Smoke lingered in the wreckage of the convenience store, curling through shattered glass and toppled shelves. Tempo crouched behind a display, the acrid stench of burning plastic making his throat tighten.
Through the haze stepped Ironshade.
His black armor gleamed under the flickering fluorescent lights, conduits running along his limbs pulsing with a rhythmic crimson glow. His every step cracked the tiled floor, sharp and deliberate.
Outside, panicked voices filled the air, mingling with the faint hum of surveillance drones.
“It’s one of them!” someone yelled. “Run!”
Tempo gripped the edge of the shelf, his knuckles white. Stories about the Syndicate’s enforcers always painted them as invincible, but nothing had prepared him for this.
“Napman,” Ironshade growled, his distorted voice cutting through the tension. His glowing eyes swept the room before locking onto Tempo. “And your little helper.”
Tempo scrambled to his feet, brushing debris from his jacket. He turned to Greg, panic lacing his voice. “That’s Ironshade! One of the Syndicate’s top enforcers! We can’t take him!”
Greg leaned lazily against a fallen display, one hand in his pocket, the other rubbing his temple. “We? Kid, I can’t take him. You can try if you’re feeling ambitious.”
Tempo stared at him, incredulous. “You’re the one with super strength!”
Greg shrugged. “Yeah, but I’m also the one running on three hours of sleep. Priorities.”
Ironshade’s steps grew louder, vibrations rippling through the ground. His gaze lingered on Greg. “You were made for this, Napman,” he said, his voice low and calculated. “Whether you like it or not.”
Greg waved a hand lazily. “Any chance you’d be cool with letting me finish my nap first?”
The high-pitched whine of Ironshade’s conduits answered him. Sparks danced along his limbs as energy gathered in his palms, crackling like a storm barely contained. Tempo froze as Ironshade raised his arm, aiming directly at them.
Greg sighed, rolling his neck. “Guess not.”
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A beam of searing energy ripped through the store, obliterating the counter and carving a glowing trench in the floor. Greg grabbed Tempo by the back of his jacket and yanked him into cover just before the blast hit.
“Stay down!” Greg barked, shoving Tempo behind a toppled display.
Tempo peeked over the edge, his breath coming in shallow bursts. “What’s the plan?”
Greg crouched beside him, rubbing his eyes like he was waking up from a nap. “Plan? I don’t know. Stalling until he gets bored?”
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“Greg!”
Ironshade’s heavy steps shook the ground. He reached down, gripping a display rack, and ripped it from the floor as though it weighed nothing. With terrifying ease, he hurled it across the room, the crash shaking the entire building.
Greg sighed and stood, brushing dust off his jacket. “Fine. Guess I’m working today.”
Tempo blinked. “Wait, you’re—”
But Greg was already moving, strolling toward Ironshade with deliberate slowness.
“You know,” Greg said, stretching his arms above his head, “you’re kind of ruining my favorite convenience store. Where am I supposed to get my snacks now?”
Ironshade didn’t answer. Instead, he swung his glowing fist, the conduits along his arm brightening as the punch tore through the air.
Greg ducked. Barely. The punch slammed into the floor, leaving a crater in the tiles.
“Missed me,” Greg said, smirking.
Ironshade snarled, swinging again. His punches grew faster and more erratic, carving deep gashes into the walls. Outside, bystanders screamed as chunks of concrete rained into the street. A surveillance drone hovered just outside the shattered windows, its lens whirring as it recorded the chaos.
Greg sidestepped another punch, his movements slower than usual. He stumbled briefly, catching himself with a groan. “Three hours of sleep,” he muttered. “This is why I don’t do overtime.”
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Behind the shelf, Tempo clenched his fists. His wrist device flickered faintly, the blue glow illuminating his determined face.
His father’s words echoed in his mind: “Justice means standing up, even when it’s hard.” Tempo swallowed hard, the fear gnawing at his resolve.
Sweat trickled down his temple as he pressed the button. “I’m not running this time,” he whispered.
The edges of the time bubble shimmered and flickered faintly as it expanded. The air rippled like heat waves, distorting light and sound. Even the flickering lights above seemed to stretch, their hum deepening into a low drone.
Ironshade’s punches slowed mid-swing, his movements dragging as though trapped in molasses.
Greg raised an eyebrow. “Huh. That’s new.”
Tempo stepped out from behind the shelf, his grin shaky but determined. “Time bubble! It slows him down. You’ve got a window—hit him!”
Greg blinked. “Wait, you want me to—”
“Do it!” Tempo shouted.
Greg sighed, muttering as he jogged toward the immobilized enforcer. “Can’t believe I’m taking orders from a teenager.”
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Greg wound up his fist, his muscles tensing. For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze locking onto the glowing conduits in Ironshade’s armor. That tech... It was familiar.
Memories clawed at the edges of his mind—a sterile lab, the hum of machines, his father’s voice muffled and urgent.
Greg clenched his jaw, shaking off the thought.
His punch connected with a deafening crack, sending a shockwave rippling through the store. Glass shattered, and Ironshade was launched backward, crashing into the street outside with a metallic clang.
Tempo whooped, pumping his fist in the air. “Yes! We did it!”
Greg winced, shaking out his sore hand. The familiar heaviness crept into his limbs, a warning he couldn’t ignore. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go with that.”
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The destruction left behind was stark. Walls caved inward, shelves were reduced to splinters, and smoke curled through the shattered windows. Outside, the faint whir of a drone lingered, its lens still focused on Greg.
He glanced at the wreckage, his chest tightening. Another mess. Another reason to stay out of fights.
Tempo didn’t seem to notice, beaming at Greg. “You were amazing!”
Greg snorted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Kid, if that’s your definition of amazing, you need better standards.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, already heading for the door. “I need a nap.”
Outside, Ironshade stirred. His armor hissed, the glow of his conduits flickering erratically. He pushed himself to his feet with deliberate slowness, his crimson eyes locking onto Greg.
“You’re still holding back,” he said, his voice almost amused. “Interesting. The boss will want to hear about this. They’ll be ready for you next time.” With a single leap, he vanished into the shadows.
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To Be Continued...
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