Chapter 9

It was May 8th, 2020, for the fifth time. Specter stood in the middle of the road, skeletal and defiant, right until the red nose of the Road Runner slammed into his solar plexus at eighty miles per hour. The impact made a sound like a dry branch snapping inside a wet mattress. The undead Mind-Bender flew twenty yards, tumbling through the dirt until he came to a rest near the entrance of Silas Blackwood’s place. Jake stepped out of the car, ignoring the steam hissing from the radiator. He walked around to the front and ran a gloved hand over the fender, tracing the fresh dent. "I am so sorry, sweetheart," he whispered to the machine. "I know it hurts. Daddy will buy you the good oil tonight. I promise." He turned his attention to the pile of bones and rags groaning in the ditch. Specter was trying to knit his ribcage back together, his frozen eyes wide with a very specific, recurring brand of trauma. Jake reached into the back seat and pulled out a pair of heavy-duty jumper cables. He began clacking the metal clamps together, the sparks showering his boots. He adopted a thick, caricatured German accent, looming over the skeleton. "Ve have vays of making you talk, Herr Skeltal," Jake barked, the clamps snapping inches from Specter’s nose. "First, ve attach ze cables to ze nipples. Oh, vait. You have no skin! Zis is even better for ze conductivity! Ve shall jump-start your heart, ja? Even if you don’t have one!" Specter recoiled, his jaw rattling in a silent scream. By the time the Sentinel Services transport arrived, Specter was practically begging to be put in a high-security cell. Jake handed over the half-conscious skeleton to the armored guards, signed the bounty paperwork with a flourish, and ensured the delivery fees were distributed. He paid off the informants and the local lookouts, clearing his ledger with the efficiency of a man who had already lived through the bureaucratic headache four times prior. Instead of heading to the southern district where he knew the gas-bombing was scheduled to happen, Jake navigated the Road Runner toward the city center. He found the high-rise hotel from his very first loop and checked in under a fake name. "Return to the Thorne Path," Jake muttered to himself as the elevator rose. "And this time, let’s try not to get the room liquidated." He didn't have to wait long. Seraphina Stone was in the lobby within the hour, looking every bit the corporate superhero in her pristine white bodysuit. Her greyish eyes were sharp, scanning the room until they locked onto him. "You're the one who bagged Specter," she said, her voice formal and practiced. "Sentinel Services is impressed. It’s rare for a freelancer to be so... persistent." "I have a very high retention rate for grudges," Jake said. "He’s in a maximum-security ward, but we’re taking precautions." "Double them," Jake warned. "And then triple the guards on the ventilation system. He’s got friends with gas masks and a very unhealthy attachment to dead things. He’s going to try to break out." Seraphina tilted her head, studying him. "You seem remarkably certain of that." She reached into a small pouch on her belt and produced a high-quality, embossed business card. "If you see anything else, or if you're looking for more stable work than bounty hunting, call me. Grants is always looking for talent that isn't afraid of a little mess." "I'll put it right next to my coupons for pizza," Jake said, tucking the card away. As he watched her walk away, his phone buzzed. The encrypted channel from Urban Outlaw popped up. The script was playing out as it should. The invitation to the Sakura District arrived, and Jake headed for the oriental pagoda tower rising over the skyline. He met Julian Blade in the plush interior of the casino. The samurai-clad enforcer didn't seem to recognize him from any of the timelines where Jake had died or been punched, which was the way Jake preferred it. Julian laid out the mission: a simple security detail for a delivery at the Old Harbor. Before leaving for the harbor, Jake returned to his hotel room. He didn't unpack. Instead, he pulled a small, high-definition pinhole camera from his kit and mounted it inside the vent facing the window. He synced it to his phone. "Let’s see who the peeping tom is this time," he murmured. The Old Harbor was a graveyard of rusted supertankers and crumbling piers. This time, however, the variables had shifted. Vapor appeared alone. The woman in the black hazmat suit stood on the pier, her gauntlets hissing with compressed air. She didn't have Specter’s ice walls to hide behind, and she didn't have an army of Syndicate junkies. Jake didn't give her time to breathe. He felt the familiar tug of the world slowing down as he activated his timing sense. The mist from her suit froze in mid-air, turning into a stationary green cloud. Jake sprinted through the gaps in the air, his boots clattering on the metal grate. He reached her in a second, wound up, and delivered a heavy, reinforced punch directly into the center of her gas mask. Time snapped back. The sound of the impact echoed across the water like a gunshot. Vapor’s mask shattered, and she was launched backward, tumbling across the pier for fifty feet before coming to a stop. The entire engagement had lasted exactly ten seconds. Jake shook out his hand and sighed. "Well, that was underwhelming. I didn't even get to use my one-liners. I had a whole thing about 'giving her some air' prepared." Julian Blade stepped out from behind a shipping container, his hand still on the hilt of his katana. He looked at the unconscious woman, then back at Jake. "You're complaining? Most people prefer it when the psychopathic Mind-Benders don't put up a fight." "I'm bored, Julian. Boredom is the silent killer. Right next to high blood pressure and skeletal ice-wizards." "Things are running smoothly," Julian said calmly, sheathing his blade. "Take the win, Jake. It makes the paperwork shorter." Jake grumbled and pulled out his phone, checking the feed from his hotel room. He scrubbed through the footage until he saw a flicker of movement. A figure was hovering outside his tenth-floor window. It was a Gene-Mod, clearly capable of flight, but they didn't break in. They simply peered through the glass, stayed for a minute, and then drifted away into the clouds. "Hey," Jake said, turning to Julian and Caleb Finch, who was busy checking the crates. "Do we have a lot of flying invisible people in this city? Besides the usual hallucinations?" Caleb looked up, his brow furrowed. "Fliers? Yeah, a few. Most of them are on the Grants payroll or part of the Syndicate’s high-tier serum junkies. As for invisible fliers, the Invisibility Vitality Serum is rare. It usually burns out the lungs after a few doses." Julian nodded. "There are a handful of registered Gene-Mods with flight. But if you're talking about someone who can vanish completely, you might be thinking of Cody Fisher." "Cody Fisher?" Jake asked. "Does he spend his time hovering outside hotel rooms like a creep?" "Doubtful," Julian said. "Fisher is a Golden Blueprint. He can turn invisible, sure, but he’s bound to his grave outside of town. He’s more of a local haunt than a mobile spy. If someone was at your window, it’s a different player." Caleb stepped closer to Jake, his eyes glowing with a faint, searching light. His 'bullshit filter' was active. "You're worried," Caleb said, his voice dropping the casual tone. "But it's not just about the spy. Why are you really here, Jake? You’ve been making enemies at a record pace since you hit the city limits. How do you feel about that?" Jake felt the invisible pressure of Caleb's power, a psychic hook dragging the truth out of his throat. He tried to bite it back, but his mouth moved of its own accord. "I feel... empty," Jake said, his voice flat and devoid of its usual snark. "It’s all just noise. I’m lonely, Caleb. I’ve lived through the same three days so many times I can taste the copper in the air before it happens. I’m just a ghost in a red car." Caleb blinked, taken aback by the sudden raw honesty. Jake continued, unable to stop. "And I'm using you. All of you. The Imperial Guard is just a means to an end. I need your resources and your reach to find Chloe Vance. Once I have her, I don't give a damn what happens to the Syndicate or the Thorne Path." The silence on the pier was heavy. Jake stared at Caleb, his eyes narrowing as the compulsion faded. He stepped into Caleb's personal space, his hand hovering near his belt. "If you ever probe my mind like that again," Jake said, his voice a low, dangerous snarl, "I will find out if your power works while you're screaming. Do we have an understanding?" Caleb raised his hands in a defensive gesture, looking genuinely shaken. "I'm sorry. It... it triggers sometimes when I'm suspicious. I didn't mean to dig that deep." Julian stepped between them, playing the diplomat. "Enough. We’re all on the same side for the moment. Jake, you’ve done good work today." "Great. I'm going to go find a drink and a room that isn't being watched by Peter Pan," Jake said, turning to leave. "Actually," Julian said, "why don't we split up? Or better yet, come to my place. We're heading back for dinner." Jake paused. "Your place? Is this the part where you try to recruit me with a home-cooked meal and a brochure?" Caleb let out a short, amused huff. "Julian is like cream, Jake. He can't help himself. He’s the most hospitable hitman you’ll ever meet." Jake looked Julian up and down. "Is it vanilla? Because I’m more of a rocky road guy." "It’s a safe house," Julian insisted. "And it’s better than a hotel room with a camera in the vent." Jake weighed his options. The hotel was a bust, and the Imperial Guard seemed to have the best lead on Chloe. "Fine. But if there’s kale involved, I’m burning the house down." Julian’s home was a stark contrast to the grime of the harbor. It was a modern, two-story structure perched on a hillside with an infinity pool that seemed to spill directly into the glowing sprawl of Olympus City. A Lexus ES and a Harley Davidson Sportster were parked in the driveway. As they crossed the threshold, Julian reached up and unlatched his samurai helmet. He pulled it off, revealing a face that was surprisingly young and refined. He shook out his hair and looked at Jake. "I am Julian Blade," he said, his voice echoing in the minimalist foyer. "And since we’re in my home, I think it’s only fair you remove the mask." Jake crossed his arms. "And risk revealing my secret identity? I have a brand to protect, Julian. Mystery is my only marketable trait." Julian chuckled, walking toward the kitchen. "Your name is Jake Miller. You found your car in the ruins of Rosewood and you’ve been operating as a freelance courier for three years. We did our homework before we ever sent the invite to the Sakura District." Jake groaned, pulling off his mask and rubbing his face. "I'm just too unforgettable. It’s a curse, really. I should have gone for a more generic look. Maybe a cape." The interior of the house was decorated with high-end Asian art—scrolls, pottery, and minimalist furniture. But the most striking feature was the kitchen counter, where an enormous, well-fed rat was currently sniffing at a bowl of fruit. A woman with dark hair and a calm expression was standing by the stove. Julian walked over and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Jae-eun, this is Jake. The one I told you about." Jae-eun Kim nodded politely at Jake. "The immortal courier. Welcome." Jake stared at her, then at the rat on the counter. He looked back at her and tilted his head. "Waza?" Jae-eun froze, then a slow smile spread across her face. "Waza?" "Wazaa!" they both shouted in unison, laughing. Julian looked between them, completely lost. "I feel like I missed a meeting." "It’s an obscure reference, Julian," Jae-eun said, patting his arm. "Don't worry about it." "I'm Jake Miller," Jake said, offering a mock bow. "Immortal, deranged, and currently very hungry." "He tells everyone about the immortality," Julian noted, heading for the fridge. Jake noticed more rats. Three were huddled together on a rug, watching a nature documentary on a flat-screen TV. Another was curled up asleep on the balcony railing, and a fifth sat perched on Jae-eun’s shoulder like a parrot. "I take it you're the one in charge of the pest control?" Jake asked. "I control them telepathically," Jae-eun explained, scratching the rat on her shoulder. "They’re better company than most people. And they're great for surveillance." "What’s the color?" Jake asked. "Forest," she replied simply. A girl with heavy tattoos and a biker aesthetic leaned over the second-floor railing, looking down into the kitchen with a bored expression. "Who’s the hobo, Julian? And why is he making so much noise?" Julian looked up. "Raven, be polite. This is Jake. He’s the one who just put Vapor in the hospital in under a minute." Raven Sinclair vaulted over the railing, landing gracefully on the hardwood floor. She walked over to Jake, eyeing him with blatant skepticism. "I'm not a hobo," Jake corrected. "I'm a murderhobo. There's a professional distinction. It involves more property damage and a better car." "Whatever you say, sparky," Raven said, dismissively turning toward the kitchen. "He really did handle Vapor," Julian said, defending his guest. "It was the cleanest take-down I've seen in months." "Good for him," Raven muttered. "Maybe he can handle the next three Nexus ambushes so I don't have to get road rash every Tuesday." Jae-eun started pulling ingredients from the pantry. "While the pizzas are in the oven, we should set up the gambling table. Jake, do you play poker? Or do you just throw knives at things?" "I'm a shark," Jake said. "I will take everything you own, including the rats." "He’s joking," Julian said to the room, though he looked at Jake with an inviting smile. "We’re all 'Made Men and Women' here, Jake. We share the house, we share the work, and we share the spoils. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. We could use someone with your... unique perspective." "He's still a hobo," Raven called out from the living room. "I’ve had worse guests," Julian countered. Jake leaned against the counter, watching the domestic scene. It was dangerously comfortable. "I’m flattered, really. But I’m not looking for a family. I’m looking for Chloe Vance." The name hung in the air. Julian paused with a pizza stone in his hand. "Chloe Vance? The girl from the power plant incident?" "The one the papers called the 'Deep Diver'?" Jae-eun added. "I thought he disappeared after the blast." "She," Jake corrected. "And she didn't disappear. She was taken." Julian set the stone down, his expression turning serious. "Deep Diver. Right. I remember the chatter now. She was picked up by Sentinel Services during a sweep of the northern district. Urban Outlaw was actually talking about her the other day. He’s been looking for a way to break her out—she’s got technical skills the Guard needs." Jake’s heart did a strange, rhythmic skip. "Urban Outlaw wants to break her out?" "He’s obsessed with it," Julian said. "I can introduce you to him properly tomorrow. If you’re willing to help with the extraction, he’ll give you everything we have on her location." Jake looked at the three of them, then at the rats watching the TV. "I like four cheese. Extra grease. And if someone tries to touch my car, I'm taking a finger." "Consider it a deal," Julian said. "Now, for the house rules. No Serenity. No cats—obviously. And no cocaine after ten PM. We try to keep a regular sleep schedule." Jake pulled up a chair. "I can work with that." ════════════════════════════════════════