Chum

The door to the Reptile and Amphibian House groans as I push it open, the sound louder than it should be in the suffocating silence. I freeze for a second, my breath catching in my throat. No alarms, no shouts. Just the cold air rushing in from behind me, swirling in and mixing with the strange warmth of the building. I step inside, letting the door fall shut quietly, and stand still, listening. The snow that had clung to my boots melts almost instantly against the polished floors, leaving little wet spots in my wake.

It's quiet. Too quiet.

Sorry.

Everything feels wrong, like I'm walking into a place that doesn't want to be disturbed. The air is humid, thick, carrying the scent of wet stone and the faint, almost earthy tang of reptile enclosures. My eyes adjust to the dim light, greenish hues glowing faintly from the overhead bulbs, reflecting off the glass tanks that line the walls. The tanks are filled with thick plants, branches, rocks, and small pools of water, designed to mimic the habitats of the reptiles and amphibians inside. But right now, none of the animals are moving. Not that I can see.

The center of the room is dominated by the massive cobra statue, towering over the exhibits like some kind of ancient guardian, its eyes gleaming faintly in the artificial light. For a moment, the quiet hum of the heating lamps and the soft trickle of water in some of the exhibits almost makes me forget why I'm here.

Almost.

But... this place should be packed with civilians. Even with all the chaos outside, there should be people in here, trying to escape the cold. There should be staff, zoo workers running around, trying to keep the animals safe. There should be something. But there isn't. No one's here. Not even any bad guys, hiding out from the heroes. Nobody.

The knot in my stomach tightens, twisting itself into something sharper, more urgent. This place was deliberately emptied. That's what's wrong. The hostages, the civilians, they've all been herded away from here. No one's watching the Reptile House because they didn't think anyone would be stupid enough to wander away from the main group.

I swallow, my mouth dry despite the humidity, and crouch down behind one of the exhibits. The glass is cool under my hand as I press my back against the frame, peeking around the edge. The whole building has this eerie, unnatural calm, the kind of quiet that makes your skin crawl. It's the kind of quiet that happens right before something bad -- really bad -- goes down.

I take another step forward, keeping my body low, my footsteps light. The Reptile House isn't huge, but its layout is weird-kind of like two figure eights stacked on top of each other at the middle, looping and winding around, with tanks in every corner. Or I guess like a four-leaf clover. It's not hard to imagine why someone would think it's a good spot to hide something-or someone. I move through the narrow paths, weaving between the tanks, and my eyes flick to the exhibits as I go. Two gigantic crocodiles, bigger than I assumed crocodiles could ever get, stare up at me from within a murky pool of water. Another tank is filled with thick vines, a snake coiled lazily around one of the branches, watching me with half-lidded eyes.

I move deeper into the building, the weight in my chest growing heavier with every step. And that's when I hear it.

A soft crack, followed by a low rumble, like something heavy breaking apart.

I freeze, pressing myself tighter against the wall, my heart pounding in my ears. The sound is coming from the back, near the farthest enclosures. I can't see anything from here, but I know better than to charge in blind. I duck low, moving silently along the path, hugging the stone pillars that divide the exhibits. The floor is smooth under my boots, but I've had enough practice staying quiet to avoid making any noise as I creep forward.

Another sound, this time the unmistakable splash of water. It's followed by a deep, gruff voice. One that I recognize, unfortunately.

"Move it, M," the voice says, sharp and commanding. "We don't have time for this."

Mr. Nothing. My blood runs cold, but I don't stop. I move closer, my body pressed flat against the wall, peeking around the corner of the stone pillar. The room opens up into a wider area, where the largest tanks are kept, and that's when I see them.

Mudslide is hunched over one of the tanks, his hands pressed against the glass, his muscles straining as he liquefies the thick barrier between him and the frogs. The glass ripples and warps, melting heatlessly into a pool of sludge at his feet, exposing the habitat inside. The frogs, each one a tiny, vibrant, lethal dart, sit on the branches and leaves inside, unaware of the danger that's unfolding around them.

The frogs.

The poison dart frogs!?

Standing next to him is Mr. Nothing, tall, calm, and utterly unbothered by the chaos outside. His salt-and-pepper hair is slicked back, and his dark eyes are locked on the tank, watching as Mudslide finishes his work. And then there's Mrs. Heartstopper, standing off to the side, her expression unreadable, as she holds a zookeeper by the arm, although not particularly tightly. The poor guy looks like he's barely keeping it together-his face pale, his hands shaking as he points toward another tank.

"That one," the zookeeper stammers, his voice weak. "He's wild-caught. And, uh, that one, and that one. The other ones are captive-bred."

Her other hand hovers over a small, brightly colored frog, her bare fingers brushing against its back. It barely has time to react before its tiny body goes gently slack, like it just fell asleep. Then, she gently scoops it up and places it in a small container next to her, completely unfazed.

Mr. Nothing taps notes on his phone with audible clacks. "If only X was here to explain to us why this was important," he mutters dryly, not bothering to look up from his screen.

"If only," Mudslide grunts sarcastically. "Hurry it up, Heartbeat. We don't have all day."

Wait, Heartbeat? Okay, adjusting my mental captions. Mrs. Heartbeat doesn't say anything. She just nods once, her hand tightening slightly on the man's arm as she leads him toward the next exhibit. Her movements are smooth, controlled, like she's done this a thousand times before. There's no hesitation, no second-guessing. She's just doing her job. The guy flinches but obeys, pointing out another frog that's perched on a leaf. "That one too. Wild-caught."

I can feel my hands start to shake, my breath coming in shallow bursts as I watch them. This is it. This is the real heist. The rhino? The hostages? It was all a distraction. A show. They're after the frogs. The poison dart frogs.

Mr. Nothing glances up from his phone, giving Heartbeat a nod of approval. "X says to keep the wild ones separate. And make sure you don't touch them without gloves," he says, his voice sharp, controlled. "We don't need any accidents. They don't have antivenom for this stuff."

"Really? Not even with V?" She asks softly.

"Yeah, not even her," Mr. Nothing confirms.

Mrs. Heartbeat's all business, her movements efficient as she herds the wild-caught frogs into a larger container, careful not to let her bare hands touch their brightly colored bodies. I can feel the tension radiating off her, like she's in complete control of the situation but doesn't want to waste a single second. Or that she really doesn't want to touch a poison dart frog with her bare hands, even for a split second.

I duck back behind the pillar, my heart slamming against my ribs. I need to tell someone. I fumble for my phone, my fingers numb from the cold and the adrenaline. I type out a quick message: "Reptile House. Frogs. It's the frogs. Frog heist," and hit send, praying that someone, anyone, sees it in time. But as soon as the message goes through, I glance at my phone and realize what I'm up against. The heroes are all busy, dealing with the massive hostage situation and trying to keep Mr. Tyrannosaur from leveling the entire zoo. They don't have time for this.

I'm alone. It's up to me.

I bite my lip, forcing myself to think. I can't just charge in there. Not without a plan. Not when it's three against one, and I don't even know what they're capable of beyond what I've seen before. And there's highly venomous animals around. Or are they poisonous? Meanwhile, Mudslide is still working on the tanks, his hands sinking into the glass, liquefying it into a puddle of sludge that drips down the sides of the exhibit. He's grumbling under his breath, clearly annoyed by how long it's taking. "This is a pain in the ass," he growls, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. "If I'd known I'd be doing this today, I wouldn't've shown up."

Mr. Nothing barely glances at him. "Just do your job, Mudslide."

Mudslide scowls, his thick, calloused hands digging into the next tank, and I watch as the glass turns to liquid under his touch, sliding down like melted plastic. His power is as messy as his attitude. He doesn't care about finesse-he just wants to get it done.

I need to do something. But what?

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The air is thick, almost suffocating, the humidity pressing in on me from all sides. My eyes flick back to the frogs, their tiny bodies still motionless in the tanks. Their bright colors seem to glow in the low light, so small, so fragile. And yet, they're the key to whatever the Kingdom has planned. I can't let them get away with this. I won't.

But I can't just charge in blind. Not with Mr. Nothing here. He'd shut me down before I even got close. I have to be smart about this.

Another deep breath. Focus.

I hold my breath, fingers itching for a plan, any plan, but I'm drawing blanks. My pulse is loud in my ears as I glance around the room again. Mr. Nothing is calm, unflinching as he taps notes into his phone, glancing up occasionally to make sure Heartbeat's handling the frogs carefully. Heartbeat herself is still moving between tanks, her hand brushing over the frogs, sending them into a sluggish, docile state as she gently herds them into containers. Mudslide's still grumbling, his powers working slower than he'd like, but he's making progress, liquefying the glass on the tanks one by one. They're running out of time-I'm running out of time, to stop them.

I clench up my hand in my gloves, slipping a couple of teeth out from the knuckles, so I can get to stabbing - I'm not here to take prisoners, I'm here to stop them. They press against my skin, sharp and ready, a little insurance policy for when I get close enough to make my move. I can't wait for backup, I realize, my heart sinking. No one's coming. They're all busy outside, and by the time anyone does show up, it'll be too late. I'm on my own.

I creep closer, pressing myself low to the ground, inching forward between the tanks. The room is humid, heavy, making every movement feel like I'm swimming through syrup. I glance at the frogs again-small, delicate, and utterly lethal.

I'm almost close enough to strike when-

BZZZZZZT.

My heart stops. No.

BZZZZZZT.