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"The dumbasses had cornered themselves in a freight yard. Of all the places they could have run, but they chose to fight in an enclosed area." The leader of the contractor group said, standing over the lifeless body of Aegis, nudging it with his boot as if testing to see if the corpse would oppose.
"They probably thought they could hide and ambush us before we were ready," one of his subordinates said, adjusting his grip on his weapon. "Not the worst idea. If we hadn't come prepared, they might've thinned our numbers." He patted the modified, scoped high-caliber pistol with armor-piercing rounds lying on his hip. "Lucky for us, we had direct counters to them."
The leader narrowed his eyes. "Who took this one out?" he asked, motioning toward Aegis's body.
The subordinate hesitated, then crouched down. "That's the thing. He was already dead when we arrived. And…" He grabbed the edge of Aegis's uniform, lifting it slightly. "His mask is missing. The reports said he was near invincible when fully suited. Whatever got to him did it before we even had to fire a shot."
The two operatives who had cleared the watchtower returned, their boots crunching against loose gravel. One of them slung his rifle over his shoulder and gave a quick nod. "We neutralized the one in the tower. No other hostiles in close range."
The leader frowned. "The one?"
"Yeah. Should've been three of them, right?"
One of the newcomers nodded. "I think I caught movement when we arrived. Someone bolted on foot."
The leader's gaze flicked back to Aegis's corpse, pieces clicking together in his mind. The missing third combatant. The missing mask. The fact that Aegis was already dead before they even arrived.
"That bastard killed him," he muttered. Then, shaking off the thought, he barked, "We'll hunt him down in a second. First, let's secure the package."
He strode to the vehicle, yanking open the trunk with a forceful jerk. Empty. His hands moved swiftly, checking the back seats, and the footwells. Nothing.
"Where the hell is it?" he snarled. Then he spun, eyes locking onto one of his men. "Put that power of yours to good use. Find me that briefcase."
The subordinate stepped forward, tapping his fingertips lightly against the SUV's chassis. A faint tremor ran through his fingers as he closed his eyes, attuning himself to the vibrations around him. His power allowed him to map out objects and movements through vibrations—a living sonar.
A long silence stretched. Then his brow furrowed. "It's not here," he said, his voice laced with surprise. "The third contractor must have taken it."
The leader clenched his jaw. "Shit. We have to chase that fucker before he gets too far—"
Then, the sound split the air.
Sirens, a lot of them. A piercing cry that cut through the air.
Everyone froze. The leader's face twisted in frustration. "What the hell? No way the cops should be here already. They only ever do their damn jobs at the worst possible moments."
"Probably just a coincidence," another subordinate offered. "We've only been here a few minutes. The place is abandoned. It's more likely someone heard the gunshots back on the highway and called those in. They'll probably roll past us, check out the noise over there."
But the man with his hand on the SUV tensed. His eyes snapped open as he reached inside, probing beneath the back seat. The others watched as he slowly withdrew a small object from the floor.
A phone.
The screen was still on.
It showed a call currently connected to 911.
Then, their eyes locked onto the screen.
The call timer read 00:13:46.
The realization hit like a freight train.
They had been played.
***
[You've gotten good at this—running, that is.]
It's not that simple. Not all kinds of running are the same. Some run toward something, others away. The purpose behind the run makes all the difference.
[But you're running without purpose. Have you even thought about what's next?]
He was right. I hadn't thought that far ahead; all I knew was my life would soon go to shit once more. But I kept running—I had to.
[Do you, really? You didn't have to run back then in the orphanage. But you listened, you ran.]
I pushed harder, vaulting over a fence and landing in the backyard of a house. My legs burn, and my lungs feel like they're scraping against my ribs. But I didn't stop until I hit the ground, leaning against the wooden slats of the fence.
[Good. Now we can think.]
I exhale slowly, the weight of exhaustion pressing against my chest.
[If you don't come up with something soon, you'll die too.]
I won't.
[You will, it's just like before.]
I push myself up from the dirt, my pulse steadying, my mind realigning.
[Done?]
Yes.
[Is it that simple? You're betting your life on a few seconds of thought?]
A few seconds is more than enough.
[And what's the plan? More running?]
There's nothing wrong with running. Sometimes, survival demands it. But there's a fine line between a survivor and a coward. Run too long, and you become the latter. I'm not a coward. I should be the one who gives people a reason to run.
[Is that so? Then let's hear it. What's the move?]
You already know, don't you? You always do.
I start walking again, slipping a hand into my jacket and pulling out one of my wallets. A quick inventory check—money, IDs, driver's licenses, debit cards, credit cards, receipts, a small USB, lockpicks, even SIM cards.
None of that mattered right now.
I flip through the cash—about two grand. More than enough to move.
Sticking to the suburbs wasn't an option. It's too isolated. There is no real way to reach the city from here. I have to move, but where to?
[Go west. Towards the Hudson River.]
[The riverfront attracts nightlife. Bars, docks, transit spots. Remember, Aegis said we were in Yonkers—that means we are in the third-largest city in all of New York. That's your best shot at an easy escape.]
"It's going to be a long walk."
***
I finally arrived in the city. Across the street, a bodega stood behind a wall of glass, its front watching me as I watched it. No one would expect it — right across that local corner store lay what could only be described as a den for scum, a pocket of the world's filth dressed up as the ordinary.
The door groaned open; the sound was like a warning—a reminder that this place was not for the hesitant or the weak.
A nearby clock flickered. A quarter after three. Late… or maybe early. I was tired. But exhaustion had never been an excuse.
I moved toward the bar. The place was somewhat alive, humming beneath the surface, even at this hour. The people here—sellers, buyers, fixers, shadows—never truly slept. Just because you don't see the rats doesn't mean they aren't scurrying beneath the floorboards.
Damien spotted me first. His voice carried through the air, low and even. "A drink? You look like you need one."
Most people didn't bother with masks, not in a world where supers could see through clothes like they were transparent film. But only the strong could afford to be recognized. Damien knew better—he kept his mask on.
His mask—a plain white face—hid most of his features, but his brown skin and sharp black hair peeked through the edges. I met his gaze through the dark slits of my own mask and shook my head.
"Is Cassian around?"
Damien tilted his head slightly. "Cass? Yeah, he practically lives here. Comes with the territory, I guess. Fixers don't get much time off."
"Tell him I need a word."
Damien studied me. A pause, slightly too long. Then:
"Do I know you, kid?"
"Tell him codename Jackal wants to discuss operation 051472," I said, unbothered.
That got him moving. Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the back.
I glanced around. Sparse but never empty. Deals were being made, risks weighed, and futures gambled. Crime didn't sleep because desperation never did.
Minutes passed. Then Damien returned. "He'll see you in the back."
I stood, slow and deliberate. My body ached—muscles tight, energy drained—but the night wasn't done with me yet.
Cassian's office wasn't far. I reached his door in seconds.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A voice from the other side. "Jackal?"
"Yes."
"Come in."
I pushed the door open.
He wore no wask; his height and build were similar to mine; the only things that differed were his tanned skin and blonde hair. Cassian sat behind his desk—sprawling, grandiose, a throne disguised as office furniture. A leather chair cushioned his weight, its polished frame reflecting the dim light. In contrast, the plastic chair across from him was bare, unwelcoming, and definitely uncomfortable.
I didn't hesitate. I sat.
Cassian barely looked up from his laptop. His blonde hair was slicked back, his body sculpted from years of survival in a world that didn't reward weakness. He didn't bother with masks. He was powerful enough not to care if he was seen.
"You wanted to talk?" He barely acknowledged me, his fingers moving across the keyboard. "Operation 051472, right? Smuggling job. Three-person team—codename Aegis, codename Karina, codename Jackal. Looked balanced on paper. So, what's the update? Job complete? I don't see a package."
"Don't worry about that. The package is secure. I need you to contact the client for pickup."
Cassian nodded, still typing. Then, without looking up, he asked, "Where are your teammates?"
"Dead." I didn't add anything to the word.
That got his attention. His hands stilled for a second before extending his right arm, searching for a file in the desk. Once he found it, he flipped it open, eyes scanning quickly.
"Codename Jackal," he read aloud. "Power: danger sense." His tone remained neutral, but I caught the faintest shift in his expression—curiosity. "Let's see… the last few assessment from your teammates and clients shows the following average:
Physical ability: D+.
Speed: D.
Endurance: D.
Durability: E+.
Combat skills: C.
Intellect: C+.
Threat level: D."
(Author's Note: The average no-power civilian is around an E+ threat level. Individual assessment stats and threat level can go up to SSS)
His eyes flicked back to me. Calculating. Then, with the same hand, he grabbed another file. Aegis's.
"Codename Aegis. Power: temporary on-contact reinforcement." He read off the stats. "Physical ability: B+. Speed: B. Endurance: C+. Durability: B-. Combat skills: B-. Intellect: B-. Threat level: B-."
A pause.
Cassian leaned back in his chair, tapping the file against the desk. His tone remained calm, but the question beneath it was serious.
"Aegis outscored you in every category. You're telling me he died?"
"I wouldn't be here delivering the package if he hadn't."
Cassian studied me for another moment. Then, he exhaled, rolling his shoulders back. The file remained in his hand, but his focus had shifted.
"I don't doubt it happened," he admitted, "I just wonder how."
I met his gaze, but I didn't say anything.
Cassian barely lifted his eyes from the screen as he spoke.
"Well, I guess it doesn't matter. I've emailed the client. They'll be here soon to collect their package." He paused, tapping a few final keys before glancing up at me. "Only after the job is completed in its entirety can I transfer your payment. Lucky for you—two dead teammates means you're in for quite the payday."
I shrugged. "Yeah, whatever. Send them to meeting room four when they get here."
I turned and left without waiting for a reply. Cassian didn't say anything either.
I moved quickly, renting out meeting room four without issue. It was vacant—expected, given the hour.
I stepped inside. The room was plain: a single table, a few chairs, dim lighting, but quiet.
Good enough.
I sat down, leaned back, and exhaled.
My job was done. For now.
So I slept.
And so an hour passed.
THUMP.
[Wake up. The door is opening.]
I stirred, sluggish at first, but my instincts snapped me fully awake before my head even lifted. My mind cleared in an instant.
Across from me stood a man. Broad shoulders, a cold gaze.
"Where's the package?" he asked.