Chapter 264: Be ready

Blake drove one of the sharp tools built into his costume against the outline of the container’s lid.

The metal scraped against metal.

He adjusted the angle, wedging the tool deeper into the narrow gap, then braced his feet against the ground and pushed with his entire body. His shoulder strained. The muscles in his arms tightened beneath the suit, and the tool trembled under the pressure.

Nothing.

"Come on..."

He shifted his weight and pushed harder, trying to force even the smallest opening between the lid and the container’s frame.

The metal groaned.

Blake stopped to catch his breath, then immediately leaned into it again. His damaged visor offered little help. The thermal imaging remained offline, and his vision was still a mess of blurred shapes and flickering information. He couldn’t tell what was happening around him without turning his head.

And he couldn’t afford to waste time.

A sudden flash of movement caught his attention.

Something shot past the end of the container at a speed that made Blake instinctively flinch. A second figure followed almost immediately.

He could see Alexis was right behind the one he has been fighting all this time.

"What the?"

Blake twisted around, catching only a fleeting glimpse of their figures disappearing beyond the rows of containers.

For a moment, he stood frozen, his hands still gripping the sharp tool.

They were moving too fast.

Whatever was happening elsewhere in the port, it was reaching its conclusion. And if he was right about what was inside this container, then every second he spent here mattered just as much.

He turned back.

The lid stood between him and whatever was trapped inside. His tool had barely managed to create a gap, and his arms were already aching from the effort.

Blake swallowed, his grip tightening around the tool.

’I have to see it.’

He lowered his head.

’I have to do this.’

Blake pressed his shoulder against the edge of the lid and pushed.

At first, nothing changed. His boots scraped across the concrete as he struggled to maintain his footing. He adjusted his stance, planting one foot farther back, then leaned forward until nearly his entire body was committed to the effort.

The lid shifted, only slightly, vut he felt it.

He sucked in a breath and pushed harder.

His heartbeat began to pound in his ears.

His arms trembled, while his shoulders burned. The metal creaked against its frame, resisting him with a persistent stubbornness.

And then, without warning, he saw his own body lying motionless.

The image surfaced in his mind with such clarity that his hands nearly slipped from the tool.

For an instant, the container in front of him seemed to fade away, replaced by the terrible stillness of that dream.

He remembered the sight of himself, the unbearable certainty that he was looking at something that could not be undone.

His breath caught, the lid slipping back into place with a heavy clank.

Blake staggered away from it.

"No..."

He stared at the metal, his chest rising and falling too quickly.

He shut his eyes tightly.

His hands curled into fists.

He could almost feel the cold ground beneath the body in his dream. Could almost see the stillness of his own face, the finality of it. His heartbeat grew louder, faster, until he could barely distinguish it from the pounding in his ears.

The container waited in front of him.

He turned back toward it.

His hands found the lid again.

"Blake..."

The voice was so faint that he couldn’t tell whether he had actually heard it.

He froze. For a brief moment, he saw something else.

A woman stood over a coffin.

Her face was hidden beneath shadows, her head bowed as she looked down at the person inside. She did not move. She did not speak. She simply stood there, surrounded by a silence that seemed to swallow everything around her.

Other people stood nearby.

Blake could make out their shapes beside her, a gathering of indistinct figures whose faces he couldn’t see. They were there, watching, their presence unmistakable even through the darkness.

The woman remained beside the coffin.

And Blake could not look away, as his fingers went numb.

Suddenly, within that vision, his head turned away to see somebody else, standing far away, basically hidden from everybody else.

Then, that person turned away, walking into the shadows completely, without an ounce of hesitation.

Then his eyes snapped open.

For one breath, he stood completely still.

Then something erupted through him.

It wasn’t the familiar strength he drew from his suit, nor the assistance of its reinforced armor or enhanced actuators. There was no mechanical whine, no gradual increase in power, no warning from the system.

It came from him.

An inhuman force surged through his body, so sudden and overwhelming that the ground seemed to jump beneath his feet.

The container’s lid tore free.

With a deafening metallic shriek, the enormous slab catapulted into the air, spinning away from the frame before crashing somewhere beyond his field of vision. The impact shook the ground beneath him.

Blake stumbled backward, his mouth falling open.

For several seconds, he could only stare at the empty space where the lid had been.

He had done that.

He hurried toward it, grabbed the edge, and hauled himself up. His boots struck the metal frame as he climbed, and he leaned forward to look inside.

Then he saw the odies.

Dozens of them, piled one on top of another in the cramped space, their limbs tangled together. Some were slumped against the walls, while others lay across the people beneath them. Not one appeared to be moving.

Every single one of them was unconscious.

Blake stopped breathing for a moment.

Then, slowly, hands rose to his head, fingers pressing against the sides of his helmet as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

His breathing came in short, uneven bursts.

His eyes began to sting.

He blinked rapidly, but the tears kept gathering, blurring the world beyond his visor. His hands slid down to his chest, where he pressed his palm against the armor as though he could somehow steady the frantic beating beneath it.

He had gotten the lid open, that was something.

’I just need to get some of them out and bring them—’

DRIIIINNNN!

Blake’s head snapped toward the noise.

He barely had time to register the noise before something came hurtling toward him.

His body reacted instinctively, but it was already too close. What seemed to be a bomb of some sort struck his helmet.

The world exploded into light.

The blast hurled him backward, lifting his feet from the container and sending him crashing onto the concrete.

A sharp ringing filled his ears. His vision fractured into flashes of white and grey, and the damaged systems inside his helmet sputtered as warning symbols flickered across his remaining display.

For a moment, he couldn’t move. Then he sucked in a ragged breath and rolled onto his side.

Pain throbbed through his head.

He pressed one hand against the ground and struggled to sit up, his other hand reaching automatically for his helmet.

The impact had torn away part of its outer plating. Pieces of the damaged visor hung crookedly, leaving a section of his face exposed.

But he didn’t notice. He was too busy trying to understand where the attack had come from.

Blake raised his head, and locked eyes with a man he couldn’t see clearly well. He was already running toward him.

Then he stopped.

He stood approximately ten meters away, his gaze fixed on Blake’s partially exposed face. His expression changed so abruptly that Blake could see the recognition settle over him even through his own blurred vision.

Sylvan Nada.

"You are..."

The words died in the man’s throat. For a split second, neither of them moved.

Then Sylvan turned and ran.

Blake stared after him.

Sylvan knew him, too. That day, when he wants to the museum with Anthony, both of them introduced eachother.

Sylvan was getting farther away.

Blake’s eyes widened.

"No."

He shoved himself upright.

His boots ignited with a burst of propulsion, launching him forward. Concrete rushed beneath him as he crossed the distance in an instant, the force of his acceleration nearly carrying him past the fleeing man.

He twisted in midair, dropped hard, and slammed into Sylvan from behind.

The impact sent both of them sprawling across the ground.

Blake struck first, using his momentum to drive Sylvan onto the concrete. He seized the back of the man’s head and forced his face down, pinning him against the ground before he could regain his footing.

Sylvan’s body hit the pavement with a heavy thud.

Blake planted a knee beside him and tightened his grip.

"Don’t move."

Fortunately enough, the man seemed willing to comply, he didn’t even attempt to fight back.

Blake stared down at him, breathing hard. His damaged helmet hung awkwardly against his face, and the cold air brushed the exposed skin beneath it.

’What am I supposed to do now?’

The thought came uninvited, cutting through the rush of adrenaline.

Sylvan had recognized him, there was no doubt about that. He had looked at Blake and immediately understood who he was, connecting him to Anthony and whatever had happened on that funny day.

If he escaped, what then?

Blake’s mind raced through the possibilities. Sylvan could expose him. He could reveal his identity, start investigating his closest friends, which would eventually reveal Myles’ name, and drag everyone around him into the mess.

All of them could be affected by one man’s decision.

His fingers tightened against the back of Sylvan’s head.

Sylvan spoke without looking up.

"To think you were one of them."

There was no fear in his voice, only contempt.

Blake remained silent.

"What will you do now?" Sylvan continued. "Your life will go to shambles, along with everyone involved with you today."

Blake’s jaw tightened.

The words should have frightened him.

They should have forced him to think, to consider the consequences, to remember that Sylvan held something over him that he couldn’t simply punch or blast away.

Instead, something else began to stir.

It started as a pressure in his chest.

Blake looked at the back of Sylvan’s head. The man’s voice continued to echo in his ears, each word settling somewhere deep inside him.

Your life will go to shambles.

The ringing in Blake’s ears faded. The distant sounds of machinery, the alarms, the faint rumble of activity beyond the containers, all of it receded until he could hear nothing but Sylvan’s breathing beneath his hand.

Blake’s grip remained firm, but his fingers had stopped trembling.

"What makes you say that?" he asked.

His voice was eerily calm.

Sylvan went quiet, a few seconds passing. Then, he answered.

"I will make sure of it, that’s what I’m saying."

Blake stared down at him.

The words settled into the silence.

Something shifted in Blake’s perception.

The concrete beneath his knees seemed to darken, its rough texture dissolving into an indistinct blur.

Sylvan’s shoulders rose and fell with each breath, but Blake’s eyes no longer seemed to register the man as a whole. His gaze drifted over the curve of his neck, the dark fabric of his clothing, the slight movement of his head beneath Blake’s palm.

Then the details began to change.

The fabric blurred.

The shoulders seemed to narrow.

The shape beneath his hand became unfamiliar.

Blake blinked once.

For a fleeting instant, he could see the ground beneath a motionless body. He could see a familiar suit lying crumpled against the concrete, its armor damaged, its surface stained by dust. One arm lay at an awkward angle. The helmet was broken, its faceplate shattered.

His own helmet.

His own suit.

Blake’s breathing slowed.

The body remained still.

He could almost see the outline of his own face through the broken visor, pale and lifeless, its eyes closed. There was no movement beneath the armor. No breath. Nothing to suggest that the person lying there had ever been alive.

Blake’s hand remained pressed against the back of the figure’s head.

Only now, it wasn’t Sylvan’s head beneath his palm.

It was his own.

The vision flickered.

The body disappeared, replaced by the man beneath him. Then the body returned, lying in the same position, motionless on the same cold concrete.

Blake’s fingers curled tighter.

He could see it so clearly.

The stillness. The broken armor. The terrible absence of anything resembling life.

His own face stared back at him from beneath the fractured helmet.

And for a moment, Blake could not tell where the vision ended and the world began.

Sylvan’s voice seemed to come from a great distance.

"Your life will go to shambles..."

Blake tilted his head slightly, his eyes remaining fixed on the back of the man’s head.

Then, slowly, he raised his free hand.

His fingers opened.

The hand rose higher, moving with an almost deliberate gentleness, until it hovered above Sylvan.

"And who said that..."

Blake’s voice was quiet.

His raised hand stopped.

"I won’t murder you this time."

Sylvan went completely still.

Blake brought his hand down.