The man stood alone in the observatory.
A glass of red wine rested between his fingers.
Starlight filtered through the dome above.
Footsteps Approached.
A man entered and knelt behind him.
"Sir. You requested a report."
"Marco."
He did not turn.
"The void cell transport."
"It arrives when the clock meets half. Final carriage. Civilian cover remains intact."
A pause.
"I recommend a Watchman assigned to the route."
Now he turned.
His hand extended slightly.
A faint clicking sound came from beneath the skin.
"Send Watchman III. Alde."
"Yes, sir."
Marco rose.
"And one more thing."
He stopped.
"Deploy 03."
A brief silence.
"...Understood."
Marco left.
Moonlight traced across the man's hand.
Etched into the flesh---
01.
...
The warmth of the morning sun gleamed through Kane's window.
His eyes opened.
Stillness.
He rose and slowly looked around.
Walking to the bathroom to get washed and dressed.
Knock. knock.
He opened the door.
Art and Elaina were on the other side.
Elaina leaned forward slightly, studying him.
Art gently pulled her back.
"Good morning."
Kane nodded.
They walked to the courtyard.
Elaina kept pace beside him.
"Do you like the room?"
Kane considered the question.
"It's fine."
She tilted her head.
Her eyes—
Crescent shaped.
Facing inward.
Dark where light should be.
"Nice cut. The chains suit you."
He paused.
"...Thanks."
They entered the courtyard.
Grimm and Joe were eating at the fountain.
Food was gathered.
Plates settled.
Chairs scraped lightly against stone.
Conversation moved without weight.
Joe's eyes shifted to Kane.
"Who's this?"
"Kane." Elaina replied. "He joined yesterday."
Joe's expression changed.
"The one from the prison?"
The movement slowed.
For a moment---
Silence.
They remembered.
The reports.
The bodies.
Why weren't we eaten?
Kane continued eating.
He did not understand the shift.
When the plates were empty, Grimm and Joe got up and left.
Art stood.
"Tremor."
They walked in silence.
At the mechanical door, Art knocked.
Jean opened it..
"Good morning."
"Morning." Art replied.
Elaina waved and Kane gave a small nod.
Jean led them inside.
Tremor stood at his workbench, finishing the final adjustments.
Faint blue light pulsed along his veins, then faded.
Jean touched his shoulder gently.
"They're here."
The glow completely disappeared.
Tremor turned.
His gaze did not settle on Kane.
His hands steadied against the table.
He pointed towards a desk across the room.
"Your gear."
Kane stepped forward alone.
On the table rested twin magnums.
He lifted one.
Solid.
Sleek.
Minimal.
A thin fissure traced the length of the barrel.
Art approached.
"There's no magazine."
Jean supported Tremor as he moved closer.
"It doesn't need one." He said quietly. "Like the others. Desire-fueled."
Elaina shifted towards the door.
"Let's test them."
"Wait." Jean said.
She and Tremor returned briefly to the workbench.
Jean returned carrying a case.
"The masks and Kane's suit."
Art accepted it.
"Thank you Jean and Tremor."
Elaina waved at them both.
Kane paused at the threshold.
He turned slightly.
"...Thanks."
Tremor gave a short nod.
They stepped back into the courtyard.
Elaina skipped to the training hall.
The others followed.
Inside, Art moved to the terminal and input a sequence of commands.
The room shifted smoothly.
Panels retracted.
Targets slid forward from hidden compartments.
"I set it to practice range."
Kane tilted his head slightly.
Art hocked her thumb toward the rack.
"I'll teach you."
They stood side by side.
Art retrieved a handgun and handed one to Kane.
She adjusted her stance first.
Feet planted.
Shoulders squared.
Grip firm.
She fired.
Clean recoil.
Controlled breathing.
The round struck near the center.
Again.
Consistent.
Measured.
Intentional.
Kane mirrored her posture.
Too stiff.
His grip tightened too much.
His shoulders lifted.
His breathing shortened.
He fired.
The shot veered wide.
He corrected.
Overcorrected.
Another shot — low.
Art stepped behind him and nudged his elbow slightly.
"Relax."
He did.
The next shot landed within the outer ring.
She studied him.
There was no frustration in his face.
No irritation.
No quiet determination.
Only compliance.
"You need more practice."
Kane nodded.
The practice ended.
Art sat down and took a drink.
Kane mirrored her without speaking.
Elaina moved to the panel and changed the settings.
The targets retracted.
The floor cleared.
She glanced over her shoulder.
"Let's spar."
Art set her bottle aside.
"Alright."
They stepped onto the open floor and faced each other.
Elaina loosened her shoulders, her stance light and playful.
Art stood tighter, centered, controlled.
The countdown echoed through the room.
With each second, Art inched forward.
Elaina smiled.
The timer struck zero.
Art's veins flared with white light.
She surged forward, closing the distance in a breath.
Her fist cut through the air—
Squeak.
A stuffed elephant dropped between them.
Elaina laughed, already repositioned.
Pink light shimmered along her veins as fine threads unfurled from her fingertips.
She spun, the strings catching and redirecting her weight, weaving through the space with effortless grace.
Art adjusted.
Her gaze sharpened.
She moved through the chaos with precision, intercepting angles, closing gaps, reading patterns.
They were fluid.
Certain.
Every motion belonged to them.
Kane watched.
He couldn't look away.
Their power flowed from something rooted.
Clear.
Defined.
His hand rose slowly to his chest.
A tightness formed beneath his ribs.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Absence.
They knew who they were.
He did not.
The tightness deepened — quiet, dense.
The timer rang.
They separated.
Breathing steady.
Balanced.
Art turned toward Kane.
He was standing closer than before.
His hand still pressed against his chest.
"Kane."
Her voice was calm.
He blinked.
The room returned to him.
His hand lowered.
"...Sorry."
Art studied him for a moment longer than usual.
"It's fine."
But something about the look in his eyes unsettled her.
The training ended.
Buzz. Buzz.
Their communicators lit up.
Art took the case without hesitation.
"It's time."
They moved through the Deneb wing and into the garage.
A metallic clang echoed beneath an armored truck.
Footsteps approached.
The man slid out from underneath and pushed his goggles to his forehead.
"Truck's ready."
"Nice, Dean," Elaina said.
Dean's eyes shifted to Kane.
"This is?"
"Kane," Art replied. "He's with us."
Dean shrugged and returned his wrench to the toolbox.
Jean and Grimm entered, already suited.
"Change," Jean said.
They split into separate rooms.
When they emerged, the insurgent suits erased their individuality.
Dark.
Uniform.
Intentional.
Art secured her railgun.
Elaina twirled her strings together.
Jean flexed her gloved hands.
Grimm stretched his hand open, close.
Kane checked the weight of his magnums.
They boarded.
The garage doors lifted slowly.
The sun hung low on the horizon.
Dean shifted gears.
The truck moved.
Inside, no one spoke.
The hum of the engine filled the space.
Kane stared ahead.
The hollow beneath his ribs had not faded.
It had settled.
Quiet.
---That evening, at the Train station---
The station was nearly full.
Workers secured the final carriage.
Passengers boarded in orderly lines.
A man with short, silver, spiked hair stood near the rear platform, arms folded.
Another beside him exhaled.
"Why are we guarding civilians?"
"We follow protocol."
The speaker crackled overhead.
"All passengers please board one at a time."
The spiked-haired man stepped toward the final car.
Then—
A faint disturbance.
Not loud.
Not visible.
But present.
His expression did not change.
His gaze shifted slightly toward the crowd.
For a moment, something within him tightened.
Subtle.
Instinctive.
He wiped his forearm absently.
Branded into the skin—
03