A low, resonating crack split the oppressive silence of a room, a sound like bone grinding against stone. Darkness clung to the corners, thick and suffocating, broken only by the faint, almost imperceptible glow of unseen mechanisms. Anna, hunched over on the cot, continued her ritual, the rhythmic snap and click of breaking and regenerating fingers the only punctuation in the heavy stillness. Suddenly, a soft hiccup escaped her lips, a tiny, involuntary sound that broke the monotonous rhythm. She paused, her hands still hovering over her fingers, the pain momentarily overwhelming.
The door slid open with a whisper of hydraulics, revealing Felicity silhouetted against the faint light beyond. She moved with the fluid grace of a predator, her presence a tangible shift in the oppressive atmosphere.
"I never told you to stop," Felicity said, her voice a low murmur that cut through the silence. Anna looked up, her eyes shining with an unsettling brightness, a disturbing mixture of pain and something akin to joy.
"You know," Felicity continued, her voice softening slightly, "what you did on your first mission… I was proud."
A wide, almost manic smile spread across Anna's face. "Really?" she breathed, her voice trembling with a mixture of pain and exhilaration. The genuine delight in her tone was chilling in its contrast to the self-inflicted torture she was enduring.
"Keep it up," Felicity said, her voice regaining its earlier coldness. "Make your sister proud." She turned and left, the door sliding shut behind her with another barely audible hiss.
Anna resumed her self-inflicted torture, the rhythmic snapping of her fingers once more filling the darkness. The faint glow of the unseen mechanisms seemed to mock her grim determination, but her expression remained one of unsettling, almost blissful devotion. The pain was real, but the twisted sense of purpose, the warped love for her "sister," was even more potent.
******
in a room with a single, harsh overhead light illuminating a long, polished table of obsidian black. Seven figures sat around it, their faces mostly obscured by shadow, each radiating an aura of lethal competence. At the head of the table sat A, her posture radiating an effortless authority. The others – G, E, D, C, B
Felicity entered, her movements fluid and silent, a predator entering its den. She took her seat without a word, the chair seeming to melt beneath her.
"You're late," A's voice was low, devoid of inflection, a statement of fact rather than an accusation.
"I had to take care of something," Felicity replied, her tone equally flat, her eyes scanning the faces around the table.
A subtle shift occurred. D, his face partially hidden in shadow, leaned forward. "Was it… your sister?" he asked, his i voice a low growl.
Felicity's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Shut up, D," she hissed, the word laced with venom. The sadistic glint in her eyes was unmistakable. A steepled her fingers, her gaze sweeping across the assembled ranks. "The Father believes there may be a spy amongst us," A stated, her voice a low, dangerous hum. The weight of the Father's suspicion hung heavy in the air, unspoken yet palpable.
B leaned back, a subtle, almost imperceptible movement. "The chances are very low," B said, their voice calm, measured. "A spy beneath us? Unlikely."
"We already have a spy within the Black Dragons faction," G interjected, their voice sharp, cutting through the tense silence. "But there's a possibility he's turned. We need to interrogate him first."
“Unlikely he's turned," D countered. "I'm close to Raphael. He wouldn't betray us so easily. There has to be another spy, someone we don't know about." D's words hung in the air, a challenge to the assumptions of the others. "However, that's not why you're all here. This is critical, yes, but it's not the main reason. The mission to capture the scientist… it was a success. We extracted information." A paused, letting the weight of their words sink in. "There's an island, not far from the city. They're creating superhuman soldiers there. Power holders. like us. This is a threat to both our faction and the Black Dragons. They can captured one of us from the city. We need to stop this." A's gaze hardened. "I know where the island is."
*Two days ago*
In the heart of Atlas City, the midday sun glinted off the polished chrome of the Atlas City Bank. Inside, the usual hum of activity was shattered by a sudden, chilling silence. Three figures, all tall and imposing, stood amidst the scattered bodies of terrified bank employees and customers, their voices cutting through the stunned quiet.
"Put your money in the bag!" the most aggressive of the three barked, his voice raspy and strained. He gestured with a sawed-off shotgun towards a trembling teller, their hands shaking as they frantically stuffed cash into a large duffel bag.
The other two robbers, while equally tall, were noticeably more nervous. One kept a watchful eye on the hostages, his hand never straying far from the pistol holstered at his hip, his body visibly tense. The other fidgeted, his eyes darting around the room, constantly scanning for any sign of trouble. He occasionally muttered to himself, a nervous tic that betrayed his anxiety.
"Hurry up!" the aggressive robber snapped, his patience wearing thin. The teller, their face pale and streaked with tears, fumbled with the cash, their hands trembling so violently that some bills slipped from their grasp and fluttered to the floor.
Suddenly, the screech of tires and the unmistakable wail of police sirens filled the air. The robbers froze, their eyes darting towards the bank's entrance. Several police cars had screeched to a halt outside, their emergency lights flashing. A SWAT team began to emerge, their weapons trained on the bank.
"Police! Get down!" a police officer yelled, their voice echoing through the bank. The robbers exchanged panicked glances, their carefully constructed facade of control crumbling. The aggressive robber, his face contorted with rage, raised his shotgun. The tense standoff had begun. The air crackled with anticipation, the fate of the robbers and the hostages hanging precariously in the balance.
The aggressive robber, his face contorted with a mixture of rage and panic, grabbed a young woman by the hair, yanking her to her feet. Her eyes, wide with terror, reflected the harsh glare of the overhead lights. "You're coming with me," he snarled, his voice thick with menace. He shoved her roughly towards the bank's exit, his shotgun held loosely at his side.
The nervous robber, his anxiety escalating, grabbed an older man by the arm, his grip surprisingly strong. The man stumbled, his glasses askew, his face a mask of fear. "Stay calm," the robber muttered, more to himself than to the hostage, his voice trembling slightly. He half-dragged, half-pushed the man towards the door, his pistol still holstered but his hand hovering nervously over it.
The two robbers, each with a hostage in tow, burst out of the bank into the bright sunlight. The scene outside was chaotic: police officers swarmed the area, their weapons drawn, shouting orders. The robbers pushed their hostages forward, using them as shields against the hail of police commands.
"Let them go!" a police officer yelled, his voice strained. The aggressive robber laughed, a harsh, cruel sound that cut through the air.
"Not a chance," he spat, his eyes scanning the scene, assessing the situation. He shoved the young woman towards the officers, using her as a human shield. She stumbled, falling to her knees, her body shaking with relief and terror.
The older man, however, was not so lucky. The nervous robber, his eyes darting between the police and his hostage, tightened his grip. "He's coming with us," he muttered, his voice barely audible above the din of the chaos.
The two robbers, one now free, the other still held captive, sprinted towards a waiting van parked a block away. The aggressive robber tossed the duffel bag of cash into the back, then shoved the older man inside, slamming the door shut. They jumped into the van, the driver already behind the wheel, and sped off, tires screeching against the asphalt.
Several police cars peeled out in pursuit, their sirens a deafening roar that echoed through the city streets. The chase was on. The van, carrying its captive and its ill-gotten gains, disappeared into the labyrinthine streets of Atlas City
The van roared through the city streets, the relentless wail of police sirens a constant, deafening backdrop. Inside, the tension was palpable. The aggressive robber, his face grim, gripped the steering wheel. The nervous robber fidgeted, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror, while the third robber, surprisingly calm, began to speak.
"Alright, let's get this over with," he said, his voice surprisingly steady. "Three bags. We split it three ways. Just like we planned."
The aggressive robber grunted in response, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He navigated the city streets with a reckless abandon, weaving through traffic with a skill that bordered on the reckless.
As they turned sharply into a narrow alley, attempting to lose their pursuers, the nervous robber suddenly opened the back doors of the van. The police cars, following closely behind, were forced to slow down as they entered the narrow passage. It was then that the older man was thrown from the moving van.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
The police cars screeched to a halt, narrowly avoiding hitting the man who landed hard on the asphalt, his body crumpling. He groaned in pain, his body twisted at an unnatural angle. The robbers, however, didn't stop. They continued their escape, leaving the injured man behind.
Finally, they reached a secluded dead-end street, far from the city center. The van screeched to a halt, the engine sputtering to a stop. Each robber grabbed a bag of money. There was no time for satisfaction, no time for shared glances; only the urgent need to escape. They were already moving, melting into the shadows, disappearing into the labyrinthine streets of Atlas City, each hoping they would be the one to escape the long arm of the law. The plan, from the start, had been for a swift escape and a clean split, minimizing risk and maximizing the chances of at least one of them evading capture. The urgency of their escape was fueled not only by the pursuing police but also by the knowledge that the entire operation, from the initial planning to the selection of this specific dead-end street, had been meticulously orchestrated to serve a larger, more sinister purpose – a purpose tied to the building's real-life function and the individuals tasked with maintaining its clandestine operations. The distant wail of police sirens faded into the quiet of the night, leaving only the lingering sense of a conspiracy far larger than a simple bank robbery.
High above the sprawling cityscape of Atlas, perched on the edge of a tall building, stood Assassin Z. Her short, black hair, cropped just below her ears, whipped gently in the night breeze. Clad in her signature black assassin attire, she was a dark silhouette against the inky sky, a predator poised to strike. The city lights twinkled below, a glittering tapestry of human activity oblivious to the silent hunter preparing to descend. Her target: the aggressive robber from the Atlas City Bank heist, a contract she'd received days before the robbery even took place.
With a fluid grace that belied her lethal intent, she launched herself from the building's edge. The drop was significant, but not insurmountable for someone of her skills. She landed silently on the street below, the impact absorbed by her specially designed boots. Then, with a speed that blurred the vision, she was a streak of black, a phantom moving through the night, her movements precise and deadly. She knew her target's escape route, the likely path he'd taken, and she moved with an unnerving efficiency, her senses honed to a razor's edge. The city's labyrinthine streets were her hunting ground, and she tracked her prey with supernatural precision.
Assassin Z, a blur of motion, moved through the city's underbelly at a speed that defied human limits – 190 kilometers per hour. She was a phantom, a whisper in the night, yet her presence was somehow felt, a subtle shift in the air, a prickling sensation on the skin for those attuned to such things. She moved in and out of the shadows, a fleeting darkness within the already-dark night, visible and invisible in the same instant. The life force of her target pulsed stronger now, closer, nearer.
The robber, his breath ragged, fumbled with his keys, he was close to his sanctuary, a hidden alleyway leading to a nondescript door, his only hope of escape. He was sweating, his heart hammering against his ribs. He shoved the keys into the lock, his hands shaking so violently that he nearly dropped them.
The robber finally managed to unlock the door, shoving it open and scrambling inside. He hadn't even taken two steps when he felt it – a sudden whoosh of air, a chilling presence that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Instinctively, he raised his arms to protect himself. He didn't understand what was happening, but a strange, cold sensation washed over him. He looked down to see his wrist, his hand, encased in a thick layer of ice, forming with terrifying speed.
Assassin Z's blade flashed, aimed for a killing blow, but the ice acted as a shield, deflecting the attack. The robber stumbled, falling heavily against a nearby table, the cheap wood splintering under his weight. He rolled, scrambling to his feet, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief.
"What the fuck?" he breathed, his voice raw with astonishment. He stared at his iced hand, then around the room, searching for his attacker. He couldn't see anyone, yet he knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that he had just faced an unseen enemy, an enemy with power far beyond his comprehension. The surprise of the attack was compounded by the even greater surprise of his own unexpected ability, a power he never knew he possessed.
Z, abandoning her invisibility, materialized before the robber, two small, wickedly sharp blades glinting in her hand. She lunged, aiming a swift thrust for his eye. He reacted instantly, a desperate sidestep sending him sprawling to the floor, narrowly avoiding the blade that whistled past his ear. The impact jarred him, but he rolled, scrambling to his feet, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Z followed, her blades a blur of motion. She lunged again, aiming a downward stab as he rose. He reacted instinctively, rolling to the side just as the blades sliced through the air where he'd been a moment before. He landed hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. Before he could scramble up, Z was on him, her blades aimed for his chest. Just as the points neared his skin, a sheet of ice formed, a crystalline barrier deflecting the attack. The ice shattered, sending shards flying, but he was safe, for the moment. He pushed himself up, his eyes wide with terror, his body trembling. He tried to run, but Z reacted instantly, throwing a small, wickedly sharp knife. It embedded itself with a thunk into the wall beside his head, the vibrations rattling his teeth. He froze, his body rigid with terror, the near miss sending a fresh wave of panic through him. He was trapped, cornered, his only defense his newfound, unpredictable power. The small room became a chaotic battlefield, a desperate struggle between a skilled assassin and a terrified man fighting for his life.
He decided he couldn't keep running. He had to fight back. He launched a wild punch, a desperate haymaker aimed at Z's head. She moved with a speed that defied belief, sidestepping the blow with contemptuous ease. He threw another, and another, each swing clumsy and desperate, fueled by adrenaline and terror. Z dodged them all, her movements fluid and precise, each evasion a testament to her superior skill.
Then, with a speed that was almost inhuman, she countered. Her fist connected with his jaw, a sharp, brutal impact that sent a jolt of pain through his head. Instantly, a sheet of ice formed, a crystalline barrier appearing at the point of impact, cushioning the blow but still jarring him. Before he could recover, she struck again, her fist slamming into his ribs, another sheet of ice forming, shattering on impact. He gasped, the pain intense, searing.
Another punch landed on his stomach, doubling him over. Ice formed, protecting him from the full force of the blow, but the impact still stole his breath. She continued her assault, a relentless barrage of punches, each one precise, each one powerful. Ice formed and shattered with each impact, a testament to both her skill and his unexpected power. She was toying with him, her movements precise and deadly, her annoyance growing with each clumsy attempt at defense.
Finally, she grew impatient. With a snarl, she leaped, her body spinning in a blur of motion. Her foot connected with his chest in a devastating spinning kick, a bone-jarring impact that sent him hurtling backward. Ice formed at the point of impact, but this time, the force was too great. The ice shattered, and with it, one of his ribs, cracking with a sickening crunch. He slammed against the wall, his head hitting the hard surface with a sickening thud. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious, his body a testament to the brutal efficiency of Assassin Z.
The robber groaned, lifting his head from the ground, his vision blurry, his body screaming in pain. "What… what are you?" he managed to croak, his voice barely a whisper.
Z, her face impassive, reached to her belt, withdrawing one of her small, wickedly sharp knives. With a flick of her wrist, she threw the knife, the blade finding its mark with deadly precision. It sank into his head, silencing him instantly.
The wave of relief that washed over Z was short-lived. The silence of the room was shattered by the explosive eruption of brick and plaster. A figure, clad in dark, tactical gear, burst through the wall near the doorway, showering the already-messy room with debris. The impact sent a tremor through the room, and before the dust settled, three more figures in similar attire followed, entering through the newly created breach in the wall, rather than using the door a few feet away. The four figures surrounded Z, their movements precise and efficient, their lack of weapons as striking as their unexpected arrival. Z, caught completely off guard, felt a jolt of surprise. This was not how the mission was supposed to end. She hadn't anticipated this development, this silent, coordinated assault by an unseen force. But her surprise was fleeting. Instinctively, she raised her knives, her stance shifting to a defensive posture, prepared for whatever might come next.
The first figure, without hesitation, launched himself at Z, his movements surprisingly fast and powerful. Z reacted instantly, her reflexes honed to a razor's edge. With a swift, brutal movement, she swung one of her knives, the blade slicing across his neck. A deep gash opened, blood welling up, but before Z could follow up, the attacker stumbled back, clutching at the wound. To her astonishment, the bleeding slowed, then stopped. The flesh began to knit itself back together, the wound visibly closing before her eyes.
Z stared, her eyes widening in disbelief. Regeneration. This wasn't a normal human. The realization hit her with the force of a physical blow. These were the subjects of the superhuman experiments. The implications were staggering. The mission, she now understood, was far from over
"Shit," she breathed, the word barely audible above the pounding of her own heart. The enhanced human lunged again, his movements surprisingly fluid and powerful. Z met his attack with a flurry of precise movements. She sidestepped his wild swing, simultaneously grabbing his arm and twisting. Her blade flashed, a series of rapid stabs from wrist to shoulder, each strike precise and deadly. He roared in pain, but his regeneration was already at work, the wounds visibly closing. Before he could react, she shifted, her blade arcing upwards, slicing across his neck again. He staggered back, but his regeneration was relentless.
Without pausing, Z spun, her blade a silver blur, targeting another of the enhanced humans. She met his charge with a brutal elbow strike to the jaw, sending him reeling. Before he could recover, she was on him, her blade finding its mark again and again, slicing through his flesh. He fought back, his punches surprisingly strong, but Z was faster, more agile, her movements a deadly dance of precision and power. She dodged a wild haymaker, her blade flashing as she countered, slicing across his chest. He roared, his regeneration already working to repair the damage
She spun, using the momentum to evade another incoming attack, her blade flashing out to meet the next opponent's arm, forcing him to stumble. She used the opening to deliver a swift kick to his ribs, sending him sprawling. The fight was a whirlwind of motion, a deadly dance of precision and power, each movement calculated, each evasion a testament to her skill. The air filled with the sounds of clashing bodies, the hiss of steel, and the grunts of pain. Then, a fist connected with her jaw, a brutal blow that sent her stumbling back. The force of the impact was unexpected, the enhanced human's fist seemingly imbued with a power beyond mere strength. She staggered, her vision blurring, the taste of blood filling her mouth. The enhanced human's regeneration was impressive, but his power was even more so. The fight was far from over, but the tide had begun to turn
Mid-fight, Z noticed something terrifying. One of the enhanced humans clenched his fists, and Z watched in horror as his hands and forearms transformed, the flesh hardening and turning into gleaming steel. This was beyond simple regeneration; this was a level of augmentation she hadn't anticipated. A surge of adrenaline shot through her. She had to adapt, and fast.
She renewed her assault, her movements even more precise, more deadly. Her blades danced, weaving through their attacks, finding gaps in their defenses. She dodged a wild swing, her blade slicing across his chest, the steel offering little resistance to her sharpened steel. She grabbed another enhanced human by the face, her grip surprisingly strong, and slammed his head into the ground, the impact echoing through the room. Her eyes glowed a deep red as she leaned in close, whispering a single word, barely audible above the sounds of the battle: "Sleep." The enhanced human slumped to the ground, unconscious.
But her victory was short-lived. She turned to engage another opponent, but before she could react, the enhanced human she'd just incapacitated jolted awake. With terrifying speed, he wrapped his arms around her neck from behind, his grip like a vise, cutting off her air. Before she could struggle, another enhanced human, the one with the steel arm, unleashed a brutal barrage of punches. The first blow slammed into her stomach, stealing her breath. The second connected with her jaw, sending jolts of pain through her head and blurring her vision. A ringing filled her ears, a dull roar that drowned out the sounds of the battle.
Then, another enhanced human, his foot transforming into a jagged piece of rock, connected with a devastating kick to her stomach. The impact was jarring, sending her flying backward. She slammed against the wall, the air whooshing from her lungs, the world tilting and blurring. Darkness closed in, and she fainted, her body collapsing to the floor, her mission a catastrophic failure. She had been captured.
*The present* DMR
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the cityscape of DMR. The sky blazed with a fiery spectacle of oranges, reds, and purples, a breathtaking panorama reflected in the glass towers that pierced the twilight sky. A gentle breeze rustled through the leaves of the trees lining the street, carrying with it the scent of exhaust fumes and distant cooking fires. Eddie and Adam walked side-by-side, their footsteps echoing softly on the pavement. The city hummed around them, a vibrant backdrop to their quiet conversation.
"Okay," Eddie began, his voice calm and measured, "what about the Hammer of Judgment? What about it?"
Adam chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "So, you're naming people's moves now? It does sound cooler when you say it like that." He paused, touching a hand to the side of his head. "I was surprised you still had your head attached after that Spinning Blaze move. You were bleeding pretty badly."
Eddie grinned. "Worth it, right? It was pretty cool."
Adam nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Yeah, it was. I didn't expect Tilda to be that powerful, though."
"Well," Eddie replied, "she is a unique power holder."
"So," Adam asked, "we're going to be facing people like that in the tournament?"
"Yeah," he said, his voice low and serious. "We might even face people more powerful than Tilda."
"You know, I was actually surprised you could keep up with the training, especially with those metal shackles on."
Adam smiled faintly. "I was pushing myself every time," he admitted. "Felt like I was going to fall down sometimes. They were really slowing me down, but I knew the training would be advantageous. Might even make me a little stronger."
"Yeah," Eddie agreed. "Once you get those shackles off, I wonder just how strong you'll be."
Adam's smile widened slightly, a hint of anticipation in his eyes.