The silence was thick and suffocating. Theodore remained frozen, his boot depressing the landmine, his jaw clenched against the raw panic that threatened to overwhelm his tactical focus. The eight children were rigid like statues in the ruins.
The men in the oil-stained coats did not rush. They savored the moment, their confidence radiating off them like heat. They approached with slow, stalking steps, their knives held low.
"Look at you,"
the leader, the man with the scarred face, sneered, stopping just outside the range of a desperate lunge. His voice was a rasp. "Shouldn't have come here. Should've left the ruins to the rats."
He looked at the children, his grin widening to reveal chipped teeth.
"By coming here, you've all signed your death contract. Right there, under your boot."
Theodore slowly lowered his gaze to the metallic disk beneath his heel. He was running simulations in his mind, desperately calculating the minimum shift required to disarm the mechanism, or at least minimize the blast.
"Don't bother,"
the man said, as if reading Theodore's thoughts.
"That one's keyed. No defusal pin, no complex mechanism. Just pressure, pure and simple. One millimeter of movement, and you're pulp."
The children were frantically scanning their surroundings. They were paralyzed—the mines below, the knives above.
"We need help,"
Corbin (Omega) said, his voice quiet but sharp in the comms. His piercing blue eyes were scanning the rooftops of the nearby buildings, not the men.
"The city guard post is nearby. If they hear enough noise—a genuine ruckus—they will investigate."
Briar (Alpha), her eyes tracking the movements of the nearest knife-wielder, whispered back,
"How do you plan on creating a ruckus, Omega? We can't move a centimeter."
A small, strained voice cut in. It was Theta. "We can handle that, Alpha."
"We will handle that,"
Eta corrected, her voice tight with focus.
Corbin nodded slowly, his cold focus returning.
"Fine. Then that is the priority. Eta and Theta, create the loudest distraction you can. Everyone else—use this moment to identify the location of every landmine around you. We survive the next few minutes, we get a route out."
The other children nodded, their fear momentarily pushed aside by a shared purpose.
All except Emmett (Delta). He stood perfectly still, his body lean and precise, his unnerving gray eyes fixed on the twins.
*What a stupid plan,*
Emmett thought to himself, his mind thinking silently.
*How do two girls, paralyzed by an immovable threat, create a sound loud enough to summon the city guards? And how are they going to do it without moving from their spots? Their confidence is nothing but blind idiocy.*
Then, it began.
Eta and Theta's bodies went rigid. A shimmer of intense heat radiated off them, instantly drying the soot on their clothes. Thin columns of hot steam began to hiss from the seams of their battlesuits, rising into the cold air. Their faces contorted in concentration, and their eyes narrowed to thin, glowing lines of purple light.
They looked different now; alien, powerful, and utterly terrifying.
Theodore's eyes widened, his momentary focus on survival replaced by shock. The other children were stunned. The armed men halted their slow approach, confusion replacing their triumphant grins. Even Emmett's stoic mask fractured, a sliver of genuine surprise showing in his eyes.
Suddenly, with a simultaneous dash of speed, Eta and Theta moved.
They launched themselves from their positions, their feet moving with such speed and precision that they didn't kick up a single puff of soot. They didn't detonate a single mine. It was as if their minds, which were now supercharged by this mysterious internal process, could map the hidden threat of the minefield and navigate the narrow, safe passages between them.
The men, alarmed by the sheer, intense velocity of the two small figures, had no time to react. The twins were a contained whirlwind of motion, heat, and violence waiting to unfold.
Eta hit the nearest attacker like a solid, radiating projectile, her shoulder connecting with his ribs with the force of a battering ram. The man gasped, his knife clattering uselessly to the ground as he crumpled.
Theta, simultaneously, moved toward the second man. She didn't strike with brute force. Instead, she performed a series of rapid, blows, the hot steam now venting from her palms. The man shrieked, clutching his face where the intense, concentrated heat had seared his skin.
The fight had erupted into chaos. The remaining men, now enraged and surprised, surged forward, their initial confidence shattered.
While the noise and chaos mounted, Corbin moved with the swift, quiet efficiency of a thief. Knowing the guards would likely confiscate any evidence, he bent down and swiftly picked up the two custom bullet casings. He shoved them deep into a hidden pocket in his suit, his blue eyes never leaving the violent, steaming flurry that was the twins.
Just as Eta delivered a hard, clean kick to the leader's jaw, sending him stumbling backward, a sound tore through the cacophony of the fight.
A gunshot.
It wasn't the crack of a common firearm, but a booming, refined sound. Corbin immediately turned, an expectant look on his face. His plan had worked! The city guards had heard the commotion!
It wasn't them.
Standing framed in the archway of the ruins, silhouetted against the streetlights, was a stout man with close-cropped blonde hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He was dressed in an expensive, dark wool suit, and he carried a wooden walking cane in one hand, the other resting near the smoking barrel of a unique, custom-made pistol.
The men who had been trying to subdue Eta and Theta froze instantly, their faces draining of color. They knew that figure.
"Boss,"
one of them choked out, dropping his knife and bowing his head in immediate, terrified deference.