"Why do these things have to be everywhere?"
Theo skidded to a stop in front of another door locked behind a scanner, his grey sneakers leaving black streaks across the glossy floor. Oscar would've hated to be part of the Acropolis's maintenance crew. The janitors probably threw darts at the speedster's face in their supply closets.
"Atlas values their security," Andre rumbled behind him, his deep voice echoing through the sterile corridor.
Theo groaned.
"Maybe you should stop running everywhere like a squirrel on drugs meth. It'll help you stop running into stuff," Oscar joked, spinning his silver lighter between his fingers. The metal clicked softly, the engraved initials on its side catching the overhead lights. His thumb brushed the letters. A quiet ache crept into his chest.
He missed his parents.
He always missed his parents.
But the hole in his heart seemed to be getting wider by the day.
"Theo Holland, P1. Oscar Jiménez, P5. Andre Steel, P6. Welcome," the facility's AI system chimed after scanning them all in. The door slid open with a soft hiss.
The trio stepped into Director Shaw's office, where sunlight spilled through floor-to-ceiling windows. Snowy peaks glimmered along the horizon outside, a picture-perfect view that felt far removed from everything they'd been training for.
Oscar whistled low as he thought about it. Three months… That's how long it'd been since the Acropolis became their permanent home. It'd been three months since they stopped being normal teenagers and became Primes. They were now the world's first team of superheroes.
Well, they weren't superheroes. That's what Chase always said, anyway.
Oscar disagreed.
What else did you call a person wearing a cool super-suit with superpowers battling bioterrorists who also had superpowers?
If someone three months ago had told him he'd be gearing up to fight terrorists, he would've called for a psych evaluation. Now? He could conjure fire with a flick of his wrist. Crazy didn't even begin to describe it.
"What do you think Shaw wants?" Andre asked.
Theo wrung his hands. "Probably something classified and dangerous."
"Y'know, just another Tuesday," Oscar quipped.
They found Director Shaw already typing away at his holographic keyboard, posture razor-straight as if he were sitting on a stick. His glasses slid down his nose every few seconds. He pushed them back up every time.
He looked like he hadn't stopped working since the Cold War.
Chase, Stella, and Emily were already sitting down inside. The expressions on their faces suggested Oscar and the others were a lot later than they thought. They'd been engaged in a heated match of foosball in the common room before getting the message to meet at the director's office.
"Ah, finally," Director Shaw said flatly without looking up. "Nice of you boys to join us." He gestured to the seats across from his desk.
Oscar plopped onto the sofa closest to the windows. The black-and-white décor throughout the room gave him the creeps—it was all too clean. Too fake. The room itself was probably judging him for daring to have a personality. He'd recently added a lot of red and orange to his wardrobe. His bright hoodie stood out like a flame in the night.
"So…" He snapped his fingers, sparking up a small flame and letting it dance across his knuckles. "What's up, boss?"
Director Shaw typed a final command, and the office's display wall flared to life—blueprints, maps, and a dossier marked with a single word: NEMESIS.
Oscar's smile faded.
"Ever since Victor's stunt, NEMESIS has gone dark," Director Shaw began. "However, my agents in the Watchtower have traced several of their Primonium reserves to a warehouse about an hour outside of Portland, Oregon. Now, our intelligence reports the warehouse is heavily guarded—and there may be another Prime in their ranks. The extent of their abilities is unknown, but we know they're powerful. A recon squad was sent out there to run intelligence. None of them returned."
Chase leaned forward. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"And…what would that be?"
Theo's face split into a grin. "You're finally sending us out."
"On your first mission, yes."
Emily raised an eyebrow. "You mean our first official mission."
Oscar shuddered. "Don't remind me about Colorado."
Even that felt like a lifetime ago. No matter how many showers he took, he couldn't get rid of the stench of failure he'd acquired from that mission. He scowled, his fingers curling tightly around his lighter. That wouldn't happen again. When the time came to use his powers in battle, he'd be ready.
A brief silence passed before Stella chimed in. "What's the mission?"
Shaw turned back to the holographic map. "You'll infiltrate the storage site, secure the Primonium inside, and neutralize the threat. And don't worry. You'll have help. Agents from our Hyperion Division will be accompanying you."
Emily groaned. "Babysitters. Great."
"They're not babysitters," Shaw countered, amusement flickering in his tone. "They're highly trained agents who've been tasked to make sure things go on without a hitch. The Hyperion Division handles Atlas's most dangerous and classified missions. You'll be in good hands."
Video feeds from previous missions shot up onto the display screens. Oscar squinted at one, his eyes fixating upon a particular agent. His chest tightened slightly.
She was masked, but he would've recognized her anywhere.
Victoria Shaw.
She's, like, what, a few years older than us? How the hell is she one of Atlas's most elite agents?
Since his training started, he hadn't seen much of Director Shaw's daughter. In fact, he hadn't seen her for a couple of days now. The last time they'd crossed paths, he tried impressing her during sparring. Naturally, he ended up face-first in a training mat while she dug her knee into his back. Not quite the best impression. Yet, there was something about her trash talk and ability to overpower him that made him want to try again…
"Agents Locke and Zhang will take point on this mission," Shaw continued. "You're to follow their lead and bring back whatever you find—intact."
Chase frowned. "Intact, sir? Shouldn't we destroy the Primonium so NEMESIS can't use it?"
"We need to understand exactly what machine NEMESIS is building—and how they intend on using the Primonium. We can't fight what we don't understand."
Oscar snapped his lighter shut. "Looks like we're bringing the science project from hell back home."
Theo smirked. "Field trip!"
Sighing, Director Shaw pinched the bridge of his nose. "Go get suited up. You'll find your new combat uniforms in your rooms. Agent Ashley Strong will be waiting in the hangar for further briefing."
Agent Strong? I hate that guy.
Oscar's arms still ached from yesterday's training session. He ignored the pain, though. In a few hours, he'd be a superhero. For real. He could finally start making good on that promise he made to his parents after they died.
Rising from his seat, he grinned at his friends. "Who's ready to kick some NEMESIS ass?" Andre placed a hand on his shoulder before shaking his head. "What? C'mon, man—"
"Never say that again."
###
Oscar loved the new suits.
They were still made of the same advanced polymer as their training bio-suits, but they were actually comfortable now. Light padding and reinforced armor plating protected vital areas, and each uniform pulsed faintly with a unique color. The letter A—Atlas's minimal logo—glowed on their chests, and a number pulsed on their backs. His was a molten 5, simmering like magma beneath the fabric. The burning lines running through the black fabric were a bright orange.
He looked badass.
The six young Primes stood in formation beside the three Hyperion Division agents handpicked to helm the mission, listening as Agent Strong roared through the mission briefing. His neck veins bulged with every syllable. He was one yell away from an aneurysm. Oscar stared at him, partly fascinated, mostly bored, and utterly terrified. The man's bulldog face twisted with the weariness of someone who hated everything and everyone.
"Why're you always so angry?" Theo asked, tilting his head.
"Shut up, kid." Agent Strong's glare almost shattered him. "Everyone understand their orders?"
Oscar blinked. He hadn't been listening at all. "Huh?"
Before the agent could choke him out, Chase hooked an arm around Oscar's shoulder and raised a placating hand. "Relax, sir. I'll catch him up on the way there."
With a loud grunt, the mountain of a man nodded and stomped off, leaving behind a shadow of secondhand frustration. Oscar shuddered as he imagined the man yelling at his own reflection for practice.
He needs multiple chill pills.
A sharp flick to the back of his head snapped him out of it. He turned, scowling at Victoria Shaw—or Arsenal, as he learned was her field codename. Weeks ago, he and the others picked codenames of their own. He settled on Fuego. He'd thought of Diablo or Inferno, but those were a bit too on the nose. Fuego was perfect. Spanish, fiery, and simple. Just like him.
Scowling, he rubbed the back of his head. "What the hell was that for?"
"Pay attention next time," Victoria urged. "If I die because of you, I'll haunt you forever."
"I think I'd like that, actually—"
Her eyes cut him down like a chainsaw. He faced forward and let out an awkward cough.
At the foot of the transport jet stood the other two Hyperion Division soldiers, agents Locke and Zhang. Their uniforms were marked by colored circuit lines more vibrant than standard Atlas gear. The tall one with the green trim leaned on wing of the jet. A long sniper rifle was slung across his back and dark goggles hid his eyes. The shorter one beside him, draped in deep orange, was all edges—knives, crude pistols, even a pair of pliers hanging from his belt.
"This is Precision," Victoria said, motioning to the sniper. "He's deaf and mute, but he can read lips better than most people read text. He can shoot an apple off your head from 3,000 meters away."
The silent agent gave a small wave before signing something quick and fluid. Oscar had no clue what it meant, so he replied with the only sign he knew—I love you.
The sniper smiled.
Victoria's chin flicked toward the second man, her expression souring. "And that's Cutter."
"What, no red-carpet roll-out for me?" Cutter scratched the top of his shaved head as he observed the Original Six. "So, this is our response to NEMESIS, eh? A bunch of kids with superpowers." He shook his head.
"We're not kids," Chase argued.
"Could've fooled me." Cutter flipped a knife into the air and caught it by the blade, pointing the hilt at Chase like a challenge. "Sentinel, right?"
"That's right."
"Cute name. I hope you can live up to it."
Chase folded his arms and glared. "Funny. I was gonna say the same thing to you."
Oscar simply ignored Cutter. He knew guys like that back home—tiny men with an inferiority complex. Now, Oscar might've been small himself, but he had enough self-awareness not to project his insecurities onto others. As for Cutter…
He chuckled to himself, earning a sharp look from the agent.
Meanwhile, Precision nudged his partner, who just grunted and stomped up the ramp.
"Sorry about him," Victoria muttered. "He can be a bit…abrasive—and that was him being nice."
"Abrasive?" Chase grumbled. "More like assho—" Stella jabbed him with her elbow, cutting his insult short.
"I don't know." Emily shrugged. "He's kind of cool."
Theo snorted. "Of course you think so. You two are basically the same person."
Emily lunged for him, but the speedster blurred into the jet before she could grab him. Andre followed to break it up. Victoria sighed and barked at them to take their seats.
"Come on," Chase said, taking the lead.
Laughing, Oscar entered the jet.
The group filed into the Atlas transport, the metallic thrum of the hangar fading as the ramp sealed behind them. Oscar slid into his seat, flipping his lighter open and closing it again, the soft click-clack steadying his nerves.
Moments later, the jet burst through the waterfall that hid the Acropolis hangar and banked south toward Oregon—toward the warehouse where NEMESIS was stockpiling their Primonium reserves.
Oscar sank into his seat.
He forced the anxiety building in his chest away.
Emily told him to stop being afraid during their first session in the training simulator. He clung to their words ever since that day. When they got out there, he wasn't responsible for just his life. He was responsible for the lives of his teammates, too.
They were a squad. A team. A family.
He'd already lost his family once.
It wouldn't happen again.
Nodding to himself, he peered out the window as they headed to the site of their first mission. Soon, it'd be time to see what the six of them—and their new babysitters—were really made of.
###
The group rehashed the plan one more time during the short flight south. Oscar listened until the point where everyone's voices blurred into background static. He raised a finger.
"Okay, okay… I think I get it now. But why do I have to be the diversion? Why isn't it the big guy or Chase? I mean—they're basically indestructible. Even Theo would make a better distraction than me."
"He does have a point," Andre added.
Victoria's eyes narrowed. "By all means, you two can come up with a strategy that won't get us all killed since you hate mine."
Andre raised his hands innocently.
Oscar blinked. He hadn't realized she'd written the plan. He assumed Agent Strong screamed it into existence back at the Acropolis. He forced a smile. "On second thought, I don't mind being the diversion."
A dull click from Cutter—metal on metal, a small, grating sound—sliced through the cabin. He was cleaning a fingernail with one of his smaller blades. "Pathetic," he said.
Precision stood at the cockpit door and quickly signed something to the pilot. Oscar couldn't lip-read, but the sharpshooter nodded and returned to the ramp. Behind him, the jet's rear hatch dropped open, and the world exhaled—pine needles, cold air, and the smell of wet earth.
Rain. Of course it's raining.
Oscar frowned.
Cutter was the first off, grin wicked and face carved from bad decisions. He equipped a helmet marred by scratches, deep grooves from bullets and blades, and a smiley face etched into the metal.
The team followed; Oscar took the last step down the ramp and immediately tripped on a divot in the metal. He slammed onto the forest floor. Dirt packed into his teeth; tiny pricks jagged up his forearm where tiny twigs were digging into him. A fat raindrop hit him in the eye.
Just my luck.
He spat leaves and tried to laugh it off. Andre was on him instantly, hauling him up and brushing leaves from his suit. "Thanks, Andr—er, I mean... Thanks, Titan."
"Anytime, Fuego."
They were all instructed not to use their real names during field missions. Still, he felt a bit silly using their codenames.
Victoria passed them without missing a beat. "Cute codenames." It sounded more like a diss than a compliment.
Ouch.
Over time, he'd written off her coldness as competitive; now it felt intentional. Hurtful even. Cute? Seriously? Granted, it wasn't the best of names, but he'd agonized over it for days. It was supposed to be fierce, yet approachable, while carrying a piece of his culture. And she called it cute. He shot her a fiery glare that earned him a raised eyebrow.
"What's your issue, mujere?" he called, jogging to fall into step beside her.
She kept moving. "I don't have an issue. Focus on the mission."
Behind them, Andre and Theo exchanged looks—half-secondhand embarrassment, half amusement. Oscar heard their muffled laughter and forced himself to drop it.
Chase's voice ahead of them cut through the chatter. "Pick up the pace. We've got a job to do."
Cutter snorted. "Who made you the boss, kid?"
"Leaders lead no matter who thinks they're in charge," Chase shot back, steady as ever.
"Listen, you brat—" Cutter barked, stepping closer, knife hilt tapping his palm.
"Who're you calling a brat, you little midget—"
"You'd better shut your trap before I stick a knife in it—"
"I'd like to see you try—"
Oscar watched the exchange, eyes flicking between them as insults flew like fastballs. It had the ridiculous energy of two alpha dogs barking on a porch. He was more of a cat person anyway.
"Boys!" Stella's intervention was sharp and commanding. "Cool it. Now."
Chase and Cutter froze, just inches away from each other. Chase's height made the Atlas agent's chest come up to the blond's sternum, which seemed to only make Cutter angrier. His index finger thumped the hilt of his knife with a dangerous rhythm.
Emily rolled an arrow between two fingers and snorted. "You two are idiots."
Victoria pinched the bridge of her nose—her father's exact gesture—and slung her modified assault rifle over her shoulder. "Alright. You've had your fun." She pointed toward the warehouse. "Now move."
They crossed the line where trees thinned into dense shrubbery. Broken lawns and abandoned lots, overgrown with weeds and tall grass, eventually gave way to a squat brick building. The warehouse. Oscar's skin prickled as rain steamed against his hot skin.
Frost better be in there.
He wanted a rematch to prove he wasn't the same kid who'd hesitated before. Little sparks winked in his palms like impatient fireflies. He'd show them he was capable. He'd show them he belonged.
"Everyone ready?" Victoria asked.
The group nodded. Oscar gave a confident grin that masked the dread bubbling in his gut. "Let's set this thing off!"
A chorus of groans answered. He frowned; he'd been working on catchphrases for the entire jet ride. "Oh, come on, that was a good one!"
Andre shook his head, deadpan. "No…no it wasn't, dude."
Oscar pretended to sulk. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let's just get this over with."
They moved as a unit—Hyperion Division agents in front, the six Primes spread in two flanking pairs—through the final fringe of trees. The warehouse awaited them in the thick haze of the rainstorm: old brick patched with corrugated metal, a single loading bay shutter, dead security lights, and a fence that looked like the kind people climbed when they had nothing to lose.
Oscar's pulse quickened. He wasn't sure whether to be terrified or thrilled.
He settled on both.