Night settled heavily over the warehouse district.
The docks were quiet. Too quiet.
From the rooftop of an abandoned factory, a sleek blue figure crouched low against the concrete. XLR8. Jack's tail flicked slowly behind him as he watched the warehouse yard below. Several trucks sat beside the loading docks, engines idling softly in the cold night air. Men moved crates from the warehouse into the vehicles while armed guards watched the perimeter.
Jack narrowed his eyes. Weapons again. He had already shut down three shipments this week, and apparently the gangs still hadn't learned.
"Alright," Jack muttered quietly. "Let's make this quick."
He leaned forward and launched. The rooftop disappeared behind him as the blue alien shot forward like lightning. The world slowed instantly, streetlights stretching into glowing ribbons, the city blurring to streaks of color on either side.
Within seconds he landed inside the warehouse yard. Two guards near the gate barely had time to blink. WHAM. The first man spun sideways as Jack swept his legs out. CRACK. The second slammed face-first into the side of a truck.
Jack skidded to a stop. Several smugglers inside the loading bay turned. "What the hell—"
Then the night exploded.
Floodlights ignited from every direction, blinding white light flooding the dockyard instantly. Jack squinted against the sudden glare.
That's new.
A loudspeaker crackled overhead. "NOW!"
Jack took a step forward — and immediately lost his footing. His claws slid across the pavement. The ground beneath him was coated in thick black oil. XLR8's legs shot out from under him and he slammed hard onto the slick surface.
"—oh crap."
Gunfire erupted instantly. Bullets tore through the air and Jack rolled across the oil-covered pavement just as the first shots hit the ground where he had been. Then something screamed toward him. BOOM. A rocket slammed into the pavement beside him, the explosion blasting oil and debris across the yard in every direction.
Jack slid across the slick surface, claws desperately scraping for traction. There was none. More rockets fired. BOOM. BOOM. The explosions rocked the dockyard. Jack forced himself upright again, but every movement felt unstable — the oil had destroyed his grip completely. And without traction, XLR8 couldn't run.
Jack's stomach tightened. They knew.
A voice shouted from above. "Snipers ready!"
Jack's head snapped upward. Shapes moved along the surrounding rooftops — several snipers with rifles aimed directly at him. CRACK. One fired. The bullet grazed his shoulder. XLR8 hissed as pain burned along his arm.
Great. This is definitely a trap.
More gang members poured out of the warehouse — dozens of them, carrying shotguns, rifles, and rocket launchers. They spread out across the yard in a practiced formation, surrounding him completely.
"Keep him in the yard!" one of them shouted.
Another rocket launched. Jack tried to sprint. His foot slipped again. The rocket exploded only meters behind him, the blast wave hurling him across the oil-covered pavement. He crashed into a wooden crate and splintered it apart, pain shooting through his ribs.
Jack forced himself back up.
The loudspeaker crackled. "You're slower than we expected."
Jack's eyes narrowed. Tombstone's people.
A voice laughed. "Boss said you'd show up eventually." Another sniper fired. CRACK. The bullet struck Jack's leg and the impact made him stumble again. He gritted his teeth against the pain.
Speed is useless without traction. They figured it out.
"Bring them out," another voice ordered through the loudspeaker.
Jack froze.
Two gang members dragged three civilians out of the warehouse — hands tied, tape across their mouths. Hostages. Jack's chest tightened instantly. One of the criminals shoved a pistol hard against a hostage's head. "Move again and they die."
Jack stopped. Completely.
The gang members grinned. "Told you. Boss said he'd hesitate." Another man laughed. "Hero types always do."
Jack's claws flexed against the oil-covered pavement as his mind raced through the options. He could reach them. If he ran at full speed across the slick surface — but one slip, just one, and that gun would fire. The hostage's terrified eyes found his across the yard. Pure fear, raw and helpless, staring back at him.
Jack felt something twist deep in his chest.
What if I'm too slow? What if I slip? What if they die because of me?
For the first time since becoming XLR8, his confidence cracked.
The rocket launcher lifted again. "Drop."
Jack slowly raised his hands. "Alright." His voice came out calm — steadier than he felt. "Let's talk."
The gang members laughed loudly. One of them stepped forward with the easy confidence of someone who believed they had already won. "You've been wrecking our operations all week."
Jack shrugged slightly. "You should try legal business."
The man sneered. "Cut the crap " Another gang member poured even more oil across the pavement, the thick liquid spreading slowly across the yard. "we studied your little speed trick." He kicked the slick surface. "Without traction… you're nothing."
Jack's eyes moved quickly across the battlefield. Snipers on every rooftop. Rocket launchers at multiple angles. Hostages directly in the line of fire. Oil covering every inch of workable ground. A perfect trap — planned, prepared, and executed with patience.
No way…
They studied me.
This was planned.
Jack cursed inside his head. Idiot. You rushed in again. No scouting, no planning, didn't even consider switching aliens before engaging. His mind flashed through the Omnitrix options — Four Arms, Diamondhead. Either one would have handled this situation far better. But he was already XLR8. Already inside the trap. Already on his knees in a yard full of oil with snipers trained on his head.
Another criminal shoved the nearest hostage forward, pressing the gun harder against the terrified civilian's temple. "Get on your knees."
Jack's claws trembled slightly against the slick ground. If he attacked, the hostage would die. If he ran, the hostage would die. If he slipped even once, the hostage would die. Every path forward ended the same way.
Jack lowered himself slowly. The cold pavement pressed against his knee. Around him sniper rifles remained trained on his head, rocket launchers pointed at his chest, and the hostages trembled in the harsh glare of the floodlights.
The oil beneath him made every movement feel impossible.
Jack exhaled slowly. Think. Think.
But for the first time since gaining the Omnitrix — truly for the first time — Jack felt something he hadn't felt before. Not fear for himself. Fear that he might fail. Fear that someone might die tonight because he had rushed in without thinking, because he had been careless, because he had let his growing confidence blind him to the possibility that the enemy could adapt.
The trap had been perfectly designed for him. And he had walked straight into it.
The next part is already out.
Read 10 chapters ahead on Patreon — BenBlazecraft.
Link in the description.