"Lexa!" Masato was at her side in an instant, dropping to one knee and reaching out to steady her. "You still with me? This guy's a different breed of dangerous, Lex."
Lexa looked at him, her pale face gradually regaining some color despite the tremors. "I noticed, Mr. Masato," she breathed, forcing her grip to tighten on her hilt. "But I'm fine. I can keep going."
They both turned their gaze toward Damon, who was just standing there with that wide, predatory grin, seemingly enjoying the view of their desperation.
"Listen to me," Masato said, his voice dropping into a low, serious tone. "I need you to go find Lyss. She's the one who flagged this whole mess, and even if Medea can't get a lock on her signal right now, we gotta assume she's close by. I'll hold the line here until the medical units roll in. You cool with that?"
Lexa's brow furrowed, her concern bleeding through her exhaustion. "You want me to just... leave you here? Solo? That's not how Vanguards operate, and you know it. We don't split up when a heavy-hitter is on the field."
Masato reached out, taking her hand to help her up before resting a heavy, reassuring palm on her shoulder. He let out a short, dry laugh—the kind that tried to take the edge off the life-or-death situation.
"Glad to see you were actually payin' attention in ethics class," he said, his expression softening just for a second. But then his eyes sharpened, locking onto hers with an unmistakable authority. "But I'm serious, Lex. I need you on that search. Consider it an official order—not from your teacher, but from a Vanguard soldier who needs his partner to finish the mission. Now get movin'."
That was all Lexa needed. She gave him a sharp, determined nod. "I'm on it. I'll find her and be back before you know it."
Masato's grin returned, and he shoved a thumbs-up practically into her face. "That's my girl! Now quit yappin' and move your tail." He gave her a gentle, firm shove toward the alleyway, watching for a split second as she took off.
He turned back to Damon, stepping into the space she'd left behind while keeping his guard up. Damon just laughed, lazily spinning his machete like it was a toy. "Smart move, hoss," Damon drawled. "I'd have gutted her eventually if she kept up that spitfire routine. I'll let her run; gives us some privacy. Besides, you look like you actually know a thing or two about Medea. You're a much better trail to follow."
Damon leveled the tip of his blade at Masato's chest, his eyes narrowing. "Now, let's talk."
"Sorry, pal," Masato countered, his voice steady. "Medea's a bit out of your league. If you're lookin' for a date, you're gonna have to go through me and the rest of the Institute first."
Damon didn't look annoyed; if anything, he looked like he'd just won the lottery. "Ah... so that's the play. She's holed up at an Institute." He let out a low, dark chuckle, savoring the slip-up.
"Good riddance, pal. I reckon you just did my job for me."
Masato's expression faltered for a second, a "whoops" look crossing his face that seemed a little too intentional. "Oh, shoot... did I say that out loud?" He rubbed the back of his neck, playing dumb with a tired shrug. "My bad. But hey, Aoshima's a big-ass city, and the Institute operates through a dozen different agencies with zero paper trail. You could spend a lifetime lookin' for the front door and never find it—even if you put me in the dirt right here."
Right in the middle of the standoff, Masato's phone buzzed in his pocket, drawing a long, weary sigh from him. "Hold that thought, pal. Gotta take this. Duty calls," he muttered. He actually turned his back to Damon to flip the phone open, leaving the man standing there in stunned disbelief at the sheer nerve of it.
On the other end, Theo's voice came through, crisp and controlled. "Masato. Our sector is secure. Medical units are currently navigating to your coordinates to—"
"Yeah, yeah, hey there, sexy guy," Masato cut him off, his voice thick with that easy, low-country drawl. "Medea already caught me up on the play. But you see, I've run into a bit of a pickle. I found our guy."
The shift in Theo's tone was instantaneous. The professionalism remained, but the urgency spiked. "Damon Crowhurst? Understood. We are pivoting to your location immediately. Do not engage in a war of attrition, Masato—do not get greedy."
The line went dead before Masato could crack another joke. He let out a sharp whistle and turned back around to face Damon, a fresh glint of mischief in his eyes as he pocketed the device.
"Sorry 'bout that, truly. Real pressin' business," he said, settling back into his fighting stance and rolling his shoulders. "Now, where were we? Ah, right—back to our dance, bro."
"You're hella annoying, you know that?" Damon muttered, the last trace of his mock-patience vanishing. "Makes me want to put you in the dirt even more." He didn't hesitate a second longer, lunging forward with a snarl as he brought the machete down in a vicious arc. "You're gonna give me the answers I want, one way or another!"
Masato didn't flinch. He just reached up, adjusted his shades with a flick of his finger, and stepped into the danger zone. "Try me, bro," he shouted, a wild, sharp grin breaking across his face. "I ain't some ordinary bitch you can just walk over!"
The machete whistled through the air, but Masato was already moving. He dipped low, sliding under the blade's reach with the grace of a seasoned brawler. In one fluid motion, he snatched Damon's thick, muscular wrist, killing the man's momentum. Using Damon's own weight against him, Masato pivoted, hauled him over his shoulder, and slammed him into the pavement like he was trying to drive a nail into the earth.
The impact was bone-shaking. Damon hit the concrete so hard the force actually made his body bounce off the ground.
"Heard you were made outta steel, pal, but that sure looked like it stung," Masato said with a wink. He didn't give the man a chance to breathe. He tightened his grip on his brass knuckles, coiled his muscles, and hammered a brutal, heavy-handed punch straight into Damon's exposed back.
The blow landed with a sickening thud, sending a fresh tremor through the street. The ground beneath Damon's stomach shattered, spider-webbing outward as his face was driven deep into the rubble.
"Don't tell me you're already dead on me," Masato teased, his voice echoing in the sudden quiet. "I was just startin' to get my blood pumpin'."
He waited for a groan or a struggle, but instead, his eyes widened as the body beneath him began to lose its shape. The solid muscle and bone turned into a dark, viscous liquid, slipping right through his fingers and soaking into the cracked asphalt.
"The hell? A damn clone?" Masato muttered, the shock cutting through his bravado.
"Oh, nobody warned you about my duplication?" A gravelly voice rumbled from directly behind him. "That's a real shame. Guess your people don't know nearly as much as they think they do."
Before Masato could even spin around, Damon was there, his silhouette towering over him. He coiled his muscular arm and delivered a return gift—a heavy, localized punch driven straight into the small of Masato's back. The force was astronomical, a blunt-force trauma that sent a white-hot spike of pain through Masato's spine as his fingers stopped responding
He didn't just fall; he was launched. Masato's body skipped across the pavement like a stone before slamming into the brick wall of a nearby ruin, disappearing into a cloud of dust and falling debris.
Damon stood his ground, casually cracking his knuckles as he watched the wreckage settle.
A jagged, expectant grin pulled at his lips. "Come on now, tough guy," he called out, his voice dripping with malice. "Let's see if you can walk that one off."
To be continued...