Mikey turned toward the others, the ocean wind tousling his hair, his voice still edged with the adrenaline of the escape.
"So… how are we getting into…"
Bobo didn't even let him finish.
"Jöten," he said flatly.
"Yeah. Jöten." Mikey nodded. "How are we getting in?"
Bobo shot him a look, one brow arched in warning.
"We're getting in. You're staying on the boat."
Mikey groaned, throwing his head back.
"Bobo, come on—"
"Kid." Bobo's voice cut sharp through the cold air. "We just had this talk. Say it again and I'll throw you into the ocean myself. No questions. No ceremony."
Mikey huffed and crossed his arms, slumping back into the bench like a pouting boulder. The boat pitched slightly as it moved through a swell, the engine humming low beneath their feet.
From the driver's seat, Luce finally spoke, her voice calm but firm.
"Bobo… I think it might be more dangerous if he stays on the boat."
Bobo shot her a glare, his eyes practically saying What the hell are you doing?
She didn't flinch.
"I'm serious," she went on, adjusting the throttle as the coastline in the distance came into view. "A patrol could roll by. Drone sweep, a random check. Regardless, if Mikey's sitting here with a Defector's boat and no plan? That's a death sentence."
Bobo exhaled through his nose and scratched at his beard, thinking. The boat rocked gently as it cut closer toward the shore, the silhouette of the prison camp, Jöten, slowly taking shape in the gloom—a wall of bright light and drones over-head.
"Shit…" he muttered. "Fine."
Mikey's head perked up.
"But—" Bobo jabbed a thick finger at him. "You don't leave my side. Not for one damn second. Got that?"
Mikey grinned and gave a quick, silent fist pump. "Got it," he said, trying not to sound too smug.
Bobo caught Mikey's little fist pump from the corner of his eye. He tried to suppress a smile, but a slight smirk betrayed him.
"I guess I'll let you in on the plan then," he said, leaning forward slightly.
Mikey turned toward him, eyes locked in, ready to listen.
Bobo opened his mouth—
"…Luce, what is the plan again?"
Luce facepalmed. "You idiot…"
She rolled her eyes and picked up where he left off, her voice lowering to a serious tone.
"Alright. There's a surveillance boat on routine patrol coming up the coast. When it passes, they'll likely stop to inspect ours—looks too suspicious out here just floating. When that happens, we hide."
She pointed at the bench Mikey sat on.
"You're hiding under there. It's hollow, cramped, but it'll do. Just don't make a sound."
Mikey blinked. "Wait, and then what?"
Luce's tone hardened. "Then me and Bobo take care of business. We take out the guards, steal their armor, and use their vessel to get into the port. Simple."
Bobo chuckled darkly. "Well, simple enough."
Mikey nodded. "Got it."
"Good." "Get down. Now."
They moved fast. Mikey slid under the bench, curling into the narrow cavity, pressing his back to the underside of the wooden planks. Luce crouched on the opposite side, her body low and still, blade already unsheathed in her hand.
Bobo, too large to squeeze beneath anything, knelt near the tarp. Luce tossed it over him, the thick camouflage fabric draping awkwardly across his broad frame. It barely covered his legs.
Then—silence. Only the sound of water lapping at the hull. Distant gulls. The hum of something approaching.
Five minutes passed.
A harsh beam of light split the dark, sweeping over their boat.
There it is.
Another speedboat, gray and angular, cruised toward them. A sharp metallic whine echoed as a boarding platform extended and clanged against the edge of their boat.
Boots thudded.
Two soldiers in black combat armor stepped across the platform, weapons raised but lowered once aboard.
"This is patrol unit Delta-Four. Unmanned boat spotted, southwest perimeter."
"Copy. Investigating now," one of them muttered into his earpiece.
Their boots clanged softly on the deck as they moved, scanning the shadows.
One of them moved closer to the camo tarp.
"…What the hell's this?"
He reached for the tarp—peeled it back—
CRACK!
A metal fist exploded into the soldier's face, sending him flying backward against the railing with a guttural grunt.
The second soldier turned, lifting his weapon—but Luce was already moving. She burst from behind the bench, grabbing his wrist, her knife flashing.
SLASH!
Blood sprayed. The rifle dropped to the deck with a clatter.
Before he could scream, she slit his throat in one smooth, practiced motion. He crumpled at her feet.
The first soldier tried to recover, staggering upright, bloody nose shattered. He leveled his gun—
Too late.
Bobo caught the barrel with his cybernetic hand and bent it upward like it was made of plastic. Sparks popped. Metal shrieked.
The soldier stared in disbelief.
Then swung.
His punch landed on Bobo's jaw with a dull thud.
Bobo didn't flinch.
Didn't move.
Didn't even blink.
He grabbed the man's face with one massive hand, lifted him off the ground, and—with a horrifying twist—snapped his neck.
CRACK.
The body fell limp in his grip.
The sound echoed off the ocean.
Mikey crawled out from under the bench, breath shallow, heart racing. The air smelled like seawater and blood. The deck was littered with bodies.
Luce knelt, wiping her blade clean. Bobo stood over the corpses, already stripping one of its armor.
Mikey just stared.
They didn't hesitate.
Not once…
He looked down at the blood pooling between the deck boards. His reflection shimmered in it.
They killed without blinking.
This is what it means to fight the Council?
There wasn't room for mercy out here.
His stomach churned, but he didn't look away.
I'm going to have to become like them one day...
A knot formed in his chest—half fear, half… resolve.
He didn't know which one would win out yet.
But he stayed standing.
Bobo knelt beside the body and began stripping off the soldier's armor, his movements fast and practiced. Across from him, Luce did the same, peeling away the blood-slick tactical gear with a grunt.
Mikey stayed frozen—eyes locked on something the others hadn't seen.
There was another soldier.
Still aboard the patrol boat, just a few feet away.
His hands were trembling. His eyes were hidden by a tactical visor but underneath they were definitely wide with panic. He had just watched his comrades get taken apart like paper. Now he stood there, teeth gritted, rifle shaking in his grip as he raised it.
Mikey's voice cracked the tension like lightning.
"Bobo!"
Bobo looked up, brow furrowed. "Huh—?"
RATATAT!
Gunfire exploded from the patrol boat.
Without missing a beat, Bobo yanked the limp soldier's body up by the vest, holding it between himself and the hail of bullets. The dead man's armor sparked and thudded as rounds slammed into it—soaking up the fire.
Luce dove across the deck, slamming into Mikey and shoving him down behind the bench. Bullets zipped over their heads.
"Stay down!" she barked, drawing her pistol in the same breath.
She popped up just long enough to squeeze the trigger—CRACK. The bullet tore into the standing soldier's knee. Passing right through the small gap in his armor. He screamed and stumbled back, leg buckling beneath him.
Before he could recover, Bobo tossed the body aside and grabbed the corpse by the belt—then hurled it through the air like a sack of bricks.
The dead soldier smashed into the shooter, knocking him clean off balance.
The soldier tumbled sideways, crashing into the control console of the patrol boat.
Bobo didn't wait.
He charged forward, boots pounding on the deck, and launched himself across the small metal platform between the boats.
THUD.
He landed like a meteor.
The surviving soldier looked up, dazed—blood streaming from his nose, leg useless beneath him.
He saw Bobo's silhouette against the moonlight—towering, brutal, unstoppable.
"No—no, please! Wait—"
Bobo didn't stop.
One heavy boot came down hard.
CRUNCH.
The soldier's plea ended in a sickening silence.
Bobo stood over the body for a moment, chest rising and falling.
The only sound now was the ocean and the slow creak of boats rocking in the waves.
Mikey peeked out from behind the bench, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He'd seen death before—but not like this.
Not so up close. Not so deliberate.
Bobo turned back, already peeling off the bloodied armor.
"Suit's still usable," he said flatly.
Luce walked over and looked at the dead body of the soldier Bobo had launched.
She had the same flat tone.
"Well, this one's gone to shit, Bo."
She inspected the armor, it was dented and lit up by gunfire.
Mikey swallowed hard, rising slowly to his feet.
This was no game.
And now he knew what it meant to follow the Defectors.
Bobo glanced at the bodies, then at Luce.
"So what've we got? Just two suits?"
Luce stood up from where she'd been pulling gear off the limp soldiers. She wiped the blood from her hands on her pants and sighed.
"Yeah. Looks like it."
Mikey stood apart, staring at the corpses. His breathing was shallow, hands trembling slightly. The scent of blood and gunpowder clung to the air, hot and metallic. His eyes shimmered—not from tears exactly, but something close. Shock. The sheer weight of what he'd just witnessed pressing down like a vice on his chest.
He shook his head.
No.
Come on.
Not now.
He raised a hand and smacked himself across the cheek—just hard enough to sting. Just enough to pull himself out of the fog.
Okay. Okay... breathe.
He took a step closer to the nearest body, eyeing the armor. His stomach twisted, but he forced himself to look.
Too small.
That set'll fit Luce better.
He turned to the second soldier—the one Bobo had crushed underfoot. Mikey winced at the twisted angle of the man's limbs.
He studied the gear.
Too big for me.
But Bobo... yeah, he could squeeze into that one.
Mikey exhaled sharply and stepped up onto the metal platform, joining the others aboard the patrol boat. The sound of the ocean returned to his ears—the slap of waves against the hull, the wind tugging at his clothes.
Bobo and Luce were already talking, heads close, voices low.
"We can make it work," Luce was saying. "Worst case, we get creative—"
"I have an idea."
Mikey's voice cut through the air like a blade.
They both turned to him.
He didn't flinch.
"I know there's only two suits," he said, eyes darting between them. "But I noticed...I'm not the right size to wear either. But that doesn't mean I have to sit out."
Bobo narrowed his eyes, skeptical but listening. Luce tilted her head, waiting.
Mikey continued, calmer now, more sure of himself.
"You two take the suits. Blend in. I'll pose as your prisoner."
A pause of silence.
Then he added, "It's not perfect—but it's something. It explains why I'm not in uniform. Why I'm with you. I'll stay quiet, keep my head down, play the part."
Bobo folded his arms, chewing on the idea.
Luce raised an eyebrow, almost impressed.
Mikey stood tall—or as tall as he could manage with adrenaline still thrumming in his veins.
"This is how I help. Let me."
Another pause of silence.
Then, slowly, Bobo's expression changed—less like a hardass, more like someone starting to see the shape of a plan.
"Well, shit," he muttered. "That's not the dumbest thing I've heard today."
Luce smirked, nodding once.
"He might be able to pull it off."
Mikey gave a faint smile, but his insides were still a storm.
Keep it together.
Play your role.
Don't mess this up.