(The world shifts. The mask gets heavier. And the people behind it push forward, not because they’re ready—but because they have no choice.)
Interior – The Forge (Manners’ Workshop), Early Morning
Sparks flew like fireflies as Manners welded the new titanium plating into place. Sweat clung to his brow, illuminated by the soft glow of monitors filled with blueprint wireframes.
On the center slab: Tom’s new chestplate. Reinforced. Sharper edges. Sleek but brutal.
At a nearby bench, Layla adjusted her new gauntlet system—compressed air lines, tasing circuitry, smoke charge modules.
Ø LAYLA (adjusting lens): “I can feel the weight difference. Still light.”
Ø MANNERS: “Carbon core, graphene joints. You’re quick enough to dodge, fast enough to kill.”
She nodded, impressed.
Ø LAYLA: “You always say things that sound both romantic and terrifying.”
Ø MANNERS (grinning): “Isn’t that your type?”
They shared a glance.
Then: a clang. Tom had entered.
His shoulder wrapped, his walk steadier than the night before.
Ø TOM: “I’m ready.”
Ø MANNERS: “You were nearly cooked alive.”
Ø TOM: “And I’m still here. Let’s get to work.”
Interior – Training Bay
Phase One: Movement
Tom stood shirtless in weighted boots, a 40-pound vest locked across his chest. Each step tested his core.
Layla moved beside him, in her suit, helping him regain speed and rhythm.
Ø LAYLA: “Weight changes balance. Don’t fight it. Let it teach you.”
He stumbled. Caught himself. Pushed forward.
Phase Two: Gadgets
Manners oversaw their tests:
Tom’s suit now had magnetic grapples that couldn’t be sliced or burned. Recharge time: 3 seconds.
Layla’s suit carried a new addition: smoke dispersers that activated with a finger flex.
Both suits now had real-time comms, shared HUDs, and a single backup kill-switch for override emergencies.
Ø MANNERS: “Last resort only. You flip it, and the suit locks you down. Power drains, comms go dark. You’re done.”
Ø TOM: “Why give me that option?”
Ø MANNERS: “Because you don’t give up. But you might need to.”
Phase Three: Blade Integration
Manners finally wheeled out something new.
A sleek rack.
On it: a reforged katana. Tom’s signature blade, now alloyed with reactive polymers and folded steel.
The edge gleamed like obsidian.
Ø MANNERS: “Rebuilt from the one you nearly died with. Forged hotter, cut deeper. Balanced for your weight class. It’s an extension now.”
Tom took it gently, the grip familiar, the blade featherlight.
Ø TOM: “This… feels right.”
Ø LAYLA (watching): “It suits you.”
He looked at her. Really looked.
For a second, the training hall vanished. It was just the two of them.
Ø TOM (quietly): “You do too.”
She blinked, lips parting—
Ø FINN (over comm): “Hey, lovebirds—simulation’s loaded. I boosted the AI from the last combat logs.”
Interior – Simulation Dome
Tom and Layla stood side-by-side.
The chamber warped around them — becoming the alley where the mugging happened, then a cage, then the rooftop with Caleb.
Enemies spawned: faster, meaner. With every move, the suit adapted.
Tom blocked a strike, spun, and countered with his new blade—clean, efficient.
Layla dodged two stabs, used her speed burst to flip over an opponent, stunned them mid-air.
They moved as one.
Ø FINN: “They’re reading each other.”
Ø MANNERS: “No.”
Ø FINN: “What then?”
Ø MANNERS: “They’re becoming what the enemy fears most.”
Interior – Rooftop, Later That Night
Tom sat alone under a rusted vent, armor off, arms resting on his knees. Layla joined him, two bottles in hand.
Ø LAYLA: “Soda. Not booze. Manners says alcohol ruins your protein window.”
Ø TOM: “Smart man.”
They drank quietly.
Ø LAYLA: “What scares you more? Failing… or becoming like Caleb?”
Ø TOM: “I don’t know anymore.”
She reached over, touched his hand.
Ø LAYLA: “That means you still care. That means you’re not him.”
Ø TOM: “And if I stop caring?”
Ø LAYLA (softly): “I’ll remind you.”
Chapter 6: The Wolves at the Gate
Part 3 – Ghost Steps Through Dust
(The city sleeps while old soldiers rot in silence. But tonight, a shadow walks among them—looking for another one lost to fire.)
Exterior – Eastside Veterans’ Block, Midnight
Rain spit sideways through the fractured city skyline. Concrete crumbled along the gutters. Rusted flagpoles bent inward like broken spines.
Tom moved through it all, the soft hum of his upgraded boots muffled beneath layers of wind and neon reflection.
He wasn’t in full gear. Just the base suit, hood up. Mask hidden beneath a canvas wrap. Anonymous. Observing.
Ø TOM (internal monologue): “If Caleb’s alive, if he’s still driven by something deeper than blood... he’d hide near ghosts like him.”
“Veteran Aid Residence #14 – CLOSED”
He knocked anyway.
Interior – The First Shelter
The inside smelled of mildew and burnt toast. An old man peeked from a broken cot, one eye milky with blindness, the other sharp as a bayonet.
Ø VETERAN: “You a doctor or another journalist?”
Ø TOM: “Neither. Just looking for someone.”
Ø VETERAN: “Nobody worth finding lives here.”
Tom sat across from him. Pulled out a weathered photo from inside his coat. Caleb’s military ID — the face not yet broken.
Ø TOM: “Ever seen him?”
The veteran squinted. Then paused.
Ø VETERAN: “...Yeah. He came through two winters ago. Slept on the boiler room floor. Never spoke unless he was sleep-talking.”
Ø TOM: “What’d he say?”
Ø VETERAN (quiet): “Your name.”
Tom froze.
Ø VETERAN: “He said it like a curse. Like he wanted to forgive you… and couldn’t.”
Montage – Shelter to Shelter
Tom walked.
Through broken shelters, abandoned tenements, an old motor lodge where frost climbed the walls like fungus.
Each time, he asked.
Each time, he heard pieces:
“He was quiet. Always sketching gears.”
“Built a whole damn staff from car parts.”
“Didn’t talk much. But screamed in his sleep.”
Tom walked for hours.
Every corner bled regret.
Exterior – Back Alley by Old Gym, 4:12 AM
The rain had stopped. But his search hadn’t.
Tom leaned against a wall beside an old gym where he and Caleb had once sparred as teens. Just kids pretending they were more than numbers in someone else’s war.
The door was gone. Graffiti now marked the bricks:
Ø “THOSE WHO LIVE BECOME WHAT WE LOST.”
He stared at it.
Hands in fists.
Ø TOM (internal): “I didn’t forget you, Caleb. I just didn’t know how to bring you with me.”
Behind him, a shadow moved.
Tom turned—but no one was there.
Interior – Bunker, Hours Later
Tom returned soaked and silent.
Layla waited at the table. Coffee in hand. Eyes soft.
Ø LAYLA: “You found nothing?”
Ø TOM: “I found everything I feared. He was here. All along.”
Ø LAYLA: “And now?”
Ø TOM: “Now he’s watching.”
Cutaway – Unknown Rooftop, Just Before Sunrise
Caleb stood on the ledge of a high-rise.
Watching.
A black coat hung off his shoulders. His hands wrapped around his reinforced staff, the tip glowing faintly with red circuitry.
Tammy approached behind him, silent.
Ø TAMMY: “You saw him.”
Ø CALEB: “He’s getting closer.”
Ø TAMMY (with a sly smile): “And still, you wait.”
Ø CALEB (coldly): “I want him to feel every step.”
She laughed, moving beside him.
Ø TAMMY: “Then let’s make the city burn slow.”
Chapter 6: The Wolves at the Gate
Part 4 – Blood on the Rooftops
(When the city sleeps, it dreams of monsters. But tonight, two of them meet awake—carved from the same nightmare.)
Exterior – Midtown Rooftops, 2:43 AM
The wind howled between crumbling towers as Tom leapt across narrow rooftop ledges.
His upgraded suit gave a hiss with each impact — magnetic boots stabilizing, kinetic pads absorbing force. His new katana was magnet-locked along his spine.
Ø TOM (internal monologue): “He’s always ahead. Always watching. But tonight…”
He spotted a shadow.
A flicker of movement on a nearby rooftop — dark coat flowing, staff glinting in moonlight.
Ø TOM (activating comm): “I’ve got him.”
Ø LAYLA (in-ear): “Be careful. His signal’s vanishing. It’s a trap—”
Ø TOM: “Good.”
– Rooftop #17
Exterior
Tom landed softly.
Across from him stood Caleb.
His staff planted in the gravel rooftop, his mask partially pulled up, revealing the scar trailing from temple to jaw.
Ø CALEB (calmly): “I was wondering how long it’d take.”
Ø TOM: “This ends now.”
Ø CALEB (smirks): “Everything ends, Tom. Not everyone survives it.”
Tom drew his katana.
The blade hissed from its sheath.
Caleb spun his staff once, then charged.
The Fight – Staff vs. Katana
It was violent, beautiful, primal.
Caleb’s staff cracked air with every swing, reinforced ends smashing into Tom’s side and legs — blunt force trauma softened only by his new armor.
Tom ducked low, brought the katana up — steel singing as it parried the staff mid-swing, sending a shockwave through the gravel.
Ø CALEB (taunting): “Still predictable. You always over-commit.”
Ø TOM (gritting): “And you always talk too much.”
Caleb spun low — sweeping Tom’s feet out, sending him to one knee.
Tom rolled back, blocked a vertical slam from the staff, then pivoted — slicing clean through the shaft.
Snap.
Caleb stepped back, holding two useless halves of the broken weapon.
Silence.
Then, Caleb dropped the pieces, and from his boot sheath drew a combat knife.
Ø CALEB (quietly): “I killed twenty men to escape. You know why?”
Ø TOM: “Because they turned you into something worse.”
Ø CALEB (smirking): “No. Because they reminded me of you.”
Then—
He lunged.
Tom slashed upward — Caleb dodged, ducked under, and stabbed low into the exposed hip seam of the armor.
Tom grunted, staggering back — the blade buried half an inch under the edge plating.
Ø CALEB: “Still leaving yourself open.”
He kicked Tom square in the chest — sending him flying off the rooftop.
She watched it all from a building across the street.
Perched, balanced like a dancer on wire.
A hint of admiration crossed her lips.
Ø TAMMY (whisper): “He’s good. Maybe even good enough.”
She pulled out a comm bead.
Ø TAMMY (to it): “Father… you’re going to want to meet him.”
She faded back into shadow.
Exterior – Ground Level
Tom hit a lower rooftop, rolled hard, then collapsed into a rusted vent.
Blood trickled from the stab wound — armor sizzling from the impact.
He pressed a hand to his side, breathing hard.
Ø LAYLA (in his ear): “TOM? Say something!”
Ø TOM (hoarse): “I’ve… had worse.”
Interior – Bunker, 15 Minutes Later
Layla and Manners waited as the drone emergency evac pulled Tom in, half-conscious, armour smoking.
Layla rushed to him, pressing into his wound. Manners cursed as he dropped tools and yanked the med kit open.
Ø LAYLA: “Hang in there, idiot. You’re not done yet.”
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