Chapter 6
CIPHER
The Labyrinth recognized me immediately. The black walls illuminated with subtle blue light as I stepped inside, the system coming online at my presence.
“Initiate suit-up sequence,” I commanded, shrugging out of my suit jacket. The wall panels slid open as I walked, mechanical arms extending to collect each piece of clothing as I shed the civilian costume. I continued forward at a measured pace, not breaking stride as I unbuttoned my shirt.
Annie Bishop. Keeper. Dawn’s roommate.
I stepped onto the designated platform and sensors mapped my body using the linear tattoos on my skin.
She recognized me immediately. By smile. That was fucking interesting.
“Full armor configuration,” I instructed. The undersuit came first, flowing across my skin before hardening into place.
I waited as the familiar weight of each piece of armor settled comfortably against me. The mask was last, sliding over my face.
Annie was the first interesting person I’d met in years. I needed her personnel file. I needed to find the cracks in her pristine, rule-following armor so I could slide my fingers inside and pry her open.
Privacy was a privilege and Annie Bishop had just lost hers.
The command center thrummed with activity, screens flickering with feeds from around the city.
One covered the Obsidian-Dread aftermath, the smoldering rubble still visible along with the telltale glint of cleanup crews working through the night.
Chroma Bay, always healing just enough to bleed again.
“Number Fifteen,” I called out. “Status report.”
Number Fifteen straightened, his expression shifting to something resembling nervousness. “Sir, the Syndicate is requesting an urgent meeting regarding the, uh, Keeper incident.”
“What?” I froze mid-stride. “What Keeper incident?” I demanded, noticing that the operations floor had gone suspiciously quiet. Several henchmen hunched over their stations, looking focused on whatever they were pretending to do.
Number Fifteen tapped a few commands into his console and the main viewscreen shifted to a recording from the Super News Network.
My masked face filled the screen and the headline hit like a punch to the gut.
“VILLAIN TURNS HERO?”
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
Number Fifteen’s fingers flew and the feed loaded.
It showed Annie falling and my stomach dropped right with her. I could hear the wind screaming past my ears as I’d lunged after her. The cameras shouldn’t have caught that. They shouldn’t have caught me.
Harry fucking Bronson, one of the damn personalities for the channel, came on the screen.
“During today’s disastrous, rain-filled fight between Obsidian and Dread, even more sparks flew when fan favorite Villain, Cipher, appeared to save a female spectator.
” Bronson had his stupid shit-eating grin on as he continued.
“Cipher isn’t known for his heroics. Quite the opposite.
I wonder if his ratings will take a harder hit than the building he saved the mystery woman from? ”
The feed cut to the rooftop after I’d saved her, to my arms locking around her waist.
The camera had captured it all in high definition. The way her wet clothes clung to her skin, outlining the curve of her hip, the dip of her spine. The way her hands gripped my armor.
The footage zoomed in on my hand spread over her lower back, my fingers digging into the wet fabric, pressing her flush against me. It looked like I owned her.
I slammed my fist onto the console and the glass spiderwebbed under the impact.
“Who authorized these angles?”
“A civilian drone,” Number Nine said. “They sold the footage to SNN.”
The clip looped. My hand on her back. Her face turned up to mine. The rain plastering us together.
Millions of people had watch this. Millions of people were looking at the way her body molded to mine and consuming a moment that belonged only to me.
At least the footage froze just as my head dipped toward hers. The embrace was there, but the kiss remained unseen. If the world had seen the way she opened for me, the way she tasted like rain and ruin, I would have had to burn the news station to the ground.
My ratings ticker in the corner was fluctuating wildly. League segments plummeted but the civilian numbers were skyrocketing. The public loved the spectacle and were eating it up. They loved watching the monster catch the girl.
“Turn it off.”
The screen went black, but the image was burned into my retinas.
The League had strict rules about these things. Heroic acts were forbidden without proper motivation. You didn’t save civilians. You didn’t save Keepers.
And I had absolutely no villainous justification for catching Annie Bishop. Except for the fact that I had wanted to touch her and see if she was as soft as she looked. That wasn’t a justification the League would accept.
“Sir, the Syndicate call is coming through now.”
The main screen switched on and five hooded silhouettes appeared, back-lit to obscure any identifying features. The Syndicate in all their ominous glory.
“Cipher,” the central figure began, their voice distorted to an inhuman growl. “Would you care to explain why you’re trending as ‘Villain With a Heart’ across social platforms?”
Oh fuck. I straightened to my full height, letting a cocky smile play across my mouth. This wasn’t my first rodeo with the Syndicate’s disapproval, and I’d be damned if I let them see me sweat.
“I’m wounded,” I drawled. I needed to sell this, and fast. “You think I’d go Hero without a payoff? Please. I’m playing a long game.”
The silhouettes remained silent, waiting.
“Keeper Bishop is Havoc’s right hand. His most trusted ally.
” I began pacing, warming to my improvised plan.
“What better way to gain intel on our most formidable adversary than through his Keeper? The rescue was merely step one in establishing rapport. I’m cultivating an intimate source.
Close proximity, trust, access—you know how this works. ”
A snort came from the figure on the far right. “You expect us to believe that?”
“It’s working,” I countered smoothly. “I’ve already made contact with her in civilian identity.”
The center figure leaned forward. “Your actions today were unacceptable. A Villain of your caliber, saving someone? The optics are disastrous.”
I clenched my jaw. Of course, they weren’t listening. The Syndicate never listened.
“The League has standards, Cipher,” another figure added. “We can’t have Villains running around playing Hero whenever a pretty face is in danger.”
So they’d noticed she was pretty, too.
“The ratings hit alone—” began the leftmost figure.
“Actually,” I interrupted, bringing up a display on a secondary monitor, “my ratings are up seven points among the 18-34 demographic. My merchandise sales increased 12% in the last two hours. Fans are intrigued.”
“Do not attempt to rationalize,” another figure cut in. “Your ratings with the League have dropped significantly.”
I crossed my arms. “The League’s opinion matters more than the public’s? That’s new.”
“Mind your tone,” the center figure warned. “However, this unfortunate incident has presented an unexpected opportunity. The perfect punishment and path to redemption has emerged.”
My interest piqued despite my irritation. “Oh?”
“The Tinkerer’s Hammer has been stolen.”
My heart skipped a beat. The Tinkerer’s Hammer? My childhood idol’s most prized possession? Memories flooded back of watching the Tinkerer’s matches on TV, studying his every move, dreaming of following in his footsteps.
“When?” I demanded, forgetting for a moment who I was addressing.
“Your enthusiasm is noted,” one figure said dryly. “The theft occurred during the chaos following today’s match between Obsidian and Dread.”
The Hammer had been here in the city this whole time?
All these years of planning my rise through the League’s ranks, and I hadn’t even known it was within reach.
Not that I cared for its power, it was nothing to me, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t do anything to have it now knowing it still existed.
“A Trueborn is responsible.”
That snapped me back to attention. “What?”
“The Hammer was taken from the archives while the power dampeners were active. A serum enhanced individual couldn’t have taken it and every Trueborn is accounted for at the time of the theft,” the center figure explained. “Someone has managed to stay hidden until now.”
I willed my hands to unclench. Another Trueborn Super. One who’d stayed hidden, just like me. But unlike me, they’d sacrificed that carefully maintained secrecy for the Hammer.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because,” the center figure leaned forward, “you’re going to help find the rogue and retrieve the Hammer.”
“Pardon?” I didn’t need the biofeedback from my suit to tell me I’d had an anxiety spike. Why would they think I could help find a Trueborn? They couldn’t know what I was.
Without warning, multiple video feeds materialized alongside the Syndicate’s shadowy figures. Annie’s confused face appeared first. She was still wearing that dress that did delicious things to her body.
The confused look on her face morphed into stunned horror, which I suppose I’d credit myself for having caused. Havoc loomed behind her. The darling of the Alliance. The wall of muscle and righteousness standing between his Keeper and the dark. His eyes locked onto me.
Mine, his stance said.
We’ll see, I thought, keeping my posture deceptively loose.
Before I could enjoy the stare-down, more feeds popped up. The pristine, white-and-gold hypocrisy of the Aegis.
“As we were saying,” the center Syndicate figure continued, “You will work with Keeper Bishop and—”
“Absolutely not,” Annie interrupted, her voice sharp. “I don’t work with Villains.”
I couldn’t help myself. “But you’ll have dinner with them.”
Havoc’s head whipped toward her. So she hadn’t told him where she’d been before the call. Annie’s cheeks flushed a guilty crimson as she stammered, “That was—”
“Enough.” A Syndicate member’s voice thundered, cutting her off.