It was for safety reasons.
If they left anything behind—any trace of their identities, living spaces, or belongings—it could lead to more clues, which could lead to the unveiling of their entire operation. It was for safety reasons, Dagger had always told him.
So Striker burned everything.
He spent two days in the city, gathering all evidence of Yellowjacket, Zealot, and Phantom together into one place. Venom and Klick had already taken care of Yellowjacket and Zealot’s bodies and the majority of their paper trails—but the small things… they left that up to him. Somehow, it was almost worse.
The small house where Phantom had lived seemed a good place to do the actual deed. It was just outside the city limits—far enough from Striker’s apartment to avoid raising suspicions, but close enough for quick recons if the need arose. They’d only had to organize quick recons twice in this place. Striker thought, with some bitterness, that most of his time here had been spent in peace and relaxation. He hadn’t associated these streets with blood and panic until just a few days ago. For some reason, that made him hate it even more.
All that aside, the house was small enough to burn quickly and leave nothing behind. Wooden buildings were so old by now that they all burned fast. Dry rot helped. Phantom had lived alone, and the buildings on either side were condemned anyway. Striker packed all the belongings he could find into the main bedroom and then drenched it all in gasoline. Then he lit a match.
He didn’t stick around to watch it. Instead, he put his hands in his pockets and ambled away into the city, knowing no one would be able to see or report the fire until the damage had been done. There would be no investigation, not with the city’s resources already stretched so thin. One more fire in an ancient, empty house on the edge of town would raise no suspicions.
He left the street as fast as he could without causing himself pain. Walking was harder now, with his knees seizing up and his spine stiffening, but he tried not to think about it. There were many things to look at in the downtown area—strings of lanterns in the markets, storefronts packed with everyday goods, the occasional tourist wandering around with their eyes always in the air. People whose lives carried on the same day after day. People who didn’t have to worry.
Striker had to stop after a while, and he sat on a bench. He glanced at the sky and caught a glimpse of the starship station launch tower between two larger, darker, much older buildings. Once every few seconds, the light at the top of the tower blinked a bright red. In the distance, a small craft took off and vanished into the atmosphere, trailing a plume of white smoke.
In a strange twist of fate, he owed his survival to Martell in the end. Leaving the main room of DiVazzo’s ship, he had seen an escape pod through one of the windows, streaking toward Earth’s surface and trailing mile-long sparks. He’d known it was Martell—and that was how he’d gotten the idea in the first place. It wasn’t hard to find the escape pods. He barely managed to launch before the guards broke through the security codes and swarmed the compartment he had been standing in just seconds ago. But he had done it.
It was a rough landing, one which actually made him glad, for the first time since the injection, that he had bio-metal in his veins. After he regained consciousness and realized he had landed about ten miles outside the city, he freed himself from the pod and hiked back. By nightfall, he had found the rendezvous point, with Venom and Klick inside. Together, they had gone over the damages.
Klick said that this was it for her. She was leaving for good, and would probably never speak to either of them again, for safety, of course. It was easier for her, being the newest team member, but Venom wasn’t far behind, and that was a surprise.
“After living like this so long?” Striker had asked. “You’re going to just go?”
“Yes, and if you want to stay sane, you should, too,” Venom had said, rubbing his eyes. “At least I had something of a normal life before this. Remember that you and Phantom came to us as kids, so who’s really been living like this for longer?”
The last words Venom spoke to Striker indicated they would probably never see each other again, and even if they did, it would be a long time. Venom took a fake passport and a duffel bag of clothes and vanished into the streets. Striker didn’t follow.
He’d spent the night alone in the rendezvous point. The whole time, he thought of Dagger—what would she say if she knew he was leaving this life? It had been almost a decade since he’d last seen her. He knew she had acquired a new team since the day she had bequeathed the original team to him. Things hadn’t been much different then. Except now, Striker was older, and the only thing he could think that night over and over was ‘I don’t think I can do it anymore.’ Without Phantom there to say ‘Nonsense, we can do it together,’ he could think of no reason to stay.
In the present, he sighed. After resting on the bench, Striker went to the train station and bought a ticket.
“Name, please?” the teller asked.
“James Striker.”
“Here you go. One ticket to Hub 004.”
“Thank you.”
He went down the platform and found his train car, then made his way to his seat. He had no belongings with him, but he didn’t need any. He would figure things out when he got there, just like always. For now, he positioned himself by the window and gazed across the platform where people were milling about with their suitcases and their travel schedules and their families.
At Hub 004, he would buy another ticket for Amber Waite, an industrious city, and the last place he had heard Dagger was heading. Hopefully she was there. If she wasn’t, the city still housed a prominent research lab from which Apex Genetics had gotten original funding… before the bio-metal story had broken, anyway. If anyone would know how to help him, it would be them. It was dangerous to go back to a source so close, but he was technically dying. He only had a few weeks at most.
He took a deep breath. Phantom had done this for a reason. He was going to keep pursuing a cure until it succeeded.
Striker’s breath fogged up the glass. He had a long trip ahead of him. His Charger had probably already been destroyed. His team’s belongings were smoldering in the husk of a burnt house. Their bodies were gone forever. Except for Phantom. If DiVazzo’s guards were still human at all, they would incinerate him with the bodies of their own people. Even so, he would never see Phantom again.
He’d never thought he would have to start a new chapter alone, but here he was. At least, he thought, as the train jolted into motion, he would never have to lay eyes on this city again. A new path lay ahead of him, and though it would be haunted by the past for a long time, he would survive. He had to.
Phantom would have wanted it.
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