The city lights flickered in the distance, casting a dim glow over the crowded streets as Saunders melted into the throng of pedestrians. He kept his head down, his pace casual, but inside, his mind was a storm. He’d just slipped free from Major Johnson’s grasp, but he knew the danger hadn’t passed. It was far from over. Too many eyes were on him, and too many enemies were waiting for the right moment to close in. International criminals were hunting him, and now his own government was too.

  Trust no one.

  His thoughts churned with that simple, bitter truth as he moved through the streets. He couldn’t go home—he couldn’t risk it. They’d trace him before he could even get to the door. His only option was to keep moving, to keep slipping through the cracks. He spotted an ATM on the corner of the street and paused, his eyes scanning the machine. He had his wallet but no cash. Cards were useless—they’d track him with every swipe, turning his every move into a breadcrumb trail leading straight to him.

  Saunders cursed under his breath.

  But then, as his gaze lingered on the machine, something strange flickered in the back of his mind. A subtle vibration, a faint hum—a connection, almost like a whisper in the dark.

  What if...

  Without thinking, he stepped forward and placed his hand on the screen. The moment his fingers made contact, his vision sharpened—everything around him faded to a sharp focus as his mind connected with the machine. It was as if he could see the inner workings of the ATM laid bare in front of him, the intricate dance of wires, chips, and circuits unfolding like a map. The nanites in his body synced with the ATM’s circuitry, their connection instantaneous.

  He willed the machine to respond, to give him cash.

  A stack of bills ejected from the machine, falling into his hand with a soft rustle.

  He blinked, still in disbelief. Did I just do that? The question swirled in his mind, but he didn’t have the luxury of time to dwell on it. Saunders quickly shoved the bills into his pocket and pushed forward, his pulse quickening. The weight of his new reality pressed down on him—nanites, superhuman strength, rapid healing, and now... connections to technology? His head spun as he processed the implications. It was overwhelming.

  But as he rounded the corner, Saunders felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck. Something was wrong. He glanced over his shoulder, just in time to see a white van pulling up fast behind him.

  Damn it.

  Instinct took over. Saunders bolted into the nearest alley, his feet pounding the pavement as he heard the screech of tires behind him. The van swerved, its engine roaring as it sharply turned into the alleyway, closing in on him.

  Ahead, he spotted a BMX bike chained to a pole—one of those sturdy models teenagers used for dirt tracks and ramps. Without breaking his stride, Saunders reached out, yanking the chain loose as if it were little more than a string. He hopped onto the bike, pushing off with a burst of speed. His legs powered the pedals faster than he expected, the bike gliding effortlessly beneath him. Soon, he was darting through the streets, passing cars left and right, the wind in his face.

  The van's engine roared, gaining ground. Saunders’ heart pounded, but a sudden clarity clicked in his mind. He saw the stoplight at the intersection ahead, the way it controlled the flow of traffic. His focus zeroed in on the signal, his mind locking onto it with a strange certainty. As he barreled toward the intersection, he willed the light to change.

  Red. Stop.

  Saunders flew through the intersection and the light shifted instantly, the signal obeying his unspoken command. The cars in front of the van skidded to a halt, blocking them in.

  Breathing hard, Saunders pushed on, the adrenaline still pounding through his veins. He had a brief moment to catch his breath, but just as he started to relax, his bike hit a bump. He hadn’t seen the construction site ahead until it was too late.

  The front wheel of the bike slammed into a pile of dirt, and Saunders was launched into the air. He soared over a car that had just pulled into the street, flipping once before landing smoothly on the other side. What the hell...

  For a brief moment, everything seemed to freeze. He darted into another alley, skidding to a stop and dismounting the bike. His heart raced, his chest rising and falling rapidly as the shock of what had just happened began to settle in. How did I do that?

  Suddenly, his phone rang, jolting him from his thoughts. The number on the screen was unfamiliar.

  He hesitated for a moment before answering, holding the phone to his ear but remaining silent, his mind still racing.

  “Think I’m funny now, Mr. Saunders?” A voice cut through the line, thick with an Irish accent. Sheamus O’Conner.

  Saunders’ blood ran cold at the sound of the voice.

  “I have Diane,” O’Conner continued, his voice dripping with malice. “Meet me at the Kenn Sullivan Research Facility at midnight. Come alone, or your friend dies.”

  At five minutes to midnight, Saunders crouched behind a line of trees on the outskirts of the Research Facility. The building loomed ahead, its silhouette dark against the dim lights that flickered weakly from the windows. The facility seemed deserted, almost too quiet, with only a handful of lights on. He had to move carefully—no room for mistakes. His heart was pounding in his chest, each breath sharp in the cool night air.

  Suddenly, his phone buzzed in his pocket, making him flinch. He cursed under his breath as he fumbled to answer it, ducking back further behind the cover of a tree.

  “Hello, Saunders,” came the voice on the other end, amused yet chilling. “Sullivan Research, huh?”

  “Rachel?” Saunders frowned, his confusion and irritation mixing.

  “I preferred Agent Harper,” she replied, her tone dripping with a cold formality. “But we’re gonna be good friends, so you can call me Rachel. Just what the hell do you think you’re doing at a cryogenics facility?”

  Saunders growled, his grip tightening on the phone. “Are you tracking me?”

  “That’s right,” Rachel answered, her voice sharp and unyielding. “I’m sorry, Saunders. I need to bring you in.”

  “Rachel, you can’t. He’s got my friend,” he said, his voice urgent and strained.

  “Who has your friend?” she asked, her tone now tinged with curiosity.

  “Sheamus O’Conner,” Saunders snapped. “The Irish guy—the one that’s been coming after me.”

  Rachel’s voice softened, but there was still an edge to it. “Now, Saunders, don’t do anything rash. I’ll have a team there in 10 minutes.”

  “No,” he said, his breath coming faster. “No, no. It’s a trade. Me for her, or she’s dead. I gotta go.”

  “Wait, wait,” Rachel’s voice suddenly shifted, now urgent. “Listen to me carefully. I’m tracking three figures inside the building with thermal imaging. One of them is probably your friend.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “How do I get in?” Saunders asked, his voice tight with urgency.

  “There’s a stairwell on the south side of the building. It leads to the roof. That’s your best chance to get around O’Conner’s man at the main entrance,” Rachel replied.

  Saunders took a deep breath, his gaze sweeping over the facility, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. “Thanks.”

  He ended the call before Rachel could say another word and darted toward the side of the building. His footsteps were quick but soundless as he sprinted toward the stairwell. His legs burned with effort, but the adrenaline pumping through him pushed him forward, each step faster than the last.

  By the time he reached the stairwell, his pulse was pounding in his ears. He ascended the steps two at a time, his body moving on pure instinct. At the top, he found the door locked. Without a second thought, Saunders focused his strength, tearing the door off its hinges as if it were paper. It crashed to the ground with a metallic thud, and he stepped inside. I could get used to this.

  He moved silently through the top floor, his eyes scanning every corner, his body honed to the tension of every creak in the floor beneath him. In the center of the room, Diane sat tied to a chair, unconscious. O’Conner stood beside her, waiting—waiting for Saunders to make his move.

  Saunders’ heart clenched at the sight of her unconscious, but he couldn’t afford to charge in recklessly. He knew the odds would be against him if he did. So, he slipped down to the lower level, keeping to the shadows as he searched for a way to reach Diane without being seen.

  But the moment he turned a corner, a henchman spotted him. “Hold it!” The man’s gun was already raised, pointing directly at Saunders.

  Instinct took over. Without thinking, Saunders leapt, his body flying upward in a single bound. He landed on the second-floor walkway with a quiet thud, narrowly avoiding the gunfire that rang out behind him. Bullets pinged off the metal pipes around him as he darted through the narrow corridors, his breath coming in sharp bursts. He ducked under pipes, rounded corners, and kept moving, focused solely on reaching Diane.

  He turned another corner, but the hallway ahead was pitch black. His heart raced, but then something flickered in the back of his mind—an idea, a realization. His vision shifted, sharpening instantly, as the world around him lit up with vivid clarity.

  The darkness evaporated, and he could see everything as if it were daylight. The faint glow of emergency lights, the edges of the pipes, the shadows of the walls—all perfectly clear.

  Night vision.

  He grinned, his confidence growing. “Awesome.”

  The henchman barreled forward, running straight into a pipe with a loud thud, knocking himself out cold. Saunders didn’t slow down for a second. He weaved through the maze of machinery and pipes, each step taken with purpose, until he reached Diane. She was still unconscious, her body slumped awkwardly in the chair, the faintest rise and fall of her chest the only sign of life.

  Saunders knelt beside her, his heart pounding as he gently touched her face. “Diane,” he whispered urgently. “Diane, wake up.”

  Behind him, the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked echoed through the room, freezing him in place.

  “Amazing,” O’Conner’s voice rang out, smooth and mocking, cutting through the silence. “You’re supposed to be a military man, and yet you walked right into my trap.”

  Saunders raised his hands slowly, turning just enough to face the Irishman. O’Conner stood tall, his gun leveled directly at Saunders’ head. The smugness on his face was almost palpable.

  “She’ll be fine,” O’Conner continued, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “She’s just taking a nap. Where you’re going will be far more restful.”

  Saunders’ gaze flicked past O’Conner, his eyes locking onto a large metal container labeled Liquid Nitrogen—the perfect weapon. He could use that.

  “What are you gonna do?” Saunders asked, keeping his voice steady to mask the surge of adrenaline. “Freeze me in liquid nitrogen?”

  O’Conner chuckled darkly, his grip on the gun tightening. “No. First, I’m going to put a bullet in your brain. Then, I’ll freeze you in liquid nitrogen.”

  The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Saunders didn’t flinch. He focused on the control panel behind O’Conner, his mind zeroing in on the machine’s intricate wiring and functions. He willed the system to activate, commanding the cryo-turbines to spring to life. The hum of the machinery grew louder as the pressure built, lights flashing red across the panel.

  “What's the point of that?” Saunders said, his voice smooth but laced with tension. He needed to keep O’Conner distracted, just a moment longer. He focused on the pressure expansion tank, watching it fill up slowly, then start blinking red as the pressure mounted.

  O’Conner’s eyes narrowed, his attention flicking to the panel for just a split second. It was all Saunders needed.

  “I need to know one thing…” Saunders said, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. “How did you know about what’s inside me?”

  O'Conner’s lips curled into a cold smile, the malice in his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “Do you think your government is the only one with a supercomputer AI? We’ve been monitoring your black ops sites for months. We saw everything that happened in that facility. Hell, we even know some things your own government doesn’t.” He paused, his grin widening as he savored the moment. “And just because you’re about to die, I’ll tell you a little secret.” He let the silence hang for a beat before delivering the final blow. “Actually, I’ll just tell you one word… mana.”

  “Mana? What the hell is mana?” Saunders asked, his confusion a mask for the panic beginning to claw at him. Behind O'Conner, the pressure in the tank continued to rise. Saunders smirked, feeling the moment shift in his favor.

  O'Conner’s gaze hardened, his voice dripping with superiority. “Unfortunately, Saunders, you’ve reduced your worth to that of a carry-on case. And I don’t need to tell you anything more.” He raised his gun, his finger starting to curl around the trigger.

  “Wait, no, no,” Saunders blurted out, his mind racing, the panic quickly turning into desperation. He started speaking fast because he knew he had to stall O'Conner just a little longer. “Listen, I can do some pretty amazing things, right?” He could feel the seconds slipping away. “People would pay more money if they could see it for themselves, right?”

  O'Conner paused, a flicker of curiosity crossing his features. “What are you suggesting, Saunders? A little bit of show and tell?”

  “Yeah, I… could do some jumping, some cool strength stuff,” Saunders stammered, his words tumbling out faster now. “I could bend some, uh, or I have great vision. I could see like Texas. And I can do stuff you don’t even know about. I can interface with computers wirelessly... it’s incredible.” He was rambling now, but his mind was working in overdrive, each word a calculated distraction.

  Behind O'Conner, the control panel beeped louder as the warning lights flashed red. Saunders kept his focus on the Irishman, but in the corner of his eye, he saw the cryo-turbines powering up.

  “And how do you suggest we demonstrate that?” O'Conner’s voice was skeptical, but there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

  The beeping from the control panel intensified, the pipes swelling with pressure. Just as O'Conner turned to look, Saunders saw the perfect moment. Without warning, the pressure tank exploded. A cloud of liquid nitrogen blasted outward, engulfing O'Conner in a frosty mist. He flew backward, crashing into the metal racks as the freezing gas surrounded him.

  For a brief moment, O'Conner’s body stiffened, his face frozen in an expression of shock, unable to react as the cold took hold of him.

  “Like that,” Saunders muttered under his breath, watching with grim satisfaction as O’Conner’s body slowly froze, encased in a solid shell of ice.

  The door burst open, and a team of military personnel stormed in, their weapons raised. The leader of the squad approached Saunders, his expression grim but respectful. He nodded once, a sharp, silent acknowledgment.

  Saunders turned toward Diane, urgency flooding him as he moved to untie her. “Diane. Diane. Are you okay?” He shook her gently, but she didn’t respond, her body limp in the chair.

  The team leader placed a firm hand on his shoulder, his voice low and professional. “We’ll take care of her, Captain Saunders,” he said. “But we’ve been ordered to bring you in.”

  Saunders stood in Rachel’s office, his fists clenched at his sides, his frustration simmering beneath the surface as she spoke, her tone too casual for the situation.

  “Can I offer you a glass of water, or a cup of coffee?” Rachel asked, her voice polite, almost detached.

  Saunders’ anger flared, and he shot back without thinking. “Are you joking? I have millions of these little things running around in my body that might kill me at any moment. I’ve spent the last couple of days running for my life, getting shot at, because of these things, that might kill me. So, do I want a cup of coffee? No, I don’t want a cup of coffee. I want my life back.”

  Rachel’s expression softened, but there was no trace of apology in her eyes. “I’m afraid we can’t give you that, Saunders.”

  Saunders’ voice was sharp, his frustration boiling over. “Yeah, big surprise.”

  “But what I can do is upgrade your security clearance. Effective immediately,” Rachel said, her voice steady, almost businesslike.

  Saunders’ face went blank, confusion flashing across his features. “What?”

  Rachel smiled, a small, almost knowing smile. “I’ve just been authorized to create a special ops team, with you at its core.”

  Saunders stared at her, his mind catching up slowly. “Whoa, hold on, I didn’t ask for any of this. OK,” he said, disbelief dripping from his words.

  Rachel leaned forward slightly, her gaze unwavering, her voice quiet but firm. “Yes, you did. Twice.” She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. “You applied for a couple of promotions before, didn’t you? Consider this your big chance. Don’t waste it.”

  Saunders just looked at her, his mind working through the implications. Rachel’s gaze never wavered as they locked eyes. And then, slowly, realization dawned on his face.

  A smile crept across his lips, followed by Rachel’s.