The idea was insane. It was a plan born from pure desperation, fueled by the memory of a dragon's anger over a missing egg. Leo looked at the trembling containers, then at the heavily guarded Syndicate train, and a cold calm took hold of him. The panic was still there, an icy knot in his stomach, but it was now coated in a layer of steel-hard determination. This wasn't about survival. It was about retaliation. It was like trying to put out a fire with gasoline, but it was the only gasoline he had, and he was more than willing to watch it all burn.
He took a deep breath, his mind racing, processing the variables not as a hero, but as the chaotic courier he had become. He couldn't just open the containers. He needed to move them. He needed to get them close to the Syndicate's operation without being detected, turning their own cargo logistics into a weapon.
His new 'Phantom' scooter was his only advantage. Cloaked and silent, it was the perfect tool for a stealth mission. He flew down from his perch on the girder, a silent distortion in the air, and landed softly behind a mountain of discarded cargo crates near the "Live Dragon Feed" containers.
The containers were massive, the size of small trucks, and made of a thick, reinforced metal that was scarred with claw marks from the inside, silent witnesses to the fury contained within. A low, rumbling growl emanated from them, a sound that vibrated through the floor and up Leo's legs. A small control panel on the side of each container showed a single, ominous status: FEEDING TIME: IMMINENT.
Leo examined the locking mechanism. It was a complex series of magnetic clamps and pressure seals, designed to keep whatever was inside from getting out. But it was also designed to be opened by the automated cranes of the warehouse. He saw the large magnetic grapple points on the top of the container. He couldn't lift it, but maybe he didn't have to.
He flew his cloaked scooter up to one of the massive, automated cargo cranes that sat idle nearby. Its cockpit was dark, its operator likely on a break. He slipped inside. The controls were alien, designed for a being with more arms than him, with levers and buttons that seemed to follow no human logic. But the core functions, marked with universal symbols for cargo and movement, were recognizable.
With a jolt, he powered up the crane. Its massive engine hummed to life, a sound that was common in the noisy warehouse and drew no special attention. He carefully maneuvered the crane's magnetic grapple over the first dragon feed container. With a heavy CLANG, the magnet locked on.
Slowly, carefully, he lifted the container. The growling from inside intensified, the entire container shaking with the creature's agitation. He moved it through the air, a slow, nerve-wracking journey across the warehouse, trying to keep it out of the direct line of sight of the Syndicate guards. He almost dropped it when a worker on a forklift passed underneath, without looking up.
He positioned the container directly above the cargo hauler where the Syndicate train was being loaded. It was a precarious position. He was now in plain sight, but the guards were focused on their loading procedure, assuming the crane was just part of the warehouse's normal operation.
He repeated the process with a second container, placing it beside the first, both of them now dangling like a pair of apocalyptic cherries over the Syndicate's operation.
He flew back to his scooter and hovered in the shadows, his heart pounding. Now for the hard part. He couldn't just drop them. That would be too simple, too easy to contain. He needed to open them as they fell, to ensure maximum chaos.
He looked at his new ion cannons. They weren't powerful, but they were precise. He targeted the control panel on the side of the first container. He took a deep breath, his finger hovering over the trigger.
The timer on his smartphone read 00:10:00. It was now or never.
He fired.
A thin beam of blue ionic energy shot across the warehouse and hit the control panel. Sparks flew. The panel short-circuited, and with a hiss of depressurizing air, the magnetic locks on the container's main door failed.
At the same time, he released the crane's magnetic grapple.
The massive container dropped. As it fell, the heavy door swung open. A creature made of muscle, scales, and pure, primal hunger launched itself out of the container before it even hit the ground. It was a Wyvern, a smaller, more savage cousin of a dragon, with leathery wings and a jaw full of razor-sharp teeth.
It landed on top of the Syndicate train with a crash of metal, its screeching roar echoing through the entire warehouse.
The Syndicate guards, caught completely by surprise, reacted instantly, their training kicking in. They raised their plasma rifles and opened fire on the Wyvern. Beams of red energy crisscrossed the air.
But Leo wasn't finished. He fired his other ion cannon at the second container, releasing its lock and its grapple. Another Wyvern dropped from the sky, this one landing amidst the guards, its tail whipping around and sending armored figures flying.
Chaos erupted.
The workers in the warehouse screamed and ran for cover. Alarms blared. The two Wyverns, enraged and starving, began to tear into the Syndicate's cargo, their claws ripping through metal containers as if they were cardboard.
This was the distraction Leo needed.
While every Syndicate guard was focused on the dragon attack, he flew his cloaked 'Phantom' down towards the mobile prison car. He landed silently on its roof. He didn't have time to figure out the lock. He pulled out the heavy plasma wrench he still had from Griz. It was a tool, not a weapon. And he was about to use it for its intended purpose.
He jammed the wrench's claws into the seam of the roof's emergency hatch and, with a surge of adrenaline-fueled strength, he pulled. The metal groaned, bent, and then tore open with a screech.
He looked down into the dimly lit interior of the prison car.
Yuki was there, sitting on a simple metal bench. She wasn't in chains. She wasn't panicked. She looked up at him, her expression calm, but her eyes held a flicker of surprise and something else... relief.
"Your timing," she said, her voice even, "is characteristically chaotic."
"Get on," Leo said, reaching a hand down to her.
Just as she took his hand, the anonymous number on his phone sent one final message.
Good luck.