Aya rummaged through the pilfered supplies, her slender fingers closing around the battered first aid kit—a sleek, high-tech model from John's stash, its surface still gleaming faintly despite the grime of the lair. The rest of the crew had already filed out, their footsteps echoing into the damp tunnels like retreating ghosts, leaving her alone with the battered man. She knelt beside John, who lay propped against a stack of mildewed cardboard, his body a map of bruises and cuts that wept fresh blood. The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of injury and the underlying rot of the sewers, punctuated by the distant drip of water seeping through cracked concrete.
"So, what's your name?" Aya asked softly, her voice a gentle contrast to the harsh surroundings as she dabbed antiseptic on a gash across his cheek. Her touch was precise, almost tender, honed by years of survival skills that demanded both delicacy and ruthlessness.
"John," he replied, wincing slightly as the sting bit into his skin. "My name is John Harper. And you?"
"My name is Aya Suzuki," she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips, though her dark eyes held a guarded depth. "I know we should've introduced ourselves first."
John let out a weak chuckle, the sound raspy from his bruised throat. "What? Introduce yourselves while you were all beating the shit out of me?"
Aya's cheeks flushed faintly beneath her olive skin, and she averted her gaze, focusing on bandaging his split knuckles. "I know, and I'm really sorry. I really didn't want to hurt you, but you know how Benjamin is."
"I know you're a good person, not like the others," John murmured, his voice softening as he studied her face—the sharp angles of her jaw, the way her black hair fell in loose strands over her forehead. "I saw that you didn't actually hit me once. Except for when you guys first saw me, which I understood."
"Thanks," she replied, meeting his eyes briefly. "But they're all good people too, believe me. They just don't trust you yet."
"Mhm," John hummed noncommittally, but as she leaned closer to wrap a bandage around his torso, he found himself lost in her gaze. Her eyes were deep pools of onyx, flecked with hints of amber that caught the dim light from the flickering bulb overhead. The world narrowed to just that—the warmth of her proximity, the subtle scent of sweat and something floral clinging to her skin—his mind emptying of everything else.
Aya paused, her hands stilling on the bandage. She tilted her head, a quizzical expression crossing her features. "Uhh, is there something on my face?"
John blinked rapidly, snapping back to reality with a jolt. "Huh? Oh no, it's nothing... I just started daydreaming."
"Daydreaming?" she echoed, a teasing lilt in her voice as she resumed her work. "It was more like you were staring right into me."
"Yeah... I was. Sorry."
She chuckled, a light, melodic sound that cut through the gloom like a brief ray of sunlight. "Don't be sorry."
"You're like really pretty," John blurted, the words tumbling out before he could rein them in. Internally, he cringed—*What the fuck are you saying, John?! Are you out of your goddamn mind?!*—his cheeks burning with embarrassment.
Aya burst into laughter, genuine and unrestrained, her shoulders shaking as she met his gaze again. But there was a spark in her eyes, a mutual pull that lingered as she continued tending to his wounds. "Thanks. You're kinda cute," she said with a chuckle, her fingers brushing his skin a fraction longer than necessary.
Meanwhile, deep in the labyrinthine sewers, Benjamin led the group through the fetid passages, their boots sloshing in shallow puddles of brackish water. The walls glistened with moisture, veined with rust and mold, and the air was thick with the stench of decay. Milo, Diego, Alfie Jr., and Alfie Sr. trailed behind, their makeshift weapons—pipes and lids—clutched tightly, casting elongated shadows in the faint glow of bioluminescent fungi clinging to the ceilings.
"So, you mind telling us why the hell we're here?" Diego grumbled, his accent thick with frustration as he adjusted the strap of a scavenged bag over his shoulder.
Benjamin's prosthetic arm whirred softly as he scanned the tunnels ahead, his face set in a grim mask. "I'm trying to find a way to kill that prick John."
Alfie Sr. halted mid-step, his weathered brow furrowing in shock. "What?? But why? I thought you trusted him."
"I couldn't do anything," Benjamin snarled, his voice echoing off the concrete. "He's got all of our damn weapons."
Milo scratched at his stubbled chin, skepticism etched on his features. "So how the hell are we supposed to kill him?"
"We kill him in his sleep," Benjamin replied flatly, as if discussing the weather.
"Right, but still, why did we have to go here, and why did Aya have to stay behind?" Milo pressed, his tone laced with accusation. "You a misogynist or something?!"
Benjamin shot him a withering glare, halting the group in a wider chamber where the sewer widened into a forgotten junction. "So that we're out of his mind. And I want John to fall in love with Aya—which I know he will. Love makes you stupid. It makes you predictable. And predictable people are easy to control. This is all part of my plan, lads. Calm down."
Back in the lair, Aya tied off the last bandage with a satisfied nod, stepping back to admire her handiwork. John's injuries were cleaned and wrapped, the painkillers kicking in to dull the sharp edges of his aches. "And, there you are. You're all good now."
"Thanks," John said sincerely, flexing his fingers experimentally. "I appreciate it."
"No problem." She wiped her hands on her ragged pants, glancing around the empty space. The fire in the barrel had died to embers, casting a warm, flickering glow. "So uhh, what now? They're not here and haven't come back in a long time."
"Yeah, just the two of us." John shifted, trying to sit up straighter. "Maybe you can tell me a bit about yourself?"
Aya hesitated, her expression clouding over like a storm gathering. She fidgeted with the edge of the first aid kit, her posture stiffening. "I—uh..."
John read the discomfort instantly. "Sorry."
A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the distant rumble of the city above. Aya's shoulders sagged, and she drew in a shaky breath, as if steeling herself. "I grew up training with not the rich, but a camp called the 'Monkey's Power.' Where kids are trained to be highly skilled and powerful assassins and ninjas—to defeat and protect the elderly from the rich if they come. But it wasn't good at all. They were pure evil; the elites of the camp used us as nothing but weapons."
Tears welled in her eyes, spilling slowly down her cheeks, tracing paths through the dirt on her face. Her voice cracked, raw with suppressed pain.
"Sorry," she whispered, wiping at her eyes futilely. "I can't continue... It's just hard for me to say it..."
John hesitated for only a moment, then reached out, pulling her into a tentative hug. He braced for her to pull away, but instead, she leaned in, burying her face against his chest, her body trembling with quiet sobs. The warmth of her against him was unexpected, comforting in the cold lair.
"It's okay," he murmured, his hand gently stroking her back. "It's really okay. You don't have to say it. I understand."
Aya lifted her head slowly, her tear-streaked face inches from his. Their eyes locked, the air charged with unspoken vulnerability. Then, without a word, she closed the distance, her lips meeting his in a passionate kiss—fierce and desperate, a release of pent-up emotions that tasted of salt and longing.
Aya's breath mingled with John's in the dim flicker of the dying embers, the kiss unfolding like a secret shared in the underbelly of the world—fierce, urgent, a momentary escape from the bruises and betrayals that clung to them both. John's arousal built like a tide, pulling him under; his hands found her hips with a gentle but insistent grip, guiding her onto his lap where she straddled him on the makeshift bed of cardboard. The rough texture beneath them shifted with a faint crinkle, but it went unnoticed as he slid his fingers beneath the hem of her worn shirt, tracing the warm, soft curve of her skin. He drew her closer, the kiss deepening into something profound, an ocean of need where words drowned unspoken.
But Aya's eyes fluttered open, a blink that shattered the spell. She pulled away—not abruptly, but with a reluctant slowness, as if every inch of distance cost her. Her hands pressed lightly against his chest, easing herself off his body, the cool air of the lair rushing in to fill the void between them. "I—John, I can't..." she whispered, her voice a fragile thread in the heavy silence, laced with regret and resolve.
John reached for her again, his fingers brushing her arm in a tentative pull, but Aya pushed back more firmly this time, her palms flat against him. "No, John..." she murmured, her dark eyes meeting his with a mix of affection and boundary.
"I'm sorry..." John stammered, heat flooding his cheeks in a rush of embarrassment. He averted his gaze, staring at the cracked concrete floor, the weight of his impulsiveness settling like lead in his stomach.
"It's okay," Aya said softly, her tone reassuring as she slid off his lap entirely and settled beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. "I just don't think it's the time. I like you, John—I really do—but it's just a bit early. We just met today..."
"No, I totally understand," he replied, forcing a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I don't know what I was doing, but yeah... I understand." The words hung there, awkward but honest, the air still humming with the echo of their intimacy.
Aya leaned her head against his shoulder, the gesture simple and comforting, her hair tickling his neck. "Just give it time, idiot," she teased, her voice carrying a sarcastic lilt that lightened the moment, drawing a genuine chuckle from him.
Then, abruptly, she straightened, her eyes widening with a flicker of worry as she blinked away the haze. "Speaking of time, where are Benjamin and the others? Benjamin's plans are usually super fast—scavenge and return."
"Yeah, I noticed that too," John admitted, his tone shifting as he rubbed at a fresh bandage on his arm. Anger flared in his chest, hot and unbidden. "I mean, to be honest, at this moment I got no feelings for the guys. I mean, they were gonna literally kill me!" The words came out edged with bitterness, his jaw tightening at the memory of fists and chains. But then, a strange surge of pity washed over him, cooling the rage like water on embers. He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "But... he did say he trusted me. I guess I would be the dick to leave him be."
Aya glanced around the cluttered lair, her eyes scanning the haphazard piles of high-tech gear they'd scavenged from John's basement—gleaming gadgets that seemed utterly out of place amid the rust and rot of their underground world. "Well, I don't know what kind of plan we really have," she admitted, her voice echoing slightly off the damp walls. "I mean, all we're doing is just finding them. But your high-tech gears could come in really handy. I mean, look at this one!"
She reached into one of the bags, pulling out a sleek, glove-like device that hummed faintly with latent energy. It fit over the hand like a second skin, its surface etched with intricate circuits that pulsed with a soft blue glow. The laser cannon was compact yet imposing, its barrel extending just beyond the knuckles, ready to unleash whatever fury its creator had engineered.
Aya tilted her head, examining it curiously. "What does it even do?"
John leaned in, his fingers brushing hers as he took the glove gently, demonstrating its controls with a flick of his wrist. "Well, that one has three modes," he explained, his voice steady despite the lingering ache in his body. "Mode one is a simple laser cannon, just like the name—fires a concentrated beam that can punch through steel or vaporize obstacles. Mode two is a blast that paralyzes someone temporarily, disrupting their nervous system without permanent damage. Mode three isn't a blast at all; it flashes someone with a light so bright it can blind them or blur their vision for days. Non-lethal, but effective for escapes."
Aya's eyes widened in genuine awe, her lips parting in a mix of admiration and disbelief. "You're a genius," she breathed, shaking her head. "You're like the Tony Stark of this fucked-up world."
John chuckled softly, a hint of pride warming his features, but he waved it off, his expression turning serious. "Thanks, but let's not forget what we're supposed to be doing."
Aya blinked, snapping out of her reverie, the spell of his ingenuity broken by the reminder of their urgency. "Right. The guys."
They ventured into the twisting maze of the sewers, the air thick with the cloying stench of stagnant water and decay. Filthy rivulets trickled along the cracked concrete floors, pooling in shallow depressions that splashed underfoot. Moss and slime clung to the arched ceilings, dripping occasionally like cold tears. Aya moved with the ease of someone long accustomed to this subterranean hell, her steps silent and sure, but John wrinkled his nose in disgust, his boots squelching through the muck with every reluctant stride.
"Can't believe you guys live in a state like this," he muttered, swatting at a swarm of gnats buzzing around his head.
"Well... it ain't like we can do anything," Aya replied quietly, her tone laced with resigned bitterness. She glanced sideways at him, her dark hair swaying with the motion.
John's jaw tightened, a fire igniting in his eyes as he stared into the gloom ahead. "I will take them down, one day."
Aya met his gaze, her own resolve mirroring his. "We will. All of us."
They pressed on, the tunnels narrowing and widening like the veins of some colossal, forgotten beast. Shadows danced from the faint beam of a scavenged flashlight John clutched, casting eerie patterns on the walls. Then, in a wider junction where the sewer branched into multiple paths, they spotted a solitary figure lurking in the dimness—a broad-shouldered silhouette that could only be Benjamin.
"Ben, that you?" Aya called out cautiously, her hand hovering near a concealed knife at her belt.
The figure turned, and relief washed over Benjamin's scarred face like a wave breaking. He exhaled heavily, his shoulders slumping. "Holy shit, you guys are here!"
John stepped forward, concern etching his brow. "What happened?"
But Benjamin's expression twisted into one of raw fury as his eyes locked on John. Hatred burned there, hot and unyielding, his fists clenching at his sides. "They're here because of you! And now we're all gonna fucking die because of you!"
John recoiled, confusion knitting his features. "What?"
"This is what you wanted, right? To help us?!" Benjamin roared, his voice echoing through the tunnels like thunder. "Is this what you call helping, cunt?!"
He lunged forward with murderous intent, his prosthetic arm whirring as he closed the distance. Aya darted between them, her hands pressing firmly against Benjamin's chest to hold him back. "Hey! Hey! Calm down, Ben. Where are the others?"
Benjamin breathed heavily, his chest heaving as he fought to rein in his rage. He sighed, stepping back slightly. "We split up to avoid being caught."
"Caught from what?" Aya pressed, her voice steady but urgent.
"The rich," Benjamin spat, glaring daggers at John. "They're hunting us down, all 'cause of this little twinkie prick."
John's temper flared, his face flushing with indignation. "Hey, fuck you, dude! Every problem always leads up to me in your eyes! I'm not the one who called them, did I?!"
"You're missing my point, ya dumb cunt!" Benjamin bellowed, veins bulging in his neck. "They're gonna kill us because of you! They found us because of you!"
Aya raised her hands placatingly. "Calm down, Benjamin."
"I'm gonna kill this bastard!" Benjamin snarled, shoving past her guard and charging at John.
"Fuck you, dude!" John shot back. "Look at all the stuff I gave you guys! That's enough to fight off the rich!"
"You little prick..." Benjamin growled, hurling himself forward. He slammed into John like a freight train, sending them both crashing into the foul sewer water with a splash that echoed through the tunnels. Murky sludge enveloped them, cold and viscous, as they wrestled furiously. John grabbed fistfuls of Benjamin's hair, yanking hard to gain leverage, while Benjamin rained down punches—relentless, bone-jarring blows that split John's lip and bruised his ribs. Benjamin hauled him up by the collar, landing a devastating right hook that snapped John's head back, followed by a sharp jab to the jaw and a body shot that drove the air from his lungs.
John gasped, rage boiling over. He fumbled for the pistol tucked in his waistband, drawing it with trembling hands. His finger tightened on the trigger—just as the ceiling above exploded in a shower of debris and concrete dust. Seven rich elites descended like avenging angels, hovering in the air with an aura of untouchable superiority. Their eyes—cold, calculating—swept the scene, seeking their primary targets amid the chaos.
Despite the fight raging between them, John's instincts kicked in. He shoved Benjamin hard toward a nearby alcove, a jagged hole in the wall that offered scant concealment. "Get down!" he hissed, then grabbed Aya's arm, yanking her behind a rusted pipe cluster for cover. He dove into his own hiding spot—a shadowed recess—heart pounding as the elites began their assault. Beams of energy lanced out, shattering walls and vaporizing sections of the sewer, the air filling with the acrid smell of scorched stone and ozone.
As the elites closed in on Aya's position, their boots thudding ominously, John burst from cover. "Hey! Over here!" he shouted, waving his arms to draw their fire. The ploy worked; their heads snapped toward him, and one—Chris, a hulking brute with a sneer etched on his chiseled face—swooped down. His fist connected with John's midsection in a blur, the superhuman strength shattering ribs like brittle glass. John crumpled, gasping, but Chris wasn't done. He hoisted John up by the throat with one iron grip, slamming his head against the unyielding wall repeatedly—thud, thud, thud—until stars exploded in John's vision and darkness encroached.
But then... something stirred within him. A supernatural surge, like liquid fire igniting in his veins. John felt weightless, not from the grip but from an inner buoyancy, as if gravity had released its hold. Power flooded him—not the artificial rush of Composite V, but something raw, innate, a dormant force awakening. His eyes glowed faintly, and with a roar, he punched Chris square in the chest. The blow landed with impossible force, sending the elite staggering back, surprise flickering across his arrogant features.
Seizing the moment, John darted to Aya's cover, scooping her up in his arms. He launched skyward—or what passed for it in the sewers—propelling them at supersonic speeds through the tunnels, the wind whipping past in a deafening roar. Aya clung to him, her hair streaming like a banner. Glancing back, John saw the seven elites in pursuit, their forms blurring as they closed the gap. His newfound speed was formidable, but theirs was honed, relentless. Realizing he couldn't outrun them forever, he veered into a side passage, hiding Aya behind a collapsed grate before stepping out into the open, arms raised in surrender.
The elites descended upon him like wolves, their fists and boots a whirlwind of brutality. Blows rained down, cracking bones and drawing blood, until John's world spun in agony. But a voice crackled over their comms, halting the assault: "Bring him in."
Sovereign's command echoed from afar.
Aya watched from her hiding spot, tears streaming down her face as they dragged John's limp form away, vanishing into the shadows above. Sobs wracked her body, but grief quickly hardened into determination. She wasted no time, racing back through the tunnels to the base, her boots pounding the wet ground.
Bursting through the door, she found the crew reunited, unscathed but tense. Milo spotted her first, his eyes widening in relief. "Oh my god! Aya, you're alright!"
He rushed forward, enveloping her in a tight hug, his arms squeezing as if to confirm she was real. Aya pulled back, her face streaked with tears and grime.
"John!!" she shouted, her voice breaking into sobs.
"We need to save him! We need to save John!!!!"
Diego stepped closer, concern furrowing his brow. "Cálmate, hermana. What's the problem?"
"They got him! The rich got him!!"
Milo muttered under his breath, barely audible, "Good for him..."
Aya whirled on him, fury blazing in her eyes. "I don't get why the hell you guys hate him! What has he done to you all?!"
Alfie Jr. shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze. "Aya, the longer he's here, the more dangerous it is for us..."
"Wow..." Aya's voice dripped with disgust. "You guys are just as terrible as the rich... Unbelievable... How can you let a comrade die?!"
Benjamin crossed his arms, unyielding. "He's not our damn comrade!"
"He saved your fucking life!" Aya countered, pointing accusingly.
"Well then, he shouldn't have!"
Alfie Sr. raised his hands for peace. "Let's just all think about this tomorrow, please."
"Tomorrow?!" Aya exclaimed, incredulous. "We have no time! We don't know what's gonna happen to him!"
Benjamin's eyes narrowed. "Fine! You wanna save him? Then go. We ain't gettin' involved in your bullshit. See if you can last a second just standing outside."
Aya stormed toward the door, but halted, the reality crashing down—the swarms of rich enforcers, the unblinking eyes of surveillance drones blanketing the city. She crumpled to her knees, tears flowing freely. "I'm sorry, John... Oh god..."
Meanwhile, in the sterile bowels of HEX HQ, John was hurled into a stark isolation chamber, his wrists bound in superpowered handcuffs—unbreakable restraints designed for traitorous elites, humming with suppressive energy fields. The door sealed with a hydraulic hiss, and a digital timer materialized above it: 50:00:00, ticking down inexorably.
Sovereign's voice boomed from hidden speakers, smooth and mocking. "Oh, John... Why are you so naive? You had a life here, a perfect life."
"Fuck you!" John snarled, straining against the cuffs.
"You looked like you were living a good life in that... disgusting place," Sovereign continued, unfazed. "But this is your real punishment, because somehow you still have powers even after taking Composite X."
"I'll take all of you fuckers down... all of you!!" John roared, his voice echoing off the unyielding walls.
"Once this timer ends, you will die—"
"Why not just kill me now?!"
"Because I want to see how strong your mental strength is. Enough questions. Enjoy your punishment."
The timer began its descent, accompanied by an incessant, piercing beep that drilled into John's skull—beep... beep... beep—a relentless torment designed to erode the mind, hour by agonizing hour.