There it was, the parking lot. Guess the guy at the bar wasn't lying. I spotted the van, just as he'd said. But wait a minute… it's moving. Should've asked for the full plan. Doesn't matter now. Time to follow.
I jumped off the bridge and landed hard on the truck, the metal groaning beneath my weight. It was a nice ride—better than the damn bike I couldn't afford. (Cries in brokenness.) The moment I landed, I felt the eyes on me. Guess I wasn't as subtle as I thought.
Two men got out of the van, both wearing black tactical gear. One of them—tall, with sharp eyes—chucked a couple of shuriken my way. I didn't flinch. I was already swinging my tactical (unrealistically in actual combat BT-dubs) handaxe, parrying them out of the air like it was nothing.
I barely had time to smirk before the second guy appeared behind me. The cold whoosh of steel through the air was the only warning I got. His katana was fast, almost too fast. I ducked and rolled, feeling the rush of air as it narrowly missed my head.
Before I could catch my breath, I heard the squeal of tires and a heavy thud. The first guy—now up on the truck—was closing in on me from the front. The truck driver, a middle-aged dude with a bad temper, yelled at us.
"Get off my truck, freeloaders!"
We all responded in unison.
"Fuck off!"
The fight was on, and it wasn't going in my favor. I was dodging and parrying, but these guys knew what they were doing. The second guy lunged again, his katana slicing through the air with a deadly hum. I barely avoided it, the blade grazing my jacket.
That's when I remembered—I had powers. I wasn't just some random guy with an axe and bad luck. I could deceive people. I could swap places, create illusions(cant be having writing inconsistencies can we?).
I focused, pulling on the power deep inside me. The world around me shimmered. In the blink of an eye, I swapped places with one of the twins, making it look like I had moved, but I was still standing behind him. The second guy froze, his eyes wide as he looked at the spot where I should've been. He thought I'd been stabbed.
Perfect.
I grabbed the twin closest to me by the head, my fingers digging into his skull. I activated the feature in my boots that let me walk on walls—just one of the perks of wearing high-tech gear. Without hesitation, I sprinted up the side of the truck, taking the guy with me.
The truck's vibrations shook through me as I dragged the twin along the metal surface. His body scraped and smacked against the gravel as I slid him along the edge, the rough surface eating into his face. His screams were muffled, but I could hear the sickening crack of his skull as it hit the road.
He was done, his head turned into mush on the gravel.
But I lost sight of the van. Just for a moment. I cursed under my breath.
Then, a soft ping in my mind. It was F.R.E.D.D.Y, my AI companion.
"The van's moving, Kane. I've got a tracker on it. It's headed east. You're not losing them."
I took a deep breath, the adrenaline still rushing through my veins.
"Thanks, F.R.E.D.D.Y," I muttered, scanning the horizon for the van again. It had to be close. I wasn't letting this one get away.
I spotted the van from the overpass.
Engine growling beneath me, I didn't hesitate. I vaulted off the bed of the moving truck and dove straight through the driver's side window of the van. Glass shattered. The driver yelped, swerved, and panicked. Tires screamed as he lost control, veering off the freeway and barreling into a construction site below.
We crashed hard.
The van crumpled into a half-finished cement barrier. Metal shrieked. Dust exploded into the air. I groaned, shoving the mangled door open and stepping out, brushing debris off my jacket. My ribs throbbed, but I was used to worse.
The driver—shaken, bleeding—crawled out and tried to run.
"Don't," I warned, leveling my pistol.
He froze just long enough for me to put a bullet in his skull. Clean. Efficient.
Then I heard the back doors of the van swing open.
A figure stepped out slowly, like the star of his own damn stage play. "Heh heh… You rotten bastard. Killing my men," he said, voice gravel and venom. "Who hired you?"
He stood tall, pale skin glistening with sweat, wearing some kind of mechanical exosuit that pulsed with dark tech. Vials of swirling black and red liquid were connected to his spine by thick, twitching tubes. His grin was wide, cracked, and far too enthusiastic.
"Name's Galic," he added with a little bow, like I should be impressed. "Now tell me—who sent you?"
I kept my weapon trained on him. "Not at liberty to say. But if you're feeling generous, hand over the package. No more blood needs to spill."
Galic barked a sharp, barking laugh. "Oh no, no, no. I insist. You should run. Because I brought gifts."
He jammed one of the vials into a port in his back.
The effect was instant—his body convulsed, eyes dilated, and a twisted grin took over his face. He let out a screeching laugh.
"Behold! The power of True Sight! I see through your lies, your tricks—your pathetic illusions!"
Yeah. Great. So, illusions were off the table.
I holstered my gun.
"Alright then," I muttered, rolling my shoulders. "Let's dance."
He lunged. I met him head-on.
We traded blows. Fast, brutal. But something was off. It was like he knew what I was going to do before I did it—ducking, weaving, countering my strikes like he had the script.
So I took the hit.
His fist crashed into my chest, launching me across the site. I smashed through a support beam and landed under a heap of loose rubble.
Coughing, I pulled out my injector—standard combat mix: health boost, adrenaline spike.
But I hesitated.
I reached into my pouch and pulled out the vials I swiped back at the bar. The same nightmare fuel Galic just used.
Screw it.
I swapped them in and jammed the injector into my neck.
Fire tore through my veins. Every nerve lit up. My muscles pulsed with raw energy, my mind sharpened, fractured, expanded. It was like falling and flying at the same time.
Galic was already storming toward me when I got to my feet.
But I was faster now.
I clocked him hard across the jaw. He staggered, crashing against the side of the van. He laughed, wiping blood from his mouth.
"So you took the vials too, huh? Heh! This just got fun."
We went at it again—blow for blow. I was faster, stronger, smarter. My illusions weren't fooling him, but I layered them anyway, using them to obscure space, mess with timing, disorient.
Then—boom.
The van exploded behind us.
Both of us froze, turning to look.
A figure stumbled out from the fire and smoke. He looked dazed, blinking through ash, holding a katana in one hand like it was an extension of himself.
He looked… about my age. Lean build, long red and white hair slicked back with sweat. His energy crackled around him—unrefined, but powerful. Way too powerful for someone who just woke up in a flaming van.
The package.
He looked at both of us, eyes narrowed. "Who the hell are you guys?"
I raised a hand casually. "I'm Kane. Mercenary. Hired to bring you in."
"That's not suspicious at all," he said dryly.
"Hey, I didn't put you in that van. Pretty sure he did." I nodded toward Galic. "He's the nutjob. You? You've got some serious power. So how about this: you and me take him down, and then you can decide if I'm worth punching."
He stared at me, eyes calculating.
"…Nah. I'm good." He turned, walking away like this was just a mild inconvenience.
Galic snarled. "You're not going anywhere."
He lunged. Grabbed the kid—Fenix, I guessed—and slammed him to the ground.
I didn't hesitate.
I tackled Galic, shoving him off Fenix. But before I could throw a punch, I felt something cold press against the back of my skull.
Galic's gun.
Click. Boom.
Everything went black.