Chapter 17: Personal Baggage Support
The safehouse was a cramped sanctuary, its silence broken only by the low hum of an overworked air conditioner, fighting the damp heat of the late evening. The air carried the stale scent of pretzels and cleaning solvent, a tired domesticity at odds with their chaotic lives. Jax Reed perched on a worn blue recliner, its synthetic fabric cool against his combat fatigues. He cleaned his rifle's scope with meticulous care, the cloth's soft scrape a grounding ritual. His knife lay beside him, its weight a familiar comfort, though his fingers itched to twirl it. Across the cluttered living space, Leota Adebayo slumped on an institutional sofa, the weak lamp beside her casting soft shadows on her tense face, her glasses reflecting the dim light.
Adebayo spoke without preamble, her voice low and strained. "She's escalating, Jax. The pressure. It's not just operational review anymore. She's calling every two hours, demanding updates on your methods, your 'assets,' and specifically, our ethical justification for deploying them." She twisted a gold ring on her finger, the faint clink against the armrest echoing in the quiet.
Jax didn't look up, snapping the scope's cap back on with a sharp click. "Waller is the ultimate bureaucracy villain. Her superpower is making people feel morally bankrupt for saving the world without filling out Form 302-B in triplicate. Seriously, she weaponizes paperwork. Don't internalize her guilt trip, Adebayo. The only thing you're doing wrong is letting a woman whose moral compass is a shattered magnet make you question yourself." His sarcasm was sharp, but his steady focus on the rifle showed his genuine support, a rare vulnerability peeking through. "She's carrying too much," he thought, his own isolation echoing in her words.
Adebayo pushed back, her eyes meeting his, sharp behind her glasses. "It's easy for you to dismiss, but she's leveraging this chaos to justify creating a new, more compliant, Squad. I am giving her the ethical ammunition she needs to field a team of genuine monsters under the pretense of necessity."
Before Jax could respond, the comms tablet on the coffee table flared to life, its blue glow cutting through the dim room. Vigilante's voice crackled through, tinny and confused. "Hey, is anyone else feeling like they just took a physics final that never happened?"
Economos chimed in, his worry palpable. "I thought I was losing it. I can't remember how I got from the rendezvous point to my current location. It's a literal blank spot. A memory fade of about thirty minutes. Did we run into a telepath or something?"
Jax's pulse spiked, a cold prickle of alarm crawling up his spine. "Memory fade? That's not Butterfly tech," he thought, exchanging a look with Adebayo, her face mirroring his unease.
[SYSTEM: CUMULATE TRACKER: 1/3 (READY FOR NEXT USE).]
"Whatever it is," Jax said, his sarcasm gone, his voice steady, "it proves you're succeeding. You're making waves large enough to attract attention from the high-tier stuff. That's a win, even if it feels like a personal attack." He set the rifle down, the metal clinking softly, and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
Adebayo exhaled, running a hand over her face, her fatigue etched in the lines around her eyes. She picked up a half-finished glass of water, sipping slowly, the ritual calming her. "The memory fade is terrifying, but let's park that. We're in this together. But you keep deflecting when I ask about your past. If I'm opening up about my ethical conflicts, you can tell me what a 'glitch life' actually means. Come on, let's get some coffee. I need the caffeine for the inevitable 3 AM Waller call."
The kitchen was a cramped box, lit by a buzzing track light, the counter reeking of chlorine and old grease. Jax filled an ancient kettle, its stained metal rattling as he set it to boil. The bubbling water was a comforting hum, a stark contrast to the grim talk. He handed Adebayo a mug of instant coffee, its bitter steam fogging his eyes. "From chaos to coffee breaks," he thought, gripping his own mug, the heat seeping into his palms.
Adebayo leaned against the fridge, her posture less official, more vulnerable. "My old life was a glitch because I wasn't really living it," Jax said, staring into his mug's dark swirl. "Twenty-eight years of waiting for the adventure to start. My death—getting crushed by a billboard advertising cheap flights—was a cosmic punchline. When I woke up here with the System, I was finally running the correct software. The glitch was the isolation, the quiet desperation of a cubicle farm. This? This is the messy, loud, bloody reality I always wanted to escape into." He edited the trauma into existential boredom, his voice steady but guarded.
Adebayo nodded, her grip tightening on her mug. "I understand the craving for agency. But my struggle is the opposite. I have agency, but it's poisoned. I work for a terrorist—my mother—to achieve anti-terrorist goals. Every success I have—every Butterfly we squash, every hostage we save—it vindicates her methods." Her voice cracked, the heat of the mug grounding her. "It's ethical rot, Jax. And I'm neck-deep in it. I have to believe the ends justify the means, but the means are literally my mother's Squad plans for world domination disguised as defense strategy. Is that justifiable faith or just arrogance?"
Jax felt the urge to deflect with humor. "Sounds like you need a therapist, not a tactician. Maybe summon a life coach Supe? I bet there's a power-crazed motivational speaker on my index." He smirked, but her frown stopped him cold. "You're avoiding the feeling. That's why you call it a glitch. Because the real trauma—the real unfulfilled life—is too heavy to carry." She leaned forward, her intensity knocking her mug against the counter. Coffee sloshed out, splashing her pants with a sticky splat.
"Whoa!" Jax yelped, the chaos breaking the tension. He grabbed a paper towel roll, kneeling to dab at the puddle, the rough texture grounding him. "Don't apologize," he said as Adebayo mumbled, red-faced. "That's what happens when you let philosophy override physics. Lesson learned."
[SYSTEM: EMOTIONAL EXCHANGE COMPLETE.]
[CONNECTION DEEPENED.]
[+5 SP (BONDING).]
[CURRENT SP: 215.]
Adebayo's eyes softened, her trust clear. "She's bringing in specialists, Jax," she whispered, taking the stained towel. "From all corners. She wants a team that can counter everything the Peacemaker crew has learned, especially your unpredictability. Just promise me you'll stop relying on sheer luck."
The SP ping was a faint pulse, affirming the bond. "She's right. Luck's a bad bet," Jax thought, the memory fade and Waller's plans looming.
Jax retreated to a tiny sleeping area, closing the thin door. The room was dark, lit only by streetlight filtering through a small window, the distant wail of a siren a fitting backdrop. He lay on a creaky cot, twirling his knife, its cool metal soothing. Activating the system, blue holographic screens lit his face. He scrolled past summons—Homelander, Stormfront, Kimiko—knowing their unpredictability was a liability. "Waller's coming. I need control," he thought.
He found the Upgrades section, selecting Targeted Summon. "System, purchase Targeted Summon upgrade," he subvocalized, his throat tight.
[SYSTEM: PROCESSING TRANSACTION: TARGETED SUMMON UPGRADE.]
[COST: -20 SP.]
[SP: 215 → 195.]
[UPGRADE STATUS: TARGETED SUMMON (ACTIVE).]
[STRATEGY MODE INITIATED.]
A static charge confirmed the upgrade. Jax tested it mentally: Ambush by Waller's Squad. Old plan: Random summon, hope for The Deep. New plan: Kimiko, silent disable. He whispered the commands, the ritual grounding him. "Sarcasm levels rising, but I'm ready," he thought, the memory fade a warning as he prepped for the next fight.
[SYSTEM: RANDOM FLAVOR: MEMORY FADE DETECTED.]
To supporting Me in Pateron .
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