Vindicta-LXV

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DATE:21th of July, the 70th year after the Coronation

LOCATION: Concord Metropolis

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The next morning, as I picked at a bland breakfast in the hotel's lounge, Emily's voice interrupted my thoughts.

"I've decrypted something important," she said, her tone sharper than usual, as though this discovery had shaken her usual indifference. "Coordinates. Looks like a base."

I stopped mid-bite, the taste of cold toast suddenly irrelevant. A base meant answers—or at least another lead to follow. I quickly called Mike, informing him of the find, and began packing my belongings.

By the time Mike pulled up, his vehicle had changed. The battered truck I remembered was gone, replaced by a relatively new pickup.

"Got it for a bargain," Mike said when I raised an eyebrow. "Some desperate guy needed cash. Lucky me."

But there was no time to discuss his good fortune. Instead of driving directly to the coordinates, Mike steered us to a remote armory of his on the outskirts of the city.

From the outside, it was unimpressive—an old shack that could've belonged to any rural hermit. Peeling paint, cracked windows, and an overgrown yard gave it an air of abandonment. The only thing that betrayed its true nature was the heavy lock securing the door.

When Mike opened it, the illusion shattered. Inside, the shack was a treasure trove of weaponry: shelves lined with assault rifles, crates of ammunition, and racks of explosives. This wasn't the stockpile of a casual gun enthusiast—it was the collection of a man prepared for war.

"Take what you need," Mike said, gesturing broadly at the arsenal.

I selected an assault rifle, something compact but reliable, along with a few extra magazines. I wasn't aiming to go in guns blazing, but preparation was key. Mike, on the other hand, grabbed heavier firepower, including a bag of explosives.

"No rocket launchers," I said, half-joking as he inspected a particularly menacing piece.

"Relax," he muttered. "I know we're heading into the city. Last thing we need is to attract every cop and gang member in Concord."

It was true. The coordinates Emily had decrypted led to a location well within city limits. Subtlety would be crucial.

We loaded our gear into the pickup,. The base could hold the answers I'd been chasing—or it could be a trap waiting to spring.

Either way, there was no turning back.

We arrived at the coordinates Emily had decrypted. The location—a nondescript office building in the heart of the city—didn't look like the kind of place to hide a base. It seemed ordinary, almost painfully so, which was likely intentional.

"The entrance is in the underground parking lot," Emily informed us as we pulled up to the building.

Mike and I exchanged a glance. He parked the truck at the entrance gate, and Emily worked her magic. Using a fake ID she'd fabricated, she bypassed the building's security system. The gate opened with a quiet whir, and Mike drove us into the dimly lit parking structure.

"The hidden entrance should be in here," Emily continued. "One of the concrete walls can lower into the floor."

It didn't take long to identify the general area. The wall wasn't connected to the ceiling—an oversight in its design that became obvious under scrutiny.

I climbed into the truck's cargo bed, flashlight in hand. The high-lumen beam swept across the walls as Mike drove slowly, the tires crunching on loose gravel and debris.

"There," I said after a few minutes, the flashlight highlighting a faint seam in the concrete. "That's got to be it."

Mike stopped the truck, and we climbed out to inspect the area. Up close, the section of wall stood out. Its surface was smoother than the rest of the parking lot's weathered concrete, and the seam ran in a perfect rectangle from floor to wall.

"The hard part's finding how to open it," Mike muttered. "There's gotta be some kind of control panel nearby."

Emily chimed in through my earpiece. "There should be an electronic control panel hidden somewhere close. Look for anything out of place—vents, loose panels, or even a fake power box."

We began searching, moving methodically along the nearby walls and pillars. The dim light made it slow work, but eventually, Mike called out.

"Found something!"

He was pointing at a nondescript electrical panel tucked into a corner, almost hidden behind a stack of empty crates. At first glance, it looked like an ordinary breaker box, but closer inspection revealed a keypad and a fingerprint scanner hidden beneath a sliding cover.

"Think you can crack it?" Mike asked.

"I don't have to," I replied. "Emily?"

There was a pause as Emily analyzed the panel remotely. Then, with a soft beep, the scanner's light turned green, and the keypad began to blink.

"Done," Emily said. "The wall should open now."

Mike and I turned back to the wall. With a low rumble, the concrete began to shift, retracting smoothly into the floor. Beyond it was a dark, narrow passage leading into the unknown.

We exchanged a glance.

"Well," Mike said, hefting his rifle. "Let's see what's waiting for us."

We stepped into the passage, the wall closing silently behind us.

The underground passage opened into a small, dimly lit parking lot with no signs of life. It felt eerily empty, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. We were deep underground now—far enough that the weight of the city above felt almost tangible.

Mike parked the truck strategically, facing the exit for a quick getaway. As he switched off the engine, we grabbed our gear, checked our rifles, and stepped out cautiously.

"There," Mike said, nodding toward a stark white hallway that extended from a corner of the parking lot. Its pristine walls contrasted sharply with the industrial grime around us, giving off an unsettlingly clinical vibe.

We advanced slowly, guns raised, our footsteps echoing softly. The hallway stretched further than it first appeared, lined with faintly glowing panels that flickered occasionally.

As we moved deeper, I became aware of weak radio static in the background, an almost imperceptible crackling that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves.

Then I froze, holding up a hand to signal Mike to stop.

"What is it?" he whispered, voice barely audible.

"Something," I replied, gesturing to the wall beside me. There was a sound coming from behind it—a faint voice, muffled but distinct enough to recognize as a woman's.

I pressed my phone against the wall, motioning for Mike to cover me. "Emily," I whispered, "enhance the sound. I need to hear this."

A few seconds passed, and then the voice came through my earpiece. It was distorted, laced with static, but Emily managed to amplify it just enough to make out the words:

"...come back next time. That man shall not survive the next attack. Recover the dogs."

The voice was sharp and commanding, though the static added an almost otherworldly quality to it.

I exchanged a look with Mike, my grip tightening on the rifle. "It's about the cyborg and those hounds," I muttered.

Mike's expression darkened. "She's controlling them?"

"Seems like it," I replied. "She's planning something. Whoever she is, she's in charge."

The voice cut off abruptly, leaving only the faint crackle of static in its wake. I kept the phone pressed to the wall, hoping for more, but the silence persisted.

"Let's keep moving," I said, stepping back. "If she's nearby, we need to find her before she knows we're here."

Mike nodded, and we continued down the hallway, more alert than ever. The faint hum of the facility seemed louder now, as though the building itself was alive and listening.

The hallway ended abruptly, with no doors or features that stood out, leaving Mike and me momentarily confused. "Nothing here," he muttered, glancing around.

"Let's head back," I said.

As we turned to retrace our steps, a soft hiss broke the silence. A panel in the wall to our right—the same spot where I had earlier heard the voice—slid open with a metallic groan. From the opening, two men in black suits and tinted glasses stepped out, their movements halting as they spotted us.

For a split second, their surprise mirrored ours.

I didn't waste time. "Emily!" I barked. Before they could react, the familiar rush of adrenaline surged through my veins as Emily injected the drug. Time slowed.

I raised my rifle, firing a burst at the agents. The first man dropped instantly, blood splattering the pristine walls. The second dove back into the room, retreating for cover as the panel began sliding shut.

"Not a chance," I muttered, activating my ability fully. Time crawled to a near-standstill. With a low roll, I slid under the narrowing gap just before the panel sealed shut behind me.

Inside, the first thing I saw was the control panel. The agent operating it had turned, panic in his eyes. I fired a single, precise shot into his head, and he crumpled to the ground.

The room was stark and modern—a meeting room with sterile white walls, a sleek black table, and matching chairs. But what truly caught my attention were the twenty agents scattered throughout, all armed, their weapons already half-raised in response to my intrusion.

I didn't hesitate. With deliberate movements, I pulled two impact grenades from my belt and lobbed them toward the cluster of agents on my left. As they sailed through the air, I pivoted toward the others, taking careful aim and firing. Each pull of the trigger felt like an eternity, but my precision was absolute. Bullet after bullet connected with foreheads and throats, dropping men like dominoes until my rifle clicked empty.

The grenades detonated, sending shockwaves through the room. Shrapnel tore through the agents on the left, their bodies flung against the walls with sickening thuds.

I discarded the rifle, pulling out my Beretta to finish the job. Moving methodically, I continued firing at the remaining agents, their weapons still frozen in midair, the shock on their faces eerily captured in the slowed time.

Then, a sudden impact shattered my focus.

Pain exploded across my cheek as I was slugged from the side, the force staggering me. My ability faltered for a fraction of a second as I turned to see who had hit me.

It was a young woman, her short hair unevenly decolored, with remnants of black streaks. She stood poised, her expression serious and unyielding.

She stared at me with eyes that carried an unnerving calmness, and in that moment, I realized something horrifying.

She wasn't just fast—she was moving at my exact speed.

No, this wasn't superspeed or agility. This wasn't coincidence. She wasn't affected by my ability at all.

"Who the hell are you?" I growled, raising the Beretta to aim at her.

She didn't answer. Instead, she lunged at me again, her movements precise and deliberate, like someone who knew exactly how to handle someone like me.

Considering her skin deflected bullets I shouldn't be able to crush her neck. Technical your resistance to being pierced is not related to a resistance for bludgeoning or crushing, but it would be hard to reach her neck anyway so I gave it up.

I regret it not wearing the exoskeleton, but it was also unavoidable. If we were pulled over by the police and I was a in military outfit it would probably be over for me.

I wanted to pull out the knife, but I also talked that it wouldn't be able to pierce her if the bullets didn't.

So what do I do? Try to undress her so she lets go out of embarassment? She looked professional. I don't think that was going to work. On me it certainly wouldn't.

As I stood there I almost started laughing. Had I become so stupid? No matter these particularities, it was clear this girl wasn't a superhero. Her strength was normal, compared to mine.

I can just use normal techniques to get out of her grip.

As I slid my hands beneath her arms and forced her away, I stayed calm, evaluating each of her movements.

I feigned rising from the ground as if stunned, which made her instinctively reach for my shirt. Turning quickly, I used all my weight to drive my knee into her nose. Her skin held firm, but her head snapped back slightly. She was stunned, her balance faltering—proof that her resistance had limits.

Seizing the moment, I breathed deeply, triggering my ability. Time slowed once more, and I grabbed my Beretta to finish off the few remaining agents.

Just as I raised the gun, she recovered faster than I anticipated, grabbing at the weapon and wrestling with me. A sudden headbutt caught me off guard, breaking my concentration and forcing time to resume.

Mike was outside, banging on the wall in frustration, trying to break through.

"Evacuate!" she screamed at the remaining agents, her harsh accent cutting through the chaos as she wrestled me for the gun.

We exchanged vicious elbows as I tried to maintain control of the weapon. Her hand suddenly shot out to shove me away, but I bit down on her fingers with all the force I could muster.

She swore loudly, the words tinged with an Albo-Saxon accent—rugged and foreign. Her professionalism wavered as she kicked me in the groin, a desperate move that only made me bite down harder.

I caught the flicker of pain in her eyes, a trembling in her expression. She wasn't invincible, not completely. Her skin might deflect bullets, but the sensation of being bitten bypassed whatever protection she had. Or better said, while her skin couldn't be broken, the cartilage underneath certainly was affected.

She stifled tears, trying to maintain composure. This wasn't just an advantage—it was a revelation.

One of the agents fired a shotgun in our direction, and without hesitation, I pulled her into the path of the blast.

The shot tore into her back, shredding what was left of her suit. Her body absorbed the impact, but even her reinforced skin couldn't entirely negate the force. She staggered, momentarily thrown off-balance, and I used the opening to wrench the gun free from her grip.

The agents were retreating, as ordered, but I couldn't let them escape. I breathed in deeply once more, preparing to clear the room before she recovered.

I then remembered the gun was empty. I shouldn't have fired all bullets into her. At the same time, I shouldn't act like I was actually defenseless.

I ran to the nearest agent, pointed the gun to his head and fired.

Looking around, they already teleported away most of the corpses.

I used his gun to shoot two more, leaving, I think three alive? I couldn't finish the others as the Woman rammed into me we fell to the ground, her above me as time resumed once more.

She started punching me while I used the rifle as a shield.

She grabbed it and threw it away while I picked her by what remained of her shirt, trying to drag her closer.

If someone is on you, you shouldn't give them space to strike. Of course, I mistook the durability of the fabric as it ripped, leaving the woman with only a sports bra on.

For a moment she covered her chest, but fuming, she continued sending strikes to my head that I protected by using both my hands as a shield. She was strong and I could see her abs right now, but she was still a woman. My arms weren't particularly hurt from her strikes. It seems like the agents also left.

She probably couldn't teleport away because I was still observing her.

I catch both her hands and pull them to the floor near my hips, making our eyes be about 30 cm appart.

"I am in a relationship so I can't really have you cowgirling me like this, you know?" It seems like my taunt worked because her face reddened as she tried to fight off my grip.

"You white devil! Trying to shame me like this..."

I blew air into her eyes.

"Don't get me wrong, you aren't particularly ugly, but scars and chalk like skin aren't really my type. My girlfriend is soft and warm"

She gave me a headbutt, swearing in her native language, but I shrugged it of.

"I suppose strong women do have their appeal, but I find them overrated nowadays, you know?"

"You groveling corpse!

I have chalk like skin? Then what about yours?!" Was she actually hurt from my insult? She spit in my face, but this also didn't make me react.

"Groveling? I don't think so."

I used the strength in my hips to roll us while I kept hold of her hands

She tried to squirm away, but she really overestimated her physical abilities. Durability isn't anything. There is a reason why the heroes, even small girls like Alice, manage to get away with their slender bodies. Simply put, they are above humans. Their bodies don't work like us.

Now that I had her pinned, I couldn't help but notice how much weaker she was compared to true superhumans like Alice or even the cyborgs we'd faced. Her durability was impressive, sure, but it was clearly the result of some artificial enhancement rather than innate power. She wasn't built to withstand prolonged physical combat—just to tank damage.

As she thrashed beneath me, I tightened my grip on her wrists, keeping them firmly pinned to the floor. "Struggling's not going to get you anywhere," I said, lowering my voice to a mockingly calm tone. "But hey, I'll give you points for effort."

She glared at me, her face flushed with anger and humiliation. "You arrogant—!"

"Careful now," I interrupted, smirking. "You're starting to sound like you enjoy this."

Her nostrils flared, and she bucked her hips in an attempt to throw me off, but it only resulted in her expending more energy without success. Her strength was nothing compared to what I'd endured in the past.

"Let's get one thing straight," I said, leaning in slightly, so our faces were uncomfortably close. "I don't care who you are or what your little operation here is about. I just know you're in my way, and I don't like obstacles."

She spit at me again, though it barely reached my cheek this time. "You'll pay for this. You won't leave here alive."

"You should save the threats for someone who scares easily," I replied, casually wiping the spit away with my shoulder. "Right now, you're just embarrassing yourself."

At that moment, I heard Mike banging on the wall again, louder this time. I glanced briefly toward the door, and that was the opening she needed. She twisted her body, slipping one leg free and attempting to knee me in the side.

I shifted my weight just in time, catching her leg between mine and forcing it down. "Nice try," I said, returning my focus to her. "But you're predictable. You rely too much on brute strength and cheap tricks."

She hissed through clenched teeth, her pride clearly taking a hit as I continued to dominate the fight.

"So," I said, my tone turning colder, "are we going to keep playing this little game, or are you going to tell me who's pulling the strings around here? Because I'm running out of patience."

Her expression shifted slightly—still defiant, but with a flicker of hesitation. It wasn't fear, not exactly, but something close to it. I could tell she wasn't used to losing control, and that made her vulnerable.

"Who are you working for?" I pressed, applying more pressure to her wrists to emphasize my point. "And don't bother lying—I'll know."

She stayed silent, her jaw tight, but her eyes betrayed a spark of uncertainty.

I sighed. "Fine. Be stubborn. I'm sure Emily can dig up whatever you're hiding soon enough."

Her reaction to Emily's name was subtle but noticeable—a quick flicker of recognition in her eyes.

"Ah," I said, smirking again. "So you know who I'm talking about. That's good to know."

For the first time, she seemed genuinely uneasy. Whatever connection she had to Emily's presence or abilities, it was clearly something she wasn't prepared to confront.

"I'll give you one last chance," I said, my voice dropping to a more threatening tone. "Tell me what I want to know, or things are going to get a lot worse for you."

Seeing her still hesitant, I raise one knee and shift my weight to press down on her stomach, and close her arms to grip them with only one hand.

With the other I reach for my knife.

Even if her skin was impervious to being pierced, this did not mean she was invulnerable.

Her eyes certainly shouldn't be

I show her my bayonet knife And hover it just above her left eye.

" I'll make you go blind if you don't talk. Let's see how they replace them with implants. You'd like that?" That seemed to spark a nerve as she started to shiver.

It was only an assumption, but this confirmed that her abilities come from technology. Heard the colored hair and chalk-like skin must be side effects from it.

" What do you know about Emily? Who do you work for?"

" You can't... You shouldn't have her."

" Why shouldn't I? Is this about her creator?"

"I..." She stopped.

I stabbed the bionet right through her left eye making her squirm. Standing on her with all of my weight. Didn't let her move despite how she tried to move her legs.

" Don't fuck with me. Are the secrets more important than your eyes?"

Her voice broke mid-sentence, the defiance in her eyes flickering like a candle in a storm. I tightened my grip on her arms and leaned closer, letting the cold steel of the bayonet hover just above her trembling eye.

"You can't what?" I pressed, my voice low and steady, more menace in the calmness than in any shout. "Can't tell me? Can't disobey them? Or is it that you can't afford to lose your pretty little enhancements?"

Her breathing hitched, and for the first time, I saw genuine fear crack through her professional facade. Her strength and durability meant nothing if I exploited her weaknesses, and she knew it.

"I..." She started again, her voice barely a whisper. "You shouldn't have her."

"Why not?" I hissed, pressing the flat edge of the blade just enough to make her flinch. "Is this about her creator? Or are you scared of what I might do with her? Because here's the thing—you don't get to decide. Now talk, or I make you the world's first blind bulletproof merc."

Her face twisted in frustration and pain, her lips curling into a sneer. "You're exactly the kind of man we were trying to keep her from. Reckless. Self-serving. Dangerous. People like you ruin everything you touch."

I barked out a laugh, sharp and humorless. "People like me? Funny, coming from someone who works for a secret agency full of enhanced killers."

"You wouldn't understand," she spat, glaring at me despite the blade poised near her eye. "You think power is something you can just take and wield without consequence. But Emily—she's not just a tool. She's—"

"She's what?" I interrupted, twisting her wrist slightly to remind her of her vulnerable position. "A miracle? A masterpiece? Spare me the sermon and tell me something useful. Who's your boss?"

Her silence stretched for a beat too long, and I could see the wheels turning in her head, calculating her odds of escape or survival. When she finally spoke, her voice was cold and resigned.

"You wouldn't know her even if I told you. She doesn't exist anymore."

Before I could press further, she surged with a burst of strength, arching her back and twisting her hips to unbalance me. Her knee slammed into my side, and her head snapped forward, cracking against my temple.

The pain was sharp, momentarily blinding, and in that instant, she wrenched her arm free and sank her teeth into my hand. I snarled, trying to shake her off, but she clung like a feral animal, her bite drawing blood.

I blinked, and she was gone—slipping out from under me with a fluidity that spoke of years of training.

"Goddamn it!" I roared, slamming my fist into the floor.

The room was silent now, save for the faint hum of electronics and the pounding of my own heartbeat. She'd escaped, but not without leaving me with more questions than answers.

I raised and went to the door, connecting Emily to the control panel to open it.

Mike burst into the room, rifle raised, scanning the area. His face fell when he saw the bloodied mess of a battlefield and the empty space where my prisoner had been.

"Dear Meylo" he muttered, lowering his weapon. "What the hell happened here?"

"They teleported," I said through gritted teeth, wiping blood from my face and glaring at the spot where she'd been.

Mike's eyes darted to the mangled remnants of the fight, then to me. "And her?"

I prompt myself against the world, resting as Mike takes a look around.

"Gone," I growled, pushing myself up.

Mike hesitated, then held out the strange watch he'd found. "Found this. Might be useful."

I glanced at the device Mike held up—a sleek, dark watch with a faint, pulsing glow along its edges. It didn't look like standard equipment. Whatever this was, it definitely wasn't issued by any regular agency.

"What's that?" I asked, wiping blood off my hands onto my jacket.

"Found it in the rubble over there," Mike replied, handing it to me. "Looks like one of theirs. Maybe they dropped it in the rush to get out."

I examined the watch closely. It was surprisingly heavy for its size, and the design was intricate—too intricate for it to just be a timepiece. My gut told me it was tech-related. Probably encrypted, too.

"Think it's a tracker?" Mike asked, his eyes scanning the room like someone might teleport back at any moment.

"Doubt it," I said, flipping it over to check for markings. "But it's definitely not just a watch. Feels like it's got some kind of hardware inside."

I motioned for Emily to connect to the watch. A soft pulse ran through the phone in my pocket, followed by a series of faint beeps. Her binary interface appeared on the screen, scrolling rapidly as she began dissecting the device's data.

Mike peered over my shoulder. "What's she saying?"

"She's analyzing it," I replied, narrowing my eyes at the screen. Emily's messages were quick, but from what I could tell, the watch was linked to her. To be more precise, She said that it's design had been made by her creator. She recognized the serial number.

Me and Mike both glanced at each other and ran back to the pickup truck to get the explosives.

We placed them strategically around the room and the hallway and ran away with the truck.

About half a kilometer away He activated them.

They sure as hell wouldn't be able to use this base anymore.

I should probably get this device to the professor. Or do I even have the right to meet him anymore? Did Alice inform him?

I wonder.-*-*-*-*-*