A cold dread washed over her as she realized what had just happened. This was a diversion. The Vipers weren't interested in a coin auction; they were interested in her. The comms jammer was just a way to get her alone, to get her to follow them and she had fallen for it.
A hand covered her mouth from behind, and a sharp, cold object pressed against her neck. "Got you, Detective," a low voice whispered in her ear. "Just like we said we would." The world swam around her as she was dragged into the shadows, the sounds of the parade became a distant noise.
The hum of the station felt different now a low, mocking buzz that grated on Captain Thorne's nerves. Elara's absence had been noticed hours after the fact, a damning sign of his crew's incompetence or, worse, complicity. The security footage had been a dead end, static where Elara's capture took place. Thorne, however, needed no video. He'd seen enough of the station's underbelly to know this wasn't an accident.
His fury was a physical thing, a storm that had everyone giving his office a wide berth after his scream. This was a direct challenge to his authority. His station, the stepping stone to his next promotion, was a nest of vipers. He had been so focused on his career that he'd let the rot set in, and now they had taken the one person he actually trusted.
Thorne slammed his hand on the desk, the impact stinging. He wanted to order a full-station lockdown and a search, but the thought was useless. Who would he trust to conduct it? The same people who were likely in on it? The helplessness of the situation was a new and sickening feeling.
"Fuck," he yelled, collapsing into his chair. An officer missing was a serious black mark, a case that would escalate far beyond his control if he didn't handle it himself. He had to act fast, but he couldn't trust anyone on his crew. The only person he could rely on was gone. He was on his own.
John was on his way to Elara's apartment, the plan solid in his mind, meet up and let her figure out how she could help him. He was only a block away when he stopped dead in his tracks. The scene was wrong. A dozen cop cars were swarming the street, their flashing lights casting a frantic, silent disco across the surrounding buildings.
His gut twisted. He needed to know what was happening. His ears twitched, picking up a faint, almost imperceptible sound from the rooftop across the street. It was too muffled to make out, just a ghost of voices carried on the night air.
He immediately dropped into a low squat, disappearing into the shadows. He needed clarity, and for that, he needed a boost. He focused on his power, pushing his body's adrenaline level. A familiar rush surged through him, and the world sharpened. The hazy sounds from the rooftop solidified into words, each one a hammer blow.
"The cops got here before us," a gruff voice said, a sneer evident in the tone. "It seems we are only left with one choice."
A second voice, laced with hesitation, replied, "Are you sure? Capturing a cop, a detective at that, is one thing but having to torture them is another thing."
"The boss wants answers," the first voice retorted, cold and final. "Answers which should have been in her place, but seeing it is now surrounded, we can only forcefully get the answer from her."
John shut down the surge of adrenaline, the horrifying clarity of the voices replaced by the dull thrum of city noise. He'd heard enough. Elara's operation was a bust, and worse, it looked like she'd been captured. This was a disaster, he needed her and the help she could offer.
He moved from his hiding place, his body already in motion as he sprinted toward the edge of the rooftop. Without hesitation, he launched himself into the air, leaping from one building to the next.
The two men on the opposite roof were still talking, oblivious. One had a scope, scanning the street below. The other, a cigarette dangling from his lips, was the first to look up. His mouth fell open in shock at the sight of John mid-air. He barely had time to register what he was seeing before John landed, a blur of motion. John's elbow drove into the man's head, and they both went down in a heap.
The thud of the impact caught the attention of the man with the scope. He spun around, hand immediately going for his gun before he remembered the cops swarming the street below. He pulled out a knife instead, settling into a low, practiced stance.
John rose from the unconscious body of the first man, turning to face his new opponent. He took in the other man's posture, his grip on the knife. John's mind instantly assessed the threat.
Focusing his will, the chi in his body flowed to his legs, a jolt of power coursing through him. He exploded forward, closing the distance in a single, impossible burst of speed. The man with the knife was caught completely off guard, his eyes widening in disbelief.
John seized his arm, wrenching it from its socket with a sickening crack. The man's mouth opened to scream, but John's palm slammed into his throat, cutting off the sound. John finished the fight with a swift kick, his boot snapping the man's knee backward before letting him fall to the ground.
The man hit the cold rooftop, the agony of his dislocated arm and shattered knee overwhelming his senses. He couldn't even scream; the palm to his throat had stolen his voice. All he could do was writhe on the hard pavement, a silent, gasping mess of pain.
John's face, hidden in the shadows of his hood, gave the man a cold, dismissive glance before he walked toward the other unconscious figure. He squatted down and pressed a pressure point on the man's neck. The man's eyes snapped open, a jolt of shock running through his body. He looked around wildly, his gaze finally locking onto John.
"I ask, and you answer," John said, his voice low and devoid of emotion. He pointed at the writhing form of the other man. "You will be in a worse condition than him if I am not satisfied."
The man trembled, a whimper escaping his lips.
"What happened to the female cop?" John demanded. He got no answer, only another whimper.
The man struggled to speak, his body shaking. Before he could get a word out, John grabbed his finger and snapped it. The man gasped, but John's foot immediately pressed down on his crotch, a silent, brutal warning.
"I hear a sound, you lose those," John said, his voice flat. The man bit down on his lip, a silent nod confirming his understanding. "Good." John lifted his foot.
As John raised his hand, the man's body twitched, a sign of fear for John. A look of cold satisfaction crossed John's face under the hood. He boosted the man's adrenaline, a sudden surge of fight-or-flight energy coursing through him. John grabbed the man's finger again, his voice dropping to a low, menacing whisper.
"What happened to the female cop and where is she?"
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