Location: Fenwick District — Highway 17 — Moving Vehicles — Night
The air grew heavy.
Not temperature—pressure. A weight that pressed against the space, that made the asphalt tremble. The light around Marcus intensified—not bright, not warm. Dense. The air around him shimmered, distorting with the force of the energy that radiated from his body. The streetlights above him flickered, dimmed, then died. The shadows in the corners stretched, reaching toward the center of the highway.
His suit appeared.
Not cloth—not metal—something else. Dark, sleek, its surface absorbing light instead of reflecting it. Pale gray light bled from its edges, flickering like a dying flame. The space around him seemed to warp, to bend, to shift—making it impossible to tell where he was and where he wasn't. The air around him grew thick, heavy, pressing against the space like the weight of a mountain.
The rings of Lucian were suppressed.
They hung in the air, mid-motion, their pale ghost-blue light dimming, flickering, dying. The dark metal bands were frozen, trapped by the pressure of Marcus's presence. They spun slowly, each one rotating at a different speed, but there was no force behind them. No will. No purpose.
Lucian's body was broken.
His knees were on the ground. His hands were pressed against the asphalt. His breath came in short, ragged gasps. His eyes were wide, his face pale. Sweat beaded on his forehead, tracing slow paths down his temples. His muscles strained against the weight pressing down on him, but they wouldn't move. They couldn't move.
Marcus's voice was soft, almost tender.
"That look," he said.
His eyes were half-lidded, his lips curved into a smile that didn't quite reach them.
"I just love the way you are now."
"Wondering what is happening—"
"—and why you are so weak."
"Don't worry."
"I won't kill you."
"Apparently—"
"—you are still of use."
"To help me acquire that Mandate brat."
His voice was cold, clinical. The voice of someone who had done this before and would do it again without losing sleep.
---
The back of the meat truck opened.
A figure appeared in the doorway. His voice was sharp, cutting through the chaos like a blade.
"You don't know—"
"—just when to shut the f#k up—"
"—do you?"
The hanging pigs swung forward.
Not fast. Not slow. Just there. Their cold flesh slapped against the air, their bodies heavy, their momentum carrying them toward Marcus. Their glazed eyes stared at nothing. Their bodies were pale, lifeless, frozen.
Marcus raised his hand.
Not fast. Not slow. Just there.
His palm faced the pigs. His fingers spread. The air around him shimmered, distorting with the force of the energy that radiated from his body.
The pigs exploded.
Not into flames—into fragments. Their bodies scattered across the asphalt, their flesh torn, their bones shattered. The force of the explosion sent shockwaves through the night, the sound echoing off the buildings.
But something else was in the pigs.
Something that glowed.
A sticky substance. Dark. Glowing. It splattered across the asphalt, across the cars, across the streetlights. It burned, sizzled, hissed. The smell was acrid, chemical, wrong.
Caleb's eyes widened.
"What the—"
He swerved.
The Dodge Charger fishtailed, its rear end swinging wildly. The sticky substance had splattered across his windshield, obscuring his vision. He couldn't see. He couldn't steer. He couldn't—
"What the hell is this?"
His voice was sharp.
"What the hell is—"
He swerved again.
The Charger collided with a delivery truck. Metal screamed. Glass shattered. The Charger spun, its tires screeching, its frame crumpling.
Marcus moved.
Not fast. Not slow. Just there.
His hand shot out. His fingers closed around Caleb's collar. He pulled. Caleb's body flew through the air, landing on the asphalt with a thud. His breath left him in a rush. His vision swam. His hands scrabbled against the ground.
The Charger exploded.
Flames erupted from the engine. The hood buckled. The windows shattered. The tires popped. The heat was intense, pressing against the space like a weight.
Marcus's voice was flat.
"You're welcome."
"That's—"
"—that's my line."
---
Lucian lay on the roof of the meat truck.
His body was broken. His breath was ragged. His eyes were fixed on the sky. The rings were still frozen, still trapped, still useless.
"Great," he muttered.
"Just great."
"Another day."
"Another disaster."
"Thanks for nothing, Elijah."
Elijah's voice came through the earpiece.
"You and the others better get your asses together."
"And focus on the objective."
"Objective?"
"Yes."
"Objective."
"You know—"
"—the thing we're supposed to be doing?"
"Instead of—"
"—fighting some weirdo on a highway?"
"Yes."
"That."
"That's the objective."
---
Roman was laughing.
His voice was loud, triumphant, cutting through the chaos.
"Yeah!"
"That's right!"
"Don't call me the Sovikian Bomber for nothing!"
"You all—"
"—you all should know—"
"—I've been doing this for years!"
"Years!"
Alma's voice was sharp.
"Seriously—"
"—put those things away."
"You could get us killed."
"What's wrong, honey?"
"Scared of my awesomeness?"
"More like scared of a big baby who found some toy."
"Hey!"
"Even before you were born—"
"—I was running rampant through the streets of the saints back in Sovik!"
"And trust me—"
"—those places weren't some sweet and honey region for little girls like you!"
Alma's expression didn't change.
"You're impossible."
"I'm realistic."
"You're impossible."
"I'm realistic."
---
Mei-Lin's voice was quiet.
"How in the freaking hell—"
"—did I end up with a bunch of buffoons—"
"—doing some tasks that heavens know what they are?"
"And all this weird—"
She paused.
Her eyes were fixed on Marcus.
"He looks inhuman," she said.
"Like—"
"—like something that shouldn't exist."
"Probably a cyberborg," Alma said.
"Another shaman like that Diego guy," Mateo added.
"Guys," Mei-Lin said.
"I'm telling you—"
"—maybe it's some fetish trick by Diego."
"Trying to do those fantasy plays of his."
"Maybe whoever he was—"
"—probably his minion or something."
---
Roman's expression shifted.
Not much. Just enough.
His eyes were distant. His voice was quiet.
"In Sovik—"
"—there are hidden underground bases."
"Where shady technological equipment is kept."
"They call them unworldly assets."
"What that guy was wearing—"
"—reminds me of one of them."
"An operative I knew."
"Who passed by that base."
"You mean to tell me—"
"—those are of not-of-this-world type equipment?"
"Yes."
"That's exactly what I'm telling you."
"Come on—"
"—don't tell me those doofy ass conspiracies—"
"—from the Veilbreak podcast—"
"—are actually true?"
"Or something—"
"—like that the governments hide alien tech from the public—"
"—for their own agenda?"
"So this Diego guy—"
"—is he from those hidden organizations—"
"—that make this information classified?"
Roman's voice was quiet.
"Maybe."
"Maybe he isn't even human in the first place."
"Trust me—"
"—where I'm from—"
"—there are plenty of—"
He paused.
"Of things."
"Skulls."
"Huge ones."
"Found in caves in Sovik."
"And now—"
"—they're doing all sorts of experiments."
"Who knows—"
"—maybe Diego is some hybrid human—"
"—and of those things."
"Manufactured—"
"—for those hidden organizations."
---
Mei-Lin's expression shifted.
Her eyes were distant. Her voice was quiet.
"Of late—"
"—there have been lots of—"
"—those things."
"The bots."
"They have chips in them—"
"—that allow them to communicate via the chip."
"In Huxai—"
"—they're now in cities—"
"—acting like cops."
"Even doing restaurant work."
"Everywhere."
"What's scary—"
"—is that the guy—"
"—the one you were talking about—"
"—he was wearing something similar."
"They call them—"
"—in Huxai."
"—the Meisters."
"The ones that implement and dominion over things."
"And—"
"—they radiate something."
"Something that feels like—"
"—can bypass your internal state turn it into interphase biometric signatures or something."
"But different."
"Wrong."
---
Roman's voice was quiet.
"Well—"
"—if that's true—"
"—then it appears we are entering very mushy and deeper waters."
"And trust me—"
"—the more we sink into it—"
"—if we're not careful—"
"—we'll get drowned into it."
---