The shrill wail of ambulance sirens cut through the air, as their doors flew open with haste. Red and blue lights flashed and reflected across the building's scarred, bullet-riddled walls.

First responders rushed past the attackers' lifeless bodies, torn apart by the gatling gun turrets guarding the building. Instead, they focused on aiding the defenders who suffered wounds from the attack.

The remaining paramedics stormed the building, navigating through a sea of tearful faces mourning the loss of friends and colleagues. Anxious employees beckoned them over, pointing out critically injured patients, gunshot victims, and those hurt in the explosion.

It was chaos. Time was of the essence, and they knew it.

One paramedic zeroed in on Garrett, assessing his condition and preparing him for transport. The medically team quickly strapped him onto a stretcher.

Kristine clutched her father's hand, her grip turning her knuckles white. Garrett managed a feeble squeeze before releasing her hand, a small gesture of reassurance before he was rolled away and loaded into the ambulance.

Tears welled up in Kristine's eyes, spilling over as she watched her father disappear from sight.

Christopher, sensing her emotions, placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, gently rubbing it to comfort her.

A police officer approached the twins, his expression grave. "We have news," he said, his voice low and steady. "Two of the attackers died from self-poisoning. But their leader is still alive and has been apprehended."

"They deserved worse," the officer added, hoping the news wouldn't affect the teenagers' already shaken mental state. By now, the police were aware of the twins' heroic actions.

Thankfully this not was the case as the twins were already communicating telepathically.

"Did they know about Dad's power?" Christopher asked his sister. He was still trying to digest everything that happened today. "Maybe that's why they took their own lives."

"I think Dad was a target too," Kristine replied, wiping her tears. "The other two didn't seem too concerned about Timothy."

The twins exchanged a worried look as they turned their attention to Timothy, who had remained silent during the conversation.

"Timothy, are you okay?" Kristine asked gently, her voice filled with concern.

Timothy hesitated before answering, his voice barely audible. "I'm sorry," he murmured, wrapped in a blanket inside a police car, guilt swelling within him. "You and your dad... you shouldn't have been caught up in my family's issues."

Kristine gazed at Timothy. "It's not your fault," she whispered, her smile tinged with sadness. "We're just... caught in the crossfire."

She already suspected that Timothy was merely a smokescreen for an attack on her father.

However, there had to be more to the story. The leader of the three attackers definitely held a grudge against Timothy's father.

She couldn't help but wonder about Timothy's father. As a man known as "The Healer," what could possibly make someone bear a grudge against him?

"Thank you, Kristine," Timothy said, his voice low. "I'll have to ask my parents and find out the truth," he thought. He felt a he owed his new friends an explanation.

As they stood there, sirens wailed in the distance, and emergency vehicles sped by, rushing to aid those in need. The air was thick with tension and unanswered questions.

Mr. Daniels gestured with his hands for the twins to join him in the car as he followed the ambulance to the hospital. Christopher hurried into the vehicle, his mind consumed with thoughts about his father's condition.

Kristine trailed behind him, waving farewell to Timothy before climbing into the car.

As the vehicle pulled away, Timothy sat there, looking vulnerable with a blanket draped around his shoulders, patiently waiting for a family member or guardian to arrive. He was flanked by watchful officers, uncertain if he was still a target.

"Dad, what did you do..." Timothy mused, rubbing his aching, bruised neck.

**

Richard Brink's heart pounded in his chest as he stood at the head of the large conference table, his hands gripping its polished surface. He had just received a message about the attack on his son Timothy and the news that someone harbored a deep grudge against him.

"Everyone, I apologize, but I must leave immediately," Richard said, his voice tight with emotion. "My son has been attacked."

The board members traded anxious glances, their faces etched with concern. As Richard collected his belongings, his wife, Vanessa Brink, rose quickly from her seat. She had also received the same news just now.

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"Richard, wait," she called, her voice quivering with worry. As a non-Psion, her sharp intelligence and business acumen had been essential to their pharmaceutical corporation's success.

The couple left the boardroom, the remaining members whispering in their wake.

Seated in their luxurious car, a trusted driver at the helm, someone finally spoke.

"How did this happen?" Richard asked, bewildered. Everything had been going smoothly these past few years.

"Don't be so naive, Richard. Do you remember how we got the funds to start this company?" Vanessa questioned, her tone icy and measured. "Your healing powers alone could have never generated the kind of money we needed to start this company. Organ replication and assisting in surgeries? They only brought in a fraction of what we needed."

Richard's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles whitening. "Vanessa, not now."

"No, Richard, we must talk about this," she insisted. "We sold orphans to twisted scientists and wealthy perverts. Your powers helped them endure longer. Our fortune is built on their suffering."

Richard's jaw clenched, and he averted his eyes, unable to meet her gaze. "Vanessa, it was your idea," he whispered, guilt heavy in his voice.

Vanessa shot back, her voice biting and cold. "And it was a good idea, Richard. We should've ended their lives when they were used up. It would've been cleaner, and we wouldn't be in this mess now."

Richard's voice cracked. "I couldn't just end their lives, Vanessa. We'd already taken so much from them. I thought at least by letting them live, there was a chance for them to recover and perhaps find some happiness."

The vivid images of their desperate, pleading eyes haunted him as he erased syringe marks, regenerated their limbs, and healed bruises, only to hand them back for another round of torment. The aftermath of cruel experiments and drugs would vanish, and their bodies, restored to a deceptive wholeness. They would be ready to endure another round of unspeakable acts.

Vanessa scoffed, a cruel sound that sliced through the tense atmosphere. "You might be able to heal their bodies, Richard, but not their minds. They probably ended their own lives not long after. Your so-called mercy did nothing to save them."

Richard's face flushed with shame. "I thought we specifically picked orphans and nobodies," he added, desperate for some kind of justification.

Vanessa shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe a distant relative or hidden connection caught wind of what we did. The point is, Richard, your mercy and softness is the reason why our son almost died today."

Richard, a man with warm, brown eyes and a gentle demeanor, sighed heavily.

Vanessa crossed her arms, sensing that her husband wasn't in the mood to speak. "So, what do you propose we do?"

"Should we tell Timothy about our past?" Richard asked.

Vanessa scoffed at the suggestion. "What are we going to say to him, Richard? 'Sorry, your mom and dad arranged for people to be tortured, assaulted, or experimented on?'"

Richard's gaze fell, his eyes filled with conflict. "I can't help but feel we need to be honest with him," he murmured. "What if he finds out from someone else?"

Vanessa's icy expression softened slightly, a flicker of concern in her eyes. "All we can do is deny."

As their car continued through the city, the tension was unbearable. Richard's heart weighed heavy with guilt, knowing that his past actions had put his son in danger. His wife’s cold pragmatism offered no comfort or solace.

**

Antonio slumped in the back of the police transport, hands cuffed and thoughts racing after his failed revenge. As the vehicle jostled along the road, a bittersweet memory bubbled to the surface. He had been on the phone with his daughter, Isabella, who had just been accepted into college.

"Dad, I got in!" his daughter Isabella shouted, her voice brimming with excitement and pride.

"I know, mija! I knew you could do it. Your mother would be so proud of you," Antonio replied, his voice warm and fatherly. "I've sent some money over to help with your expenses."

Isabella hesitated before responding. "Thanks, Dad, but I know where your money comes from. I'll accept it this time, but only because I really need it."

Antonio felt a pang of guilt, knowing his daughter was ashamed of his mercenary work. He even knew that she went as far as to tell everyone she met that she was an orphan who lost her parents to a Psi-beast attack. This was partially true since her mother had died in such an attack.

"I know," Antonio said, his voice cracking. "But I do it all for you, so you can have a better life than I ever did."

He recalled his teenage years in the shelters, spending his days inside as the impact winter raged outside.

"I know, Dad," Isabella replied. "But I found a part-time job, so I won't need your money anymore."

"Oh? That's great, mija! Who will you be working for?"

Isabella's voice lowered to a whisper. "Well, it was supposed to be a secret, but it's actually Richard Brink, the Healer. I met his girlfriend, Vanessa, at college. She's a senior studying business, and she helped me get the job."

Antonio's instincts as a mercenary who had worked with Psions kicked in. Richard "The Healer" Brink – his name was well-known everywhere.

As a mercenary who had worked with Psions, he knew there were both good apples and bad apples. He couldn't help but feel protective. "Just be careful, mija," he warned.

Isabella chuckled softly on the other end of the line. "Dad, I'm not a child anymore. I can take care of myself, you know."

Antonio sighed, knowing she was right, but it was difficult for him to let go of his protective instincts. "I know, mija. It's just... you're the only one I have left."

Isabella's voice softened, reminiscing about her mother. "I know, Dad. I promise I'll be careful. I'll learn so much. I'll make you proud."

"You already do," thought Antonio as a lump formed in his throat.

"Thanks, Dad. I'll call you later to let you know how the job went."

"Take care, mija. Remember that I'm always here for you."

As he exchanged goodbyes and hung up, Antonio couldn't have known that it would be his last conversation with his daughter before her tragic suicide.

The flashback ended as the transport vehicle jolted to a stop outside the prison.

As the guards led him out the police transport, Antonio's thoughts returned to Isabella, and a small, cryptic smile played across his lips. His current predicament was only a small setback in his quest for vengeance.

In the end, he whispered to himself, "Justice will be served, mija. I promise you."