The greasy slip of paper felt like a burning coal in Ethan's pocket. Pier 42. Midnight. Electronics. McNamara's intel. A lifeline thrown into the churning waters of his predicament. A chance to strike Tsang where it truly hurt – his wallet – without painting the docks in blood and risking the Star-Eclipse's hungry gaze. Yet, the Stardust Shard pressed against his thigh, its cold promise a constant counterpoint to the bartender's counsel. Subtlety. Could a weapon forged in cosmic fury and wielded by a spirit stained with darkness truly be subtle?
He found refuge deeper in the tunnel network, far from the echoing chaos of the warehouse annex. The air was colder here, the silence profound, broken only by the rhythmic drip of water and the frantic skittering of unseen things. He leaned against the damp brick, closing his eyes, focusing inward. The 0.5% Stardust network hummed, a fragile latticework of cold light bypassing the churning darkness of the Star-Eclipse. He needed control. Precision. Not the brutal efficiency he'd unleashed on Tsang's enforcers, but the silent lethality of a ghost.
**> Initiate Sensory Refinement Protocol: Primary Focus - Auditory & Olfactory Enhancement. Secondary Focus - Low-Light Vision Optimization. Suppress Kinetic Output.**
He directed the flow of Stardust energy, channeling it away from his muscles, funneling it instead into his senses. The world sharpened. The dripping water became distinct, individual droplets hitting puddles with pinpoint clarity. The rustling in the shadows resolved into the frantic heartbeat of a rat, the scrape of its claws on concrete. He could smell the damp brick, the pervasive mildew, the faint, lingering scent of diesel from a distant service vehicle, and… something else. A sterile, metallic tang. Ozone? Similar to the residue near the docks locker, but fainter. Knights? No. Too static. Older. Equipment? He filed it away.
The pain in his ribs was a dull ache, manageable. The internal bleeding had slowed to a trickle, his core's passive regeneration slowly knitting ravaged tissue. He was functional. He was ready. He needed tools. Not the Shard's raw power, but mundane implements for a mundane crime. Mostly.
Hours crawled by. He moved through the undercity like a phantom, utilizing his enhanced senses to avoid patrols – both Tsang's increasingly visible thugs and the NYPD units drawn by the earlier warehouse disturbance. He found what he needed near a derelict maintenance shed: a heavy-duty bolt cutter, its jaws rusted but serviceable; a length of thick, coarse rope; and a discarded black hoodie, relatively clean, to replace his blood-stained jacket. He kept the Shard close, its presence a cold anchor, a reminder of the line he walked.
As midnight approached, he emerged near Pier 42. It wasn't a grand passenger terminal; it was a functional, grimy stretch of waterfront dominated by massive cranes silhouetted against the city-lit sky, stacks of shipping containers forming a labyrinthine city of corrugated steel. Security was tight. High fences topped with razor wire. Guard towers manned by figures with rifles silhouetted against floodlights. Patrol vehicles with sweeping spotlights crawled along the perimeter access roads. Tsang had taken McNamara's bait seriously, expecting trouble.
Ethan observed from the shadows beneath a rusting gantry crane. His enhanced senses mapped the patterns: the sweep of the lights, the predictable routes of the roving guards, the blind spots created by towering container stacks. He identified his target – a specific cluster of high-security containers near the water's edge, bathed in overlapping spotlights and guarded by four heavily armed men. Tsang's elite cadre, likely reinforced after the warehouse debacle. Subtlety wouldn't get him through that cordon.
He needed a diversion. Something big. Something distracting. His gaze swept the pier. Machinery. Fuel lines. Electrical substations. Too obvious. Too destructive. Too… loud. Then he saw it. Near the guard post controlling access to the high-security zone, a technician was working on a junction box. A small, portable generator hummed beside him, powering his tools. Ethan focused his enhanced hearing.
"...faulty relay on the perimeter lights for Sector Gamma," the technician muttered into a comms unit. "Gonna take at least twenty minutes to bypass and reroute. Keep the patrols tight until then."
Sector Gamma. The sector opposite the high-security containers. A perimeter light failure. A predictable response: concentrate manpower on the perceived vulnerability.
Ethan smiled, a cold, predatory expression. McNamara's words echoed: "Guards get bored. Distracted. Especially if somethin' shiny happens nearby." He didn't need shiny. He needed dark.
He moved with liquid silence, circling wide, staying deep in the container shadows. He reached the junction box the technician had mentioned. It was a complex nest of wires and relays. Ethan knew nothing about electrical engineering. But he didn't need to. He focused on the portable generator nearby. Its engine hummed, a steady vibration.
**> Apply External Stardust Vector: Resonance Destabilization. Target: Portable Generator Engine (Harmonic Frequency).**
He visualized the generator's internal rhythm, the vibration of its pistons. He directed a sliver of will, amplified by his core and shaped by the Shard's proximity, not as a destructive force, but as a discordant note. A single, focused pulse of disruptive energy aimed at the engine's harmonic frequency.
The generator coughed. Sputtered. Then died with a final, protesting wheeze. The lights in Sector Gamma flickered wildly, then plunged into darkness. Instantly, alarms wailed – different from the perimeter breach alarms. System failure alarms.
"Power failure in Sector Gamma! Lights down! Possible intrusion vector!" a voice barked over the comms chatter Ethan could now hear clearly. "All units, converge on Gamma! Repeat, converge on Gamma! High-security sector, maintain positions but stay alert!"
Chaos erupted. Spotlights swung wildly towards the newly darkened sector. Patrol vehicles accelerated, sirens briefly blaring before being cut off. Guards from posts near the high-security containers peeled away, jogging towards Gamma. The four elite guards remained, but their attention was divided, eyes scanning the darkness towards the commotion, weapons held ready but not fully focused.
Distracted.
Ethan moved. He flowed through the newly created shadows near the high-security containers, a wraith in the manufactured gloom. He reached the perimeter fence. Heavy chain-link, topped with razor wire. The bolt cutters bit through the thick links with surprising ease, his Stardust-enhanced strength making the task trivial. He slipped through the gap, melting into the deeper shadows between towering container stacks.
He navigated the maze, his senses on high alert. He smelled gun oil, stale sweat, the tang of nervous adrenaline from the guards nearby. He heard their muttered conversations, their focus still split between their post and the distant chaos in Gamma. He identified the target container – reinforced steel, heavy-duty locks, no obvious external markings except a stenciled code: ST-042-PSI.
PSI? An odd designation. Not standard electronics coding. He filed it away.
The locks were formidable. Multiple heavy-duty padlocks securing the heavy steel doors. The bolt cutters wouldn't suffice. He needed something else. He focused on the locks themselves, the internal mechanisms. Could he…? The Shard pulsed coldly. Too risky. Too much power. Too much noise. Subtlety.
He noticed the locking bars. Thick steel rods slid into brackets on the container frame. He placed his hands on one bar, near the bracket. He focused his Stardust energy, not on shattering the metal, but on vibrating it. A high-frequency oscillation, microscopic but intense, channeled directly into the metal at the point of contact with the bracket.
**> Apply Kinetic Vector: Micro-Oscillation. Target: Locking Bar Interface.**
The metal began to hum, a sound felt more than heard. Seconds ticked by. Then, a faint ping. A microscopic fracture propagated at the stress point where the bar met the bracket. Ethan increased the oscillation frequency minutely. Another ping. Then, with a soft, almost inaudible snap, the locking bar sheared cleanly at the bracket.
He repeated the process on the other bar. Silent. Efficient. No sparks. No loud cracks. Just the quiet surrender of stressed metal. He slid the broken bars free.
He took a breath, listening. The guards were still distracted, arguing over comms about the situation in Gamma. He gripped the heavy door handle. Slowly, silently, he pulled it open just enough to slip inside, closing it softly behind him.
Darkness. Thick and absolute. His low-light vision kicked in, painting the interior in shades of grey. The container was packed. Not with consumer electronics boxes, but with heavy, crated equipment bolted to the floor. Thick cables snaked across the metal decking. And in the center, dominating the space, stood a device unlike anything he'd seen.
It resembled a massive, multi-faceted crystal generator, encased in a framework of dark, non-reflective metal. Pulsing conduits, filled with a viscous, faintly glowing blue fluid, connected it to humming power units. Symbols etched onto its surface weren't Chinese or English; they were geometric, alien, resonating faintly with an energy signature that made his Stardust core hum in uneasy recognition. Energy Signature: Spatial Destabilization. Classification: Unknown Technology. Threat Level: High.
This wasn't black-market TVs. This was something else. Something dangerous. McNamara's intel was wrong. Or incomplete. Or deliberately misleading.
Before he could process the implications, a voice, cold and electronically modulated, echoed from outside the container, amplified by a loudspeaker:
"Intruder in High-Security Sector. Container ST-042-PSI breached. Initiate Containment Protocol Sigma. Non-lethal force authorized. Repeat, non-lethal force authorized."
The Celestial Knights had arrived. And they weren't here for Tsang's electronics.