VECTOR IN DC

[Meanwhile, in Morocco]

After checking into a run-down motel for the night, Jason and Slade reported their status back to Tom. Their arrival had gone smoothly, and they had made contact with a wingman of their Moroccan connection. The job was underway, but the tension between the two men was palpable.

Jason stood in front of the mirror, checking his reflection with a critical eye. He wore a black biker jacket over a simple white t-shirt, paired with faded blue jeans, and finished his look with a pair of heavy combat boots. His fingers ran through his hair absentmindedly as he adjusted his collar.

"Hurry up, old man. We're heading out," Jason called over his shoulder to Slade, who was seated at a small table, eyes glued to his laptop. Slade was engrossed in wrapping up some business before they headed out, his face illuminated by the dull glow of the screen.

Without looking up, Slade responded in his usual gruff tone, "You better watch your mouth, kid, or I'll watch it for you."

Jason rolled his eyes and turned around, leaning against the doorframe as he crossed his arms. "Just because we're on the same team doesn't mean I'll take your crap. Screw this up, and I'll put you down myself, then report to Ghost saying you died in combact."

Slade snapped the laptop shut, his movements slow and deliberate as he rose to his feet. Grabbing his leather jacket from the chair, he calmly walked toward the bed to pick up the car keys, but Jason wasn't done.

"I'm serious. I'm not some pushover," Jason growled, taking a few steps toward Slade. "I'll knock your old ass into next week if I have to."

Slade's one good eye narrowed dangerously as he faced Jason head-on. "The first Boy Wonder knew better than to run his mouth when we crossed paths. Maybe it's time I remind you why that is." Slade took a step closer, their faces now inches apart. The tension was thick, palpable, as both men squared off, fists clenched, eyes locked in a silent, seething contest of wills.

Just as the atmosphere between them reached its boiling point, a voice cut through the air, calm but commanding.

"Now, now, boys. Let's not go killing each other before you even begin the job."

Both Jason and Slade turned toward the source of the voice, their attention drawn to Jason's laptop on the bed. The screen displayed a single letter "G" on a dark background—Ghost's signal.

"Nothing to worry about, boss," Slade said, not breaking his gaze from Jason. "Just a little disagreement between a disrespectful brat and an experienced professional who's more than willing to knock some manners into him. By the time I'm done, this kid won't dare open his mouth without calling me 'sir.'"

"Yeah? We'll see about that," Jason shot back, his jaw tightening.

"Enough," Ghost interrupted, his tone sharp, cutting off the brewing confrontation. Both men glared at each other, but neither dared to argue further.

Ghost continued, his voice level and business-like. "Wrap up your work here and get back to the States as soon as possible. Something is about to go down, and I'll need all my chess pieces in place when it happens."

That caught their attention. Jason and Slade exchanged a glance before refocusing on the laptop screen.

"Something like what?" Jason asked, his curiosity piqued, while Slade's brows furrowed in suspicion.

"You haven't seen the news, have you?" Ghost replied. "There was an attack on the Justice League. Some kind of robot almost took them down."

Slade scoffed, folding his arms. "A robot? Gave the League a hard time? You've gotta be kidding me."

Ghost's voice remained steady, but there was an edge to it. "Not just any robot. This one seemed to copy their powers and use them against the League. It almost succeeded."

Jason's eyebrows shot up, his expression shifting from skepticism to intrigue. "You're saying a machine nearly took out the League? That's wild."

"Technology like that can't be ignored," Ghost said, his voice low and serious. "Imagine if someone like the military—or worse—figured out how to replicate it. An army of robots with metahuman abilities."

"Exactly, Slade. That would be bad for business, and of course. Oh, and also for humanity as a whole." Ghost replied, earning a raised brow from Jason.

Jason's comment lingered in the air, charged with skepticism. "Sounds to me like business is all you care about, and humanity? That's just an afterthought." His words dripped with bitterness, but Ghost's voice on the other end of the laptop remained unfazed, cold, and distant—more focused on the task at hand than philosophical musings.

Slade didn't even bother to glance at him, merely folding his arms across his chest. His one eye remained fixed on the laptop screen, deep in thought. The silence stretched as if waiting for Ghost's response, which came with the calculated calmness of a man with no patience for distractions.

"With the way technology is advancing," Ghost began, his voice echoing from the laptop's speaker, "there's an epidemic waiting to happen, and it won't be some virus or disease. It'll be robots, or worse—technology that thinks for itself. You know it as well as I do, Slade—the fear that humanity's been ignoring will soon become reality. Once it does, well...let's just say that business might be the only thing that keeps some of us alive."

Slade's brow furrowed, his hand coming to rest thoughtfully against his chin. For a moment, it looked as though he was weighing something more significant than just Ghost's words, maybe something personal. "We get the gist of things," he finally muttered, his voice gruff, but resigned. The way he said it carried an air of finality, a silent acknowledgment of the growing threat Ghost hinted at.

On the other end of the call, Ghost's voice hardened, bringing them back to the task at hand. "Good. Now finish the job you're there for and clear the blockage for our suppliers. I expect no delays." His tone brooked no argument, and with a final click, the call ended. The screen went black, their reflections staring back at them from the void.

For a brief moment, neither Jason nor Slade moved. The tension between them hung in the air, unspoken but palpable. Slade glanced at the screen before turning his attention to Jason, who was still looking defiant despite Ghost's clear orders.

Jason finally broke the silence. "You heard him, didn't you? Let's move." His voice was laced with frustration, but there was something else beneath it—impatience. He was eager to get this over with, to dive into the action that awaited them.

Slade stood slowly, pulling on his jacket with deliberate movements. "You're too eager, kid. This isn't just some game where you shoot, punch, and call it a day. You'd better be ready to think before you act, or you'll be in deeper trouble than you can handle." His voice was gruff, but there was a subtle warning behind it.

Jason scoffed, grabbing his own jacket and heading for the door. "Don't worry about me. I've been through worse." His tone was dismissive, but the fire in his eyes betrayed his readiness for whatever lay ahead.

Slade stopped for a second, his eye narrowing. He knew the boy was reckless, headstrong even, but there was potential—if only he could temper that anger, that raw edge that made him dangerous, not just to his enemies, but to himself.

"Just remember, kid," Slade said, his tone growing darker as they stepped out of the motel room, "you might be tough, but no one's invincible. Don't let your ego get you killed."

Jason flashed a grin, but there was no warmth behind it, only a promise of chaos. "Wouldn't dream of it, old man."

As they stepped into the cold Moroccan night, a certain intensity hung in the air between them—one that neither would acknowledge, but both understood all too well. Their task was simple on paper, but nothing in this line of work was ever as easy as it seemed. Jason cracked his knuckles, itching for the action that awaited them, while Slade's cold gaze stayed sharp, ready for whatever obstacles stood in their path.

Tonight, business was business, but the looming shadow of Ghost's words still lingered in the back of their minds. Humanity's fear of what was coming, of what technology might unleash upon the world, was no longer some distant threat. It was real. And tonight, they would take one step closer to facing that reality.

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