Chapter 3: Ash in the Gutter (Continued)
Part 5: Skin and Fire
Interior – Auto Shop Workshop, Late Night
The garage was quiet save for the buzzing of overhead fluorescents. Tom sat at the metal table, carefully rewrapping his knuckles. The tape was stained red at the edges.
Across from him, Manners soldered something small—too small for Tom to identify.
Tom finally broke the silence. “What are you working on?”
Manners didn’t look up. “Micro-gel dispersal system.”
“For?”
“Impact reduction. You’re not a robot. Every punch you throw with the steel gauntlets is slowly wrecking your own hand.”
Tom rotated his wrist, wincing slightly.
“You want me to go easier?” he asked.
“I want you to stop breaking yourself to beat broken people.”
Tom snorted.
Manners continued. “I made this stuff to help people. You know that? Before Layla brought me in, I was designing mobility tech. Real future-facing prosthetics. But no one pays for saving lives. They pay for controlling them.”
He held up a chip no larger than a fingernail. “This right here? Could’ve helped someone walk again. Instead, I’m building you shock gloves.”
Tom stared at him for a beat. “You ever regret it?”
Manners paused. Then shook his head. “Not when I see what we’re up against.”
Part 6: Crack in the Glass
Elsewhere – Downtown
A low-level fixer named Devon Marks watched footage of the alley beatdown for the third time.
He rewound it. Slowed it down.
Frame by frame, the masked vigilante moved like something trained—military trained.
Devon had a knack for seeing patterns. And this one?
It scared him.
He stubbed out a cigarette, picked up a burner phone, and dialed a number he hadn’t called in years.
“He’s back,” Devon said when the line clicked.
No response. Just a hum.
Devon nodded to himself. “Figured you’d want to know.”
He hung up.
Somewhere across the city, someone else smiled.
Part 7: Practice Makes Blood
Back at the Bunker – Sim Room
Layla stood at the terminal, watching Tom lose to the simulation again.
This version of Harlan had been tweaked. Stronger. Faster. Smarter.
Tom gritted his teeth as the virtual brute slammed him to the floor.
Sim over.
Tom groaned, rolling onto his side. “What was that?”
“New variable,” Layla said. “Adapted his attack pattern after watching your previous rounds.”
“You’re teaching the simulation?”
“I’m teaching you.”
Tom gave a tired grin. “Mean streak on you.”
She stepped into the chamber and extended a hand. “Get up, soldier.”
He took it.
Training Room – Later
Tom and Layla circled each other. No armor. Just gloves. Sparring gear. Breath fogging in the cold air.
Layla struck first—quick jab to the gut. Tom blocked, countered, stepped in.
She pivoted and swept his leg.
He hit the mat, groaning. “You got faster.”
“You’re getting slow.”
They both smiled. Just a little.
Layla extended a hand. “Again?”
He took it.
Part 8: Unwelcome Guest
Interior – Safehouse Outer Hall
A faint knock echoed through the rusted door.
Layla and Manners paused mid-conversation.
Manners raised a brow. “You expecting someone?”
“No.”
Tom stood instantly, already halfway to the door with a hidden knife in hand.
Another knock. This time, rhythmic. Familiar.
Three knocks. Pause. One knock.
Layla tensed. “I know that code.”
Tom opened the door, slowly.
A woman stood on the threshold, rain dripping off her coat.
Late 30s. Narrow eyes. Gloved hands.
“Didn’t think I’d find you this fast,” she said.
Layla took a step forward. “…Alex?”
“Hey, cousin.”
Tom glanced between them. “Friend or threat?”
Alex smiled faintly. “That depends who you’re fighting.”
Chapter 3: Ash in the Gutter (Continued)
Part 9: The Ghost from Another War
Safehouse – Bunker Interior
The room felt smaller now.
Alex stood just inside the doorway, rain still drying on her shoulders. She didn’t look like a soldier anymore. No gear. No badge. Just a worn leather coat and tired eyes.
But Tom knew the type. He’d seen that look before. In mirrors.
“You were military,” Tom said.
She raised an eyebrow. “You say that like you weren’t.”
He didn’t answer.
Layla crossed her arms. “You’re early.”
“You’re late,” Alex replied. “Two bodies in a canal last week. Clean wounds. Silent entries. That your boy?”
Manners stiffened from the workbench. “He’s not a ‘boy.’ He’s a war criminal with a soul.”
Alex smirked faintly. “Cute.”
Tom stayed still. Watchful. “Why are you really here?”
Alex’s gaze landed on him like a weight. “Because someone’s hunting ghosts. And I figured if anyone knew how to fight the dead, it was you.”
Part 10: Coffee and Scars
Safehouse Lounge – Late Night
Alex sipped from a mug. She didn’t ask for permission. Manners had rolled his eyes and walked away.
Tom sat across from her, unmasked. Layla leaned against the wall, arms folded.
Alex studied Tom like a puzzle. “You’re slower than before. Limp’s almost gone, though.”
“Still tracking my gait?”
“I track everything. Occupational hazard.”
Tom’s knuckles flexed against the ceramic of his own cup.
“You know what happened,” he said.
“Bits. Rumors. Dossiers I wasn’t cleared for.”
“Then you know about the cell.”
Alex’s expression tightened. “I know about some of it. I also know you went off-grid for eleven months after.”
Tom said nothing.
Layla stepped forward. “He didn’t go off-grid. He was buried. Tortured. Left for dead.”
Alex’s eyes flicked to her. “And you are…?”
“His medic. His ally. His partner.”
Alex raised a brow. “Interesting.”Tom cut in. “You said someone’s hunting ghosts.”
Alex leaned forward. “Every safehouse I used to know? Compromised. Every dead op from the Black Segment list? Names are resurfacing. But they’re not surfacing as victims. They’re players. Like someone flipped the table and rewrote all the roles.”
Tom narrowed his eyes. “Who’s behind it?”
“I thought you might know.”
Layla crossed the room. “Well, we don’t.”
Alex stood. “Then maybe it’s time we started asking the people who do.”
Part 11: The File
Workshop – Later
Manners set a hardcase on the table. Clicked it open. Inside: a worn tablet with cracked corners and a green-glowing drive.
“This,” he said, “came from an offsite shell company. Layered encryption. Took me two days to crack it.”
Layla leaned over his shoulder. “What is it?”
“A network. Operatives. Dead or presumed. Then… photos.”
He pulled up an image.
Tom froze.
There he was—on screen. Surveillance. Rooftop. The night he’d saved the woman near Wexley.
Layla inhaled. “That’s not our footage.”
Manners tapped a key. “Exactly. Someone else is watching him.”
Alex spoke from the back. “Welcome to the party.”
Part 12: The Night Before the Flood
Outside – Rooftop
Tom leaned against the railing, mask off, hair wet from sweat.
Layla approached, quiet steps.
“You’re thinking too loud,” she said.
Tom didn’t turn. “Do you trust her?”
“I trust that she wants what you want. And that’s rare.”
“She’s lying about something.”
Layla nodded. “Of course she is. Everyone is. Including you.”
He looked over at her.
Layla stepped closer. “But you’re trying. You’re not lost, Tom. Just... tired.”
He looked down. “I’m not trying to save them. I’m trying to change them.”
Layla’s hand found his.
“Then let’s do it together.”
Chapter 4: Steel Beneath Flesh
Part 1: The First Fracture
Interior – Training Chamber, 9th & Ash Safehouse
Rain hammered the roof overhead, echoing through the walls like distant artillery. In the bunker’s reinforced gym, Tom stood with hands wrapped in black tape, sweat darkening the front of his shirt.
Opposite him, Layla crouched, holding pads. Her cheeks were flushed with effort, eyes sharp as ever.
“Again,” she said.
Tom jabbed. Then cross. Then hook.
She shifted under the blows with practiced ease, but the power behind them was unmistakable. Every strike sounded like it could crack ribs.
“Your form’s cleaner,” Layla said between rounds. “Faster, too. You’re adapting to the armor.”
“I’m not fast enough.”
“You’re plenty fast.”
“Not against him. Not yet.”
Layla lowered the pads. “Tom…”
Tom turned away and grabbed his towel. His back muscles rippled with tension.
“I need to be faster,” he muttered. “Stronger. Or next time, I don’t get back up.”
Part 2: Engineering Rage
Interior – Workshop
Manners leaned over his workstation, goggles fogged, soldering iron humming. On the bench in front of him: the latest version of the mask.
Sleeker. Stronger. Airflow modified. Lens-tinted optics with thermal overlay.
He turned as Tom entered, holding a steel gauntlet.
“This still binds near the elbow,” Tom said.
Manners wiped his hands. “Because you’re moving like a brawler. You need to move like a ghost.”
“I’m not a ghost. I’m the thing they see before the lights go out.”
Manners snorted. “You’re a poet now.”
He turned and pointed to a blueprint on the wall.
“You want a suit that moves with you? You gotta match it. That means endurance. Strength. Control. I can’t fix that in the wiring.”
Tom leaned over the schematic. “Then teach me how to carry it.”
Montage – Days of Brutal Training
– Tom dragging a weight sled uphill in the rain, suit half-on.
– Layla dodging under his punches in sparring, slipping through with precise strikes.
– Manners testing a grappling system, slamming into boxes as Tom tries to time the release.
– Sweat. Blood. Bruises. Laughter, sometimes. But always forward.
Part 3: The Threat Emerges
Interior – A Warehouse Across Town
A man in a silver tie stood between crates stacked with weapons.
Vance Lorre, CEO of Vanguard Enterprises, polished his cufflinks as Caleb approached.
“You’ve been quiet,” Vance said.
Caleb shrugged. “Been watching.”
“Watching who?”
“The Remnant.”
Vance raised an eyebrow. “Our mystery man?”
“He’s no myth. He’s real. And he’s getting better.”
Vance smiled, cold and sharp. “Good. It’s more fun when they struggle.”
He clapped Caleb on the shoulder. “You said he used to be one of yours.”
“He was one of them. But not like me.”
Vance turned toward the window, watching the rain slide down the glass. “Then we break him. Publicly. Loudly.”
Part 4: The Streets Don’t Sleep
Night – Old Burnside District
A scream echoed down the alley.
Tom moved fast, grappling across fire escapes. Layla’s voice buzzed in his ear.
Ø LAYLA: “Multiple contacts. Armed. Possibly trafficking.”
He dropped behind a dumpster. Scanned the alley.
Two men. One woman, duct-taped, struggling in the back of a van.
No time.
Tom moved.
Fight Sequence – Alley Combat
Tom slammed the first thug into the wall before the man saw him. A gun fired—missed.
Tom rolled low, slammed his gauntlet into a kneecap. Crunched. Screams.
The second man pulled a knife. Tom dodged the swipe, caught the wrist, dislocated it with a twist, and brought the elbow down hard.
Ø LAYLA: “One more incoming—”
Tom turned.
A man stepped out. Not young. Not old. Leather gloves. Bald. Calm.
“Do you know what you’re interfering with?” he asked.
“I don’t care.”
Tom moved first—but the man was fast.
A punch to Tom’s ribs. The armor took it, but Tom felt it.
Then a jab to the throat.
Then a headbutt.
The man smiled. “You’re not invincible.”
Tom swung wildly. Missed.
The man caught him mid-motion and slammed him onto the van.
Pain. Real pain.
Part 5: Barely Standing
Tom crawled to his feet, vision blurred.
The woman was still in the van. Crying.
He saw her—and everything inside him came roaring back.
He grabbed a pipe. Swung wide.
The man caught it.
Tom pressed the shock system in his glove. The charge went through the pipe.
The man jerked—just long enough.
Tom kneed him in the chin, then tackled him off the alley’s edge into the trash bins below.
Interior – Safehouse, Hours Later
Layla cleaned the cut above his eye. Her fingers were gentle, but her eyes weren’t.
“You’re not unstoppable,” she said.
“I know.”
“Then stop acting like it.”
He didn’t answer.
Manners walked in, holding a new chest plate.
“This is the last version,” he said. “But if I reinforce this any more, you’ll need to be a god to wear it.”
Tom stood, bloodied, jaw clenched.
“Then I’ll become one.”
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