Chapter 12: Hardships

Part 8 – Gotta Be Faster

(The game isn’t always about catching. Sometimes, it’s about being chased and choosing when to let them almost win.)

Exterior – Rooftops, Lower City – Night 19 – 2:01 a.m.

Tom’s boots hit the rooftop hard, gravel crunching beneath each step as he paced the northern district’s edge. Another night. Another silent watch.

He hadn’t said it out loud, but part of him was waiting again—for her.

Ghostfang sat across his back, weightless from muscle memory. His new armor barely creaked anymore. He had grown into it. His breathing remained steady, even when something shifted in the corner of his eye.

Movement.

A flicker of shadow—sleek, fluid.

Tom turned fast.

And there she was.

Tammy.

Half-crouched on a ledge opposite him, her black outfit glinting faintly with thin reflective threads. Her lips curled into a smile. Not wide. Just enough.

Ø  TOM (low, steady): “You planning to fight or flirt tonight?”

She winked.

Then vanished.

Tom moved—fast. Grappling hook fired. He crossed the distance in seconds. Landed on the rooftop she had stood on—

Empty.

But a rooftop ahead, she walked into view. Slowly. Deliberately.

He sprinted. She took two graceful steps backward, then flipped over a low wall. Tom vaulted the same, nearly clipping his boot.

Another rooftop. Another ledge.

Tammy glanced over her shoulder just once.

Ø  TAMMY: “Gotta be faster than that, hot stuff.”

She leapt sideways—twisting midair, her coat flaring behind her like wings—and disappeared behind a steel ventilation tower.

Tom was close now.

Ø  TOM (panting): “Not this time—”

He cleared the vent—

Gone.

Only a black rose left on the gravel. Fresh.

Tom picked it up slowly, breathing heavy. The petals were still wet with dew. A tiny note was tucked into the stem.

Ø  “Shadow League sees. You’ll understand when you’re ready.”

Interior – Bunker War Room – Later That Night

Tom dropped the rose on the table. Layla looked at it. Then at him.

Ø  LAYLA: “She’s playing with you.”

Ø  TOM (quiet): “I know.”

Ø  LAYLA: “And you’re letting her.”

Ø  TOM: “Not for long.”

He looked up at the screen. Then at her.

Ø  TOM: “We’re getting close.”

Interior – Unknown Chamber – Elsewhere

Tammy stood before a long mirror, hands behind her back, posture perfect.

A woman behind her—a blur of elegance and age—spoke from the shadows.

Ø  WOMAN: “You’re enjoying this.”

Ø  TAMMY (smiling): “I’m testing him. He’s not ready yet.”

Ø  WOMAN: “He could be dangerous.”

Ø  TAMMY: “That’s what makes him worth it.”

She touched the hilt of her blade.

Ø  TAMMY: “I hope he comes again tomorrow.”

Chapter 12: Hardships

Part 9 – The Fall

(Some traps aren’t sprung with steel. They’re baited with curiosity. With desire. With the need to understand someone who’s already chosen the game.)

Exterior – Midtown Ruins – 2:45 a.m.

The night was colder than usual, the wind pressing through broken brick and cracked glass like it wanted to whisper something.

Tom stood on a rooftop two blocks south of the old Midtown Medical Center—long abandoned, half-swallowed by vines and graffiti. And there she was.

Tammy.

She didn’t run this time. No flips. No teasing smirks.

She simply stood, katana across her back, long black coat rustling slightly in the wind. Waiting.

Ø  TOM (low, in comms): “I see her.”

Ø  LAYLA (comms): “Tom. Be careful. Don’t go alone—”

Ø  MANNERS (comms): “You’ve got five drones ready to recon if you—”

Tom reached up.

And turned off his comms.

Interior – Abandoned Hospital – Moments Later

Tammy walked without a word, footsteps nearly soundless on the dusty linoleum. Light shafts cut through broken windows like prison bars.

Tom followed, footsteps heavier, slower.

She led him through the main lobby, past collapsed reception desks and mold-stained murals of smiling cartoon nurses. Then down the hall. Into darkness.

Then—she jumped.

A hole in the floor. No hesitation.

Tom reached the edge, stared down into the black.

A pause. A breath.

And he jumped in after her.

Interior – Sub-Basement – Silence

Tom hit the ground and rolled. The light from above was minimal now. His HUD flickered without connection. The room was empty—rows of metal gurneys long rusted and empty IV stands creaking slightly.

Ø  TOM (whispers): “Tammy…?”

A shadow shifted.

Too late.

A sharp sting at his neck.

He turned—saw a gloved hand withdrawing a needle.

Another girl stood beside her—shorter, dark braids, bright eyes glowing faintly under her hood.

A third leaned over him as the world tilted sideways.

Ø  TAMMY (smiling, voice muffled through his helmet): “Told you he was cute.”

Ø  GIRL 1 (grinning): “You’re right. Look at him. All confused.”

Ø  GIRL 2 (softly, leaning in): “Sleep now.”

Tom tried to move—but the floor seemed to spin out from under him.

Everything went black.

Chapter 12: Hardships

Part 10 – Echoes Beneath

(We all carry ghosts. Some whisper. Some scream. Some wear your face.)

Unconscious – Tom’s Mind – Timeless Space

Darkness first. Not just absence of light—a pressure, like being submerged in black tar. Cold. Heavy.

Then a flicker.

A memory?

Flash – War Zone

Flames licked the sky.

Tom, younger, dirt on his face, ash coating his uniform. Gunfire cracked across the canyon of twisted buildings. He aimed. Fired. Men fell. Screams echoed.He turned—a child stood in the rubble, staring at him.

Tom froze.

The boy lifted his hand.

A hole in his chest.

Then he was gone.

Ø  VOICE (familiar, broken): “You always leave someone behind.”

Flash – Interrogation Cell

Tom was strapped to a chair. Lights flickered above. Blood soaked his shirt. Chains rattled.

A figure stood across from him—masked, silent, watching.

Then… Tom stood there too. Watching himself suffer.

Ø  TOM (distant): “I deserved it.”

Ø  OTHER TOM (coldly): “You deserved worse.”

Pain bloomed again. His body arched. But he didn’t scream. Just breathed—ragged. Determined.

Flash – Rooftop, Present Day

Tammy faced him, katana lowered. Her eyes weren’t playful now. They were sad.

Ø  TAMMY (softly): “You’re becoming what you fear.”

Ø  TOM (confused): “What am I?”

She stepped aside.

A mirror stood behind her.

Tom walked to it.

Looked in.

His reflection was twisted—a cracked mask, blood dripping from the mouth, eyes glowing.

Not a hero. Not even a man.

A monster in a suit of meaning.

Ø  TOM (whispers): “That’s not me.”

The mirror fractured. Cracks spread.

Flash – Bunker, Future?

Layla’s body lay still on the table.

Manners sat slumped in the corner, broken glasses, hands shaking.

Tom stood over them—suit blackened, Ghostfang soaked in blood.

Ø  MANNERS (barely audible): “You couldn’t save them…”

Ø  TOM: “I tried…”

Ø  MANNERS: “No. You punished the world instead.”

Tom dropped the sword. It clattered but didn’t echo.

Final Vision – Endless White Room

He walked alone.

Every step echoed.

Then, a figure appeared in front of him.

Himself. Older. Tired. In a sleeker version of the suit. Mask off.

Ø  OLDER TOM: “You’re not fighting to save anyone.”

Ø  TOM: “Yes, I am.”

Ø  OLDER TOM: “No. You’re fighting because you think pain earns redemption.”

Ø  TOM: “So what am I supposed to do?”

Ø  OLDER TOM (gently): “Become more than the mask.”

Reality Returns – Subterranean Chamber – Unknown Time

Tom’s body twitched.

His fingers curled against the cold floor.

He gasped awake—a sharp breath, air rushing into his lungs like fire.

The dim lights above returned. The ceiling was rusted steel. Chains. Voices murmured nearby. He wasn’t alone.

But something had changed inside him.

Something deeper than the scars.

Ø  TOM (whispers): “I won’t become that…”

Chapter 12: Hardships

Part 11 – The Gathering Below

(A new power reveals itself—layered in charm, secrets, and sharpened edges. And some smiles hide sharper fangs than swords.)

---

Interior – Underground Chamber – Unknown Depths

Tom sat on a stone platform, wrists bound by tight leather straps. He’d been cleaned, patched—but not freed. Cold light glowed from crystal sconces lining the chamber walls. The air smelled like earth, old fire, and something faintly floral.

Around him, figures emerged from the dark—some armed, others draped in ceremonial robes, katanas across their backs, curved daggers at their sides. Men and women, boys and girls, all with the same presence: cold poise and unwavering focus.

The Shadow League.

They lined the hall—at least sixty, maybe more.

At the top of the room sat a throne built from twisted steel, crushed weapons, and melted helmets.

Francis De Fluer sat with his hands clasped over a polished walking cane, watching Tom like he was a puzzle box he intended to open slowly.

Standing at his right?

Tammy. Wearing a fitted midnight black bodysuit that shimmered subtly as she moved. Hair tied up in a tight high knot. Eyes lined, lips slick with a dark red gloss. She leaned against the throne railing, her weight shifted playfully, watching Tom like she’d already undressed every layer of him—armor and soul included.

She bit her lip once. Then again.

Tom didn’t flinch. But his heart beat louder than he’d like.

---

> FRANCIS (smooth, patient): “Do you know where you are, Mr. Cole?”

Tom’s jaw tensed.

> TOM: “You drugged me and dragged me into a cult dungeon. I’m guessing the answer’s not 'a hospital.'”

Laughter broke from several of the League. Francis smiled thinly.

> FRANCIS: “We call it The Hollow. But names aren’t important yet.”

> TOM: “Then what is?”

Francis leaned forward, voice low and inviting.

> FRANCIS: “Understanding.”

He stood, cane tapping as he descended from the throne.

> FRANCIS: “You fascinate me, Remnant. A soldier-turned-specter. A man sculpted by pain but not broken by it. That’s rare. We don’t discard such people. We study them.”

Tom raised an eyebrow.

> TOM: “That why you had your daughter flirt with me and stab me in the leg?”

Francis glanced at Tammy, who smirked down at Tom, then shrugged.

> TAMMY: “To be fair, I warned you I was sharp.”

She bit her lip again—slow this time, drawing his gaze. Francis waved her off like swatting a moth.

> FRANCIS: “You were brought here because I see potential in you. Not just as a fighter. As a mind. You think like us.”

Tom shook his head.

> TOM: “You don’t know how I think.”

> FRANCIS: “I know you see this world as sick. You believe in punishment before justice. You wear a mask not to protect your identity—but to let your darkness breathe.”

Tom didn’t answer.

Francis stepped closer. The guards didn’t move. Tammy watched like a cat at play.

> FRANCIS (lower): “You crave control. So do we. But we wield it… smarter.”

---

The League murmured around them.

Sparks crackled behind Francis’s words. The hall seemed to vibrate with possibility. Or threat.

Tammy stepped forward now, descending the steps with lazy elegance. She stopped a few feet from Tom. The light kissed every curve, her stance relaxed but calculated.

> TAMMY (softly): “What if I said we weren’t the bad guys?”

> TOM: “Then I’d say you’re very good at lying.”

> TAMMY: “I never lied. I never said I wasn’t dangerous. Just that I liked you.”

She traced a finger along the hilt of her sword.