The air inside the tunnels was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid bite of burnt gunpowder. The floor littered with heads of the Red Hands goons, as well as Corsair’s.

  The room was now dead silent. Corsair was likely too tired to continue screaming and couldn’t control his ethereal flintlocks with his hands trapped, it would seem. Some kinetic component to his powers?

  Libra was standing still, observing the room, I think, not that her fully covered facemask gave out much clues as to what she was doing. Only a mind reader would be able to know what she was actually doing. If those even existed.

  Tempus, on the other hand, had chosen a different form of post-fight relaxation. Sitting cross-legged on an overturned crate, he was scrawling something into his notepad with an eerie, open-mouthed grin. The casual way he doodled, completely unfazed by the eerie sight of people buried alive in the floor up to their neck, made me question his sanity, once more.

  And then there was me.

  I sat on the cold floor, still catching my breath, my muscles aching from exertion. My knuckles were raw, and my costume was torn in places, but I’d suffered worse. At least I was still standing—or sitting, at least.

  “Well,” Tempus finally broke the silence, closing his notebook with a soft thump against his thigh. “What do we do now that we have them all nicely trapped in the floor?”

  Libra shifted slightly, tilting her head toward Corsair. “We have done our part. We could just send them to MetaPol”

  I frowned, rolling my shoulders. My gut told me that was a bad idea. MetaPol would clean up the mess, sure—but they wouldn’t get us any closer to what we needed. We still didn’t know what the Red Hands were doing down here, or why they had crates labeled with the same symbol as the Genesis Serum. There were questions that needed answers, and Corsair still had his tongue, even if his body was useless to him right now.

  “You know as well as I that MetaPol is utterly incompetent.” Tempus spit back. “We bring them the Red Hands and they’ll just lose them in seconds. They’ll just get back to business, and now with a big target on our heads! I propose we just kill them off? It’s one less meta group off the map of our beautiful city, and more money for us down the way!”

  Libra let out a slow, controlled breath, the slight tilt of her head betraying her distaste. "Murdering prisoners is not justice."

  "Oh, spare me," Tempus scoffed, kicking one of the buried Red Hands in the head lightly with his boot. The man groaned but otherwise remained silent, probably too terrified to move. "These people aren’t victims. They wouldn’t hesitate to kill us if the roles were reversed. And besides, do you really think MetaPol will handle them properly? At least this way, they don’t get another chance to cause trouble."

  "We need answers," I interrupted before Libra could retort. My voice was hoarse, but firm. "I don’t care what happens to them after that, but we need to know what the hell they were doing here and why they have connections to the Genesis Serum. If we just hand them over or execute them without knowing anything, we’re throwing away our only lead."

  Corsair let out a weak chuckle, his head lolling to one side. Despite the bruises forming along his jaw and the blood smeared over his temple, his usual arrogance was still there. "What makes you think I’ll tell you anything, eh?" His voice was raspy, but still defiant. "MetaPol? They’ll let me go in a day. Kill me? You get nothing. Either way, you lose."

  I exhaled slowly, pushing myself up to my feet. "That’s where you’re wrong."

  I crouched next to him, placing my hand lightly on his exposed scalp. He flinched at the touch, but it didn’t mean anything–we were now tethered.

  “We can just torture you.” I whispered to his ear, my hand still on his scalp. “See,” I declared louder so everyone in the room could hear, “what I did to your little lackeys? I can do it to you!”

  "Go ahead, then," he spat, though his voice wavered. "You think you can scare me? I’ve seen worse than you, girl."

  I didn't answer right away. Instead, I let the silence stretch, holding his gaze until I saw it—the flicker of uncertainty behind his bravado. A man like Corsair, he knew how to play tough, but no one was unshakable. He had seen what I could do, and no matter how much he postured, a part of him knew that I was something he didn’t understand.

  Libra shifted slightly. "We’re not torturing him," she stated flatly, her voice steady but edged with warning. "We don’t need to stoop to that level."

  Tempus rolled his eyes, flipping open his notebook again and idly doodling something. "Oh please, like he's going to just hand us the answers if we ask nicely? Corsair, tell us everything or we’ll buy you a cupcake. No? Damn, guess we have to let you go." He scoffed and tapped his pen against his knee. "This isn't a kindergarten lesson, Libra. These people are scum."

  Libra crossed her arms. "We don’t have to be."

  I sighed. This was going to take longer than it needed to. "Libra, we’re not saints. We don’t have the luxury of playing fair, not when we’re this close to something big. Look at those crates," I gestured toward the empty metal containers stamped with the Genesis Serum’s symbol, their lids cast aside. "This isn’t just gang warfare. This is bigger. If we don’t find out what the Red Hands were doing down here, we’re walking blind into something dangerous."

  Libra hesitated, and I knew she hated that I had a point.

  Corsair gave another weak chuckle. "You all talk a big game, but you won’t get shit from me. You wanna kill me? Do it. Otherwise, stop wasting my time."

  I crouched closer to Corsair, my voice a low murmur meant for his ears alone. "Oh, Corsair, you misunderstand. We're not going to kill you. That's far too… pedestrian. Death is a release, a merciful end. We have something far more… creative in mind."

  I tightened my grip on Corsair’s scalp, a faint tingling sensation passing between us. “Oh, Corsair,” I purred, my voice a low, dangerous whisper. “You think you’ve seen worse? You’ve seen the effects of what I can do, perhaps. But you haven’t seen the… process.”

  I leaned closer, my breath ghosting across his ear. “You see, the beauty of my… gift,” I continued, loud enough for Tempus and Libra to hear, “is that I don’t just mirror physical pain. I mirror everything. The crushing weight of guilt, the gnawing emptiness of despair, the mind-shattering terror of the void… I can share it all. And the best part? I can dial it up. Just a little… or a lot.”

  I straightened, my voice returning to its normal volume. “Now, I could start with the physical. Relive every broken bone, every searing burn, every agonizing moment you’ve inflicted on others. But why stop there? Why not delve a little deeper? Perhaps a taste of what it’s like to be buried alive? Or maybe a glimpse into the abyss of your own insignificance?”

  Tempus, ever the showman, clapped his hands together softly. “Ooh, psychological warfare! My favourite! Tell him about the chronal disjunction, Replica. That always gets them going.”

  I shot Tempus a look, but played along. “Yes, Corsair,” I said, turning back to our captive. “Tempus here is quite the expert in manipulating time. He can… stretch a single second into an eternity. Imagine, Corsair, reliving the same agonizing moment, over and over, for what feels like a lifetime. Each breath a struggle, each heartbeat a hammer blow against your skull. And just when you think you can’t take anymore… he rewinds. And you get to experience it all again.”

  Corsair’s bravado was starting to crack. His breathing became shallow, his eyes darting between me and Tempus.

  “Of course,” I added casually, “we haven’t even touched on Libra’s… speciality. She has a way of getting inside people’s heads, doesn’t she, Libra?”

  Libra, bless her, played her part perfectly. She remained silent, her masked face an impassive void. The lack of response was more terrifying than any threat.

  “Libra,” I continued, “has a gift for… persuasion. She can unravel your deepest fears, your darkest secrets, and weave them into your reality. She can make you question your sanity, your identity, your very existence. She can make you see things, hear things… things that aren’t there. But feel very, very real.”

  I paused, letting the silence hang heavy in the air. “So, Corsair,” I said, my voice dropping to a near whisper. “Are you feeling lucky?”

  Corsair swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the floor. The fight had gone out of him. He knew he was trapped, not just physically, but mentally. We had painted a picture of torture so terrifying, so complete, that resistance seemed futile.

  “Fine.” he croaked, his voice barely audible.

  I tilted my head. "Fine?"

  "I’ll talk," he said, voice strained. "But only because you’re right. MetaPol? They’d throw me in a cell, and I’d be out before sunrise. I’d rather deal with you freaks than let them get the credit."

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  I gave him an encouraging pat on the head before pulling away. "Smart man."

  Tempus tossed his notebook onto the crate and clapped his hands together. "Alright then! Enlighten us, Captain Corsair."

  Corsair sucked in a breath, his head rolling slightly as if contemplating where to start. "Red Hands were never in the Genesis Serum game. That was Loom’s deal."

  "Loom?" I echoed, exchanging a glance with Libra. The name was familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it..

  Corsair nodded, a flicker of his old arrogance returning now that he'd conceded. "Loom. They're the one cooking up the Serum. We… we were just muscle. Hired to secure shipments, protect their assets. This tunnel… it's a distribution point they told us to use."

  Tempus, ever the pragmatist, leaned forward, his eerie grin widening. “And what exactly were these ‘assets’ you were protecting, Corsair? More vials of magical juice? Or something a tad more… substantial?”

  Corsair hesitated, his gaze flickering nervously towards the overturned crates. “That… and something… else,” he mumbled, his voice losing its earlier bravado. “They called it… catalysts.”

  “Catalysts?” Libra repeated, her voice laced with curiosity. “What is it?”

  Corsair shrugged, a gesture that seemed strained and unnatural in his current predicament. “I don’t know the specifics. They just told us it was… important. Worth more than all the Serum in Neo Lyon.”

  “Important how?” I pressed, my voice low and urgent. “What does it do?”

  Corsair shook his head, his eyes darting around the tunnel as if he expected someone to jump out of the shadows. “I told you, I don’t know! They kept it locked away in crates. We just moved it from place to place. Kept it safe.”

  “And what do you even know?” Libra interjected, “Do you even know what their plan was with the Serum? Why turn people into Metas?”

  "Power," Corsair rasped, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the tunnel walls. "They said it was about power. Control. Creating an army of… enhanced. Loyal. Disposable." He spat the last word like a curse. "They didn't care about the cost, the… the instability. They just wanted soldiers."

  “What for? Were they planning to wage war or something?”

  "Something like that," Corsair muttered, his gaze still distant. "They talked about… reshaping the city. Taking control. They think Neo Lyon is weak, ripe for the taking. They want to build it in their image."

  Tempus snorted. "Every two-bit Villain in Neo Lyon fancies themselves a kingmaker. What makes Loom any different?"

  "They have resources," Corsair said, his voice regaining a sliver of its earlier strength. "More than anyone I’ve ever seen. Money, weapons, influence… they’re not just some solo Villain. They have ties." He paused, his gaze finally returning to us. "And they're not afraid to use what they have. They’ll kill anyone who gets in their way. Including you, if they find out you’ve been poking around.” Corsair finished, a hint of his former arrogance creeping back into his voice. He seemed to relish the idea that he’d delivered a chilling warning, even in his compromised position.

  Libra’s masked face remained inscrutable, but I could feel the tension radiating from her. She was processing the information, weighing the implications. This Loom, with his resources and ambition, was a threat not just to us, but to the fragile peace of Neo Lyon.

  Tempus, ever the pragmatist, broke the silence. “So, Loom wants to reshape the city, eh? Build it in their image? Sounds like your typical megalomaniacal Villain with a god complex. The city’s crawling with them.” He tapped his pen against his notebook, his eyes gleaming with a strange mix of amusement and something else… anticipation? “But these ‘catalysts’… that’s the interesting bit, isn’t it? What are they? Some sort of super-weapon? A mind-control device? Maybe they’re just fancy paperweights.”

  I turned back to Corsair, who was watching us with a mixture of fear and grudging respect. “You said these catalysts are worth more than all the Genesis Serum in Neo Lyon. That’s a bold claim. Care to elaborate?”

  Corsair hesitated, his gaze flickering towards the overturned crates. He knew he’d given us a tantalizing morsel of information, and now he was caught between his loyalty to Loom and his desire to avoid our… attentions.

  “I told you,” he mumbled, his voice strained. “I don’t know what they are. Just… important. Loom’s orders were clear: protect them at all costs.”

  “Orders from Loom,” I repeated, my voice soft but firm. “And how do we get in touch with this Loom?”

  Corsair snorted. “You think he’s going to just send you a calling card? Loom operates in the shadows. He came to me only to start off the collaboration, haven’t seen him since, but sure as hell saw the money flooding.”

  “Money, eh?” Tempus interjected, his eyes gleaming with avarice. “Always a motivator. So, Corsair, let’s talk about this ‘collaboration’ with Loom. How much did they pay you for your… services?”

  Corsair hesitated, his gaze flickering towards the overturned crates. He knew he’d already revealed too much, but the lure of self-preservation, coupled with Tempus’s thinly veiled greed, loosened his tongue further. “Enough,” he mumbled, “Enough to make it worth my while.”

  “Enough isn’t an answer,” Tempus pressed, his voice hardening. “We’re not interested in vague platitudes. We want specifics. Numbers.”

  Corsair shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting around the tunnel as if he expected Loom’s enforcers to materialize from the shadows. “I… I can’t say,” he stammered. “Loom… he made it clear. Loose lips… and all that.”

  “Loose lips sink ships,” I finished for him, my voice laced with a chilling undertone. “But in your case, Corsair, loose lips might just save your life. Or what’s left of it.”

  I crouched down next to him again, my hand resting lightly on his scalp. The connection was still there, a faint tingle that allowed me to feel the thrum of his fear. “You see, Corsair,” I whispered, “we’re not unreasonable. We understand the concept of loyalty. But loyalty has its limits. And when those limits are tested, well… let’s just say that things can get messy.”

  “It’s… it’s not loyalty… You don’t understand… That guy… he is far too creepy… The only time I met him… I couldn’t even move by myself… He just… made me move around like a puppeteer!”

  "A puppeteer, you say?" Tempus chuckled, scribbling furiously in his notebook. "Fascinating. So, Loom not only has deep pockets and a penchant for dramatic entrances, but also some rather unsettling mind-control abilities? This is getting more interesting by the minute."

  Libra, ever the voice of reason, though her tone remained impassive, addressed Corsair directly. "You've given us some valuable information, Corsair. Information that could save lives, or perhaps… prevent a great deal of suffering. But we need more. We need to know the full extent of Loom's operation, his plans, and most importantly, the nature of these 'catalysts'."

  Corsair, his bravado thoroughly shattered, looked from Libra to me, his eyes pleading. "I… I swear, I've told you everything I know! I'm just a mercenary. A hired gun. I don't know the details. Loom kept everything compartmentalized. I just followed orders."

  "Compartmentalized, eh?" I echoed, tightening my grip on his scalp, just enough to elicit a flinch. "That's a clever tactic. Keeps everyone in the dark, except for the puppet master pulling the strings.”

  “I think we are done here.” Libra announced. “Corsair has nothing to tell us I think, and I think my power is going to run off soon and they’ll be back on the floor.”

  "Right then," Tempus chirped, capping his pen with a flourish. "Time for a little field trip, wouldn't you say? MetaPol might be a bunch of blundering buffoons, but they do have a holding cell or two, I suppose. And who knows, perhaps a bit of official pressure will loosen Corsair's tongue further. Although," he added with a sly grin, glancing at me, "I rather doubt it."

  I nodded in agreement with Libra. "Agreed. We've gleaned what we can from Corsair for now. He's a cog in the machine, not the engine itself. Loom is our target, and these 'catalysts' are the key."

  We hauled the groaning Red Hands out of their earthen prisons, tying them up with some rope we found in one of the crates. They were a sorry lot, their bravado evaporated, replaced by a gnawing fear of what we might do to them. Corsair, still sporting a bruised ego, was particularly sullen. He knew he’d spilled the beans, and the knowledge gnawed at him. He'd betrayed Loom, and that was a dangerous game to play.

  "Now, now, boys and girls," Tempus said, clapping his hands together. "Let's be civilized, shall we? No need for any unnecessary roughness. We're just taking you for a little chat with our friends at MetaPol. They're ever so keen to hear about your… business ventures."

  “So,” Tempus said, breaking the silence as we emerged from the tunnel, “MetaPol it is, then? Or do we fancy a little detour first? Perhaps a spot of tea and biscuits before we deliver our… package?”

  Libra gave him a withering look. “MetaPol. Directly. We’ve already wasted enough time down there. The longer we delay, the greater the chance Loom catches wind of what we know.”

  “Spoilsport,” Tempus muttered, but he didn’t argue. He knew Libra was right. Time was of the essence.

  We reached a deserted alleyway, the perfect spot for a discreet handover. I pulled out a disposable phone, dialing the MetaPol urgency number.

  "...MetaPol Dispatch," a gruff voice answered on the other end.

  "We have a… delivery for you," I said, keeping my voice low and impersonal. "We got the Red Hands goons and their leader, Corsair, apprehended.”

  "...Location?" the voice crackled back, laced with suspicion. MetaPol wasn't used to receiving gifts, especially not wrapped in the messy packaging of a metahuman brawl.

  "Alleyway behind the Crimson Dragon restaurant, off Ruplinger Street," I replied. "They're all tied up and ready for processing. Just… try not to lose them this time, eh?"

  I hung up before the man could ask anything else, tossing the phone into a nearby dumpster. Libra gave a curt nod, her masked face betraying nothing. Tempus, however, was bouncing on the balls of his feet, a manic glint in his eyes.

  "Right then," he chirped, rubbing his hands together. "Let's be off. I've got a sudden craving for noodles. And perhaps a little light reading on the history of Neo Lyon's criminal underworld. Something tells me we're about to delve into some rather murky waters."

  “Right… I guess meeting at the tunnel would be too much now… See you next Friday night here?”

  "Next Friday, same bat-time, same bat-channel," Tempus quipped, giving a mock salute. "Wouldn't miss it for the world. Although," he added, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow, "I do hope we have a bit more to discuss than just the culinary delights of Neo Lyon. This Loom character… he's got potential, hasn't he? A real puppet master pulling the strings from the shadows. Reminds me of that chap, what was his name… Ah, never mind. Point is, we need to tread carefully. This isn't just some two-bit gang we're dealing with. Loom is playing a different game, a bigger game. And we, my dear companions, have just stumbled onto the board."

  Libra nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on the spot where we’d left the Red Hands. “He’s right. This Loom… he’s not like the others. Corsair’s fear… it was palpable. He wasn’t just afraid of us. He was terrified of Loom. That kind of fear… it speaks volumes.” She paused, her masked face turning towards me. “And those ‘catalysts’… they’re the key. We need to find out what they are, what Loom plans to do with them.”

  “Indeed,” I agreed, my mind already racing with possibilities. “Corsair said they were worth more than all the Genesis Serum in Neo Lyon. That’s a staggering claim. What could be so valuable, so important, that it dwarfs the Serum’s potential?” I shivered, a cold dread creeping up my spine. The implications were terrifying. If Loom had something that powerful, something that could reshape the city, then Neo Lyon was in serious trouble.

  “Well,” Tempus said, clapping his hands together briskly, “no use standing around here like a bunch of gargoyles. We’ve got work to do. We need to delve deeper into Loom’s operation, find out who he is, what he wants, and most importantly, what these ‘catalysts’ are capable of.”

  “Agreed,” Libra said, her voice firm and resolute. “This alliance… it might be longer than we anticipated.”