The conference room remained eerily silent even after Logan's video call ended. The air was thick with unease, the tension lingering like a shadow that refused to leave. The board members exchanged glances, but no one dared to speak first. Langston, usually full of pride and self-assurance, stood frozen, gripping the edge of the table as if steadying himself. The names of his family still echoed in his mind—his wife, his children, his mother. Logan Holt knew everything.
The Director of the Bureau of Justice finally broke the silence.
"Langston," he said, his voice firm but laced with underlying concern, "have you already begun experimenting on Elsa?"
Langston inhaled sharply before nodding. "I've begun on all of them—the supers, including Elsa."
Some of the board members tensed. Others, less sympathetic, simply leaned back, evaluating the situation. George Holt, who had remained quiet for most of the meeting, finally spoke up.
"You all seem nervous," he said calmly, adjusting his suit cuffs. "As long as Elsa survives, you have nothing to worry about."
"And if she doesn't?" one of the board members asked hesitantly.
George gave them all a knowing look. "Let's not get to that side."
The words sent an unmistakable chill through the room. They all understood what he meant.
Back at the Safehouse
Logan's teammates sat in silence, still processing what had just happened. The video call had shaken them in ways they hadn't expected. Logan Holt was always dangerous, but this? This was something else.
Matthew let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Damn, Logan. You could've at least let the guy breathe before threatening to wipe his entire bloodline." He smirked, trying to lighten the mood, but the second he glanced at Logan, his smirk faded.
Logan's cold, unblinking stare was like a blade pressed against his throat. No anger, no irritation—just pure, unwavering stillness.
Matthew swallowed. "Okay… tough crowd."
William, ever the peacemaker, leaned forward with an easy smile. "Alright, let's not get too tense here. Logan, man, I get it. You're pissed, but we're your team. You don't have to handle this alone."
Logan didn't respond.
Instead, he stood up, adjusted his jacket, and walked out of the base without another word.
Jessica watched him go, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "This isn't good," she muttered. "Logan has changed. He's becoming… sinister. I mean, he literally threatened an entire family like it was a business transaction."
William sighed, rubbing his temples. "He's not the Logan we knew anymore."
Matthew, still trying to push Logan's buttons, called after him as he was leaving. "Hey, man, what's the plan? Gonna go track down Langston's kids next?"
The second the words left his mouth, a wave of crushing force pulsed through the room. Logan's forcefield flared up—a warning. The pressure was suffocating, thick like a physical presence weighing on their chests.
And just like that, it vanished.
Logan stood in the doorway, perfectly calm, his poker face betraying nothing. His voice was steady, devoid of emotion.
"Watch your mouth, Matthew."
Then he was gone.
The room remained silent long after his footsteps faded.
The moment Logan stepped out of the safe house, the air inside shifted—lighter, but still tense. His presence had been suffocating, a silent storm brewing beneath an unnervingly calm exterior. Now that he was gone, his teammates could finally breathe, but none of them felt at ease.
Matthew exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I swear to God, that dude is going crazy," he muttered, shaking his head.
Jessica shot him a glare. "Matt, not now."
"No, seriously!" Matthew turned to William, who was still leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "Did you feel that? The second he walked past me, my chest tightened like—like something was crushing me. I swear, it was his force field. He didn't even say a word, and I thought my ribs were about to snap."
William didn't respond immediately. He had felt it too—that brief, invisible weight pressing down on them, the unmistakable pressure of Logan's power bleeding into the air. But what concerned him the most wasn't the forcefield flare-up itself. It was that Logan didn't seem to notice he was doing it.
"He's losing control," William finally said. "Or worse—he doesn't care if he is."
Jessica sat on the couch, rubbing her temples. "You heard what his father said. The only time Logan ever broke down like this was when his mother died. And now Elsa's gone. He might not be showing it, but he's unraveling."
Matthew scoffed. "No shit. And here I thought he was about to go full-on ballistic, but nah, he just sat there, quiet as hell. Then he pulls that mafia-level threat on Langston like he's ordering takeout." He let out a nervous chuckle. "I mean, it was kinda badass, but also—Jesus, man."
William pushed off the wall, his expression unreadable. "We need to keep an eye on him. George told us to, and I have a feeling this is only the beginning."
"Yeah," Matthew muttered, rubbing his chest where he had felt the pressure the most. "Because if that was just a flare-up, I don't wanna be around when he actually snaps."
Silence settled between them, the weight of Logan's absence lingering in the air.
Wherever he was going, whatever he was planning—Logan Holt was on the warpath.
The night air was crisp as Logan stepped out of the base, his footsteps eerily silent against the pavement. He didn't tell anyone where he was going—not that they could stop him. After the call with Langston and the board, the suffocating tension inside the room had left even the most composed members shaken. Logan needed space. He needed to clear his mind before the inevitable storm.
A short drive later, he found himself at a dimly lit bar on the outskirts of the city. It wasn't crowded, just a few scattered patrons drowning their problems in liquor. Logan slid onto a stool at the counter, his gray eyes dull yet sharp beneath the low lights.
"What can I get you?" the waitress asked, flashing a sultry smile. She was young, maybe mid-twenties, with auburn hair and piercing green eyes.
"Beer," Logan said flatly.
She arched a brow at his monotone response but grabbed a cold bottle from the counter's fridge, popping the cap with a quick flick of her wrist. As she slid it toward him, she leaned against the counter, her gaze lingering.
"You look like a man with a lot on his mind."
Logan took a sip of his beer, offering a small, unreadable smirk. "That obvious?"
She giggled, twirling a loose strand of hair. "It's my job to notice things. And right now, I notice that you could use some company."
Logan chuckled lightly but didn't take the bait. His mind was elsewhere. He entertained her small talk, letting the conversation flow naturally, but his emotions remained buried beneath his calculated exterior.
Then, everything changed.
—
Alarms blared inside the underground command center. The massive holographic display above the main console showed a terrifying sight—a second alien vessel, larger than the first, had breached Earth's atmosphere.
"Jesus Christ," one of the analysts muttered, his hands flying over the console. "This ship… It's massive."
"How many?" the commander barked, stepping forward.
"Estimating… at least a couple dozen Zirathkrill. They're from the Zirath brood."
The room fell silent. Zirathkrill. Not just another insecticoid breed, but elite warriors bred for planetary domination.
"Alert all major factions," the commander ordered, his voice tight. "We're about to have a serious problem."
—
Back at the Bar
Logan tilted his beer slightly, staring at the golden liquid as if it held answers to the storm brewing in his mind. Then, his phone buzzed. He exhaled sharply, already knowing what it was before checking the screen.
Incoming transmission: Priority Level Red.
He sighed and finished the last sip of his beer before standing up, slipping a few bills onto the counter. The waitress looked up, pouting slightly.
"Leaving so soon?" she teased.
Logan gave her a small smirk. "Duty calls."
Without another word, he walked out, his mind already shifting from cold, calculated vengeance to something far bigger—the second wave of the alien threat had arrived.