Green Zone - The Chimera Unit.
" Intel! I need Intel now!"
The voice wasn't a shout, but it boomed across the sterile, white tiled room.
Espers both seasoned veterans and trembling rookies scrambled out of the way as Malachai Crowe stood before the primary monitor. Despite the industrial strength air conditioning humming at full blast, the room felt like a sauna.
No matter how many times they worked with the Captain or 'The Thirteenth Hour,' as the whispers called him the primal fear never diminished. His presence was a physical weight, like being locked in a pressurized vault with the oxygen slowly ticking away. To stand near him was to feel gravity itself pulling at your bones, demanding you kneel.
Yet, despite the mental strain, no one turned down an offer from The Chimera Unit. They were the "Specials," a team of misfits with abilities so unique the Council feared them. But Malachai bowed to no Council. He was a law unto himself.
"No signal, sir. He's... he's gone dark," a young technician stammered. His hands shook so violently he had to grip the edge of his console. He adjusted his wide rimmed glasses, trying to see through the fog of sweat and humidity forming on his lenses. He felt as if his first day on the job would be his last.
A hand suddenly touched the boy's shoulder. He jumped an inch off his seat with an embarrassing squeak.
"Relax, kiddo. It's okay to take a breath,"
Geoffrey, the Vice Captain, said with a wink. His handsome face was a stark contrast to Malachai's frozen intensity. He signaled for another officer to take over for the boy, who looked like he had just survived Armageddon.
"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"
Geoffrey chuckled, turning to Malachai.
"You're scaring the kids, Mal. They look like they're ready to spontaneously combust."
"I'm not here to babysit," Malachai snapped. He flicked open his silver pocket watch. Click. Clack. The sound was rhythmic and deadly, making the room go deathly silent. "If they can't handle the pressure, the Council is always hiring. I hear they give beach holidays for mediocrity."
"Take a look at this, Boss," a new voice interrupted. Austin, the Precog Captain, stepped forward. He was as cold as Malachai, his eyes perpetually glowing with a faint, golden hue.
"These patterns... they aren't rogue. They're deliberate," Austin said, swiping his hand across a holographic map. Red dots flared across the Grey Zone.
"Silas hasn't left the slums. He's using a high tech hacking device something that creates 'Ghost Tracks' to throw off our sensors".
Geoffrey scratched his blonde hair, frowning. "In the Grey Zone? That place is a junkyard. How does a rogue get his hands on tech that can fool us?"
Malachai's eyes narrowed. He didn't care about the how, he cared about the result.
"Geo. Get the oversight team. We're going into the Grey Zone."
The Grey Zone- The Pit.
Below the streets, the air was thick with the smell of blood, stale sweat, and unwashed bodies.
Cuts to the scene of desperate people pressed together, their screams merging into a singular, animalistic roar. Money changed hands like a fever, bet strips fluttering in the dim, red-tinted light.
In the ring, the only rule was: No ESP. It was a show of brutal, raw humanity.
"You sure you got this, Nyx?" Lucky whispered as they stood in the tunnel. "You don't look right. Your eyes are... distant."
Nyx busied herself with the zipper of her hoodie, refusing to meet his gaze. She swallowed the apology that was threatening to spill out. She couldn't tell him. If she told him she was throwing the fight, she'd see the same look May had given her.
The host announced her name Shadow and the crowd went feral. Usually, this roar was her fuel. Tonight, it sounded like a funeral dirge.
As she stepped into the ring, the high pitched ringing in her ears intensified. The lights of the basement blasted through her vision in distorted colors. Her opponent a brute who looked like he'd been carved out of granite.
Her opponent went straight for the kill. Nyx saw the fist coming a slow, telegraphed arc that she could have dodged in her sleep. But as she tried to pivot, her world tilted.
A sharp, chemical bitterness erupted at the back of her tongue, reminiscent of the water Dreg had handed her only minutes before. "Drink up, Shadow. You look tense," he had said with that oily smile.
Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the fog. It wasn't just the deal. They had drugged her. They hadn't trusted her to keep her word, they had made sure she couldn't.
She tried to lift her arms, but they felt like ton weights of cold iron. Her heart, usually a steady drum, was fluttering like a dying bird. She wanted to scream, to tell the crowd that this was a sham, but her jaw was locked in a chemical vice.
Renegade.
The word echoed in her mind. She had been planning to win anyway to bet on herself and take the winnings to save Darren. But Dreg had seen the defiance in her eyes.
The fist connected with the side of her jaw. The impact didn't just hurt, it shattered the last of her equilibrium.
POOF.
Darkness rushed in, smelling of copper and betrayal. As Nyx hit the canvas, her last thought wasn't of the money or the fame. It was of the silver-eyed man she had seen in the hallway. If he was watching this... he was watching a lie.