The first thing Terry felt—
Was silence.
Not peace.
Not comfort.
Just… silence.
No explosions.
No screaming.
No fire.
For the first time in what felt like forever—
Nothing was trying to kill him.
His eyes opened slowly.
White ceiling.
Fluorescent lights.
A steady beep somewhere to his left.
Hospital.
He didn't move at first.
Didn't need to.
Because he already knew.
Alive.
Again.
"…Tch."
A quiet sound escaped his lips.
Half irritation.
Half disbelief.
His body felt… wrong.
Not pain.
Not weakness.
Just… unfamiliar.
Terry turned his head slightly.
Machines.
Drips.
Monitors.
Wires connected to his chest.
Arms.
Neck.
He stared at them.
Then, without hesitation—
He ripped one out.
Beep—
The machine protested immediately.
Another wire.
Gone.
Another.
The door burst open.
Two security men rushed in—
Guns drawn—
Only to freeze mid-step.
Because Terry was already sitting up.
Looking at them.
Calm.
Too calm.
"…What?" he asked.
The question was simple.
But it carried weight.
The kind that made trained men hesitate.
One of them swallowed.
Hard.
"Y-you're not cleared to leave," he said, trying to steady his voice.
Terry glanced at the IV still attached to his arm.
Then pulled it out slowly.
Blood trickled slightly.
He ignored it.
"…And?" he asked.
The second guard tightened his grip on his weapon.
"You're to remain here until the Director arrives."
A pause.
Terry stared at them for a long second.
Then—
He stood up.
The movement alone made both men stiffen.
Because he didn't look like someone recovering.
He looked ready.
Dangerously ready.
"…Who's the Director?" Terry asked.
"Head of DARC," the first guard replied quickly. "Sir Ferguson."
Terry tilted his head slightly.
Then, to their surprise—
He walked back.
Sat down on the edge of the bed.
"…Then call him."
No resistance.
No aggression.
Just certainty.
And somehow—
That was worse.
Ferguson barely made it through his front door before the weight hit him.
Home.
He hadn't seen it in—
What?
A week?
More.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
And for a brief moment—
Everything slowed.
"…Dad!"
A small figure ran toward him.
Ferguson barely had time to react before his son crashed into him.
Arms wrapping tightly around his waist.
"…Hey."
His voice softened instantly.
He crouched slightly, hugging him back.
"I missed you."
Ferguson closed his eyes briefly.
"…I know."
The guilt hit harder than anything else that day.
Harder than the President.
Harder than the chaos.
Because this—
This was what he kept leaving behind.
"…Are you staying?" his son asked.
Ferguson hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then—
His phone rang.
The sound cut through everything.
He didn't need to check to know.
Work.
Always work.
He sighed quietly.
Picked up.
"…Yes?"
A pause.
His expression changed instantly.
"…I'll be there."
The call ended.
His son was still looking at him.
Hopeful.
"…You're leaving again," he said softly.
Ferguson forced a small smile.
"…I'll be back."
The words felt empty.
Even to him.
He stood.
"…Be good, alright?"
A nod.
But the disappointment was there.
Clear as day.
Ferguson turned—
And walked out again.
Kade walked without direction.
The city moved around him.
Cars.
Voices.
Lights.
But none of it reached him.
His mind was somewhere else.
Last night.
The punch.
The strength.
That moment.
"…What the hell was that…"
His voice was barely above a whisper.
His hands slid into his pockets.
He clenched them slightly.
Nothing felt different.
But everything was.
His mother's face flashed in his mind.
Shock.
Confusion.
Fear.
That wasn't how the night was supposed to end.
He stopped walking.
"…Think."
Then—
A ridiculous thought crossed his mind.
"…What if I can fly?"
He blinked.
"…Nah…"
A pause.
"…But what if?"
The building stood abandoned.
Half-finished.
Silent.
Perfect.
Kade stepped inside slowly.
Dust shifting under his feet.
"…This is stupid."
He looked around.
No one.
Good.
He took a breath.
Then—
Jumped.
Nothing.
He landed immediately.
"…Yeah, that checks out."
He scratched his head.
Then tried again.
This time lifting his arms slightly.
Jump.
Nothing.
"…Bro, what am I doing…"
He rubbed his face.
Embarrassed.
Even though no one was watching.
"…I watched too many movies."
He turned—
About to leave—
Then paused.
His eyes drifted to the wall beside him.
Concrete.
Solid.
"…What about…"
He raised his fist.
Hesitated.
"…Nah, that's dumb."
A beat.
Then—
He punched.
Thud.
Pain shot through his hand instantly.
"Ah—!"
He pulled back.
Shaking his hand.
"…Okay, yeah, that was definitely dumb—"
Then he froze.
The wall.
There was a crack.
Small.
But real.
"…Wait…"
Kade stepped closer.
Touched it.
"…No way…"
He looked at his hand.
Then back at the wall.
"…No way."
This time—
He didn't hesitate.
He punched again.
Boom.
A hole.
Not a crack.
A hole.
Clean.
Kade stepped back.
Eyes wide.
"…Yo…"
He laughed.
Not out of humor.
But disbelief.
Then again.
Boom.
Another hole.
"…What the hell—"
Again.
Boom.
Again.
Boom.
Again.
Boom.
Again.
Boom.
Seven holes.
Seven clean, brutal holes in solid concrete.
Kade stood there.
Breathing slightly heavier.
Staring at what he'd done.
"…I did that."
No denial this time.
No confusion.
Just realization.
"…I actually did that…"
But instead of fear—
A slow smile crept onto his face.
"…Okay…"
Terry didn't move when Ferguson entered.
He didn't stand.
Didn't greet.
He just looked at him.
Measuring.
Ferguson stepped in calmly.
Hands behind his back.
"…Mr. Terry."
"…Just Terry."
A small pause.
Ferguson nodded.
"…Terry."
Silence stretched briefly.
"…You heal fast," Ferguson noted.
Terry shrugged slightly.
"…I don't feel injured."
"That's because you're not."
That caught his attention.
Ferguson stepped closer.
"We ran tests."
Terry's eyes narrowed slightly.
"…And?"
Ferguson didn't answer immediately.
Instead—
He changed direction.
"You were military."
Terry's jaw tightened.
"Overseas deployment."
A pause.
"…Shibuya."
Terry's eyes flickered.
"Operation went wrong."
Silence.
"Explosion."
Another pause.
"You survived."
Terry looked away.
"…Barely."
Ferguson nodded.
"Your body was rebuilt."
A glance.
"Metal where bone used to be."
Terry didn't respond.
Because it was true.
"…After that," Ferguson continued, "you were discharged."
A beat.
"…Useless to them."
That one hit.
Terry's eyes sharpened.
"…Watch it."
Ferguson didn't flinch.
"…Your words. Not mine."
Silence.
Heavy.
Then—
Ferguson changed tone.
"…I watched the footage."
Terry looked back at him.
"You didn't run."
A pause.
"You didn't try to escape."
Another.
"You tried to contain them."
Terry exhaled slowly.
"…Protocol."
Ferguson nodded.
"Even when everything was falling apart."
Silence again.
Then—
Ferguson stepped closer.
"…We need that."
Terry's gaze hardened.
"…We?"
"DARC."
A beat.
"We're outmatched."
That was honesty.
Raw.
"These… people," Ferguson continued, "they don't understand what they are."
A pause.
"And neither do we."
Terry listened.
But didn't speak.
"…Which is why," Ferguson said, "we need someone who can stand in the middle of that chaos…"
A step closer.
"…and not break."
Silence.
"…What are you asking?" Terry finally said.
Ferguson met his eyes.
"…I'm not asking."
A pause.
Then—
Softer.
"…I'm offering."
That changed things.
"…A chance," Ferguson continued, "to serve again."
Terry's expression shifted slightly.
"…On your terms."
Silence.
"…Doing what?" Terry asked.
Ferguson's answer came without hesitation.
"…Keeping the world from burning."
The words hung in the air.
Heavy.
Real.
And for the first time—
Terry didn't look away.