Chapter 20 The Storm Breaks

  I leaned back against the bulkhead, crossing my arms as I kept my gaze on Sharpy sashaying her way to me. “Tell me about our would-be teammates,” I said, though my interest was mostly piqued by the men in military fatigues. “And while you’re at it, tell me about the captain.”

  Sharpy shrugged, leaning casually against the railing, as if she wasn’t about to dish out sensitive information. “Fine. Marauder’s straightforward: Enhanced-3 and Bruiser-3. Big guy, solid as a tank, and about as subtle as one. He’s your typical hit-first-ask-questions-later type.”

  I raised a brow. “So, a walking wrecking ball.”

  “Pretty much,” she said with a smirk. “Then there’s Vortex. Teleporter-4 and Aerokinetic-3. He’s got a knack for keeping enemies off balance, literally. Good at hit-and-run tactics, which makes him useful when you need chaos.”

  I nodded, filing that away. Teleporters were always tricky to deal with, especially when paired with another power.

  “Blackout’s next,” she continued. “Electrokinetic-2 and Researcher-4. She’s the thinker of the group. Built some tech that keeps her identity hidden, pretty effective too. She’s not a heavy hitter, but her gadgets make her invaluable in strategic operations. Just don’t expect her to go toe-to-toe with someone like Marauder.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “What about the triplets?”

  Sharpy’s expression darkened slightly, and she glanced around as if making sure no one was eavesdropping. “The Triplets: Enhanced-4, Replicator-3, and Teleporter-2. Not much is known about them, except that their powers have some kind of symbiotic relationship. When they’re close to each other, their powers amplify, especially their spatial awareness. Makes them unnervingly good with firearms. They’re professionals, efficient, deadly, and they don’t waste time. They’re the kind of people you don’t want to underestimate.”

  Great. A trio of sharpshooting killers with enhanced physicality and teleportation. That sounded like a logistical nightmare for anyone going up against them.

  “And the captain?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

  “Mathilda,” Sharpy said, her voice dropping slightly. “Acoustokinetic-6. She’s the real deal, but she doesn’t like getting her hands dirty unless she has to. Most of the time, she stays in the background, giving orders and using her powers as a last resort. You might not even see her in action unless the shitter really hit the fan.”

  “Good to know,” I muttered, digesting all the information.

  Sharpy tilted her head in mock consternation. “Anything else, Eclipse?”

  I considered it for a moment before asking, “Jonas? What’s his deal? Anything on him?”

  She let out a low chuckle. “Jonas, huh? You noticed him, didn’t you? Smart. He’s Enhanced-2 and has some kind of tactical expertise. He’s the kind of guy who knows how to read a room and keep everyone in line without making a fuss. Mathilda trusts him, he’s practically her right-hand man. If there’s someone who knows what’s really going on behind the scenes, it’s probably him.”

  That was worth noting. Jonas had struck me as someone who kept things running smoothly, but now I realized he might be more integral than he let on.

  “Thanks,” I said, my mind already working through the implications of what she’d told me.

  "Anytime, kid." Sharpy gave me a playful salute. “Just try not to get yourself killed. I need someone to banter with, and you’re not half bad at it. Also, I don't work for you, so now, you owe me one.”

  “Are we expecting Vanguard and SRC activity?” I asked Sharpy, my voice low. “Jonas seemed to be bracing for it.”

  Sharpy was about to reply, but she didn’t get the chance.

  The sharp crackle of a megaphone pierced the air, followed by an authoritative voice booming through the night. “Surrender! You are surrounded!”

  The words were a gut punch, but I forced myself to stay composed. Outside, SRC vehicles rolled into view, their floodlights casting harsh beams across the ship. SRC troopers emerged, forming precise lines, their firearms gleaming ominously under the light. Above us, an SRC helicopter hovered, its searchlight sweeping over the ship’s deck.

  I moved to the edge of the railing, peering out at the chaos. My gaze locked onto a group of figures standing out from the uniformed SRC troops. Even from this distance, their presence was unmistakable. Vanguard had arrived.

  Sword Meister stood at the forefront, his signature blade glowing faintly in the dark, a beacon of authority and power. To his right was Garuda, his wings spread wide, the faint shimmer of his forcefield visible even from here. Iron Bulwark loomed behind them, a massive, armored figure that seemed to absorb the light around him. Thunderbolt stood slightly off to the side, electricity crackling along her arms as she flexed her fingers in anticipation.

  And then there was Promise. The most unassuming of the lot, she carried herself with a quiet confidence that belied her formidable power.

  I frowned, my mind racing. If Vanguard had deployed their full visible roster, it meant their stealth assets, Nightgard and Greyhound, were already in play. The absence of their presence was louder than words. Somewhere out there, hidden from sight, they were setting up their moves.

  Sharpy cursed under her breath. “That’s not good.”

  “An understatement,” I muttered. My eyes scanned the scene, noting the placement of the troopers, the vehicles, the helicopter, and the glowing figures of Vanguard. This wasn’t just a routine SRC raid. They were here for something specific.

  “Think they know about the cargo?” I asked Sharpy, keeping my voice calm despite the tension thrumming in my veins.

  She shrugged, her expression dark. “Could be. Or maybe they’re just here to make an example of us. Either way, this isn’t going to be easy.”

  I nodded. “Where’s Jonas?”

  Sharpy tilted her head toward the deck below. “Probably rallying the others. If you’re smart, you’ll do the same. This isn’t the time to play lone wolf, kid.”

  She was right. As much as I hated the idea of relying on anyone else, this wasn’t a situation I could handle solo.

  “I’ll find him,” I said, stepping back from the railing.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  I phased through the floor, moving swiftly and quietly, circling the ship in a fruitless search for Jonas. The chaos outside was a backdrop of distant shouts, blaring megaphones, and the ominous hum of the SRC helicopter circling above. I kept to the shadows, but frustration brewed within me. Jonas was nowhere to be found, and time wasn’t on my side.

  As I turned to phase through another wall, a voice whispered into my ear.

  “Mask.”

  I froze. The voice wasn’t in my head, and it wasn’t coming from any communicator. Not that we were provided with anything at all. The voice was everywhere, but also eerily close. Captain Mathilda’s acoustokinetic handiwork.

  “You’re on guard duty,” she said, her words clear and deliberate. “Head left and descend to the lowest floor. Defend the cargo from any intruder. Kill them if you can. If the SRC and Vanguard are willing to escalate this much, we must retaliate in kind.”

  Before I could respond, the voice dissipated like smoke in the wind, leaving behind only silence.

  Orders were orders. I phased through the nearest wall, heading downward. The ship's metal layers passed around me as I dropped further into its depths. The atmosphere shifted as I descended... a heavy stillness wrapped around me, colder and more oppressive with every level. The air reeked of oil and rust, the kind of smell that made you feel like you were inhaling the ship itself.

  After a few drops, I landed in the cargo hold, a cavernous space dimly lit by flickering overhead lights. Shadows danced across towering crates and machinery, their edges sharp and menacing.

  In the center of the room, surrounded by an eerie emptiness, was a lone cargo container. It was large, unmarked, and unnervingly still. I approached it cautiously, my steps silent on the metallic floor. When I reached out to phase through it, I felt the telltale resistance of neutralizer properties.

  Whatever was inside, it wasn’t meant to be tampered with... not even by someone like me.

  I dropped onto my belly near the container, letting the shadows envelop me. With my body flat against the cold steel, I strained my ears, listening for the slightest hint of movement.

  Best case scenario, I wouldn’t need to fight. Worst case... well, I was prepared.

  Minutes ticked by, the silence amplifying every creak of the ship and the distant muffled sound from above. My heart pounded steadily in my chest, a rhythmic reminder of the stakes.

  The Vanguard wasn’t subtle. If they were making a play, it wouldn’t take long.

  As I lay there, hidden and ready, my mind wandered to the cargo itself. What was so valuable that it warranted this level of attention? What could possibly drive the SRC and the Vanguard to work together? Mathilda’s orders played on repeat in my mind.

  Defend the cargo. Kill if necessary.

  Lying on the cold steel floor, I psyched myself up, convincing myself that I could do this. I was a killer now, wasn’t I? That was what villains did. Callouses were supposed to grow over my heart with every act of violence, every body that fell by my hand. It was all part of the transformation, wasn’t it? A better villain and a heftier wallet. That’s how I rationalized it.

  Mathilda’s voice drifted into my ears again, her acoustokinetic manipulation impeccable.

  “Blackout has jammed the enemy communications and disrupted their more complicated technology. Feel free to let loose, but stay within your level.”

  Her words weren’t just an order; they were encouragement. Mathilda wanted me to kill... no, she expected me to kill. The bonus danced through my mind again, a carrot dangling just out of reach. Such a bloodthirsty policy, and yet… I hesitated.

  You’re a villain, right? You’re the bad guy, right? Kill.

  The thought coiled around my mind like a serpent, but it didn’t sink its fangs deep enough. Not yet. My brain reminded me of the logical conclusion: the SRC was here to end us, to take us down no matter the cost. Killing them would be nothing more than survival. And yet…

  My heart, that treacherous muscle, whispered something different. It questioned everything. If killing was so essential, so easy, why did the idea churn my stomach? Why did it claw at the edges of my psyche?

  I tried to reason with myself. Maybe if it were another gang, I’d feel less conflicted. A rival outfit, some corrupt mercenaries, even random vigilantes... maybe that would have felt cleaner. But this was the SRC. These were people who believed they were doing the right thing. Sure, they were misguided, hypocritical even, but their motivations weren’t evil.

  The human heart was a labyrinth of contradictions. My brain screamed at me to act, but my heart clung stubbornly to its doubts.

  “If I’m going to kill someone,” I muttered under my breath, “I don’t want to feel bad about it.”

  The words hung in the air, an admission I hadn’t planned to make. A sick laugh threatened to escape my throat. How absurd. It wasn’t just about killing. I wanted to feel good about it. Not the act itself, but the justification. To know, deep down, that I was in the right.

  A psychotic way of thinking, sure, but wasn’t I a little psychotic to begin with?

  My thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the day I killed Sunstrider. That hadn’t been deliberate. It had been a collision of desperation, coincidence, and circumstance... a cascade of decisions and reactions that led to one ultimate chemical reaction: his death.

  Even now, it didn’t feel real. Sunstrider’s demise had been a thing of the past, but I’d been a bystander in my own victory. A freak accident, more than an act of villainy.

  This was different. This would be deliberate.

  I tightened my grip on the fishing line I’d coiled into my utility belt. My heartbeat slowed as I calmed myself, focusing on the task at hand.

  No matter what, I couldn’t afford to hesitate when the moment came.

  I was still psyching myself up when I heard the faint sound of boots against the metallic floor. It was subtle, almost drowned out by the hum of machinery in the cargo hold, but I caught it. Someone was here.

  No more time for doubts.

  I stayed flat, playing possum, every muscle in my body tense and ready. Whoever it was, they’d have to come close before they saw me. And when they did, I’d decide whether this was a kill I could live with, or one I couldn’t avoid.

  I let my body slip into full intangibility, feeling the faint buzz that always accompanied the shift. The room blurred slightly around the edges as the solid world ceased to matter. I could see the SRC troopers moving cautiously into the cargo hold. There were nine of them, standard SRC gear, all precision and efficiency.

  But it wasn’t the troopers that held my attention. It was the capes leading the group…

  The first one I recognized immediately: Wormhole. His all-black outfit, complete with a long trench coat, was iconic enough, but it was the wormhole he just created that really gave him away. Wormhole wasn’t just any cape; he was known for his ability to fold space to his advantage. He wasn’t from this city, though, which raised some questions.

  Next to him stood Nightgard, clad in his dark cape and black knight-inspired armor. The faint gleam of his visor reflected the dim light in the cargo hold, making him look more menacing than any of the others.

  Then there was Greyhound, sporting his wolf-themed costume, all sleek lines and predatory grace. He was a tracker by trade, known for sniffing out targets with unsettling precision. If Greyhound were here, they were serious about hunting something... or someone.

  I flattened myself against the floor, barely daring to breathe as I strained to listen to their conversation.

  Wormhole’s voice was low and commanding, a tone that cut through the quiet hum of the cargo hold. “Keep it tight. Mathilda’s not the type to play nice. If she knows we’re here, she’ll make her move.”

  Nightgard nodded, his armored form stiff and professional. “The priority is the cargo. Neutralize any threats, but we can’t risk damaging the package. We’ve got reinforcements standing by if it escalates.”

  Greyhound sniffed the air audibly, a faint growl underlining his words. “Something’s off. I can’t get a clear trace on the package or any of the mercs. And then there are our comms being cut off. Feels like interference.”

  “Blackout,” Wormhole muttered. “She’s jamming us. Stay sharp. This isn’t just a smash-and-grab. Mathilda wouldn’t hire this much firepower unless she had a plan.”

  The SRC troopers spread out, scanning the area with tactical precision. I couldn’t help but notice how disciplined they were, every movement measured, every glance calculated.

  Nightgard’s voice cut through the tension. “What about the freelancers? Do we have any intel on them?”

  Wormhole shook his head. “A few names, but nothing solid. They’re expendable to Mathilda, which makes them dangerous. If you see one, don’t hesitate.”

  I frowned. So that’s how they saw us. Expendable threats, obstacles to be removed on their way to the cargo.

  Greyhound growled again, his gaze snapping toward the cargo container I was guarding. “It’s here. I can feel it. But there’s something else…” He sniffed the air again, his eyes narrowing. “Someone’s watching us.”

  My heart skipped a beat. Had he sensed me?

  Wormhole didn’t hesitate. “Sweep the area. No mistakes.”

  The troopers fanned out, their weapons raised. Greyhound took a step closer to my position, his eyes scanning the floor.

  I stayed perfectly still, my intangible form blending seamlessly with the environment. My fingers tightened around the fishing line still coiled in my hand.

  They were getting too close. If I didn’t act soon, it wouldn’t matter how well I hid.