"This is beyond me," Harris admitted quietly.
When Ethan arrived at Harris's residence, he found the older man sitting upright at the table, outwardly composed but with tension running through every line of his body. The blinds were drawn. The lights were dim. Every creak of the building seemed amplified.
Ethan gave him an easy smile. "So what's your plan?"
He wasn't mocking him. He genuinely wanted to know.
From what he remembered, this so-called "Termite" didn't rely on external tech to shrink or grow. But he wasn't some comic-book-level genius either. His strength and durability scaled, yes—but within limits. He depended almost entirely on surprise and infiltration.
If you prepared properly, he was manageable.
Harris rubbed his eyes, which were slightly bloodshot, then pulled a cigarette from his pocket. He lit it with shaky fingers and took a long drag. After that, he patted his waist.
There was a solid metallic thud.
He stood and turned slightly.
Around his waist was a custom-made metal groin guard—thick, reinforced, and unapologetically industrial. It looked like a medieval chastity belt redesigned by someone with access to welding equipment and a deep sense of self-preservation.
"I did some research," Harris said, exhaling smoke. "If he likes crawling through tight places so much, I figured I'd make it impossible."
Ethan couldn't help but nod in approval.
For someone without powers, Harris had gone further than most. Plenty of ordinary men would freeze in fear at the thought of a superhuman assassin targeting them. Harris had built countermeasures.
"That's smart," Ethan said. "But add one more layer."
Harris looked up.
"Chili paste. Mustard. Anything irritating. Coat yourself. That guy's ability isn't flawless. If he sneezes, he loses control for a split second."
Harris blinked. "Sneezes?"
"Yes. His size-shifting destabilizes when he loses concentration. You force him to react physically, you drag him back to full size."
Understanding dawned quickly.
"Got it. Thank you, boss."
Harris moved without hesitation. He went into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of hot chili sauce and mustard. Without embarrassment, he stripped down, mixed the two in a bowl, and coated himself thoroughly—skin, belt, everything.
The smell filled the room almost instantly.
He redressed carefully, ensuring nothing was visible from the outside.
Ethan's preparation was simpler.
He walked over to a wall socket and inserted his fingers directly into it.
The first surge brought a sharp tingling numbness.
The second was almost pleasant.
Electricity coursed through his body, humming along his nerves like a low-frequency massage. His enhanced physiology absorbed and adapted to the current easily. He leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes, appearing almost relaxed.
He wasn't worried about the assassin's lethality.
He was concerned about the method.
Front or back—neither was acceptable.
They waited.
As night deepened, the only steady sound in the room was the television murmuring about Vought's latest public statement. Harris sat upright, hands resting on his thighs, forcing his breathing to stay even.
In a crack along the window frame—so small it would escape casual notice—a tiny naked white man squeezed through.
He was no taller than a matchstick.
He paused on the windowsill, scanning the room below.
The Grizzlies had offered him good money for this job. A middle-aged man. Thin build. Mid-forties. Clean hit. Simple.
He didn't care about gang politics. Money was money.
His eyes quickly locked onto the target.
The older man.
And next to him—a younger one.
The assassin hesitated briefly.
From this microscopic vantage point, he enjoyed studying his victims before the end. Watching. Observing. Savoring the control.
He darted across the sill, leapt onto the curtain, and slid down the fabric smoothly. He landed silently on the floor.
So far, effortless.
He moved through the shadows, approaching their chairs.
Then he paused beneath them.
Target priority was clear. The older man meant payment.
But the younger one… fresh. Tempting.
He shook off the distraction.
Money first.
He turned right and headed toward Harris.
As he reached the man's shoe, a wave of scent hit him.
Chili.
Mustard.
His face twisted.
"Oh, hell no," he muttered under his breath.
He hated wasabi and mustard. They triggered his sinuses instantly. Sneezing while shrunk was a nightmare. He lost control. It had happened before.
How did they know?
Suspicion flared. Had the Grizzlies leaked something?
His ability depended on surprise. If the opponent prepared, the advantage shrank.
He stepped back.
Fine.
The younger one instead.
He moved toward Ethan's shoe.
He sniffed.
No irritating spice.
His mood lifted.
A slow grin spread across his tiny face.
Up he went—shoe leather, sock fabric, climbing steadily.
The higher he climbed, the closer he got to bare skin beneath clothing.
Then he paused.
He squinted upward.
Why are the body hairs standing like that?
Before he could process the thought, his foot touched skin.
A flash of blue light exploded outward.
Electricity surged through his microscopic body with devastating force. Every muscle locked instantly. His limbs froze mid-motion.
He lost his grip.
His rigid body dropped to the floor.
The electrical interference shattered his control. In the next instant, he reverted to full size—naked and disoriented—sprawled across the hardwood.
He sucked in a breath.
Across from him, Ethan sat calmly, one finger still in the socket, faint arcs of current dancing over his skin.
"It's a misunderstanding," the man blurted instinctively. "Total misunderstanding—"
His gaze flicked toward Ethan's hand.
Then his expression shifted from confusion to dread.
Who in their right mind plugged themselves into a wall and enjoyed it?
His heartbeat spiked violently.
This wasn't a normal target.
This was a supe.
A superhuman who could conduct electricity without flinching.
The air felt heavier.
He sensed it then—a quiet killing intent radiating from Ethan.
It wasn't loud.
It was certain.
He didn't wait for another second.
He tried to shrink again.
But as he looked up, Ethan's eyes had already turned scarlet.
Red light flooded his vision.
There was no time to react.
A sharp crack echoed through the room.
A small, charred piece of blackened flesh dropped to the floor with a dry sound.
Harris lowered himself cautiously, wincing at the lingering smell of burned meat. He examined the remains carefully to confirm.
"Boss," he said after a moment, voice strained but relieved, "he's done. Completely burnt."
Even though this wasn't the first time he had witnessed Ethan's abilities, the raw efficiency of it still left him stunned.
....
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