THE GALA
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He didn’t hate his job. Sometimes it brought him some greatly desired excitement, like when one of the people he was assigned to protect had an assassination attempt against them or when their convoy was hijacked by superhumans hopped on super-steroids–both of these had happened just last month. Work was particularly exciting on those days.
But on most other days, it was drab and confining, more so about up appearances to satisfy formalities. Sure, he could have done his job just fine wearing sweats and old T-shirts, in fact, this would probably have given him an advantage in encounters because no one thinks they’re going to be taken out by someone sporting bum fashions. But alas, very few clients felt that way, always demanding their “help” to wear suits and tuxes.
Luckily, he wouldn’t be spending his own money on the tux. The client had had one sent over two days ago. It was a fancy one that had been made out of some material that could shrink or enlarge to fit the wearer so that it was comfortable at all times. In addition, it was also impenetrable to bullets and could absorb a great deal of concussive force. Considering that he could manage all of this just fine on his own, these perks didn't really benefit him.
He took a quick shower, carelessly spritzed on some deodorant, and then changed into the tux before spraying some cologne. He oiled his dark hair, combed it backward, and then concentrated hard on it for a while. He waited until all the strands of brown had turned a silvery-gray. He then retrieved his sunglasses from his ridiculously cluttered drawer. To most, the glasses might have seemed like a fashion piece, but it was a utility, one that helped him scan the objects and people around him allowing the ability to pull up all necessary data on them. Not to mention, with his different-colored hair and the glasses, it would be hard for anyone to realize his identity was while he was at work.
The glasses helped him come up with conversation starters and with identifying individuals who would make a move on his clients.
He slipped on his necklace, bracelet, and ring. Based on his type of jobs, wearing jewelry would be unnecessary. However, the way he carried out his work, they were needed. In fact, none of his choice of accessories were regular, not even his belt with the buckle shaped after the letter D. Most who knew him would see the buckle and think it was related to his name, but that wasn't the case at all. The belt was rather useful—especially when he found himself in a bind.
Just when he was about to step out of his cozy little mountain home, he received an instant message from a classmate - Simon.
The message read: Hey, man. Did you make it out alright? See the thing with the thieves? Anyways, just checking to be sure you’re good. I and a couple others are heading out for drinks tonight. You coming?
Dang sighed and voiced out a reply, letting his computer convert it to text for him. “Sorry, can’t…working a late shift at the bakery today. Maybe some other time?”
Once the message had been sent, he headed out. He wondered how long it would be until the people who knew him personally pieced together that he didn’t really work at a bakery. If such a time came, he’d need to figure out a new cover for his evening, night and midnight jobs.
He met up with his client just on time, arriving outside the client’s mansion in Beverly Hills. From the briefing, he knew it was a twelve-bedroom mansion with eight bathrooms, three kitchens and three living rooms. It was massive, with Greek-style columns supporting the structure. There was a fountain in the front with a statue of his client, two large pools out back and another pool up on a balcony on the second floor.
He surveyed the mansion while he waited for the client to let him in. If he remembered correctly, his client was a Mr. Jonathan Cage; a fancy tech mogul who earned about forty million dollars each year. He also happened to be a major donor to Star Harbor, and had a scholarship named after him.
Mr. Cage was viewed as an angel by the public. But Dang knew better. Angels didn’t worry about assassination attempts and they sure as hell didn't fork out $200,000 to have a seventeen-year-old bodyguard escort them to a gala.
Jonathan Cage was not an angel.
But Dang didn’t care much. The money was good and that was all that mattered.
A thin, tall boy with wispy orange hair and striking blue eyes got the front door for him once he was done surveying the place. The boy had on a Gojo Satoru* with light blue jeans and white sneakers. light blue jeans and white sneakers. He had a drab look on his face, the sort Dang wore all too much.
Dang knew from the files that this was one of his client’s three male children. Judging by his appearance, the boy must have been around sixteen, which meant he was the youngest of the kids–Maxwell Cage, nicknamed Max for short.
“You the guard?” Max asked, appearing more bored than he had when he’d opened the door.
“Yeah,” Dang nodded.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Come on in.” Max rolled his eyes and stepped aside so Dang could step in.
Dang felt like he’d stepped into a whole new world when he went inside. The living room looked like it could have been part of a museum, with busts and sculptures on display in glass cases and expensive-looking art pieces hung on the walls. The polished marble floors felt a delight to tread on.
Dang knew just by feeling the material on the couch in the living room with his bare hands that they must've cost thousands of dollars. The dining room was even more breathtaking, with the chairs and table looking like they could have belonged in the throne room of some medieval king. Dang could definitely picture King Arthur and his knights sitting around such a table, discussing medieval age politics.
He wondered if topics of politics were discussed around this table. It was likely.
The first kitchen he saw looked like you’d expect a kitchen to look, but he knew each counter and appliance in the kitchen must have cost thousands of dollars apiece. Max walked toward a tall fridge and opened it up.
“Vodka?” the boy asked.
“I’m sorry?”
“Vodka. It’s a liquor. Do you drink some?”
“Not before a job, no,” Dang shook his head.
“Oh, relax,” Max rolled his eyes. “Dad’s just paranoid, no one’s really going to do anything at this gala. He’s always worried about being followed. Do you know he changes all our phones every four days because he thinks we’re being bugged at school or work or parties and all of that? It’s mad, really.”
“Can I see your phone?” Dang asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Max pulled his phone out of his pocket and tossed it to Dang. It was an iPhone 15 model, a custom one with a gold-plated back. “Got that just yesterday. You won’t find anything on it.”
Dang nodded then studied the glasses. He touched his glasses and pushed down on a small button, scanning the phone. The scans picked up something that flashed red.
“It’s bugged,” Dang said.
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Max had been pouring out two glasses of vodka even though the boy was far too young to be drinking. As soon as Dang said this, he froze and his mouth hung open.
“What?”
“Yep,” Dang nodded and tossed the phone back to Max. “I’d be careful what you say when you’re with the phone. I’d destroy it but it looks expensive, better for you to decide what to do with it.”
“Oh please, do as you wish,” Max tossed the phone back to Dang. “I’ll have another delivered by morning.”
“Alright,” Dang said. “Resonate,” he whispered under his breath, and his eyes glowed as new strength surged through him. He crushed the phone in his hand with ease, and tossed it into the trash can.
When he was looking up, Max was staring at him curiously. “Oh, so that’s why you cost so much,” the boy smiled. “You’re special, like those supers on the news. Tiger and Wombat.”
“No,” Dang shook his head, looking a little offended. “I’m not like them at all.”
“Professional rivalry, eh?” Max grinned. “I like it. Probably a good thing they turned this down, might have been awkward for you having to work with them.”
A frown formed on Dang’s face. “I’m sorry?”
“Yeah, dad wanted them to be part of the security detail at the gala but they turned it down, something about it not quite being their line of work but no worries, we found alternatives,” Max said, before sliding a glass of vodka across to Dang. “Wasn’t that in your briefing? You’ll be escorting Pops to the gala, where there’ll be a team waiting to receive. You’re to have eyes on my dad the entire event, they’re to have eyes on everything else.”
“Why wasn’t I informed about this?” Dang queried.
“We paid you $200,000, that’s all the information you needed,” spoke a different voice. Dang turned around to see Jonathan Cage stride into the kitchen, donning a golden suit, his hair styled backward, his teeth gleaming unnaturally. America’s Sweetheart, they called him.
But there was nothing sweet about his cold tone or his even colder eyes.
“Are you ready?” he asked Dang.
“I am,” Dang answered, deciding to drop his grievances with not being informed about the involvement of other personnel in the gig. “What about him?” he asked, gesturing at Max.
“The house will be under watch for the entirety of the gala, a different security team will be covering that,” Jonathan answered. “My dearest son would like to have friends over while we’re with the leaders of tomorrow.”
“I am a leader of tomorrow,” Max said defiantly. “It’s my birthright.”
Jonathan sighed and shook his head. “Well, we best be going.” He gestured to Dang that it was time to leave. On the way out, he looked at Max. “Do be careful who you allow into our home.”
He was about to continue moving when he noticed the crushed iPhone in the trash can. He looked to Dang for explanation.
“Bugged,” Dang simply said.
“Of course,” Jonathan sighed. “Will you need weapons for tonight?”
“No need for that,” Dang answered with a warm smile, feeling his ring.
“Very well then.”
The security team that would watch over the house and Max arrived just as Dang was leaving with Jonathan. Dang made sure to scan each member of the team, just to remain on the safe side and confirm that none of them were shady and potentially up to no good. The scans returned clean and he climbed into the back of the limo Jonathan was taking to the event, sitting right next to the multi-billionaire.
The entire ride to the gala was made unbearable by Jonathan receiving phone calls every few minutes and yelling at whoever was on the other line about quarterly reports and global expansion and supply shortages and whatnot. But somehow, once they arrived at the event and stepped out of the car, Jonathan had an angelic smile on his face, as though he hadn’t just been on twelve consecutive annoying phone calls, as if he hadn’t just fired a secretary and two accountants in the space of a forty-minute drive.
He scared Dang.
The security detail at the gala all donned the same black suits but there were two standouts, dark-skinned men who wore white suits. As soon as the White Suits spotted Jonathan and Dang, they started heading their way.
Dang sighed. It wasn’t that he hated working with others in the field, it was more that they tended to often get in the way of things; tended to complicate things. But for tonight, he was choosing to operate under the assumption that his partners were professionals. They certainly looked like it.
“Mr. Cage,” the taller of the two, who Dang decided he would simply acknowledge as Tall Guy, exchanged handshakes with Jonathan, as did the shorter one, who Dang would regard as Short Guy. The two of them then looked to Dang and gave him a nod of respect.
Dang returned the nod, then glanced around. “Anything shady yet?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Short Guy answered. “So far so good.”
“Alright then,” Dang said. “You know your roles, right?”
They both nodded.
“Good. Keep it safe and keep it tight.” Dang instructed. “Anything seems off at all, maybe someone who looks out of place or someone who’s taking too many walks around the building, you call it in on the comms, alright?”
“Sure thing,” Tall Guy nodded.
“‘Then let’s go.”
Dang knew it was unlikely they’d encounter any trouble at the gala, but he thought it best to ensure they had their guards up, just in case something did happen. He had a reputation to preserve and lives to protect.
The gala, as he predicted, was relatively uneventful and just filled with snobs and other elites discussing plans to take over the world and SEC hearings and other political things. Throughout the unbearable event, he kept his gaze on Jonathan, although he would occasionally wander about just to check in with Short Guy and Tall Guy.
It was close to the end of the gala, about four hours in, when things got interesting. He knew something was up when his comms crackled with static for a second. He’d been pacing the hall when this happened and he halted at once, placing a hand against his comms, a frown sweeping across his face.
“Is everything okay?” he queried.
There was no response.
Dang felt his excitement build. “Does anyone copy? Is everything okay?”
Still no response.
He raised a hand to his sunglasses and pushed down on it, switching to infrared so he could scan the environment. He noted the heat signatures of everyone at the gala, but then picked up on foreign heat signatures–twelve of them to be exact, outside the hall. Two of the heat signatures were unmoving, and they appeared a lot like they’d been bound together.
Dang sighed and deactivated his infrared before scanning the hall for Jonathan Cage. He spotted the billionaire engaged in conversation with a slender, brown-haired woman, a glass of champagne in his hand and a flirtatious smile on his face.
He started toward him at once. Once he reached Jonathan, he simply seized him by the arm and started to steer him away.
“Wait, what are you doing?!” Jonathan demanded.
“Trouble’s here,” Dang said. “Sorry to rain on your parade but we’ve got to get you out of here.”
He escorted Jonathan through the rest of security and then out into his limo. Once Jonathan was in the vehicle, he tapped against it twice, instructing the driver to get him out of there.
As soon as the limo started to move, he pulled his suit jacket off and tossed it into the wind before unbuttoning the sleeves of his white shirt and folding it. He took off his bow tie and tossed that aside too, then pressed down on his ring and said: “Resonate.”
The ring glowed, then morphed, until soon, he was holding two escrima sticks in one hand. He tossed one stick to the other hand then tensed, waiting for the hostiles.
They appeared a few seconds later, ten men with skull masks on, clad in tuxedos. He knew at once that their plan had been to blend into the event as guests–that was the only logical reason for them to have gone with tuxedos.
Each of them had some sort of weapon in hand. Sticks that discharged electricity, rapid-fire rifles, and oddly enough, one was sporting a baseball bat. An odd place to improve one’s batting average Dang mused in his head.
“Shit, they’re getting him out of here!” one of them hissed angrily.
Dang pulled his sunglasses off slowly and stashed it away before running a hand through his hair and grinning at the thugs. “I got paid two hundred thousand dollars for this gig,” he said. “Did you really think I’d slack on a job like this?”
The thugs exchanged looks then laughed in unison.
“He’s with those two shmucks we took out,” one said. “They had their heads stuck up their asses too. Made it easy taking them out.”
“Well, come on then,” Dang’s grin grew wider. “I’m sure this will be easy too.”
The thugs charged and so did he. He was quick, quicker than they’d expected and it was when he knocked out three of them in a second that the others realized they were in over their heads.
The ones who’d brought rifles open fired but Dang moved even quicker, avoiding the gunfire while closing in on them. He slid right at one, sweeping the thug’s legs off the floor before smashing a stick into his head.
Now that he was in close range, the gunmen resorted to close quarters combat, but they hadn’t been counting on Dang hitting back with the force of steel, his blows powerful enough to knock them out with a well-targeted hit while weaving between their own attacks.
Once they started to crowd him, hitting from every direction all at once, he leaped backward to put some distance between them, taking a few deep breaths before surging forward again. This time, he displayed his nimbleness and agility, spinning around the thugs, dodging their blows and retaliating with consequential blows of his own.
Soon, all of them were on the ground, a huge number unconscious while the conscious ones had been rendered incapable of moving.
He was breathing heavily when the fight ended but once he’d calmed his breathing, he phoned in the authorities to handle the thugs, ignoring all of the men and women who’d emerged from the hall now to see what all the commotion had been about.
He straightened his sleeves and re-buttoned them, before picking up his bow tie and suit jacket and placing them both back on. Next, he put on his sunglasses and reverted the sticks back to the ring and started to walk away; a bored expression replaced the grin he’d previously had on.