For a moment there was long silence, the three just stood there, each one contemplating the entire journey. "What was this all for?" "What was the point?" The feeling of uncertainty filled the room.
Then, footsteps echoed back up the hall.
Not everyone, around sixty rebels emerged from the corridors, battered, breathing hard, dust on their faces, cuts wrapped in quick bandages… yet standing.
One rebel stepped forward, planting himself firmly between Micheal and the rest. He swallowed, nerves visible, but his voice didn't shake when he spoke.
"Micheal… whatever CORE said, whether it was twisted or true, we don't care."
He lifted his chin.
"We trust you. You've gotten us this far. You've kept us alive. And we're still here. So if you're still standing, we're standing with you. Lead us… and we'll follow. Together, we'll tear CORE down."
For a second Micheal couldn't move.
That kind of faith hurt.
He exhaled slowly, turning back toward them. He forced a smile, small, fragile.
"…Thank you," he said quietly. "All of you."
A wave of cheers rose through the room, not loud or wild, but strong, determined. The kind that didn't need volume to show belief.
Micheal nodded. "Spread out. Search everything. If there's anything here that can help us in battle, find it. Weapons, tech, anything. We need to be ready for whatever's waiting outside those doors."
They nodded without hesitation.
Orders echoed, the sound of boots scattered. Purpose replaced the fear.
Soon, the room began to quiet again.
Shirley and Tucker slid down along the wall near the strange glass cases of scrolls, sitting shoulder to shoulder without saying anything. They didn't need to. The silence between them already said enough.
Micheal watched them for a moment.
His body begged him not to move.
His heart screamed to leave them alone.
His guilt told him he didn't deserve to stand anywhere near them.
But his feet still carried him forward anyway.
Micheal walked toward them, each step feeling heavier than the last. His palms were slick with sweat. His heart wouldn't slow down.
He stopped in front of Shirley and Tucker, the two boys he'd risked everything for… and the two he'd hurt the most. Slowly, he lowered himself to his knees.
"Hey… boys."
Nothing, no reaction. They didn't even look at him.
Micheal swallowed, forcing his voice to work. He shifted from his knees to sit beside them on the cold floor.
"Boys… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I dragged you into all of this. I know saying it doesn't make it right. He twisted everything, CORE twisted everything, and you have to believe me when I say I never wanted this. You're still my boys. I—"
His voice cracked. He had to fight to keep speaking.
"—I love you two. You're… you're like my own kids."
That finally got a reaction. Tucker lifted his head. His eyes locked onto Micheal's, cold, hurt, and steady.
"I didn't even have to talk to Shirley," Tucker said flatly. "And I still understood exactly how he felt. Could you… Micheal?"
Micheal hesitated. "N-No… no, I couldn't."
Shirley's head stayed down, hair shadowing his eyes.
Tucker didn't stop.
"Do I have parents? No. Who took care of me when they died? Nobody. Who helped me when my grandparents died? Nobody. When I was stuck alone in that broken world, who gave me a hand?" He jabbed a thumb toward Shirley. "This guy. The one who never left me. The one who actually saw me."
His voice shook, not weak, but furious with rage and hurt.
"All you ever did was push me to be stronger. And maybe that helped… but don't act like you were some hero. And honestly? The White House food wasn't even that great. So yeah, working for the government is officially off my list." He huffed out a humorless breath. "My entire life has just been loss after loss… and now you're just another one added to it."
He stood.
"I still love you, Micheal. But this Micheal? The one standing here now? He's not the Micheal I loved. You don't know me. You never really did."
He turned and walked toward the office doors.
"Tucker…" Micheal whispered, a tear breaking loose.
Silence… until Shirley finally spoke, still not looking up.
"What was your plan after all this? Once CORE was gone… what then?"
Micheal opened his mouth, but the truth tangled in his throat.
"I—I would rebuild Choreees. I'd… I'd keep everyone here. I'd take charge—"
Shirley let out a short, humorless laugh. A laugh without warmth.
"Always the leader, huh?"
He stood, finally moving to follow Tucker.
Micheal stayed where he was for a moment, staring at the floor. His hands curled into fists, his eyes burning.
"Damn it…" he muttered under his breath.
He wiped his face, pulled himself together, and forced his legs to move as he turned back toward the rebels.
One of the rebels stepped forward cautiously. "Micheal… you good, man?"
Micheal didn't answer.
His eyes were stuck to the ceiling, body frozen, mind drowning in a mix of shame, anger, and dread.
Then, a thunderous explosion ripped through the room.
The doors to the great hall exploded inward, metal folding like paper, debris spinning across the floor. Smoke rolled into the room, thick and suffocating. The rebels flinched back. Micheal whipped around, heart stopping.
Tucker stood in the doorway, fist still raised, steam drifting off his knuckles. Red energy pulsed slowly up his forearm, like a heartbeat. Strength Presence had cracked the walls around him. Right beside him, Shirley walked in, calm… terrifyingly calm… cleavers dangling loosely in his hands, the scroll missing from his side.
The vast hall stretched endlessly, high ceilings scraping darkness. Pillars towered upward. Banners of CORE tech tore in the shockwave. And ahead of them…
Hundreds of armed soldiers stood waiting.
CORE's elite units.
Shields locked, guns raised.
And towering behind them, grinding metal claws into the marble floor, stood the machine. A hulking war-robot, taller than anything in the hall should've been able to stand, plates thick like castle walls, its every movement violent, its purpose simple: Destruction.
Micheal sprinted forward.
A sudden gale slammed him back, dust exploding under his shoes. The sheer pressure of Presence… of destructive intent… stopped even the ground from letting him get closer. He staggered, eyes wide.
Shirley and Tucker didn't speak, nor look at anyone. They simply walked forward.
Then gunfire stormed, bullets screamed, plasma rounds tore the air.
Tucker didn't dodge or flinch.
Red light flared under his skin as Strength Presence hardened his frame. He grabbed a soldier by the throat and slammed him into the floor so hard the stone cracked. He ripped another forward and shattered a mask with a brutal headbutt. His fighting style became punishment. Every swing was a lifetime of anger unleashed. Shoulders, elbows, knees, every part of him became a weapon.
He ducked under a blade, then crushed ribs with a punch that detonated a red shockwave, Red bursting from his fist and throwing bodies like ragdolls. He dragged one soldier up just to hurl him into three more, knocking them aside like bowling pins. A scream echoed. Armor shattered. Tucker's breathing grew heavier… deeper… but not wild.
Controlled rage. It was pure calculated brutality.
He fought like someone who'd been hurt his entire life… and finally had something to break.
Shirley didn't rush.
One cleaver sliced upward, severing a rifle in half. The other carved across a throat without hesitation. He spun through the chaos with clinical precision, steps sharp, movements ghostlike. A blade flashed by his face, he tilted his head half an inch and the strike missed. A soldier blinked, but he was too slow.
Shirley's cleaver buried into his chest.
He didn't look angry nor was he scared.
He looked… done.
His eyes never softened. He split a shield clean through. Steel screamed as he cut through armor like cloth. Sparks danced in the air as he ricocheted between enemies, each motion deliberate, merciless. Even when surrounded, he didn't panic.
A clean slash.
A flick of the wrist.
Another body dropped.
They simply dismantled CORE's best.
Micheal and the rebels could only watch as Tucker plowed through the last wave, shoulder-checking a soldier so hard the man hit the wall and didn't get up. Shirley finished the final elite with a brutal upward carve that split his armor like fruit.
Bodies littered the marble.
Only the robot remained.
It stepped forward, floor trembling with each movement. Its engines growled. Panels slid open, cannon-ports charging. Red lights burned across its head, targeting them.
Tucker exhaled slowly.
Shirley flicked blood off his cleavers.
For one second, they finally looked at each other.
Shirley pressed a cleaver into Tucker's hand.
Tucker nodded once.
Then they bolted towards the robot.
The robot roared to life, cannons firing, beams shredding the floor as the two sprinted straight into death without fear. Tucker launched forward first, fist glowing a furious crimson.
He punched the ground. RED.
The explosion blasted upward, launching both of them into the air. Tucker shot higher than any human should've. Shirley soared with him.
Midair, Tucker hurled the cleavers upward.
Shirley caught them.
His Presence flared.
Blazing lines carved into the air, crossing, locking, forming a burning symbol.
X-MAN.
He slashed.
The cleavers carved through the robot in a titanic X, splitting armor, slicing through engines, tearing the monster apart in a blinding flash. Metal screamed, sparks erupted, and the robot collapsed in two smoking halves, crashing to the floor with a thunderous quake.
Silence.
No one moved.
Even the rebel soldiers forgot to breathe.
Tucker landed hard, shoulders rising and falling. Shirley touched down softly beside him, eyes forward, his expression empty.
Micheal stared at them, stunned.
The hall was destroyed.
CORE's might was in pieces.
And his boys, the ones he thought he'd broken.
Had just proved they didn't need him.