Chapter 20: Villain Hideout Scout
The safehouse, a cavernous clock tower maintenance room, was a fortress of cold stone and shadow, the air heavy with the musty tang of rust and cement dust. Jax Reed hunched over a folding table, its chipped metal surface littered with a sprawling sewer schematic, the blue ink lines twisting like veins. The space heater's feeble buzz did little to fend off the chill seeping through the walls, and Jax's breath fogged faintly as he traced a route with a calloused finger. His dark tactical jacket, still faintly sour with the motel's disinfectant, hung open, revealing a faded t-shirt clinging to his frame. His combat knife, tucked in his belt, was a comforting weight, and he twirled it absentmindedly, the blade catching the dim fluorescent light—a nervous ritual to steady his racing pulse. "Gotham gloom matches my mood, but cold stakeouts suck," he thought, his sarcasm a shield against the mission's weight.
Emilia Harcourt stood at the table's edge, her blonde hair pulled tight, a cigarette unlit behind her ear, her posture radiating cynical efficiency. "They've got motion sensors on every access point but this one," she said, slamming her fist on the table, marking an unstable manhole cover with a red X, the marker's sharp scent cutting the air. "It's a twenty-foot drop into an active sewage line. Only way in." Her voice was clipped, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the team.
Jax popped a piece of bubble gum from his pocket, the wrapper's crackle earning a glare from Harcourt. He chewed loudly, a deliberate act of casual defiance. "Perfect. Smells like a promotion," he quipped, leaning over the X. "Sarcasm levels rising, but I'm not dying in a sewer today."
"You're going in light, Reed. No armor, just the knife and comms. We can't risk a summon's energy signature until we know what's down there," Harcourt said, her tone sharp. "Three hours to scout, tag, and get out. You're fast, but you're not a tank."
"Agility three, remember?" Jax tapped his temple, smirking. "I'm a rogue ninja. Cold stakeouts suck, but I'll manage." He adjusted his tactical harness, the leather creaking, grounding him in the moment.
[SYSTEM: ALLY ENGAGEMENT SUSPENDED: STEALTH PROTOCOL.]
[CUMULATE TO 1.]
Leota Adebayo, seated on a crate, her glasses reflecting the schematic's lines, spoke up, her voice measured but urgent. "We need more than a floor plan, Harcourt. The dossier mentioned Vought remnant notes. If the Alpha's planning something bigger, those notes are key. Find the rift clue, Jax." Her lip-biting hesitation betrayed her concern, her ethical anchor shining through.
Jax met her gaze, his smirk softening. "Rift clue, got it. Time for some hands-on research." He checked his gear—night-vision goggles, comms earbud, silenced knife, micro-recorder—running his fingers over the smooth metal, a ritual that steadied his nerves. "From chaos to recon," he thought, taking a deep breath of the stale air.
As he stepped onto the roof, the city's electric hum and distant sirens filled the night. He pried open the manhole cover, the iron scraping harshly, releasing a wave of sewage stench that hit like a physical blow. A flicker of movement caught his eye—a cloaked figure retreating into the shadows, too swift to be real. "Paranoid, or the shadowy tailer again?" He ignored it, focusing on the mission, and dropped into the abyss, the cold air swallowing him.
The sewer tunnel was a suffocating nightmare, its concrete walls slick with mildew, the floor a rushing sludge of fetid water. The stench—raw sewage, chemicals, decay—churned Jax's stomach, and his night-vision goggles cast the scene in eerie green, amplifying the claustrophobia. He moved with fluid precision, his Agility 3 stat making him a shadow, his boots silent on the narrow maintenance walkway. "Blood's red paint, but this place is green hell," he thought, his heart pounding.
Rounding a bend, he spotted two Hideout Guards in crude Vought-issue riot gear, their silhouettes hulking under a flickering maintenance light. One, a broad figure with a scarred face, sipped from a can of lukewarm coffee, the tinny scent mixing with the sewer's reek. "Alpha's been twitchy since the Gotham hit," he grumbled, his voice echoing. The other, leaner, adjusted his gear, muttering about shift changes.
Jax flattened himself into an alcove, his breath barely a whisper. No summons. Stealth. He darted forward, his movements a blur of efficiency. A sweeping kick dropped the first guard, his coffee can clattering. Jax's knife flashed, the handle's flat striking the guard's temple, silencing him. The second guard turned, but Jax pivoted, his elbow slamming into the man's throat, followed by a nerve pinch that dropped him instantly. The scuffle was over in seconds, the sewer's hum swallowing the sounds.
Jax dragged the guards into a side passage, their gear clinking softly. He rifled their pockets, finding a keycard and crumpled ration bars, their wrappers crinkling under his fingers. Deeper in, he found a reinforced bunker door behind a sewage valve, its metal cold and slick. The keycard granted entry to a crude laboratory—shattered containment vessels, chemical stains, and a stack of greasy Vought remnant notes on a metal desk. Jax's pulse spiked as he read a scrawled entry: The Vought interdimensional tear… unstable… the bleed is worse than expected. Not just matter, but power. The Host is the nexus. The Parasite Alpha needs the Host's energy for the final rift stabilization.
"I'm the nexus? Great. Just what I needed," he thought, snapping photos with his micro-recorder, the faint click deafening in the silence. He slipped out, the notes' weight heavy in his mind. "Adebayo, I'm out. Got the rift clue. Prep for a game-changing ledger," he whispered into his comms, retracing his path through the sewer's oppressive gloom.
Back in the clock tower, Jax stripped off his sewage-soaked gear, the stench clinging to his skin despite disinfectant wipes. He sat on the floor in fresh clothes, rubbing a bruise on his shin, the pain a grounding anchor. Adebayo's laptop displayed the notes' photos, the team gathered around, their focus collaborative. Peacemaker, unusually quiet, studied the screen, his helmet reflecting the glow.
"The bleed, the nexus, the host," Adebayo muttered, tracing the words. "The Alpha's using the tech to stabilize the dimensional rift, but it needs your energy signature, Jax. You're the key." Her voice was steady, but her glasses slipped, a mundane tic betraying her worry.
Jax twirled his knife, the motion calming. "Well, that's one way to ruin a Tuesday. So, the final raid isn't a tech snatch. It's a hostage exchange. We draw him out, we eliminate the host, we collapse the rift." "Sarcasm levels rising, but this is personal now," he thought.
[SYSTEM: VOUGHT REMNANT NOTES ACQUIRED.]
[+5 SP AWARDED.]
[CUMULATE TO 2.]
Harcourt's voice cut through. "We hit tomorrow. No time for the League, no time for Waller. Adebayo, analyze patterns. Find the Alpha's weakest moment. Jax, rest. You'll need all the Willpower you can muster." She tapped her foot, the sound sharp against the stone floor.
Adebayo opened a new document. "Understood. The last bleed was during a lunar eclipse. Let's see what celestial horror we can weaponize." Her fingers flew over the keys, a ritual of focus.
Jax stood, stretching, his muscles aching. "Cold stakeouts suck, but it's almost over. I need a real meal before I'm a dimension-collapsing anomaly." The team's trust was a new anchor, their shared purpose palpable. He headed for the pantry, craving cheap ramen and an energy drink, the raid plan solidifying in his mind. "From chaos to strategy," he thought, the shadowy tailer's glimpse lingering like a warning.
[SYSTEM: RANDOM FLAVOR: SHADOWY TAILER DETECTED.]
To supporting Me in Pateron .
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