CHAPTER 28: FRAGMENT CARTOGRAPHY
The rooftop was quiet except for the wind.
I sat cross-legged on the tar paper, back against an air conditioning unit, and let the Fragment Sensing unfold. The ability had been there since Stormtiger's death—a background hum at the edge of my awareness—but I hadn't tried to use it deliberately until now.
Open.
The sensation was like thermal imaging rendered in a dimension I couldn't name. The city spread out below me in its usual chaos of streets and buildings, but overlaid on that familiar geography was something else—warmth. Specific points of heat moving through the urban maze, each one distinct in temperature and intensity.
Parahumans. Their powers registered as potential energy, fragment yield waiting to be harvested.
I focused on the nearest signature—three blocks east, moving at walking pace. Cold. The weakest reading on my internal scale, barely above baseline human. A cape with limited power, or one whose abilities didn't translate well to fragments. Not worth pursuing.
The second signature was four blocks south. Warmer. Moderate yield, the kind of return I'd gotten from the ABB gunman or Stormtiger. Useful, but not game-changing.
The third signature made me sit up straighter.
Hot. Burning hot. Moving fast across rooftops to the northwest, a streak of thermal intensity that flared against the city's background radiation. High-quality fragment—possibly a Power Shard like the ones I'd gotten from Oni Lee and Stormtiger, but stronger than either.
I tracked the signature for thirty seconds, mapping its patrol pattern. Rooftop to rooftop, consistent spacing, the disciplined movement of someone covering territory rather than traveling through it.
Cape on patrol. High yield. Northwest sector.
The Fragment Sensing couldn't tell me who they were—no convenient name tags floating above the thermal signatures—but it told me enough. Somewhere in Brockton Bay, a parahuman worth dying for was making their rounds.
I filed the location and headed back to the loft.
Brian was already warming up when I arrived.
The gym space had become our regular training ground—converted storage room with mats on the floor and a heavy bag in the corner. He stood in the center, rolling his shoulders, the kind of casual preparation that made his muscles shift under his shirt.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Always."
We circled. Brian threw the first punch—a jab to test my guard—and I slipped it cleanly. His eyebrow rose.
The second punch came faster, a cross that should have caught my jaw. I felt it before it landed. The aerokinesis fragment, weak as it was, registered the displaced air a half-second before impact. Not much warning, but enough to twist away.
Brian's third strike was a combination—jab, cross, hook—and I dodged two of three. The hook caught my ribs, but lighter than it should have.
"You're faster," he said, resetting his stance.
"Practice."
"Bullshit." He came in again, and this time I felt the air pressure shift around his whole body—the micro-currents of his movement, the wake left by his arms as they accelerated. I read his combinations through displaced atmosphere rather than visual cues.
I dodged three more strikes. Caught the fourth on my forearm. Gave ground strategically rather than desperately.
Brian stopped, breathing evenly. "Something changed. Last week you were eating half my jabs. Now you're reading them before they land."
"I've been working on my timing."
"Uh-huh." His expression said he didn't believe me. Filed it away with Lisa's collection of anomalies, probably. Another data point suggesting Revenant wasn't quite what he appeared to be.
But he didn't push. That was Brian—professional enough to respect secrets, observant enough to notice them, patient enough to wait for the truth.
We reset and went again.
Between rounds, I held out my hand and focused on the aerokinesis fragment.
The air responded. Barely. A faint pressure against my palm, like someone breathing across my skin from inches away. Not enough force to ruffle paper, not enough control to direct the movement.
But it was there. Growing.
Dead men's gifts can improve, I thought. The fragments aren't static. They develop with use.
I flexed my fingers and felt the air flex with them—a weak mirror of Stormtiger's power, filtered through twenty percent absorption and my own inexperience. Given time, given practice, it might become something useful.
Given time.
The problem was that time kept running out. Leviathan was coming. The Slaughterhouse Nine were coming. Every day I spent developing existing fragments was a day I wasn't acquiring new ones.
The hot signature I'd sensed on the rooftop flashed through my memory. High yield. Northwest sector. Patrol pattern.
Worth investigating.
"Again?" Brian asked, raising his fists.
"Again."
We circled, and this time I let him land a few hits—not enough to raise suspicion, but enough to mask exactly how much my defensive capabilities had improved.
Secrets on top of secrets. The tower was getting taller.
Lisa was at the loft when we finished, spread out on the couch with her laptop and a takeout container that smelled like Thai.
"Our employer sent coordinates," she said without looking up. "Territory scouting. E88's fracture zone."
"Fracture zone?" Brian wiped his face with a towel.
"Kaiser's losing grip. Purity's faction is breaking away, taking soldiers and territory with them. The blocks between their spheres of influence are contested—nervous foot soldiers, abandoned businesses, unclear loyalties." Lisa finally looked up. "Coil wants us to map the new borders. Figure out who pays protection to whom, which capes patrol which areas, where the actual lines are."
"Intel gathering," I said. "Not combat."
"Ideally." Lisa's expression was dry. "Though with E88, 'ideally' and 'actually' tend to diverge."
I thought about the hot signature I'd sensed earlier. Northwest sector. The same general direction as E88's contested territory.
"When?"
"Tomorrow night. Full team, minus me on overwatch." She gestured at her leg, which she'd been favoring since the bank job. "I'll coordinate from here."
Brian nodded. "Standard formation?"
"With adjustments for the terrain. These aren't normal patrol routes—they're war zones. Rachel's dogs lead, Regent handles any civilian complications, you and Revenant cover each other."
"Got it." Brian glanced at me. "You good for tomorrow?"
"I'm good."
Lisa's eyes moved between us—reading something in the exchange, filing it away like she filed everything. But she didn't comment.
"Rest up," she said. "This one's going to be complicated."
That night, I sat in my room at the Hebert house and pulled up the system interface.
[KILLER'S ECHO STATUS: TIER 1 — FRAGMENT SENSING ACTIVE][CURRENT FRAGMENTS: 3/3][SLOT 1: AEROKINESIS — 20% — STORMTIGER][SLOT 2: FIREARM HANDLING — 20% — ABB GUNMAN][SLOT 3: METAL-SENSE/REFLEXES — 22% — HOOKWOLF]
Three slots. All full. The next death would overwrite the oldest fragment—the aerokinesis I'd just started learning to use.
Unless the new fragment is similar enough to merge.
The system had rules I was still figuring out. When Stormtiger's aerokinesis had overwritten Oni Lee's spatial awareness, the replacement had been clean—different power, different type, no interaction. But if a new fragment was close enough to an existing one, there might be synergy instead of replacement.
The hot signature I'd sensed was moving through E88 territory. A cape with strong yield, patrol patterns consistent with enforcement duty. Tomorrow's scouting mission would take us right through that area.
Coincidence? Or Coil positioning us near a valuable target?
I didn't believe in coincidences. Not in this city. Not with that employer.
The city looked different now. Not streets and buildings but a heat map of potential—every cape a prize I hadn't died for yet, every patrol route a chance to trade temporary death for permanent power.
The math was simple. The execution was complicated.
I closed the interface and tried to sleep.
To supporting Me in Pateron.
with exclusive access to more chapters (based on tiers more chapters for each tiers) on my Patreon, you get more chapters if you ask for more (in few days), plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $6/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes.
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!
if you've been waiting for a translation — it's up.
unwrittenrealm.com has this story in 14 languages and more free chapters than here.