settle as my time slows further. The remaining gangsters—real or fake—are starting to piece together what's happening. I grab a chair and smash it against the nearest one's knees, taking him down. He cries out in pain, confirming he's not one of the trained fighters.
This is all wrong. I need to retreat and reassess. My air is nearly gone, and my movements are becoming less precise. I have a minute at most.
Just as I'm about to head for the door, I hear something. A faint beep-beep-beep sound coming from one of the discarded vests.
It's real. At least one of the bombs is live.
I focus. The new goal was stopping the leader from activating the explosive until it falls enough to stop being dangerous.
I go over who is in the room.
5 managers and 7 gangsters including their leader.
The one dressed as the leader isn't the leader and one of the gangsters definitely isn't a gangster.
This leaves 10 suspects.
All managers look civilian, but three of the gangsters also look civilian.
I ask Emily to tell me how many managers there are supposed to be:
4 managers and 3 directors so 7 are civilian.
With the 2 confirmed 5 remain.
This means that even if all people dressed as managers are civilian, two of the gangsters also are. But are those two gangsters the ones with no tattoos or scars? Furthermore, couldn't the three remaining gangsters who look like gangsters also be civilians?
I have no reference photo so I can't tell if the ones dressed as civilians are really civilians
The situation spirals in my mind, tangled in layers of deception. I have no time to dwell on the unknowns—the bombs outside are falling, and the leader could trigger them at any moment.
"Emily," I whisper, glancing between the terrified managers and gangsters. "Scan for any remote detonator signals or anomalies on their persons."
*"On it,"* Emily replies, her processing humming in the back of my ear.
I exhale.
The room feels tense, the managers huddling together, trembling. The gangsters—some armed, some disoriented—glance at each other with suspicion, unsure if their own ranks have been compromised.
I step closer to the supposed leader, grabbing him by the collar. He's shaking, eyes darting, clearly terrified. I snarl, low enough for only him to hear, "If you're not the leader, you're about to die like one. Who's controlling the explosives?"
He stammers, "I-I don't know! Please, I'm just—"
A sharp crack of gunfire cuts through the air, and I barely dodge as a bullet zips past my ear. One of the tattooed gangsters—the real deal—raises his gun again, but Alice's gravity field kicks in, pinning him to the floor before he can fire.
"Four individuals show unusual radio frequencies consistent with transmitters," Emily reports.
"Mark them!" I bark.
Four glowing outlines appear in my vision, highlighting two managers and two gangsters. The two gangsters marked as suspects have clean appearances—no scars or tattoos.
"This is a trick," I mutter to myself, piecing it together. *They want me to hesitate. They're betting I won't risk harming civilians to neutralize the threat.*
I raise my voice, addressing everyone in the room: "Everyone stay still! Hands where I can see them!"
I step toward one of the marked managers, a middle-aged man sweating profusely. "You've got one chance. Who's your leader?"
The man freezes, his lips trembling as he glances at the others. His hesitation confirms it: he's not an innocent.
I jab my knife toward his throat. "I said, who's your leader?"
Before he can answer, the real leader reveals himself: one of the "civilian" gangsters lunges at me with a knife of his own.
I sidestep, narrowly avoiding the blade, and drive my knee into his stomach, forcing him to the ground. With one swift motion, I disarm him and slam the hilt of my knife against his temple, dazing him.
"Confirmed: this is Mark Dwaine," Emily announces.
"Good." I secure him with a zip tie from my pocket, pressing my knife to his neck. "Deactivate the bombs, Dwaine. Now."
He laughs weakly, blood trickling from his lip. "You think you've won? You don't even know which ones are real."
I grit my teeth. "Emily, status on the bombs outside?"
Just then Dwaine clicks his tongue and the bombs below explode together with one of the rooms surrounding the meeting room.
The blasts shook the entire building. I barely had time to register the destruction before Dwaine leapt at me, taking me down hard to the ground. Fragments from the thin wall rattled against us, but his lower position shielded him from the brunt of it, leaving me disoriented as I fought to regain my focus.
"Kill the hostages!" he shouted to the gangsters, his voice echoing through the chaos.
I sucked in another breath, slowing time once more, even as the building continued to rumble dangerously.
Dwaine was on top of me, his hands tightening around my throat. My vision swam as I grabbed at his wrists, twisting sharply to break his grip. Using the momentum of the slowed time, I rolled us over, pinning him beneath me.
His hands fought to regain their hold, but I forced his arms apart and delivered three heavy kicks to his head. Each one landed with a sickening thud, his resistance fading until he slumped unconscious.
"I should keep him alive for questioning," I muttered, retrieving my knife.
With Dwaine incapacitated, I turned my attention to the rest of the gangsters. They were moving toward the hostages, their weapons raised. I had no time for mercy.
I sprinted through the room, knife flashing as I slit the throats of each gangster before they could pull the trigger. Blood spilled across the floor, their bodies collapsing in slowed time like lifeless marionettes.
As I exhaled and time resumed, the chaos outside the meeting room grew louder. Gunfire and the sounds of combat echoed down the hall.
I turned back to the businessmen, quickly assessing their condition. They were shaken, their faces pale and wide-eyed, but unharmed. The bomb vests were gone, thanks to my earlier efforts.
"You're safe," I said curtly, though I wasn't sure if they were reassured or terrified of me.
Gripping my knife tightly, I stood and moved toward the door, ready to rejoin the fight and end this once and for all.
Only 30 seconds had passed in the real world, but the situation had shifted dramatically.
I glanced left and saw Alice and Amelia crouched behind an ice wall, shielding themselves from seven gangsters in the managerial room. The room was frozen over, the air thick with cold. To my right, five gangsters were pinned to the ground, struggling against Alice's gravitational power.
Without hesitation, I pulled out my Beretta and fired. My shots were clean and precise, each bullet finding its mark in the heads of the gangsters. They dropped like dominoes, their weapons clattering uselessly to the floor.
As I approached Alice and Amelia, the faint sound of a gun clicking behind me made my blood run cold.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him—one of the managers, now wearing Mark's bloody ski mask. He had a pistol aimed squarely at my back.
"Freeze!" he shouted, his voice sharp and commanding. "Move, and I'll shoot."
I slowly turned to face him, hands raised slightly. "Why are you doing this?" I asked, keeping my voice calm.
His eyes burned with zealotry. "The world is corrupt," he spat. "I won't stand its pestilence any longer. The Donn... you killed him!"
"I didn't kill the Donn," I replied evenly. "That wasn't me."
"Liar!" he snarled, his grip tightening on the pistol.
I began to inhale slowly, silently. Time stretched and slowed as I activated my ability again.
I shifted a step to the left, dodging the path of his weapon, and raised my Beretta. With a single shot, I hit his right wrist, forcing him to drop the gun.
Holstering my pistol, I closed the distance in an instant, wrapping my arms around his neck from behind. As time resumed, we fell to the ground together, his struggles frantic and panicked.
I tightened my grip, cutting off his airflow just enough to make him lose consciousness. His movements weakened, and soon he went limp beneath me. What was his idea? To make a villain debut? With no power? In this day and age?
I exhaled, releasing him carefully and ensuring he wasn't dead. "One less problem for now," I muttered, glancing back at Alice and Amelia.
"Are you two alright?" I asked, already giving out from exhaustion. These should be all of them.
Alice and Amelia emerged from behind the icy barricade as Ulkip descended the stairs to join us. His face twisted into a scowl as he took in the scene.
"Looks like you've got it all handled," he said with a scoff, clearly annoyed at being left out of the action.
Amelia stepped closer, her gaze lingering on the aftermath. "I didn't think you were this powerful, Aionis," she remarked, a hint of genuine surprise in her voice.
"Me?" I feigned confusion, looking around as if I had no idea what she was talking about. "I don't know what you're referring to."
Alice ignored the exchange and asked me about the managers. I nodded toward the meeting room. "See for yourself."
She hurried to the meeting room and found the six executives—four in their normal clothes and two still wearing gangster disguises. They were slumped against the walls, trembling with stress but unharmed.
Alice knelt down to reassure them. "It's over now," she said gently. "We're going to get you out of here safely."
She stood and turned to me. "There could still be bombs on the lower floors," she said. "I'll float them down two at a time to the ground level."
"Good call," I agreed.
One by one, Alice used her gravity manipulation to lower the six men safely out of the building. She notified Vobile personnel on the ground to send a bomb squad in to clear the lower staircases.
In the meantime, I retrieved a pair of handcuffs from my back pocket. I cuffed Mark Dwaine and the rogue manager, both of whom were still unconscious. Amelia helped me drag them into the meeting room, where we placed them against the far wall.
As for the seven gangsters encased in ice, they remained frozen in place. Amelia examined the ice briefly before shaking her head. "I don't have the ability to melt this. They're probably already dead anyway." She was surprisingly apathetic to the fact she killed seven men. Alice would have gone into depression if it was her. I already saw her looking gloomy from seeing the gangsters I killed, but I suppose Blood is never a good sight.
"Then they're not our problem anymore," I said flatly, glancing at the immobile figures.
We settled into a watchful silence, guarding the unconscious captives and waiting for the bomb squad's clearance.
After the bomb squad arrived, they took Mark Dwaine and the rogue manager, carrying them down while we followed. The atmosphere was tense as we exited the building.
At the entrance, the Vobile commander was waiting, clearly agitated. He pointed toward the damaged entrance, the remnants of the earlier explosions. "Look at this mess!" he barked. "Do you realize how much damage you've caused? Who's going to—"
I cut him off mid-rant with a swift punch to his face, sending him stumbling back. My voice was low and sharp. "I don't work for you. I just put my life on the line while you stayed safe in your truck."
He didn't respond, simply standing there with his hands clasped behind his back, glaring at me.
I scanned the scene. None of the Vobile personnel raised their weapons, but their expressions told a different story. They weren't supportive—they were afraid. Their uneasy glances confirmed it. Had they seen me through some drone? Emily hadn't mentioned anything.
Whatever. It didn't matter.
Amelia and Ulkip approached to part ways. Amelia offered a brief "Good job," while Ulkip muttered something about wasted time before walking off. I noticed the Chou girl standing nearby, waiting for us with an impatient air.
"Go home," I told her bluntly, brushing past. "And next time, don't take so long to get here."
As I was about to leave, Alice caught up to me.
"You know we need to make a report, right?" she said, her tone firm.
I turned to her, already annoyed. "Why?"
"Because you're a team leader, not some unassigned freelancer," she reminded me, crossing her arms.
I sighed heavily, the weight of responsibility pressing down. "Fine."
With that, we boarded a bus together, heading toward the Hero HQ. Alice sat silently beside me, staring out the window. I leaned back, closing my eyes briefly, preparing for this bureaucratic ordeal.
It took me about an hour? Mostly because I am not proficient with writing reports. My jobs as a mercenary weren't so formal.
Alice had to guide me and by the time we finished we were both exhausted.
We took another ride on the bus home, both having sweat our asses off. I said I would take a bath, but she commented she wanted to do that first. As a compromise I offered that we go together.
She froze a little, before weakly agreeing.
It wasn't that bad. Her bath was big and Alice herself is really small...
Anyway, I after our bath I went to the grocery store on ground floor and bought some fish to cook. I didn't cook something like this in a while.
I pulled out the fresh sea bass from the bag, rinsing it under cold water before patting it dry. I scored the skin lightly to let the flavors seep in, then rubbed it generously with olive oil, sea salt, cracked black pepper, and a mix of dried oregano and thyme.
On the counter, I quickly minced some garlic and finely chopped fresh parsley. I stuffed the cavity of the fish with thin slices of lemon, fresh rosemary, and more parsley, giving it an aromatic core.
In a cast-iron skillet, I heated olive oil until it shimmered, then carefully placed the fish inside. The sizzle filled the quiet apartment. As it cooked, I spooned the hot oil over the fish to crisp the skin, flipping it only once to preserve its delicate flesh.
While the fish cooked, I prepared a simple side: a fresh salad of cherry tomatoes, cucumber, red onion, and kalamata olives, all tossed in a light vinaigrette of lemon juice and olive oil, seasoned with salt and a pinch of sumac.
Once the fish was golden and aromatic, I plated it on a wooden board, splitting it neatly in two and drizzling a bit of extra virgin olive oil on top for a final touch.
Alice sat at the table, her head resting on her hand, visibly drained but watching me quietly as I served.
At dinner, the room was silent except for the faint clinking of forks against plates.
"This is good," Alice murmured, breaking the silence.
I nodded, chewing thoughtfully. "It's simple. Always works." My uncle from my mother's side was a fisherman. My father being a butcher didn't really bother with fish despite the fact we lived close to the coast. Despite that, he couldn't say no when my uncle would give us fish from what he gathered. He for one didn't like the taste, and me trying to take after him also refused to eat it, but being hit by my mother with a kitchen mallet only worsened my appetite to it. How "ungrateful" I was...
Later in life took to appreciate the taste. It was nice of my uncle to give us the fish, especially when he wasn't doing that good himself. I suppose the meat from the butchery compensated for it.
We ate slowly, savoring the meal more for its warmth and comfort than its flavor. Neither of us had much energy for conversation, and that was fine. The food filled the gaps where words might have gone.
Afterward, Alice cleared the plates while I rinsed the skillet. We didn't say much, the exhaustion of the day evident in every movement.
When the kitchen was clean, we headed to bed without another word. The weight of the day finally caught up with us as we collapsed onto the mattress, the world outside fading away.-*-*-*-*-*