The city changed after dark.
New Avalon's glittering skyline turned into a jagged silhouette against the sodium-orange glow of streetlights. Billboards still flashed hero endorsements—Eclipse's masked face smiling down from a dozen screens—but the streets belonged to different rules now.
Kai moved across rooftops in silence.
The black tactical suit clung to his frame, matte fabric absorbing light. No cape tonight; capes caught on things. The crude red "N" on the chest was covered by a lightweight chest rig holding tools he'd built himself: smoke pellets, a collapsible grappling hook, and the wrist-mounted suppressor he'd used on Razor Jack.
Void didn't need flair. Void needed results.
He paused on the edge of a warehouse in the industrial district, crouching low. Below, chain-link fence topped with razor wire surrounded a nondescript three-story building. No signage. Security cameras swept predictable arcs. Two guards at the front gate, both visibly augmented—one with glowing cybernetic arms, the other crackling faint electricity between his fingers.
Private lab. Black-budget. The kind that didn't officially exist.
Rumors on the dark web had led him here: "Project Nullpoint." Research into permanent Aura suppression. Not the temporary dampeners the Hero Association used for prisoner transport. Something that could strip powers forever.
If the rumors were true, this place held the first real step toward his goal.
Kai's pulse stayed steady. No excitement. No fear. Just cold calculation.
He checked his watch: 02:17 a.m. Shift change in thirteen minutes. Guards would be distracted.
He waited.
At 02:29, the front gate opened. Two new guards emerged, chatting. The electric one clapped his replacement on the shoulder, sparks dancing harmlessly. They laughed about something mundane—probably weekend plans.
Kai dropped from the roof.
A silent descent, Chrono Flux slowing his fall to a feather's drift. He landed behind a stack of crates twenty meters from the gate.
The old guards walked off toward the parking lot. The new ones took position.
Kai moved.
He stayed low, darting between shadows. When he reached the fence, he pressed two fingers to the chain-link. A tiny blue ring pulsed—no wider than a coin. The metal within the ring aged ten years in a blink: rust flaked away, links weakened.
He pushed through the brittle section without a sound.
Inside the compound now.
Security floodlights swept the yard. He timed them perfectly, slipping from blind spot to blind spot. The side entrance was a reinforced steel door with a biometric pad.
Child's play.
He placed his palm on the scanner. Chrono Flux activated—rewinding the lock's internal mechanism ten seconds. The last authorized entry replayed in reverse: tumblers unlocking, bolts sliding back.
The door clicked open.
Kai slipped inside.
The corridor beyond was sterile white, lit by harsh fluorescents. No windows. Motion sensors lined the ceiling.
He slowed time around himself—not fully, just enough to blur his movement. To the sensors, he became a ghost, there and gone before the alarm registered.
Deeper in.
He passed labs with glass walls: centrifuges spinning, researchers in hazmat suits long gone for the night. One room held cages—animals with unnatural growths, eyes glowing with forced Aura mutations. Bile rose in his throat.
Another room: human-sized containment pods. Empty. Restraints inside stained with old blood.
Kai memorized layouts as he moved. Third floor was the goal—server room and prototype vault, according to the schematics he'd paid a fortune for on the black market.
Stairs. No elevator—too noisy.
He reached the third-floor landing.
Two guards here, better equipped. Full tactical gear. One carried a suppression rifle—standard Hero Association issue, temporary dampener rounds.
Kai pressed against the wall.
They were talking.
"…told me the latest test subject lost his Aura for good this time. No rebound."
"Bullshit. Nothing's permanent. Association would've shut us down if—"
"Money talks. You think the board cares about ethics when villains are leveling cities every week?"
Kai's blood went colder than usual.
Permanent.
They had done it.
He stepped into the hallway.
The guards spun, rifles up.
Too late.
A wide blue ring exploded from Kai's feet.
Time stuttered.
Both guards froze mid-shout, fingers on triggers.
Kai walked between them calmly. He disarmed the first, ejecting the magazine and chamber round. The second, he simply pushed—gently—so that when time resumed, the man would stumble into his partner.
He released the bubble.
Chaos erupted for a heartbeat—shouts, confusion, bodies colliding.
Before they recovered, Kai was behind them.
Two precise strikes—pressure points he'd learned from academy hand-to-hand, enhanced by a one-second rewind to correct angle.
Both men crumpled unconscious.
He dragged them into a supply closet, zip-tied their wrists with their own restraints.
Then he continued.
The vault door was heavier—retinal scan plus keycard.
Kai frowned.
This would take longer.
He pulled a small device from his rig: a retinal spoof he'd built from scavenged hero tech. It projected a recorded scan—stolen from a disgruntled former employee.
The light turned green.
Keycard slot next. He slid in a cloned card.
The vault hissed open.
Inside: climate-controlled shelves. Prototype devices in cases. Data drives labeled with dates.
And in the center, on a pedestal under glass: a sleek injector gun. Attached vial glowing faint purple.
Project Nullpoint – Prototype 7.
Kai's breath caught.
This was it.
He disabled the case's pressure sensor with a localized time slowdown—enough to lift the glass without triggering weight loss.
His gloved fingers closed around the injector.
Heavy. Real.
He tucked it into a padded slot in his rig.
Then he grabbed three data drives—insurance.
Alarms blared suddenly.
Red lights strobed.
He'd missed something.
A silent tripwire? Hidden timer?
No time.
Kai sprinted back down the corridor.
Guards shouted from below—reinforcements.
He hit the stairs three at a time.
First floor landing—four armed men rushing up.
He leaped the railing.
Mid-fall, he activated Chrono Flux wide.
The world crawled.
Bullets left muzzles in slow motion.
He twisted between them, landing lightly on the ground floor.
Released the bubble.
Bullets slammed into the ceiling where he'd been.
Guards stared in shock.
Kai was already moving—past them, through the side door, into the yard.
Floodlights snapped on.
"Intruder! Sector three!"
He ran.
Fence ahead—the hole he'd made earlier.
A guard stepped into view, raising a rifle.
Kai didn't slow.
He threw a smoke pellet.
Gray cloud exploded.
The guard fired blindly.
Kai slid through the fence, rolled to his feet on the other side.
Then he was gone—up the adjacent building, grappling line firing silently into the night.
Sirens wailed behind him.
He didn't stop until he was six blocks away, perched on a water tower, city sprawling below.
Only then did he pull out the injector.
It gleamed under moonlight.
Permanent Aura nullification.
In his hand.
For the first time in eight years, Kai felt something close to hope.
Not the bright, childish kind Finn carried.
Something darker.
Colder.
Necessary.
He secured it again.
Dawn was still hours away.
Enough time to stash the prototype in the subway base.
Enough time to plan who would help him turn this weapon into a revolution.
He pulled the black mask tighter over his face.
Void disappeared into the night.
Tomorrow, Eclipse would smile for the cameras again.
Tonight, the world had changed—just a little—and no one knew it yet.
Except him.