The man turned sharply on his heel, motioning for his unit to follow him. They filed into neat lines and moved forward with impressive coordination.

“We need to get after them. Once the room is clear, we drop down.”

I vaulted over the beam and back down the boxes, offering a hand to Clover, which she gladly accepted. 

“Where are they going?”

“I don’t know Clover. I’m not psychic.”

Clover gently punched me on the shoulder. Apparently, I had to be careful about using the word “psychic” around an actual psychic child.

“Sorry, I guess I shouldn’t speak for all psychics. That was insensitive of me.”

I shuffled forward, making sure just to keep out of the unit’s field of vision. Peering around a corner, I noticed two new unmasked soldiers. I strained my eyes, drinking in their appearance for clues. 

One was a thin, lean woman. She wore the guns, tactical vest and belt, but over a tight, body-hugging dive suit. On her waist sat a quiver, which, strangely enough, was filled with small silver spears, like the ones you’d use in spearfishing. A large trident, the same tint as her spears, was slung across her back. She was caucasian, but deeply tanned, her bright blue eyes stark against her complexion. Her sandy blonde hair stopped right at her belly button, and was tousled to and fro like she had just been swimming in the surf. Like the others, she donned a pin, this one of a fish with sharp teeth. 

The other was an enormously muscular, like bigger than Arnold Schwarzenegger enormous, dark-skinned African man clad in a heavier, more durable version of the standard soldier uniform, complete with additional armour-like pads on the knees, shins, thighs, forearms, and upper arms. He had no weapons and no gloves. He was also rocking the craziest waves and crispest, straightest hairline I had ever seen, accompanied by diamond-studded earrings and Ray-Ban sunglasses that shone impossibly bright for the aquarium’s dim mood lighting. His pin was the head of an alligator. 

The African man spoke, his voice a deep, low rumble. Each one of his words was laced with a thick Nigerian dialect. 

“The gala-goers have been herded into the main Coral Reef  hall, as you asked, Mantis.” 

The stitched-mouth man patted his shoulder.

“Good work, Gator. You too, Barracuda. Assemble your units. Nautilus and I will meet you there momentarily. Chrono’s plan has gone excellently so far. I trust you two will continue to produce results. ”

The sandy-blonde woman and huge man nodded briskly before retreating into the shadows.

I turned to Clover.

“The main Coral Reef hall. Do you know where that is?”

Clover shook her head.

“Yeah. Follow me.”

She bit her lip, fear settling into her little face. 

“Just… stay close behind me.”

The corners of my mouth tipped up, my eyes softening. 

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you. Hopefully, we can figure out what this Chrono guy is up to.”

As we walked into the main hall, we were greeted by a burst of colour and sound.

Well-dressed elites in silken tuxes and cocktail gowns danced, swirled glasses of alcohol, and haughtily conversed in an endless swirl of bodies. Black, white, red, and yellow dresses and suits melded together in a rainbow of fabric dimly illuminated by yellowish-orange ceiling lights. A bawdy, jazzy saxophone piece blared through the cheap speakers, the audio quality still great, but a bit of grainy fuzz still audible at the end of every note. 

However, as soon as the soldiers waltzed through the door, the action ceased. 

The moving bodies stayed perfectly still. Every elite seemed to freeze, confusion overtaking their perfectly maintained, flawless frames. 

A blonde man in a white suit with slicked back hair stepped forward cautiously. He approached the long-haired man, or “Mantis”, as his subordinates called him.

“Can we help you? Is something wrong?”

Mantis just waved his hand, swishing just his middle and index fingers in a sharp, forward motion. 

Time seemed to slow down. Maybe it was the shock of the situation. Maybe it was the feeling of my utter helplessness. Maybe it was the look of absolute terror in Clover’s eyes. 

All at once, every soldier swiftly drew a gun from a compartment. Every muzzle in the room flashed simultaneously, each little blast flickering like an unholy star in an empty sky. 

Absolute pandemonium broke out. The elites shrieked and ran, stomping over each other as they rushed for the exits. Heads, arms, and legs crushed in the commotion stained the pristine floor a deep red. Those unlucky enough to get hit directly with bullets fell to the floor, writhing and screaming. 

Some ran for the doors and successfully scrambled out. “Gator”, the large African man, turned to pursue, but Mantis grabbed his shoulder. 

“Let them run. The terror is essential to Chrono’s ritual. Letting them flee will supply plenty.”

The terror of the moment caused the significance of this sentence to fly over my head. All I thought about was getting myself and Clover out of the room.

“Kid, we need to leave.”

Attempting to shuffle around the corridor, I felt a cold hand snake around my ankle.

A woman. Her face was covered in a viscous black and red sludge, her eyes bloodshot. Her hair and eyes were smeared with mascara, turning her features demonic.

“HELP ME!”

The sandy-blonde woman, or “Barracuda,” approached the woman slowly, quickly and cleanly drawing a spear from her quiver, impaling the woman directly through the neck. She gasped, coughed up a congealed mess of flesh and blood,  her head falling to the floor, unmoving. 

The woman turned her gaze to me. She drew the large trident from her back, widening her legs into a fighting stance. 

“CLOVER! RUN!”

I pushed her back, motioning for her to take cover behind an abandoned dining cart. 

“What about you!?”

“I’ll be fine! I’ll need your powers for support!”

She nodded, the fear still radiating across her frame. But deep in her eyes, I saw a fire. She was ready for whatever was coming. I couldn’t let her one-up me.

The woman widened her stance. She swung the trident in a sweeping arc above her head. I leapt back, letting the metal tip of the weapon clang against the floor.

I pushed off the floor, dashing low. I gripped the tip of the spear, stomping on it with all my might. With a sharp crack, the tip snapped off, shards scattering across the carpet.

Surprised, the woman stumbled back. I had to go in. It was my only shot. Closing the distance, I unleashed a powerful front kick to her chest, planting my foot as hard as I could against her solar plexus, strong enough that it knocked the wind out of even me. Knocked off balance, she fell backwards a couple of feet, but never fully fell, regaining her composure much faster than I would have liked.

Once again, she shifted her stance. She bent her knees, straightening her hands into sharp, spear points in a quick, windmill motion. 

“Silat, eh? Interesting choice.”

The woman’s mouth stretched into a sharp grin, her unnaturally triangular teeth forming an unsettling yet pleased grin. 

“You’re not half bad. Recognizing a martial art from my stance alone? Not your first time on the block, I assume.”

An Australian. Her accent gave it away. What was she doing in San Francisco? The more I thought about it, what were ANY of them doing here? In the past hour, I had heard a Russian, a Nigerian, and an Irish voice all in the same place. 

She swung her arm around, interlocking mine with hers at the elbow. A clinch. Her other arm flew back, clocking me right in the heart with a brutal fist. 

I coughed, steadying myself. I hit her with an elbow, right to the cheek, forcing her to release my other arm. 

Those clinches would be the death of me. I had to keep my distance. Short, sharp kicks would be my bread and butter. 

Noticing my freedom, she slipped forward in sharp, short wave-like movements. There was a rhythm to her short dashes, each step in my direction like a wave gently crashing onto a shore. 

A throat chop. I grunted, blocking the blow with my forearms. Her other hand, clenched in a fist, slid below my guard, flying towards my chest.

I hit her arm with a roundhouse, my foot overextending and hitting her chest as well. Bingo. She flew backwards, collapsing to her knees. Exhausted, I fell to mine as well. 

Both of us hunched over, caught in a stalemate. I knew I couldn’t get close, or she’d grab me, but I was too far to unleash my kicks. 

A sudden weight collapsed onto my back, arms encircling my neck.

“Clover, now is not the time for a piggyback!”

Her body sparking and eyes glowing, she twisted my face to a pipe above me. A misfired bullet from one of the soldiers had hit it, causing it to creak ominously. 

“I saw something. If you can get her to hit that pipe with a spear, it’ll crack open, causing a bunch of high-pressure water to spill out. She’ll be blinded and disoriented, and we can get away.”

I nodded. I hopped even further back, forcing Barracuda to reach into her quiver. She tossed one haphazardly forward. Grunting, I bobbed to the left, the sharp point just barely snipping my hair. 

This was going to be a really bad idea. 

I grabbed the tank nearest to me. The fish inside of it glared, their little eyes transfixed on the strange human that was balanced precariously on the tank’s edge. 

“Sorry, guys.”

I leapt from the glass edge, hands as high as I could reach them, just barely snagging the pipe Clover had pointed out. 

Right on cue, a spear pierced the metal plating. A torrent of water burst out, dousing the enemy below. She grunted in frustration, blinded. 

“Thanks, Clover. Let’s go.”

With the kid on my back, I sprinted as fast as my legs would carry me. To where, I didn’t know. But out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the light of a walkie-talkie spark to life. 

A thick Nigerian accent spilled into the air, tickling my eardrums. 

“Unknown juvenile and adult male spotted. Permission to engage?”

The harsh Russian voice cracked at the end of the line. Mantis.

“Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

My heart skipped a beat. This was not going to be pretty.