The grainy livestream flickered across my laptop, pixels dying in little spasms like the universe itself was lagging. Some poor kid at the station was probably wrestling with the "LIVE" overlay like it was advanced mathematics.
The anchor leaned in, voice trembling
"And it's just coming in—the villainous duo known as the Mauler Twins have seized control of Wyoming's nuclear missile silo. To recap—yes—this is the same facility the Lizard League occupied months ago. The Guardians of the Globe were seen entering earlier today, but there has been no new developme—"
Click.
That was my cue.
I shut the laptop with all the gravitas of a guy who definitely hadn't just spent thirteen hours in a rusty grimy van eating cold fries and refreshing Reddit like a degen. The van door screeched open, and Wyoming's midnight air slapped me awake.
I stepped out into the cold like a knockoff vigilante cosplayer. Black mask. Black hoodie. Cargo pants. Basically, the starter pack for either a supervillain raid or a porno blacked actor.
Subtle? Not even close. But subtlety hadn't made the plan. Somewhere between Step 5(Learn Basic Combat) and Step 7(Steal Tech from Geniuses Who Should Know Better), I'd tossed stealth out the window.
The warehouse squatted at the edge of nowhere, rusted doors, broken windows, a faint hum leaking out into the night. If there had been a neon sign flashing CRIMINAL LAIR, it wouldn't have been more obvious.
And yet, I walked. Not crept. Not sprinted. Walked.
Because canon was on my side.
And also because I wasn't in a rush. Why would I be? I knew exactly what day it was. Their last day. The Mauler Twins wouldn't be making it back from the missile silo—not this time. Not with that demon Kid Omniman coming around to help his brother.
Which meant I had time.
Time to loot their stash. Time to strip their little empire of every gleaming toy they thought made them clever. Exosuit schematics. Neural chips. Half-finished death rays. Grave robbing without the corpses.
My Step 7.
Boots crunched gravel as I rounded the warehouse and found the service door, tucked away behind shipping containers like a secret everyone already knew. Drone footage said this was the weak spot. No cameras. No guards. Just a scanner and a pad.
Easy.
Until it wasn't.
The moment I peeled back the panel, a low whine filled the air. Not loud. Worse—quiet. Subtle. The kind of sound that tells you, politely, you've already screwed up.
"Crap."
I jammed the signal scrambler into the node, fingers flying, cloned the handshake protocol like my life depended on it—because it did. The light flicked green… then red.
The wall hissed. Opened.
And revealed a hovering orb. Matte black, red eye blinking like a heart monitor.
"Unknown biometrics detected. Lethal force authorized in ten. Nine—"
"Oh, come on."
Sweat burned my eyes as I rewired the protocol by hand, nerves singing. Numbers ticked down.
"Four. Three. Two—"
Click.
Green light. The orb retracted, sulking.
"Good boy." I patted the scanner.
The service door slid open with a hiss. Inside smelled like burnt circuits and bad ideas.
Flashlight beam cut through the dark: crates stacked high, wires like snakes across the floor, half-built exosuits hunched like corpses in a morgue. Jackpot.
Step 7 was about quality, not volume. One good prize was enough to tilt the board. And I already knew which prize I wanted.
The hum in the walls grew louder. Paranoia chewed at me. The Twins never left their toys unguarded.
Then—clank.
I froze. A panel on the far wall shuddered like something inside wanted out. My mouth went dry. Clones? Drones? Both?
I crept closer, hand trembling on the lockpicks. The panel split open—
—and instead of a Mauler, there was a glowing blue cylinder. Heartbeat pulse. Wires tangled around it.
A power core.
I grinned, half greed, half terror.
That's when the lights exploded on.
Fluorescents blazed white-hot. And four turrets unfolded from the ceiling, one in each corner, swiveling toward me like they'd been waiting.
"Oh, shit."
The first volley hit before I finished the thought.
I dove. Bullets chewed the floor where I'd stood, spiderweb cracks tearing through concrete. Sparks lit the air.
High-assault rounds. Not toys.
I scrambled behind a crate. The jammer at my belt fizzled out, fried beyond saving. Turrets shredded my cover inch by inch.
Options? None good.
That's when I saw it—the real prize.
At the back of the lab: two slabs, cables threading into a red-lit tower, a neural rig perched above like a throne of wires and teeth.
The Mauler mind-cloning machine.
I needed it.
Problem: four turrets disagreed.
I hurled my dead jammer into the air. The turrets snapped, unloading in perfect sync. The jammer disintegrated mid-flight.
And I ran.
Straight for a half-built exosuit slumped against the wall.
Bullets chased me. I dove inside the torso cavity, metal shrieking as the turrets hammered steel. The suit groaned, hydraulics twitching under my weight.
A clunky lever brushed my hand. I yanked. HUD flickered alive.
POWER: 8%. MOBILITY ONLY. WEAPONS LOCKED.
Good enough.
The suit staggered upright. Bullets slammed into me like hammers, numbers bleeding down the HUD. Integrity failing.
I lumbered toward the power core, sparks flying, alarms screaming. Turrets tore the room apart.
I wrapped both arms around the glowing cylinder. Yanked.
Flash. Silence.
The lights died. Turrets froze.
I stood in darkness, chest heaving.
Then—click.
Backup generators hummed alive. Dim lights. Turrets rebooting.
"Of course."
I bolted. Power core in hand, I sprinted toward the rig. Turrets locked on. Too slow.
So I gambled.
"Catch! you fucking clankers"
I heaved the core into the air. Turrets swiveled, unloaded.
BOOM.
The world became fire. The explosion tore the warehouse apart, hurled me through the wall, exosuit crumpling as I hit the dirt.
I lay there in the mud, body screaming, lungs burning. Behind me, flames, rubble. A crater where the warehouse slash lab used to be.
And in my arms—scorched, sparking, half-melted—was the rig.
The Mauler neural mind-cloning rig.
Broken. Beautiful. Mine.
I laughed. Harsh. Cracked. Alive.
Step 7: Complete.
now unto Step 7: Rebirth.