omancing the Beat – "Midpoint: The Heartbeat")
Let's just be honest right now.
You know how people say "it can't get worse"?
Yeah. Those people are liars. Dirty, optimistic liars with no concept of narrative structure. Because if this were a movie, this is where the plot would gleefully flip the table, slap the protagonist (me), and whisper, "Let's make it personal."
Spoiler: It gets personal.
---
We start with hot-wiring a junkyard truck.
Because our actual getaway van?
Fried. Gone. Toasted like a pop tart in hell thanks to Jace the Flameboy Wonder.
Renna climbs into the driver's seat of a rust bucket that probably hasn't moved since before I was born. She's got grease on her cheek, her hair is tied back in that "I'm-about-to-do-something-illegal" way, and she's chewing gum like it's a personal vendetta.
"You know how to hot-wire?" I ask.
She gives me a look.
Like a full, unblinking "what kind of amateur do you think I am?" look.
The truck coughs to life three seconds later.
I blink. "You terrify me in ways I'm still discovering."
"Aw," she says sweetly, "that's practically flirting."
---
The hideout.
It's not a cool underground bunker like the movies.
It's a storage unit behind a laundromat that smells like detergent and broken dreams.
Inside: a cot, some dusty shelves, a half-dead plant named "Gary," and a corkboard filled with chaotic scribbles, photos, and red string. Basically, Renna's version of a vision board, but with more explosive blueprints.
I flop onto the cot. "So. What now?"
She paces. "Now, we decode the data chip we risked our lives to steal."
She inserts the chip into a battered laptop that wheezes like it's on life support. The screen flickers… then floods with encrypted files, maps, coordinates, and—wait.
A picture.
Of me.
I sit up. "Why is my face in their files?"
Renna freezes.
"I was going to tell you," she says quietly.
Uh-oh.
That tone? That's the "I'm hiding something massive and you're going to scream" tone.
"Tell me what, Renna?"
She clicks a folder.
It opens to a dossier. Subject name: Gray Maddox.
That's me.
Status: Potential weaponized anomaly.
Threat level: Red.
Current location: With operative Renna Vale.
My stomach does an Olympic-style flip.
"What the hell is this?" I whisper.
She doesn't meet my eyes. "You're not just some guy who got dragged into this. You were already part of it. You just… don't remember."
Boom.
There it is.
The story bomb.
---
Flashback time. Not for me—because apparently, I've been mind-wiped like a sci-fi soap opera character. But Renna? She remembers.
"I met you three years ago," she says, eyes distant. "You were one of theirs. A Regime prodigy. Smart. Quiet. They said you were building tech to make their soldiers smarter. Stronger."
She pauses. Looks at me like she's trying to see who I used to be.
"But something changed. You started asking questions. Helping me. Secretly leaking intel. Then you found out they were experimenting on kids."
My heart's doing a drum solo. "Kids?"
She nods. "You snapped. You stole files. Burned their labs. And then you vanished. I thought you were dead."
"So how am I here now?"
She swallows. "Looks like they found you before we did. Wiped your memory. Tried to use you again. But something must've gone wrong, because… you ran."
I don't know what to say.
This is not how I imagined my origin story.
---
I stand. Pacing. Freaking out just enough to break into a mild sweat.
"So I'm a science experiment with a deleted past and a Regime bounty on my head?"
"Pretty much," Renna says.
"And you… were using me too?"
That one stings. More than I want to admit.
She steps closer. "At first, yes. But not now. Not after all this. Not after you."
And I believe her.
Which is both romantic and emotionally irresponsible.
Because, let's be real—falling for someone while half your identity is missing and people are trying to kill you?
That's called toxic optimism. And also, Tuesday.
---
Cue: soft moment on the cot.
We sit side by side. Silence between us, heavy and thick and kind of... magnetic.
"I liked you better when you were just some hot runaway with weird opinions about instant noodles," I mutter.
She grins. "You liked me back then?"
"I mean, yeah. Obviously. You tasered a warlord while wearing glitter nail polish. Who wouldn't fall in love?"
Pause.
She says, very softly, "I was scared."
I look at her. "Of what?"
"Of falling for someone I might lose."
Boom.
There it is again. That raw, terrifying honesty.
We're not kissing.
But if this were a rom-com, the audience would be screaming KISS, YOU IDIOTS.
---
And of course, right then—
BAM BAM BAM.
Someone pounds on the outside of the storage unit.
We freeze.
Renna grabs her stun gun. I reach for... a rusty wrench. Not ideal.
The door creaks open.
And in walks—
My sister.
Yeah. Surprise. I have one.
She's older, taller, and looks like she hasn't slept since the world ended. Her hair's buzzed, her boots are military-grade, and her expression is pure "you have three seconds to explain yourself."
She sees me.
Her eyes go wide.
"Gray?" she chokes.
"Uh… hi?" I say like a dumbass.
Then she lunges forward—hugging me so hard I lose air.
Renna looks stunned.
And I'm reeling, because apparently?
I had a family.
A sister who thought I was dead.
A sister who never stopped looking.