"Immortals..."
"What are they?"
"Who are they?"
"How did they come into being?"
"Why did they come?"
These were the questions people asked ever since immortal beings appeared out of nowhere.
×××
Oykot. (a remote island in the Southern Hemisphere)
12:00 AM
Flashes from camera lights burst through the dark like lightning. In the center stood a tall, pale man with dark brown hair and icy blue eyes — eyes that could somehow make you feel safe with just a glance. He wore a sharp Armani tuxedo but seemed lost in thought, oblivious to the shouting photographers. Ironically, that made the moment even more perfect to capture.
A suited man with tinted glasses stepped up, whispered in his ear, and gestured toward the grand building ahead. Marek nodded wordlessly and followed him past the cream brick walls, the single stash window on the far side the only visible opening. The wooden double doors shut behind him — and the flashes disappeared with them.
"Aww, man. I didn't get a good one."
One of the photographers stared at his camera, disappointed. A few nodded in agreement, others packed up with smug smiles.
"Who was that?" a young, light-skinned man asked, squeezing through the crowd. His outfit was chaotic — oversized silk shorts, a baggy shirt slipping off one shoulder, and a sleeveless tracksuit jacket. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
Odd fashion taste... he admitted.
"For a rookie, you're pretty clueless," someone muttered, giving him a once-over that lingered on the clothes more than his question.
The rookie chuckled. "Sorry. New around here."
"That's Marek. Soon-to-be head of the Soy Mortal family. Today's his first official meeting with the other family heads."
The man checked his vintage watch with a sigh.
"Is there a problem?" the rookie asked.
He pulled out his phone. It was noon — though the significance escaped him — and the rest of the press began quietly dispersing.
"We should go. Security doesn't like—"
Sudden stomping, like thunderous drums, boomed from inside. The polished wooden doors flung open, and several black-suited men stormed out — their presence aggressive, even violent.
"Move!" the older photographer barked, grabbing the rookie's arm and yanking him away as the guards started clearing the area.
A few unlucky stragglers were shoved aside. The black steel gates slammed shut.
"Damn..." The rookie froze, eyes wide, sympathy flashing across his face as he watched another photographer's camera get broken in the scuffle.
"This meeting's important. You can figure the rest out."
The rookie, still flipping through his shots, frowned. "I don't get it. Is it just politics? What makes this meeting so different?"
The older man sighed. "I'm so glad you don't work at our agency."
"...What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Just — there've been rumors."
"Rumors?"
He gave him a pointed look. "If you'd stop interrupting, yeah. Word is, Soy Mortal's got some... dirty business behind the scenes. And Marek? He's planning to pull out."
The rookie peeked through the thin gap in the gate. Inside, security swarmed the building. Most clustered near the stash window and main entrance.
"Dirty like... illegal?"
The older man facepalmed. "Yes, genius. Illegal. And if that's true, Marek would be the first family head to break away. Brave or stupid."
"Then why hasn't the police stepped in?"
"Because there's no proof. Just rumors. If there was evidence, trust me — the police would've acted."
A gust of cold wind blew through, and both men shivered. The sun slipped behind the clouds, casting an eerie gray over the garden.
"What if the police are working with them?" the rookie said quietly.
The photographer stiffened. "You think the police — made up mostly of humans — *want* to protect those monsters?"
He clenched his camera in frustration, eyes filled with something darker. "There are things in this world that shouldn't exist. But they do."
"I get your point, but—"
"No 'but,' kid. Immortals exist — and some of them are monsters."
Other photographers nearby glanced over, some glaring at him. He didn't care.
You can all look at me like that. You know I'm right.
"Anyway," the rookie said, breaking the tension, "I'm Dejan. You?"
"Brendan. Nice to meet you."
They shook hands, firm and brief.
"Thanks for the info, Brendan. I should head out."
Dejan gave a short wave and jogged off, leaving Brendan deep in thought.
They're not as ignorant as I thought, Dejan mused. But what gives Brendan the right?
×××
2:55 PM
Inside the Soy Mortal meeting hall
Two figures walked across a wide foyer. Beige pillars lined the walls, small round tables filled the space. The tiles beneath them gleamed.
"That was an interesting meeting, Marek," said an old man in traditional Japanese robes.
Marek, still in his tux, turned slightly, tapping his foot on the floor. "Sure was."
"I expected more... drama." The old man narrowed his eyes playfully.
Marek just scratched his head and walked off, ignoring the jab.
Playing dumb, are we, Marek? the old man thought, smiling softly as he followed.
Outside, the flashes started again. A suited man approached Marek, followed by several more who quickly formed a wall between him and the press.
"Sir, your car is this way."
He was guided to a white Mercedes G-Class. Inside, a dark-skinned woman sat waiting, holding a black folder.
"Sir," she greeted, extending her hand.
"And you are?" he asked, returning the handshake.
"Cass. Security."
He hummed in response and took the file.
"It's about the attack on our main port. We're heading to the scene now."
He opened the folder — only to find one paper inside.
"What the hell?" he said, confused.
The sheet read only:
RAMPAGES HAVE GROUPED UP
"You're probably confused," she said calmly, "but that's all the info you need."
"What am I supposed to get from this?" he asked, frustrated.
She turned to him, her light violet eyes locking onto his. They were hypnotic — strangely beautiful. He coughed lightly and looked away.
"Rampages don't work together. That's the point. This? This is a problem."
×××
The car pulled into a driveway in front of what looked like an ordinary house — or what used to be one. Large holes marred the roof, windows were smashed in, and yet, oddly, the front door remained intact.
"What happened here?" Marek asked, his voice low.
Cass stepped out with him, surveying the damage. "Rampages hit it," she said plainly.
"This was the first attack—"
He blinked. "First? What about the port?"
She chuckled. "This was hidden. To help you."
"Help me how?"
They stepped inside. The entryway was a mess — shattered glass, a fallen portrait with its image missing, furniture overturned, and blood smeared across the white walls. The kitchen and living room blended together in destruction, the open-plan space looking more like a warzone.
"This was the current Head's house," she said. "He loved this place. Would never let it fall into ruin. Rumors are already spreading that he's gone. If this gets out…"
They walked deeper into the house and entered the dining room.
"I hear you," Marek muttered, "but what's so bad about the Head being gone? I'm here now." He smirked.
Cass laughed, shaking her head. "And who exactly fears you?"
The jab stung a bit, but he brushed it off.
"I don't need fear," he said.
They reached a spiral staircase — or what remained of one. Half of it had collapsed, leaving the top inaccessible.
"No wonder they hit the port next," she said.
Marek ducked under the broken wood, trying to spot a way up. "What does the port have to do with any of this?"
Cass raised a finger. "Not everyone. You. With the Head gone, there's no one holding them back anymore. You're still in transition. They'll start with you — then the rest of us."
She lowered her hand. "And how do they know he's gone, hmm?"
Marek began testing the remaining steps, each one creaking under his weight.
"One: he hasn't been seen in over a decade — suspicious. Two: you're meeting with the heads — also weird. Three: his house just got raided."
She snapped the list off quickly, her voice rising. He climbed back down and exhaled.
"I've got this, okay?" he muttered. "While he's stuck on an island reading books, I've caught up."
Cass scoffed. He reached out, gently cupping her cheek.
She gave him a side-eye and brushed his hand away. "Were you really that envious of him?" she asked.
The air in the room turned cold.
"You're pushing it," he growled.
He turned and walked away, vanishing into the next room. She watched him go, a faint smile on her lips.
*It's not just fear. People admired him. You… not so much.*
---
"We need him," she called out, following after him. "You're one of the few who knows where that island is."
They found more smashed furniture, blood stains, and shattered walls. Marek gave her a tight-lipped smile.
"I'd rather keep that to myself."
Cass sighed and returned to the broken staircase. She climbed to where it ended, bent low, then vaulted up effortlessly. The building groaned beneath the impact.
"I'll search up here," she said.
Marek looked away, cheeks reddening. *Did she say something? Or was I just distracted... Damn, she's thick.*
He cleared his throat. *Focus.*
Cass entered a room that looked untouched. Black-painted walls. A king-sized bed. A lingering smell of cigarettes.
She tore through the room, searching frantically. "Where is it?"
Drawers, nightstands, behind the curtains — nothing. About to give up, she noticed a small hole beside the bed. Peeking inside didn't help. So she flipped the mattress and leaned in, knocking on the base.
*Clang.*
Metallic.
Smiling, she pulled out a pocket knife, slicing along the base, the sound sharp and grating. Peeling back the wood, she felt something inside — her heart raced.
She pulled it free.
*A diary.*
Gripping it tight, she hugged it to her chest. "His diary... I actually found it. Not what I was looking for, but this is even better."
Tucking it beneath her vest and into her jeans, she shouted, "Nothing was up here!"
She jumped down. Marek leaned against the wall, eyeing her as they exited the house.
"Still shocked by the state upstairs," she said.
"Yeah. Poor house," he muttered, his tone flat.
Cass narrowed her eyes. Something felt off.
---
**Back in the car, en route to the port**
"How far are we?" Marek asked.
Cass tapped her screen. "Thirty minutes."
"How were the rampages caught?"
"Lorenzo handled it. He's at the xxx port now."
"Cool. So he ditched the main port to help the others." He rubbed his temples. "Great."
A cough from the driver caught his attention. "What's wrong?" Marek asked.
"I think… we're being followed, sir."
Cass checked the mirror and smirked. "Why though? Unless they're going to the main port…"
Marek's expression darkened. "No. Probably because we're receiving a package — from one of the underworld dogs."
Cass looked surprised. "Package?"
*Damn. I didn't think of it sooner,* he thought. *The research. That's why the rampages are hitting the ports.*
"What should we do, sir?" the driver asked.
Marek leaned back. "We take a detour."
The driver nodded, spotting a narrow alley. The G-Class scraped against the tight walls, metal screeching. Two cars followed closely.
Cass rolled down the window. "This is good," she grinned.
She aimed and fired. Her bullets cracked the chasers' windshield, then shattered it. Return fire smashed their back window. Cass ducked while Marek didn't flinch.
The chaser's sunroof popped open. A man climbed onto the roof.
"He's gonna jump," Cass muttered.
She fired again. The bullet struck the driver's arm, sending their car crashing along the alley walls.
"We're close to the main road," the driver reported.
Marek rolled up his sleeves and lit a cigarette.
Cass raised an eyebrow. "So you smoke while I fight?"
He smiled faintly.
Behind them, one of the attackers yelled:
"Damn, nigga! We finna lose 'em! You had to get yo big ass shot!"
The large black man on the roof jumped down, smashed the window, and yanked the driver out.
"Get yo ass in. Drive!"
A lean man in a bucket hat slid into the driver's seat. Another man in a violet suit stepped out of the third car and approached.
"We got something else to handle. Leave it to the beast," he said.
The black man grinned. "Lucky bastards."
×××
Back in the G-Class, Cass spotted the Soy Mortal billboard.
"Maybe they left us alone," she offered.
Marek didn't answer. He was deep in thought.
Who were those guys? How did they know about the research? Was she right? Was fear the only thing keeping people in line? Am I still behind him?
×××
A few minutes later — the main port
They stepped out of the car, stunned.
It was a ghost town.
No ships. No containers. No workers. Nothing.
"What happened?" Cass asked, breathless.
"I... don't know," Marek muttered.
A single docking ship sat far in the distance.
Suddenly, the driver peeled off toward the exit.
Marek blinked. "Guess I didn't smoke for nothing."
Cass raised her gun and fired — blowing out the tires. The car crashed into the wall.
"You check the package," she said. "I'll handle this."
He nodded and sprinted off.
×××
Smoke poured from the wrecked car. Cass fired again, but a blast of fire shot from inside. She leapt back.
"You're fast, but no human can match an immortal!" a voice bellowed.
A man bolted from the wreck, inhumanly fast, shockwaves rippling around him.
Cass dodged his blows, calm and unreadable. "Too much strength. Poor form."
He fired beams of fire from glowing fingertips. She calmly aimed — and shot one bullet.
Straight through the fire.
TO BE CONTINUED...