Tim Delaney had never woken up in a place like this.
His neck ached. His back felt like he'd been sleeping on gravel. As his eyes blinked open, adjusting to the dim morning light filtering through a cracked windowpane, the details of the warehouse crept into view—dusty crates, mismatched chairs, walls lined with faded blueprints and maps, and the faint hum of old electrical lights buzzing overhead.
No windows. No clocks. No exit signs. Just the musty smell of forgotten years and the nagging sense that he had just stepped into someone else's war zone.
He sat up, rubbing his face. His suit jacket was folded on a nearby crate. Someone had draped a rough blanket over him at some point—probably the not-so-subtle psychic one.
A few feet away, the man—Damian—stood like a stone pillar, arms crossed, staring silently at a flickering monitor connected to some makeshift security setup. Muscle for days, with all the warmth of a bulldozer.
Across the room, the woman—Sera, he remembered now—sat perched on the edge of a table, eyes closed, seemingly meditating, though Tim could feel her attention on him. Watching. Reading.
"Morning," Tim rasped, his voice dry. "Do you guys offer room service, or just the full paranoia package?"
Neither of them responded.
"Still not talkative, huh?" Tim groaned as he stretched. "Don't take this the wrong way, but this is starting to feel less like protective custody and more like a hostage situation."
Damian turned, finally, his voice low and bristling. "You're not a hostage."
"Right. Just an unwilling guest in a warehouse with two people who glow in the dark and refuse to answer basic questions. Fine. No concerns here."
"You talk too much," Damian growled.
"It's a coping mechanism," Tim snapped. "Also called thinking out loud, you should try it sometime. Might help with your blood pressure."
Sera finally opened her eyes, calm and unbothered. "Enough. Both of you."
Tim stood now, squaring his shoulders despite the ache in them. He wasn't going to be intimidated, not again. "Alright. Ground rules. You dragged me here, and you saved me from Cetus, and I appreciate that. But I'm not going to sit quietly while you two stare at me like I'm some kind of science experiment. You want cooperation? Give me something."
Damian stepped forward, the air around him seeming to tighten. "You compromised our operation. We've been inside Cetus for months, working under their radar. You show up, trip alarms, force us to use powers—and now they know someone's hunting them."
Tim didn't back down. "I didn't know you existed until last night. I wasn't trying to screw up your plan—I was trying to find my sister."
Damian's jaw clenched. "You think your sob story excuses your recklessness?"
"No," Tim said, voice hard now. "But it explains it."
Sera stood slowly, her gaze fixed on Tim now, searching. "Tell us."
Tim hesitated. He'd kept this story close for years—guarded it like a fragile piece of himself—but now, in the cold light of whatever this new world was, he needed them to understand.
"When I was ten," he began, "my parents died. Car crash. Everything shattered overnight. I had a little sister, Eva. She was five. We were separated in the foster system—standard protocol, too many kids, not enough homes. I got bounced around. So did she. Only... I got lucky. Someone took me in. I got a shot at a normal life. Law school. A career. But Eva? She vanished."
He paced now, the words coming faster. "I spent years looking for her. Foster records, old social worker files—nothing. Like she never existed. Then I found it—her name, buried in the logs of a Cetus-run foster home. She would've been thirteen. That's the last record. After that? Radio silence."
He looked up, meeting Sera's eyes. "Nine years. No trace. No closure. Just a name and a logo—Cetus. So yeah, I broke in. I had to."
Silence stretched.
Sera's face softened slightly. Her eyes glowed faintly, just for a moment. "He's telling the truth," she murmured.
Damian scoffed. "You're sure?"
"I can feel it," she said. "His fear. His purpose. It's not a lie."
Tim raised an eyebrow. "Great. Human lie detector. Handy."
"Empath," she corrected quietly. "Not a detector. I sense truth, not details."
Tim sighed, rubbing his face again. "Look, I didn't mean to ruin whatever op you two had going, but Eva's the only family I've got. And Cetus... I think they took her. Or worse."
Damian shook his head, pacing now. "We've kept a low profile for years. Never intervened directly. Last night, we had to use our powers. That means surveillance and countermeasures—Cetus will adapt. We're exposed."
Sera nodded. "It's the first time we've been noticed."
Tim looked between them. "So what are you, then? Spies? Vigilantes? Mutants?"
Damian grunted. "You don't get to know that."
"Really? Because I'm pretty sure I've earned a few answers."
"You've earned a warning," Damian snapped.
Sera stepped between them again. "We're not enemies, Tim. We're trying to stop Cetus, just like you. Their experiments have killed dozens—maybe more. Genetic testing, done in secret, off the books. We're still figuring out the scope."
Tim felt something cold settle in his gut. "And you think Eva...?"
"We don't know," Sera said. "But it's possible. We've been following the trail, but the organization's bigger than we thought."
Tim exhaled. "So what now?"
Sera studied him. "Now... we work together. Carefully."
Tim looked at Damian, who wanted to punch something. Then back at Sera. "So I'm on your team now? Just like that?"
"No," Damian said. "You're a liability."
"But a useful one," Tim quipped. "I work at Khan and Thomas. We handle Cetus subsidiaries. I have access to contracts and legal loopholes. You need intel? I can get it. Do you need someone who can make this public? I know how to build a case."
Sera was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. We exchange information. Carefully. No independent action."
Tim smirked. "So we're allies of convenience."
"Don't get comfortable," Damian growled.
Tim grabbed his jacket. "Comfortable? I haven't been comfortable since I met you two."
Tim paced the warehouse like a lawyer inspecting a crime scene—which, in his mind, it practically was. Stolen files, secret powers, missing sister. It was all circling him like a legal case from hell. The walls of the place were cluttered with corkboards, maps, and printed documents, pinned and re-pinned with strings connecting dots Tim didn't understand. Everything smelled faintly of dust, sweat, and conspiracy.
"So," he began, tapping a pinned photo of the Cetus Foundation logo, "you're telling me a pharmaceutical company is conducting human experiments, you two are vigilantes with superpowers, and this—" he picked up a half-burnt document, "—this is your idea of due process?"
Damian, standing in the corner like a looming bouncer, didn't bother responding. Sera, however, sat at a folding table covered in files, calmly sipping something from a thermos.
"We're not vigilantes," she said without looking up.
"Oh, I'm sorry, should I say 'enhanced individuals with a flair for the dramatic'?"
Sera gave him a sideways glance. "We act in the shadows. We prevent worse things from happening."
Tim folded his arms. "And I'm just supposed to take that at face value? That you're… what, guardian angels with a God complex? No offense, but in my world, claims need evidence."
Damian muttered, "In your world, the guilty walk free on technicalities."
Tim smirked. "And in yours, people break necks over jaywalking? Yeah, I'll take messy justice with a paper trail, thanks."
Sera stood now, holding out a folder. "Here. Evidence."
Tim hesitated before taking it, flipping through photos of abandoned facilities, labs with medical equipment stained red, and what looked like a body bag.
"What is this?" he asked, the sarcastic tone fading.
"Cetus's 'Neurodivision,'" Sera said. "Supposedly for neurological treatment R&D. In reality, it's their human testing branch. That photo? A thirteen-year-old girl. Died of 'complications.' Her foster records match a Cetus-run home. She was part of the same program that your sister's name appeared in."
Tim stared at the image. "She's… She looks like Eva."
Sera nodded. "It's why we took an interest in your case. You're not the only one searching for answers."
Tim's hands clenched. "And all this—this is happening now?"
"Still ongoing," Damian said. "But they're careful. No press. No police. Anyone who asks too many questions... disappears."
Tim shook his head, the wheels in his mind spinning. "This... I need more than photos. Names, dates, something I can bring to court."
Sera stepped closer. "That's why we need each other."
Tim's eyes narrowed. "You're still not telling me how you got these, or what you are."
"We're not here to satisfy your curiosity," Damian said. "We're here to end Cetus."
"Well, some of us like to know who we're working with before we sign blood oaths."
"You want to back out?" Damian challenged.
Tim held his ground. "No. I just want the truth."
Sera placed a hand on Damian's arm, stopping whatever retort was forming.
"Tim," she said, voice level. "Our origins don't matter right now. What matters is this—Cetus is growing. They're experimenting on people, hiding behind legal walls and false fronts. We're trying to stop them before more lives are lost. Including possibly… your sister's."
That hit harder than Tim expected. His sarcasm faltered, replaced by something rawer.
"And you think... together we can stop them?"
"We have skills you don't," Sera said. "But you have something we need. Access. A public voice. You can work inside the system."
Tim nodded slowly. "Alright. Here's the deal. I dig for info at Khan and Thomas. You do your... glowing thing and find more from the outside. We share intel. We build a case."
Damian grunted. "If you compromise us again—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Tim waved. "I get vaporized."
Sera smiled faintly. "We don't kill."
Tim looked at her, then at Damian, incredulous. "Could've fooled me."
Tim buttoned up his jacket as the warehouse door creaked open, the early evening light casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The day had blurred by in tension, old documents, and one too many passive-aggressive silences. His mind felt like a courtroom mid-trial—arguments clashing in every direction.
"Are you sure you can find your way back?" Sera asked from behind him, arms folded.
"I'm a lawyer," Tim said, glancing over his shoulder. "Getting lost is part of the job. But yeah, I'll manage."
Damian stood near the far wall, watching him like a hawk sizing up prey.
"You step out that door," he said, voice low, "and you don't talk to anyone about us. No cops. No friends. Not even pillow talk, understand?"
Tim raised an eyebrow. "Please, I barely trust myself, let alone anyone else."
Damian didn't blink.
"Okay, fine. I get it. You guys are allergic to trust."
Sera walked toward him, holding out a small comm device—basic, worn, but functional.
"If you find something at work, use this. No phones, no internet. It's secure."
Tim took it. "Wow. Burner tech. You know how to make a guy feel special."
He hesitated, then added, "You're sure... You don't know what they're doing to the kids?"
Sera's face darkened. "We have theories. Some of it's... beyond science."
"Beyond... you mean like—"
"Let's just say they're unlocking things that shouldn't be touched."
Tim swallowed hard, fingers closing around the device. "Great. Now I have nightmares and legal liability."
Sera's expression softened. "We're not your enemies, Tim."
"No," he said. "But I'm still not sure you're allies either."
He turned to leave but paused. "For what it's worth... thanks. For pulling me out."
Damian remained silent. Sera gave him a small nod.
As Tim stepped into the fading daylight, his thoughts churned.
Superpowers. Conspiracies. Cetus. Eva.
And now... two strangers with dangerous gifts and secrets even he couldn't parse.
Back inside, Damian turned to Sera.
"He's a risk."
"He's a necessity," she replied.
"He's reckless. Emotional."
"He's searching for his sister."
Damian frowned. "That makes him unpredictable."
Sera sighed, watching the door where Tim had disappeared.
"Maybe. But sometimes... It's the desperate ones who dig the deepest."