Chapter 16 Lines & Limits

  I was back home, my muscles still burning from the reps I’d just finished. The familiar ache grounded me, kept my thoughts from spiraling too far. Tonight, I didn’t venture into the forest where I usually hung out past midnight. When you no longer needed sleep, you often found yourself thinking too much.

  On the table in front of me sat Sharpy’s business card, mocking me with its simplicity. I hadn’t committed to working with her team yet. She’d mentioned a job involving the docks, and now Royal had handed me the exact same assignment. What were the odds?

  The troubling part was that I had no idea which side Sharpy and her team fell on. Were they part of the ship’s crew, or were they the intruders Royal had warned about? Either way, it didn’t matter. I couldn’t afford to refuse Royal. A major gang like the Pride outweighed an independent like Sharpy every time.

  Still, the overlap gnawed at me. It wasn’t like I could just call Sharpy and casually ask for the outline of her job this Friday. The timing was too coincidental, aligning perfectly with the shipment Royal wanted me to protect.

  To be frank, this should’ve been an easy trade-off. Protect the shipment, get paid, move on. But easy didn’t mean safe.

  I picked up Sharpy’s card, stared at it for a moment, then struck a match. The flame danced for a heartbeat before consuming the edges of the card, curling it into blackened ash. Sometimes, playing safe meant keeping your cards close to your chest.

  The silver lining? Royal had only informed the boss of the shipment crew about my existence. That meant I could stay in the shadows, observe, and maybe, just maybe, play both sides.

  "Ugh... I am asking for trouble with this kind of thinking..."

  As the last of the ash crumbled in the tray, I couldn’t help but wonder if Royal had foreseen this. Something about his demeanor earlier made me think he had already anticipated every move I might make.

  This wasn’t just troubling, it was a test. A dangerous one. So much dangerous than the one Crow tossed my way. And if I wasn’t careful, I’d find myself buried beneath it.

  It was only Tuesday. January 28, 2025. 2:27 a.m. The night stretched endlessly ahead, and I had plenty of time to work with. Grinding my skills wouldn’t drastically improve my abilities anymore, not at this point. I’d spent the last five years training and hiding, and honestly, I’d had enough.

  The past year had been its own kind of brutal education. I learned the hard way what it meant to be alone, to keep up the facade of being mundane, and to wrestle with the reality that my parents were gone for good.

  My chest tightened at the thought of my mom. I wished she was still here, even if she was a drunkard. She didn’t deserve what happened to her a year ago, but, if I was being honest, it had felt inevitable with her habits. That didn’t make it hurt any less.

  For a moment, I was tempted to contact Bunny. The guy was clearly a high-level information broker, more connected than I’d initially realized, someone who had direct contact with Pride wasn’t just running small-time gigs. But I stopped myself. The deeper you got with someone like Bunny, the harder it was to pull away.

  Dependence would always be a bad thing.

  Instead, I shifted my thoughts to something more practical: my gear. My suit was as good as it was going to get. The layers were padded and reinforced with intangibility, and I’d painstakingly stitched them at a molecular level using the very power that defined me. Same went for the headgear… It was about as close to perfection as I could manage.

  But weapons? That was another question entirely. Did I need one?

  I rolled the idea around in my head. My intangibility had always been my edge. A weapon could complement it, sure, but it also meant carrying something extra, something that could weigh me down or fail me when I needed it most.

  Still, there was a certain allure to having something tangible, something sharp or deadly, that I could wield if my powers weren’t enough. A knife? Too personal. A gun? Too loud and attention-grabbing. Maybe something unconventional, something that could blend with my style and wouldn’t scream “killer.”

  I stood up and started pacing, letting the hum of the night fill the silence. If I was going to step into Royal’s job and possibly cross paths with Sharpy, I needed to be ready for anything. Preparedness wasn’t optional anymore, it was a necessity for my survival.

  And survival? That was something I was determined to master.

  Weapon… weapon… I thought long and hard, and an idea clicked. It was unconventional, sure, but innovative enough to make up for my lack of offensive power. The downside was that pulling it off would take some customization.

  After burning time with my usual exercises, I rummaged through the house and dragged out one of Dad’s old fishing rods from the garage. It was battered and worn, but the mechanism was still functional. The memories of Dad taking me fishing flashed briefly in my mind, but I shoved them aside. This wasn’t about nostalgia.

  Next, I went out to buy a utility belt and spent the better part of the morning customizing everything. By the time I was done, I had what I considered a pretty solid setup: a minimalistic belt with compartments for essentials. Its core hanging by the left hip was a spool with a rolled-up fishing line attached.

  That was right... my deadly weapon was a fishing line.

  On the surface, it sounded ridiculous, but the practicality was undeniable. Imagine a line going intangible as it slid inside someone, then solidifying while still inside them. With a hard pull, the results would be... effective, to say the least. Chances were, there’d be a lot of blood.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Sure, using cables or wires might’ve been a better option for durability, but their weight would’ve been an issue. The last thing I wanted was to be weighed down, especially in my costumed persona. Agility and speed were my lifelines in a fight, and even the smallest hindrance could mean the difference between walking away and being carried out in a body bag.

  I gave the setup a test, letting the line extend and retract, visualizing scenarios where I might need it. It wasn’t flashy or traditional, but it fit my needs perfectly. Silent, versatile, and deadly in the right hands.

  Now, I just needed to get comfortable with using it under pressure. Because on Friday, when the job went down, I couldn’t afford even a second of hesitation.

  I spent the next couple of days training with my new weapon, a fishing line. It was an odd choice, sure, but it was proving to be more versatile than I initially thought. The training wasn’t just about using it effectively in combat but also experimenting with its limitations and figuring out how to improve its practicality.

  For starters, I thought about upgrading the line itself. Some esoteric materials would’ve been ideal, something strong enough to handle tension yet sharp enough to act as a death trap for speedsters who got too cocky for their own good. Unfortunately, materials like that were way out of my reach, both financially and in terms of connections. For now, the standard fishing line would have to do.

  One of the first things I learned during training was that the line couldn't be used as a substitute for a grappling hook. I had this romanticized idea of swinging around or scaling buildings with it, but reality was quick to slap me in the face. The line just wasn’t built for that kind of strain. Still, it had plenty of other uses... ones that didn’t involve me splattering on the ground like a pancake.

  Between training sessions, I spent time experimenting with my utility belt. The fishing line wasn’t the only tool I wanted to rely on, so I began thinking about what else I could carry. A small cutter was a no-brainer; if the line ever got tangled or stuck, I needed a way to free myself.

  "Maybe a small knife? What else? Fire... fire is useful... If I got myself lost in the woods or stuck in a survival situation, a little bit of hit would always be useful."

  I debated between carrying matchsticks or a stylish lighter for potential fire-based applications. The lighter won out: sleeker, reusable, and a little more intimidating in its presentation.

  Morphine made its way into the mix too. I managed to snag some from a neighborhood fixer who fancied himself a cartel big shot. The guy was laughable, but his stock wasn’t. The morphine wasn’t for recreational use, of course, it was for emergencies. If things went south and I ended up bleeding out somewhere, at least I wouldn’t have to feel all of it.

  Lastly, I added zip tie locks to my arsenal. “Kill first” didn’t always need to be my default response, and the zip ties gave me a non-lethal option for handling situations where murder wasn’t necessary or ideal.

  By the end of it all, my utility belt had taken shape. It wasn’t the flashiest thing in the world, but it was functional, lightweight, and filled with tools that matched my style. As I looked over my gear, a sense of satisfaction settled over me.

  Now, all that was left was to see how well it would all hold up when things got real. Friday loomed on the horizon, and I had no doubt that whatever was waiting for me at the docks would be a proper test of my preparation.

  I trained obsessively, pushing myself to the brink with short breaks to catch my breath. Not needing sleep was an unparalleled advantage, giving me the time to study and train as much as I wanted. But training wasn’t really training unless it left you on the edge of exhaustion, feeling like you might puke your guts out. If I wasn’t hurting, I wasn’t growing. I reckoned it was related to the nature of my power.

  On top of refining my use of the fishing line, I added another unconventional weapon to my growing arsenal: playing cards. It sounded ridiculous at first, even to me. A deck of cards wasn’t exactly the first thing that came to mind for a deadly weapon. But my powers added a whole new dimension to their use. An intangible card that could suddenly become tangible mid-flight? That was a projectile nobody would see coming. Not to mention the piercing power.

  "Imagine, an intangible card going tangible while inside someone... That should be deadly."

  Of course, it wasn’t as easy as it looked in my head. Card throwing was an art in itself. It required precision, wrist control, and a lot of practice. Between grueling sessions with the fishing line, I devoted hours to perfecting the technique. Flicking cards with enough force and accuracy to hit a target wasn’t easy, but with enough effort, I started to see improvement.

  I worked on combining the skill with my intangibility. The timing was the trickiest part, making sure the card stayed intangible as it sailed through the air and then became solid right when it hit the target. Too early, and the card would bounce harmlessly off; too late, and it would phase straight through without doing anything.

  By the time I could consistently hit a can with enough force to knock it over and perforate it, I felt a small sense of pride. It wasn’t much, but it was progress. I imagined the look of shock on someone’s face when a playing card pierced through their defenses.

  It was an unconventional weapon in an unconventional arsenal, and it suited me just fine. The combination of training and tinkering filled the hours and kept my mind sharp. I was preparing for more than just a fight, I was building an edge that few would be able to counter.

  In the middle of another card-throwing session, my phone buzzed. I wiped the sweat off my hands before picking it up, half-expecting some mundane spam message or maybe an update from the utility company. Instead, it was Bunny.

  "Seamark agreed to meet. Condition: willing to work with you only if you do a job for them first. Docks. Pier 17. Friday."

  I stared at the message, rereading it a couple of times to let it sink in. My stomach twisted with unease. This complicated things far more than I had expected.

  Royal’s job. Sharpy’s offer. And now Seamark’s condition. Three different threads converging at the same place, on the same night. I didn’t know whether to be impressed at the coincidence or terrified at the implications. Things were officially way more complicated than I’d imagined.

  Friday was already a minefield. Royal’s job was supposed to be straightforward: protect the shipment and keep everything running smoothly. But now, Seamark wanted me to do a job at the same location and time. I could already see the potential for disaster. If Seamark was running a job against Royal's shipment, then I'd be caught in the middle of two dangerous players.

  Bunny hadn’t said what the job for Seamark entailed, but my gut told me it wasn’t going to be pleasant. Gangs didn’t hire outsiders for low-risk errands.

  What were the odds that Seamark’s job and Royal’s shipment were connected? Pretty damn high, considering the timing. And what about Sharpy? She’d been vague about her own operation at the docks, but I had a sinking feeling it wasn’t unrelated.

  There were too many moving parts and not enough information. I needed to tread carefully, play my cards close, and figure out how to navigate this mess without getting caught in the crossfire. If I handled this right, I might be able to turn the situation to my advantage. If I screwed up... well, I didn’t plan on screwing up.

  I typed out a quick reply to Bunny. "I’ll be there. Details?"

  The reply came almost immediately. "Client wants discretion. Full brief on-site. Don’t be late."

  I threw my phone onto the table and leaned back in my chair, letting out a frustrated sigh. It was like walking a tightrope over a pit of snakes. Aligning with Seamark would give me more leverage and opportunities in the criminal underworld, but turning on Royal could be a death sentence or worse.

  "I shouldn't be greedy... I got Crow's blessing already..."

  The one silver lining was that I had time to think. Time to figure out how to maneuver this mess without ending up as collateral damage. My mind raced with possible scenarios and contingencies. If I played this right, I could turn the situation to my advantage. If not, Friday night could very well be my last.