Titus Neil Strong

The forest stank of burnt ozone and blood. Tree trunks splintered like broken bones littered the area, smoke curling from the ruins of what used to be a hideout. Titus stood over the body of the villain they’d just taken down—if it could even be called a villain. The guy barely put up a fight. Neck snapped. Face still contorted in shock.

“Coward,” he muttered, blade still slick with blood as he crouched down, inspecting the insignia scorched into the man’s jacket. His grip tightened. Nova Pact, once again, sending fodder.

Sandra moved silently through the wreckage, her power dissolving debris into glowing particles, like snow being sucked into a void. She didn’t speak. She rarely did. Efficient, unshakable, and always somewhere behind him like a shadow with orders.

A sharp splash to his right made him glance up.

Sony stood barefoot in a puddle that hadn’t existed five seconds ago, swirling a globe of water lazily between his fingers like it was a toy. He leaned against a cracked tree with his usual shit-eating grin.

“Damn,” he said, spinning the water so fast it turned into mist. “They keep getting softer. Back in the day, we’d at least break a sweat.”

Titus didn’t reply at first. His eye flicked back to the corpse. No honor in that kill. No challenge. Just another body dropped by someone barely old enough to know what war even looked like.

“I don’t want to hear that bullshit right now.”

Sony laughed. “Aw, come on, man. You’ve been brooding all day. Thought you’d lighten up after turning that guy into a paperweight.”

Titus rose to his feet, flicking the blood from his blade before sheathing it with a sharp click. His jaw clenched, shoulders tense beneath his armored vest.

“Someone fucking died last week,” he said coldly. “And I’m not gonna pretend this is all some kind of game, just ‘cause the new kids can’t throw a punch.”

Sandra glanced over but didn’t interfere.

Sony’s smirk faltered. He raised both hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No jokes.”

A silence followed, thick with the smell of smoke and iron—until a sharp rustle snapped through the underbrush.

Titus’ head whipped around. The sound wasn’t natural—too heavy for a rabbit, too quick for a stag. His hand went to the hilt of his blade instinctively.

"اللعنة..." he hissed under his breath.

Another crunch of twigs.

Without a word, he stepped toward the noise, boots muffled by the ash-covered ground. Sandra remained behind, alert but still. Sony straightened, letting the water fall and vanish into the dirt.

Titus drew his knife in silence, eyes narrowing as he neared the thicket. The wind shifted. Whatever—or whoever—was out there, wasn’t trying very hard to stay hidden.

One last step, and he grabbed the nearest branch, yanked it aside.

The figure standing there wasn’t a threat. At least not immediately. Not armed, not running. But definitely not supposed to be here. Dirt on their clothes, leaves tangled in their hair, and a look on their face that screamed defiance more than fear.

His brow furrowed. His stance didn’t change.

“The fuck are you supposed to be?”

He didn’t lower the blade.

Titus didn’t move. He stared hard, blade held steady at his side. But Sony—of course—had to open his damn mouth.

“Oh shit,” he said, amusement creeping back into his tone. “Ain’t that the little tag-along? That one from the intel briefs? Kade’s sidekick or something?”

Titus’s eye flicked over to him, then back to the figure.

“You sure?”

Sony grinned wider, nodding. “Yeah, yeah—she was always stuck to his hip. Real scrappy. Thought she got iced last month, guess not.” He leaned forward with a dramatic squint. “Cute, though. In a 'bite-your-fingers-off' kinda way.”

Titus let out a sharp breath, unamused.

“I wasn’t fucking asking about her dental habits.”

The figure in front of them didn’t flinch. Eyes locked with his like they didn’t give a damn about the knife still in his grip. Like they wanted him to make a move.

Sandra’s voice cut in, calm and clipped as always. “We should bring her in.”

Titus glanced back.

“For questioning,” she added.

Sony shrugged, already starting to circle the girl like a shark scenting blood. “Could be fun. Boss’ll probably want to know what else Kade was planning before we turned him into ground meat.”

Titus didn’t sheath the blade. His eyes lingered on their face—dirt-streaked, lips chapped, chest rising with shallow, stubborn breaths. She looked like someone who’d been running too long. Or like someone who had nothing left to lose.

“On your knees. Hands where I can see them,” he said flatly.

His voice didn’t rise. He didn’t need to shout.

Because if they didn’t listen, he wouldn’t hesitate.

The briefing room smelled like burnt ozone and disinfectant. The lights overhead buzzed, flickering now and then like they couldn't decide whether to stay alive. Titus leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight over his chest, jaw clenched.

His boss stood at the table, hands braced on either side of a sleek tablet. The holo-display flickered through security cam feeds—one of them frozen on the image of the prisoner, seated with wrists bound and a cold glare carved into their face.

“They’re not talking,” the boss said, voice low. “Haven’t said shit since Sandra dragged them in.”

Titus didn't respond. He didn’t need to. That kind of silence was its own kind of guilt.

The boss looked up at him, expression unreadable. “We’ll question them tomorrow. No lawyers. No audience.”

“Fine by me,” Titus muttered, nodding once. “What d’you want until then?”

A pause. Then the boss tilted their head slightly. “Watch them.”

Titus stiffened. “Seriously?”

“They’ve been trained,” the boss continued, ignoring the protest already building behind Titus’s teeth. “We don’t know what they know, what they’ve seen, or what they’re capable of. No containment tech on short notice, so—”

“Babysit,” Titus cut in, his voice sharp and bitter. “You want me to babysit a ticking fucking bomb.”

The boss narrowed their eyes. “I want you to do your job.”

Silence stretched, thick enough to choke on. Eventually, Titus exhaled hard through his nose, nodding again.

“Whatever.”

He turned to leave, fingers twitching at his sides. He was still wearing dried blood from the earlier fight, and now, instead of a debrief or a clean-up, he was being shoved into a room with the last piece of a villain he’d been ready to bury.