Chapter 11: Ashes in Motion
Part 3 – Smoke and Footsteps
(You don’t get to rest in war. You catch your breath between hits.)
Interior – Underground Bunker – Medical Bay
The air was thick with silence. Tom sat on the edge of the steel bed, chest heaving under the weight of bruised ribs and a cracked forearm plate. His undersuit was half peeled off, revealing purple-black swelling over his side.
Layla stood over him, sleeves rolled up, hand trembling slightly as she pressed gauze to a nasty gash across his collarbone.
Ø LAYLA (softly): “That could’ve been your throat.”
Ø TOM (wincing): “Could’ve. Should’ve. But wasn’t.”
Ø LAYLA (tightening wrap): “You joke too much when you’re bleeding.”
Ø TOM: “I’m always bleeding.”
She tied the gauze, then placed a hand against his shoulder.
Ø LAYLA (gently): “You’re not made of steel, Tom. Don’t try to prove you are.”
He nodded once. The pain in his body was real. But the deeper pain—the psychological itch of failure, of vulnerability—was worse.
Across the room, Manners paced in front of a large screen filled with fragmented footage and glitching feeds from the night’s fight.
Interior – Workshop – Moments Later
Ø MANNERS (to himself): “Who the hell set this up?”
He scrubbed through footage of the alley, pausing on the drone attacks, the sudden perimeter closure, the tactics. Clean. Military. Coordinated.
He froze the screen.
Ø MANNERS (softly): “This wasn’t just an ambush. It was a test.”
Layla entered quietly.
Ø LAYLA: “Any leads?”
Ø MANNERS: “They weren’t trying to kill you two. Not right away. They were gathering combat data—watching how you moved, responded. Testing weaknesses.”
Ø LAYLA (grim): “That’s what Caleb does. He watches first. Then he breaks you.”
Ø MANNERS (softly): “We need to talk about Tammy too.”
She nodded.
Ø LAYLA: “She’s not just another killer. She had a shot at Tom. She let him live.”
Ø MANNERS: “That makes her worse.”
Interior – Bunker Gym – That Evening
Tom stood in front of a mirror. Shirtless. Wrapped in bandages. Sweat glistened over scars both old and new.
He practiced sword strikes slowly—fluid movements, adjusting to pain. Every motion was deliberate, calculated. Ghostfang hissed through the air like it remembered its last kill.
Layla walked in, now dressed in her lighter version of the armor. No words. She picked up a staff and began moving beside him.
Ø TOM: “You’re picking it up fast.”
Ø LAYLA: “You’re not the only one who wants to get better.”
They trained in silence. Blades whispering in the dark.
Interior – Rooftop – Vance Tower
Caleb stood at the edge, wind dragging his coat behind him like a cape of ghosts. In his hand was a holo-display—replaying the ambush from his own helmet cam.
He watched Tom move, block, bleed. Watched Layla leap and counter. He studied them with the gaze of a tactician. Or a predator.
Tammy stepped beside him, holding two takeaway coffee cups. She offered him one.
Ø CALEB (without looking): “What do you want?”
Ø TAMMY: “Just watching. You like him, don’t you?”
Ø CALEB (quietly): “I respect his survival.”
Ø TAMMY: “Funny way of showing it.”
Ø CALEB: “He left me in that pit. Then he got out. Clean. And the world gave him a second chance.”
Ø TAMMY: “You want revenge, or to be him?”
Caleb said nothing.
Ø TAMMY (stepping closer): “You keep watching, Caleb. But one day, you’ll have to fight without hate. And I don’t think you know how.”
Interior – Bunker War Room – Final Scene
Tom, Layla, and Manners stood around the map.
Ø MANNERS: “I tracked the drones. The tech didn’t just belong to Vance. It was military-licensed. And it’s been... modified. Illegally.”
Ø LAYLA: “So someone in the system’s helping them.”
Ø TOM: “Then we bring the system down too.”
He clenched his fist around the scabbard of Ghostfang.
Ø TOM (low): “No more running. They hit us once. Now it’s our turn.”
Part 1 – Newbury Burning
(If they want a war, we bring the fire.)
Exterior – Newbury Avenue – 2:09 a.m.
Dark. Cold. Tension like a loaded trigger.
The van pulled up to the alley just east of the warehouses. Its windows were tinted black, but inside, three figures sat in silence.
Tom, dressed head to toe in his black and crimson armor, Ghostfang sheathed across his back.
Layla, sleek and sharpened in her new suit, voltage-charged gauntlets faintly humming.
Manners, voice in both their ears, watching from the bunker through Tom’s helmet feed.
Ø MANNERS (comms): “Thermal scans show two trucks. Four guards per—armed. Human cargo locked in a freight container at the rear. Get in. Get them out. Clean.”
Ø LAYLA: “Copy. No mistakes.”
Ø TOM (coldly): “Let’s make some noise.”
They stepped out, van doors hissing shut behind them.
Interior – Warehouse Alley
Tom and Layla moved like shadows, hugging walls, checking corners. Tom peered through the slats of the warehouse’s outer gate.
Inside: dozens of crates, two trucks. Men laughing. Weapons slung carelessly.
Ø LAYLA (whispering): “We can end this in one sweep.”
Ø TOM: “Then we sweep.”
They moved. Silent. Swift.
First contact:
Tom slammed into the first thug like a meteor, cracking his ribs with one punch and tossing him into a stack of crates. Layla spun under gunfire, used her shoulder vents to launch into the air, and dropped on two more with her tasers igniting.
Ø GUARD (screaming): “What the—?!”
Ø TOM: “Remnant.”
Ghostfang hissed out of its sheath.
The next five minutes were war.
Blades slashed. Boots broke ribs. Electricity danced. Bones shattered.
Ø MANNERS (comms): “Second truck’s moving! They’re trying to flee!”
Tom ran at full sprint, vaulted onto the truck’s hood, and plunged Ghostfang through the engine. The machine died with a metallic shriek.
Layla stood on the warehouse stairs, eyes glowing with focus.
Ø LAYLA: “Tom—look out!”
From above—Brutus dropped down like a wrecking ball.
Tom turned just in time to block a full-body tackle, but Brutus still sent him flying into a wall. The impact cracked the plaster.
Ø BRUTUS (laughing): “Told you we’d meet again.”
Tom rolled to his feet, wiping blood from his mouth.
Ø TOM: “Glad you brought a helmet.”
The second fight began.
Tom vs Brutus was a brawl of giants.
Each punch echoed like gunshots. Tom dodged, weaved, landed counter-blows, but Brutus shrugged off pain like a beast bred for punishment.
Meanwhile—
Layla vs Vesper.
From the shadows, Vesper struck. Her twin daggers slashed toward Layla’s throat—only for Layla to roll and zap her mid-spin with a taser burst. Sparks flew. Vesper gritted her teeth, but laughed.
Ø VESPER: “I’ve missed this…”
Layla didn’t reply—just hit harder.
Interior – Upper Warehouse Level – Caleb’s View
Caleb stood above, staff slung over his shoulder. Watching.
Every swing Tom took. Every dodge Layla executed. He studied them with clinical eyes. Behind him, Tammy leaned on a railing, arms crossed.
Ø TAMMY: “You won’t intervene?”
Ø CALEB: “They’re surviving. Barely. That’s all I need to see.”
Ø TAMMY (quiet): “You admire him, don’t you?”
Ø CALEB: “I understand him.”
Ø TAMMY: “Maybe that’s worse.”
Warehouse Floor – Climax of the Fight
Tom feinted left, then drove his elbow into Brutus’ jaw. The brute staggered.
Ø TOM (panting): “You don’t learn, do you?”
Ø BRUTUS (grinning): “Nope.”
Ghostfang flashed—Tom slashed across Brutus’s knee, bringing him down. Then a final kick sent him collapsing into stacked crates.
Layla, meanwhile, had Vesper by the collar. She slammed her into a steel post and delivered a shock punch that shorted out the power grid in a 10-meter radius.
Vesper twitched, went limp.
Silence fell.
Ø TOM (to comm): “Targets down. Container unlocked. Victims secured.”
Ø MANNERS: “I’ve got eyes on the back alley. You’re clear.”
Ø LAYLA (panting): “They weren’t guarding cargo. They were guarding the fight.”
Ø TOM: “Which means we’re not done.”
He looked to the catwalks.
But Caleb and Tammy were gone.
Chapter 12: Hardships
Part 2 – Blades in Moonlight
(Not all danger arrives with noise. Some walk in with hips swaying and a blade hidden behind a smile.)
---
Exterior – Rooftops, East Newbury – 3:17 a.m.
Tom and Layla moved fast over rooftops, scanning the alleys below. The warehouse raid had revealed little about the next target—except that someone was watching. Someone who wanted to be found… eventually.
> LAYLA (over comm): “No sign of Caleb. It’s like he vanished.”
> TOM: “He doesn’t run. He stalks.”
Suddenly, Layla paused near the edge of a rooftop. Her hand raised in warning.
> LAYLA: “Movement. Ten meters. You’re not gonna like this.”
Tom turned.
There she was.
Tammy Fleur. Standing atop the next rooftop, moonlight dancing on her tight-fitting black suit. She wasn’t hiding—her hips tilted just slightly, lips painted deep red, hair falling in loose waves.
Her katana rested on her shoulder like a casual accessory.
> TAMMY (smiling): “You came looking for Caleb. You found something better.”
> TOM: “You want to fight"
She tilted her head, stretching slowly, letting her silhouette shift like a painting of temptation and danger.
> TAMMY: “Let’s see what that katana can do, handsome.”
Tom unsheathed Ghostfang. Sparks kissed the edge.
> TOM: “Then you know what you're doing is a mistake.”
She stepped forward, katana drawn with a whisper.
> TAMMY (grinning): “Then correct me.”
The Fight Begins
Steel met steel.
Tammy moved like liquid art—her swordplay fluid, rhythmic, almost hypnotic. Every swing was clean, every dodge laced with intent. She flowed around Tom’s first few attacks, deflecting his heavier blade with grace.
> TAMMY: “You’re stronger. I’m faster.”
She ducked under his sweep, slid across gravel, and came up with a spinning strike aimed at his shoulder. Tom blocked—barely.
They circled each other.
> TOM (gritting teeth): “Who trained you?”
> TAMMY: “Daddy did. And a few dead men along the way.”
She lunged again. Tom countered with a vertical strike, but Tammy caught the momentum and half-sworded—gripping the back of her blade and slicing down the flat of Tom’s own, sparks flying.
> TOM: “Smart.”
> TAMMY (smirking): “Hot, too.”
She dropped her blade for a moment, caught it with the other hand mid-fall, and sliced into the gap under Tom’s thigh plating.
> TOM (grunting): “You flirt better than you fight.”
> TAMMY: “That’s because I haven’t flirted yet.”
She delivered a perfect spinning kick to his chest, launching him back. Tom rolled, wincing.
Tammy sauntered toward him, sword resting on her shoulder again.
> TAMMY: “You’re good, Tom Cole. Just not me.”
She gave a slow, teasing tilt of her hips, eyes drinking him in with that dangerous smile.
> TAMMY (soft): “When you’re ready… the Shadow League would like to see you.”
She stepped into a plume of smoke released from her belt.
> TAMMY (playful whisper): “Hope to see you again, handsome.”
And just like that—gone.
---
Layla Rejoins Moments Later
> LAYLA (running up): “What happened?”
> TOM: “Tammy. She was… training me.”
He limped to his feet.
> LAYLA: “You okay?”
> TOM: “She could’ve killed me. She didn’t.”
> LAYLA: “That’s worse.”
Tom sheathed Ghostfang slowly.
In the distance, thunder rolled.
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