Super Genetics

Bloodhound’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the crowd of obvious refugees. His heightened senses, honed through years of training and experience, picked up on subtle cues that others might miss. The desperate set of their shoulders, the nervous twitches, the auras flaring in terror, the frantic whites of their eyes showing in fear and submission, and the way they huddled together like a herd surrounded by wolves. In his mind’s eye, he could see the diaspora as if he had been there, one of them as they fled from their homes.

But he wasn’t here to analyze the crowd. He wasn’t a crowd-mover like a Hypnotist. No, he was a tracker. He was Bloodhound. His target was singular and he turned his attention to that task now.

He tasted the aura in the air, felt its eddies brush against his skin. So many, so poignant. But his prowess was as singular as his target. After a moment, he caught a sense of…something. His pulse quickened. He couldn’t pinpoint the designated target—too many disparate auras, agitated and flared—but he knew with that bone-deep certainty he’d cultivated since the F-grades; the Chameleon was here.

With practiced subtlety, Bloodhound turned his head slightly towards Tinker. He gave an almost imperceptible nod in the direction of the clustered refugees. The gesture was smooth, natural—to anyone else, it might have looked like he was simply surveying the scene. But he saw in the shift of Tinker’s stance the message had been conveyed; no need for System chat.

Tinker’s power armor hummed softly as he processed Bloodhound’s silent signal. With a subtle pivot, he turned his attention to the crowd of refugees. His enhanced sensors scanned the masses, cataloging faces, body language, and auras.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. They were vastly outnumbered. Hundreds of frightened, desperate people huddled together, their eyes darting nervously between Tinker’s imposing figure and the reassuring presence of Sol.

And they were nearly all of them Awakened. A veritable army of supers, scared and on edge.

Tinker’s mind raced, calculating odds and potential outcomes. A direct confrontation would throw a spark into dry kindling. Chaos was not his friend right now, not with the Chameleon nearly in hand.

He needed a more delicate approach.

He turned his head slightly, signaling to Lady and Bloodhound to stay alert but not to make any sudden moves, then confirmed the order through System chat. They needed to tread carefully in this powder keg of emotions and desperation.

An older man bathed in a soft, ethereal glow stepped forward. Tinker’s sensors cataloged the power emanating from the super, confirming what his eyes told him.

Despite all accounts, Solomon Rosenthal was very much alive. Not only that, but he stood before Tinker with a corona of power about him that was a cut above his own.

Tinker had interacted with the Knights of Sol on occasion—them being neighbors and all—and had even had dealings with Sol infrequently.

But despite the obvious power exuding from the man, this wasn’t the Sol of his memory. More grey than not tinged his beard and his eyes were sunken, hollow orbs where they had once been radiant gems. His limbs, once lithe and wiry, could only now be described as emaciated and weak.

That wasn’t to say he was weak—only that he wore the weariness of the last few years on his sleeve.

Despite this, his voice was calm and measured as he addressed Tinker.

“Damien. It’s good to see you, though the circumstances are certainly unusual.” His gaze held Tinker’s featureless mask with a convincing confidence, but Tinker turned his armor toward analyzing the man’s biomarkers.

“Solomon. You look…well.”

Sol scoffed, but the light emanating from him pulsed gently, a subtle reminder of his power. His hands remained relaxed at his sides, but there was a tension in his shoulders that spoke of something lurking beneath the surface.

“What brings you down here?” There was a hopeful edge to his voice, despite the rumblings of a thousand worried mutterings behind him. “Did Terraform send for you?”

Tinker always felt more comfortable inside his power armor; secure, strong, practically untouchable. But besides the strength, ease of information, and abilities his armor provided, the thing he cherished most, the aspect of his armor that he most appreciated, was his mask.

He’d never had much of a poker face.

So he knew that the expression he bore now—the narrowing of his eyes, furrowing of his brow, the slight slackness in his mouth—would have laid his shock and confusion bare for the entire stone barge of people to see.

Instead, he took the moment to marshal his thoughts, a pause that gave the impression that he wasn’t on the back foot, but rather was well in control of himself.

“Why don’t you apprise me of the situation.” Tinker’s armored hand gestured away from the crowd slowly bulging toward them.

Sol briefly scanned the refugees behind him, silently assuring them with his steady gaze and a confident gesture. As he moved away to join Tinker, Lady, and Bloodhound, a voice cut through the air.

“I am Rupert Olivier and as a ranking member of the Market, I demand to be present for negotiations.”

Tinker turned back to see a man stride through the crowd, his eyes haughty, his chin raised. He came to Sol’s side, a silent dare in the cast of his eyes.

Sol’s only response was a furrowing of his brow, an obvious sign of his discomfort. But before he could voice any objection, Tinker inclined his armored head in a curt nod. “Very well,” he said, his voice modulated, calm and steady.

The small group formed a tight circle, isolated from the main crowd but still within view. Sol’s shoulders were tense, his radiant confidence of before dimmed by the presence of the man calling himself Rupert. In contrast, Rupert stood with an air of defiance, his chin lifted as if waiting for someone to challenge his presence.

Tinker eyed the two men for a moment before his voice cut through the tension. “Why don’t you start, Sol?”

An edge passed over Sol’s face, his eyes narrowing briefly before widening in revelation.

“You didn’t come to aid us, did you?” His voice was low, only his power armor’s enhanced sensors picking up the words. “Terraform didn’t send out a call for help, did he?”

Rupert cut his gaze toward Sol, his nose furled, his tone haughty. “Of course he did. Why else would they be miles under the earth? How could they have found us otherwise?”

Sol ignored the man, his eyes glowing bright, locked powerfully on Tinker’s mask.

After a moment, Tinker sighed.

“He’s right.” Rupert’s head whipped back. “We’ve been chasing a fugitive who fled with the aid of a Stone Elementalist.” He thumbed to his left. “Sol, you might know Bloodhound.”

Sol nodded toward the tracker, his lips pursed tight. At his side, Rupert was spluttering in shock.

“What? This doesn’t make any sense. The chances—”

“Our fugitive is here, among your charges,” Tinker continued, ignoring the man’s confusion. “Bloodhound can sense him, though we would need a closer examination to isolate his signature.”

“And who is this fugitive?” Sol asked lightly. “Who is so important that it warrants an entire team sent away from Topeka?”

Lady and Bloodhound shared a pained look behind him—his power armor picked up on the movement, sending him the feed in the corner of his vision—but he ignored their obvious lack of commitment to his goal. He couldn’t blame them; the Chameleon was his own little obsession. And by virtue of his status, he didn’t need to justify himself to them.

“Our target is the one styled the Chameleon. He’s a rogue super who’s been raiding Topekan depots for the past few months. I’ve been given leave to apprehend him.” Despite his power armor’s modulated voice, he let the sincerity leak through with a subtle mental command, hardening his tone. “By any means necessary.”

Sol’s face remained impassive, but a flicker of unease crossed his eyes. He opened his mouth and Tinker could already hear the denial on his tongue, when Rupert’s voice interrupted him.

“We have nothing to hide,” Rupert declared boldly, stepping forward. His eyes gleamed with a mix of defiance and calculation as he addressed Tinker directly. “We will gladly allow you and your team to scan for this Chameleon…in exchange for aid.”

Sol’s head snapped towards Rupert, his expression a mix of shock and betrayal. The light emanating from his form flickered momentarily, betraying his inner turmoil. His mouth opened and shut in a struggle to find words. He had been caught off guard by Rupert’s unexpected declaration.

Tinker’s helmet tilted slightly, letting the gesture convey his interest despite the lack of visible facial expressions. The tension in the air thickened as Sol and Rupert locked eyes, a silent battle of wills playing out between them.

Sol’s expression tightened, his jaw clenching as he struggled to find a way out of the corner Rupert had backed him into. He glanced between Rupert’s defiant stance and Tinker’s imposing figure, no doubt feeling the weight of his responsibility for the refugees behind him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died on his lips. Tinker understood his dilemma. Sol had an idea who the Chameleon was and was forced to balance that loyalty against hundreds of lives. What could he say? Strong-arming Rupert would only raise suspicion, and Tinker could read the desperation in Sol’s body language. His shoulders sagged, the realization that he had no choice seeming to settle in.

His eyes met Tinker’s expressionless mask, and he took a deep breath.

“You’re free to look for this…Chameleon. But you should know that Qui Shen is here, in North America. Or, rather, he’s somewhere under the surface, pursuing us.”

Tinker once again thanked his power armor for hiding the naked shock on his face.

“Qui Shen? That’s ridiculous.”

Sol shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid not so ridiculous as it is deranged. You’ve heard the rumors of his insanity and they appear to be true.”

Tinker took a moment to process this news, his thoughts churning wildly. At his side, Lady stirred.

“Damien, we need to report back—”

He raised an armored hand, switching over to System chat.

[Tinker]: Start dictating this entire conversation to the Council, including everything already discussed. Assume the threat is credible and request SPC reinforcements.

[Lady]: What does Qui Shen want? Why risk leaving Asia? Terraform’s Market is an inconsequential independent city.

There was only one thing that would draw a madman like Qui Shen out of his nest.

“Terraform has a Singularity, then?” he muttered.

Sol flinched, all the confirmation he needed, but it was obvious this was news to Rupert.

“A Singularity?” he burst out. Those refugees nearest began muttering at the outburst.

“Quiet, fool!” Bloodhound hissed, studying the crowd over Rupert’s shoulder.

Rupert blanched at the insult, but steamrolled over his own pride.

“Those are just urban legends,” he insisted. “Flaccid justifications between the Originals to justify their wars.”

Tinker shook his head, but sidestepped the man’s floundering comments.

“So Terraform has a Singularity, then?” he directed toward Sol. “Tell me he’s fled, that you’re the diversion.” But he could tell by the look on Sol’s face that honor had impeded common sense. He growled inside his suit.

“He’s gone to ambush Qui Shen, obviously. He’s buying us time to escape,” Rupert said.

Lady cringed, while Bloodhound scowled. Behind his mask, Tinker felt the blood rushing to his face. He immediately sent off half a dozen System messages to the Council, SPC, and Dancer personally.

Rupert, not understanding the idiocy of what he said, looked around in confusion.

“He’s sacrificing himself to save thousands of innocents. How could he do anything different?”

“Jesus, man, are you slow?” Bloodhound barked. Looking around, he lowered his voice. “If Terraform dies, he’ll be handing Qui Shen the Singularity on a silver platter. He’ll turn Qui Shen into the most powerful super on the planet.”

Rupert went through all the stages of Ds right before their eyes, a kaleidoscope of doubt, denial, and then dismay.

But Tinker wasn’t paying the man any attention. Instead, his mind was calculating, factoring in what he knew of Terraform, Qui Shen, Sol, and the Singularities.

“That’s twice now you’ve insulted me,” Rupert huffed. His fingers visibly clenched into his fists. “There won’t be a third.”

Bloodhound raised his eyebrows mockingly. “Wanna bet?”

Lady stepped between them, her hands pressed to their chests. “Boys, there’s nothing less attractive than a dick-measuring contest. Put ‘em away—” She indicated the increasingly frantic crowd behind them. “—before we have a full-blown panic on our hands.”

While they locked eyes in a testosterone-induced tug-o-war, Tinker’s mind worked.

Terraform was inherently an honorable man, one not prone to selfish acts of petty defiance or futile last stands. If he was going to fight Qui Shen, it was with the knowledge that he wouldn’t lose…or he no longer held the Singularity.

His eyes ripped up, suddenly locked on Sol with an intensity that only shocked revelation could imbue. He found the man side-eyeing him, only pretending to intercede in Rupert and Bloodhound’s boyish posturing. Through his mask, Tinker could sense Sol’s attention on him like the heat of the sun on a cloudless day.

Sol has Terraform’s Singularity. This is their gambit.

The stakes heightened suddenly, his interface indicating that his heart rate was erratic, cortisol and adrenaline levels rising above baseline levels. He silenced the alarms, then silenced the two bickering men with the unyielding strength of his power armor stretching out to push them away from each other.

“Enough,” he scolded. He turned his mask toward each of them, waiting until they acknowledged his command with terse nods. “Qui Shen is the enemy of all.” He turned to Sol, noting the man’s on-edge posture. “We will provide what aid we can, but not here. Our only salvation lies on the surface. I’ll have the entire Council and nearby SPC supers waiting for us.” Sol’s posture relaxed incrementally as he spoke, but despite the threat of Qui Shen looming over them all, he also recognized his own unique point of leverage as their savior. “But in exchange—” He leaned in, his modulated voice low. “—I want the Chameleon.”

Terry watched Tinker, Bloodhound, Lady, and their team step onto their platform, his heart pounding in his chest. Sol stood tall, his ethereal glow a stark contrast to the dim tunnel, as he faced off against the three supers. The sight of Lady, once a poster on his wall, an effigy to his boyhood admiration, now sent a chill down Terry’s spine.

She was hunting him.

Beside him, Tania’s grip on his arm tightened, her fingernails digging into his skin. He could feel her panic radiating through her touch, matching the frantic beating of his own heart.

“They followed us!” Tania whispered, her voice trembling. “How did they follow us?”

Terry’s mind raced, but not on that question. The question didn’t matter; all the mattered was how they were going to escape. He scanned the tunnel, looking for any possible avenue, but the stone walls seemed to close in around them. The crowd of refugees pressed in all around, unknowingly trapping him in place.

Maybe he could part space, but where would they go? The only place within his range was the Market and that was a death trap. Even trying to part space would only confirm his identity as the Chameleon. His eyes darted between Sol and Tinker, trying to gauge the situation from their body language.

“We need to blend in,” Terry murmured to Tania, attempting to keep his voice steady. “Act natural. We’re just two more refugees, scared and confused.”

“I am scared and confused,” Tania muttered.

He turned to look at her, willing confidence into his eyes, though it felt hollow.

“We’re gonna be okay, Tania.”

But even as he said it, he knew he was just giving false hope. Bloodhound’s tracking abilities were legendary, and if he got close enough, he’d be discovered in an instant. Terry’s mind whirled, grasping at half-formed plans and discarding them just as quickly.

Tania’s fingernails dug deeper into his arm, her fear palpable. “They’re going to find you,” she hissed, her eyes wide with terror.

Any other time, it might have warmed his chest to know she was only concerned for his wellbeing. But right now, he felt the burden of her anxiety on his shoulders, a responsibility to protect her.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He needed a plan, and he needed one fast. But Tinker’s advanced technology had found him once before. And if his sensors didn’t, Bloodhound’s tracking skills certainly would. Every option seemed to lead to a dead end.

Terry closed his eyes, reaching out with his aura senses to feel the subtle vibrations in the air. He probed the space around them, searching for any weakness, any crack in the fabric of reality that he could exploit. His mind raced with possibilities—maybe he could send Tinker and his team to the Market, buying them precious time. It was unlikely he could force an S-ranker through his portal, even two A-rankers was a stretch of the imagination, but he didn’t see any other choice.

But as he extended his senses further, he felt a familiar resistance. Tinker’s spatial-locking Artifact was engaged, its power far stronger and more intricate than Terry had encountered before. The energy signature pulsed with a complexity that made Terry’s previous encounters with it seem almost primitive in comparison.

He pushed harder, trying to find any weak point in the spatial lock, but it was like trying to break through a wall of solid steel with his bare hands. The more he probed, the more he realized it wasn’t happening; there was a strength component that hadn’t been there before. Tinker had clearly boosted his Artifact’s power, anticipating Terry’s abilities and countering them with ruthless brute force.

Frustration welled up inside Terry as he opened his eyes, meeting Tania’s worried gaze. He shook his head slightly, conveying the bad news silently. Even if he could somehow breach Tinker’s defenses, the chances of teleporting them away were basically nil. They were trapped, hemmed in by stone walls, desperate refugees, and Tinker’s impenetrable spatial lock.

The reality of their situation settled over him like a heavy blanket, suffocating and inescapable.

He paced back and forth, his fingers drumming anxiously against his thigh. His mind raced, searching for any possible way out of their predicament. The walls of the tunnel seemed to close in around him, the chatter of the refugees fading into a dull roar as he focused on finding a solution.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up with a desperate idea. It was risky, perhaps even foolish, but it might be their only chance. He turned to Tania, his voice low and urgent.

“I need to anchor a Skill,” he whispered, his words tumbling out in a rush. “We need to finish what we started with Eleanor. If I can do it, I might be able to get my Midmark—”

Warning! Revealing information about your Quests will result in consequences.

He growled in annoyance. Her brow furrowed. “How? We don’t have time to—”

Terry cut her off, his eyes blazing with determination. “We have to try. It’s our only shot.”

He knew in his bones that if he could reach C-rank, they might have a chance to escape. The boost in power could give him the edge he needed to break through Tinker’s spatial lock or create a diversion strong enough to slip away unnoticed. He didn’t know why he felt so certain—just a feeling that seemed to invade his mind, pushing him toward the only avenue that wasn’t completely roadblocked.

“We need to get Eleanor or another cat, ASAP—”

Tania was shaking his head, her eyes locked on Tinker and Sol. “There’s no time.” Her eyes cut back to Terry, full of burning fire, resolute determination. “You need to start now.”

He reeled back, sensing where she was going but not wanting to acknowledge it.

She filled the space, leaning in until they were almost touching face-to-face.

“You need to anchor your Skill in me.”