Chapter 10
TEN
GRYPHON
“Look alive, Alpha Team; we’re Transporting in three… two… one—”
It doesn't matter how many times I’ve endured being moved like this or that Kieran is the best Transporter we have, my gut still revolts viciously as the ground beneath my feet disappears only to reform almost instantaneously.
The problem is, there’s no time to swallow the bile down or even get my bearings.
Gunshots ring out as bullets rain down on us from at least a dozen different shooters, the hot sting of one grazing my arm even as I dive for cover, and the chorus of thuds around me are thankfully only followed by the grunts of impact and not screaming from the pain of wounds.
We’re good, just so long as none have been killed instantly.
It's usually far easier for me to get a read on where my team is but as the cacophony of thoughts all hit me at once, my mind doesn’t just struggle, it shuts down completely.
My vision whites out as though I've taken a physical blow, overwhelmed to the point of a ghost-like pain in my head, something I’m not actually feeling, though my body reacts as though I’m experiencing excruciating torture.
It's not usually like this; even as chaotic as the fields of conflict always are, I’m able to keep my wits about me.
There’s something else out here with us.
When North called me into an emergency response briefing, this was the last thing I expected to happen.
It hasn't been a secret that the Resistance has escalated, their desperation obvious, though we still haven't been able to pinpoint what has caused such a rapid devolution. With many of our resources currently working on guarding Draven and the many Gifted there, we surmised that the attack on the small town in California on the border to Mexico was a tactic to draw us out. They’d crafted it well, dozens of Gifted taken, a number of high profile community members among them, and we had no choice but to respond.
Now, we’ve fallen into the trap they’ve set for us.
As the pressure in my head doubles, triples, grows tenfold, I can’t string a thought together, let alone make a plan to get us out of here.
The only scrap of information I can process is the intense need to get this to stop and that I cannot give in to it.
No matter how painful, or the severity of the damage, I can’t let it kill me.
My team would be a significant loss in the fight against the Resistance, but my loss would be catastrophic. It's not arrogant to think so either.
I can do things no other Neuro on record can, and I can do them all at once.
Without me, North is exposed and left vulnerable to the type of manipulations my Secondary Gift renders moot.
I vet every staff member, every student, every operative.
I’m the first and last line of defense for our Bond Group, and I’m the only one who knows that our Bond is lying about why she left us.
Despite myself, I’m starting to think she never wanted to in the first place.
“Aarav, get to Shore now; he’s been hit. Harrison, cover him and report. Winslow and Joshi, get a Shield up and stretch it as far as you can.”
A gasping breath finally wrenches from my chest at Kieran’s orders and my head swims at the sudden flood of oxygen.
No matter how fucked I am right now, I can still grasp at the familiarity of his voice as he effortlessly steps in, my second-in-command and one of my most trusted friends.
I recognize the words he’s saying but not the true gravity of the situation.
Nothing feels real beyond my own compromised state, as if I’m trapped in a frosted-glass box while reality is the muted and obscured view outside.
Another gasping breath and I reach a shaking hand up to press my fingertips against my temple but there's no sign of damage there, no wound from a blow or a bullet I somehow didn’t realize I’d been hit with.
With the third breath in, I find the thoughts rushing into my mind are no longer so loud that they drown out the sounds around me.
Two more breaths and the thoughts start to take form more clearly, function returning despite the pressure holding true.
If I focus hard enough, it’s possible to set aside the sensations overwhelming me thanks to the years of discipline and training behind me. If I can tamp down the panic and swallow the bile, I can assess what in the fuck is happening to me right now, but that only leaves me with more questions.
There are no warning signs of a Gifted here who could magnify the side effects of my ability like this… it makes no sense. Fuck, I've stood in stadiums with tens of thousands of people—yet nothing has ever felt like this before.
There’s a tugging at the hem of my standard issue Tac pants, then a hand grasps my ankle, the point of contact like a brand as a searing heat radiates up my body as Aarav’s Gift floods through me.
“He’s not injured, Black; I don’t know what to tell you.
The bullet was glancing and it hit his arm.
There’s no damage to his mind, not physically at least, but I can’t sense a Neuro in there either. Shore, can you hear me?”
The only Neuro in my mind is myself, but I’m clearly fucking losing it.
The effort it takes me to wrest my Gift back into the confines of my control has me puking, my vision blurring as my stomach empties.
The hand on my ankle drops away, shuffling feet around me, but all of my attention is on my retching.
The moment the spasms end, I force words out of my mouth, wincing at how hoarse I am, but I’m coherent enough.“There’s something—a Gifted is doing this. I don’t know… what it is.”
Aarav hooks an arm around my waist and pulls me up, dragging me over to Kieran and away from the puddle of my vomit. I can barely move to help him, all of my focus turned inward to keep a hold of my control. Though I’ve never experienced anything like this before, I’m starting to get a feel of it.
“The Gifted isn’t attacking—not like a Neuro. It’s… a magnifying glass… boosting my Gift until it’s out of control. It’s feeding it back to me. It’s—fuck, my mind is being cannibalized by itself… by my own Gift.”
Kieran’s eyebrows furrow as he glances over his shoulder, but there’s nothing but smoke to be seen. While I’ve been MIA, a Flame has clearly been hard at work and the buildings surrounding us are now nothing but ashes. Any cover we might’ve had is gone.
Meeting Kieran’s eye as he turns back to me, I give him a curt nod. “The plan—”
I’m cut off by an explosion nearby, south-east of our position but impossible to accurately pinpoint thanks to the smoke.
Joshi grunts as the Shield is hit by falling debris, but he manages to hold its form, even when a piece of concrete the size of a minivan bounces off of it.
The air fills with screams of terror and wailing sirens from the vehicles close to the blast perimeter.
When he turns back to meet my gaze with a firm nod, there’s blood dripping steadily from his nose, a sign that our time within the protection of his Gift is swiftly running out.
Kieran gives me a look even while he speaks slowly to me, but his tone is level enough that it’s not frustration fueling him but concern that I’ve had the sense knocked out of me.
“Respectfully, the old plan is out, and we’re all in on the new plan.
I’m taking command while your brain is jello, and I’ve called for an assist.”
I don’t know what my face is doing; I’m too busy trying to hold my shit together, but whatever is there, Kieran clearly doesn’t like it and shakes his head at me.
“If you have any complaints, Shore, we can argue about it later, when we’re not sitting fucking ducks to a threat we had no idea existed in the first place. ”
Before I can correct him, another wave of power washes over me and the pressure in my head begins to build again. The last fragment of clarity I have is one gut-wrenching realization: this Gifted is going to kill me and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
Then, I know nothing but the overwhelming pressure.
I don’t know how much time passes or what my team does, whether I’m still on my feet or if Aarav sets me back down on the ground. I don’t know if I’m screaming or vomiting again, nothing exists but the violent decay of my brain matter.
Then it stops.
It stops so abruptly that I lose consciousness for a moment and then come to, as if my body has had a system reboot. Feeling detached, I register my surroundings and the movement around me, but rather than alarming me, I’m cataloging it.
The screams in the air, the inky darkness surrounding the Shield, the spray of blood over the barrier until it drips down to the ground, the rigid line of shoulders as my team watches the Draven nightmares tear the Resistance soldiers limb from limb.
Seven, eight, nine, a dozen, two dozen, there are too many rabid shadows feasting for this to be North or Nox alone.
Kieran’s face suddenly appears before me, his mouth moving but the words sounding far away before he grabs my arm and Transports me home.
“The Gifted is gone—and the town was gone before we got here.”
The incessant buzzing of my phone wakes me, the rattling of the side table as it dances across the polished surface, a familiar sound that tricks me into opening my eyes without thinking the action through.
The blinding light hits me like an axe between the eyes, cleaving my skull in two.
Reflexively, I squeeze them shut again, but that doesn’t help much.
Every inch of my brain is swollen and aching desperately, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, and I’m almost sorry I survived the attack.
“If you’re going to vomit, try not to do it in the bed. It was difficult enough getting you back here; changing rooms will be a nightmare.”