Chapter Four
Peter Strong
Chicago was burning.
News anchors would later say it began with an earthquake. Civilians swore the sky shook. But the truth was that Protogenus engineered every second of the chaos. And the first blow struck harder than anyone predicted.
They didn’t wait for morning.
They wanted shock value.
They wanted cameras rolling.
They wanted blood.
Chicago’s skyline flickered past the windows in blurred streaks of neon and smoke. Brynn sat across from him, already laced into her gear, her dark hair tied back, eyes steady. Anyone else might have looked nervous with that much chaos unfolding ahead of them. Brynn only looked focused.
“There are civilians trapped on all three upper floors,” she said, checking the tactical feed on her wrist.
Peter nodded once. “Then we prioritize them.”
Brynn gave a small, knowing smile. “Wouldn’t expect anything else.”
Their carrier screeched to a halt. Brynn was out the door before the brakes finished complaining, her form a swift blur across broken pavement. Peter followed, the humid night air thick with dust and the metallic tang of exposed wiring.
The scene was every degree of catastrophic the report had promised.
A Dioscuri variant was tearing through the lower facade of the building.
Then it threw a sedan like it weighed nothing.
Civilians scattered, some screaming, others frozen.
News crews, already in position, kept their cameras trained on the destruction with grim fascination.
Peter stepped forward, letting the supe see him.
The variant snarled and lunged.
The impact was like colliding with a speeding train. It threw up shards of concrete in all directions, rattling windows a block away. But Peter dug his boots into the ground and held the line, meeting the violent energy with the full force of his own immovable weight.
A second hit landed against his ribs, powerful enough to dent a steel pillar. Peter shifted only an inch. The variant faltered, confusion flickering across his altered features.
Behind him, Brynn’s voice carried over the comms. “South stairwell clear. Moving to second floor.”
Peter didn’t need to look to know she was moving like smoke through the corridors, her steps precise, fast, her speed buoyed by the bond they shared. Even now her presence was like a second heartbeat, reassuring in its steadiness.
A black van screeched around the corner, tires screaming in protest. Protogenus operatives spilled out.
Brynn’s voice sharpened in his ear. “Peter. Weapon team incoming.”
Peter tightened his stance, prepared for the worst. He pivoted just enough to put his body between the Dioscuri and the nearest crowd cluster.
The variant recovered fast, slamming a fist toward Peter’s jaw with enough force to pulp concrete.
Peter met the strike head-on, catching the wrist midair.
The resulting shockwave rippled out in a low boom that knocked dust from the store’s collapsing facade.
“Come on,” Peter murmured, tightening his grip. “Let’s settle this.”
The Dioscuri snarled, muscles rippling with that eerie Protogenus luminance as he twisted, trying to drive a knee into Peter’s ribs. Peter shifted his weight, absorbing the hit with a grunt. He’d taken worse. Hell, he’d trained through worse.
From above, Brynn’s voice crackled through the comms. “Third floor cleared. One more level.”
Her speed hummed inside him—a subtle charge traveling along their bond. The sensation sharpened the edges of his focus. Brynn moving fast meant civilians were getting out. That was what mattered.
Another black van skidded into the square, this one larger, its armored plating gleaming under the flickering streetlights. A half-dozen operatives jumped out, dragging a cylindrical device toward the fight. Even from across the plaza, Peter saw the sickly green glow building in its core.
The power-stripping weapon.
He’d seen the aftermath of its use. The tremors that wracked a variant’s body. The way the lights went out behind their eyes. The fear that followed.
“Brynn,” he said, low and steady. “They’re deploying it.”
“I see it.”
Peter didn’t need to look up. He sensed the shift in her energy.
The Dioscuri variant lunged again, this time straining with enough force to crack the asphalt under their feet. Peter braced, letting the momentum meet his immovable stance. He twisted, knocking the variant off balance, then slammed him to the ground with a controlled, brutal efficiency.
“I’m not your enemy,” Peter said through clenched teeth. “Protogenus sent you for a show.”
The variant growled, rage warring with trapped understanding in his eyes.
He tried to wrench free just as the weapon powered up with a rising whine. They were seconds away from firing.
“Brynn,” he said, “now.”
A blur streaked past the nearest van. Brynn moved like she’d been shot from a cannon. One moment she was at the building entrance, the next she was weaving through operatives. Her footwork was an elegant flicker of motion, each strike disarming or disabling in seamless, economical bursts.
One operative raised his gun; she swept it aside with a twist, dropped him with the heel of her palm, then dove toward the weapon.
The green light turned on.
Peter’s stomach clenched. “Brynn, watch out!”
She reached the device and ripped out the glowing core with both hands. Sparks exploded across her palms, electricity arcing in violent flashes. She gritted her teeth through the impact shock, absorbing it with a hiss of pain but never slowing.
The weapon sputtered, whined, then went dark.
The Dioscuri variant beneath Peter stilled, his breath catching as realization flickered through his eyes. The mission had failed.
He pushed upward with desperate strength, trying to break away. Peter caught him again, pinning him with both hands, forcing him to meet his gaze.
The variant’s mouth curled—not with defiance, but with bitter resignation. "You think you've won. But this is just the beginning."
And then his body convulsed.
Peter barely had time to shout before foam frothed at the man’s lips.
Brynn’s feet hit the pavement beside him, breath quick and sharp. “He’s gone?”
Peter lowered the man's slack weight, jaw tightening. “Suicide.” He rose slowly, looking at the still-filming cameras, at the smoke curling upward, at the faint tremors rattling through the city.
***
SARAH STORM
The air pressure shifted the moment she and Nick cleared the clouds. LAX sprawled beneath her like a wounded beast. The runways were choked with grounded aircraft. Sirens blared across the terminals, while security lights sliced frantically through the dark.
And above it all, a Dioscuri variant darted through the night sky in jagged, unnatural bursts.
“Southwest terminal’s compromised,” Nick’s voice crackled over the comm, calm despite the chaos. “Evacuation’s underway, but the variant’s picking targets close to the fuel lines.”
Sarah banked left, letting the wind catch her body as she dropped into a tight arc. The sensation of freefall had always been instinctual for her. Gravity wasn’t a thing she obeyed so much as a suggestion she negotiated with.
Below her, the Dioscuri variant dove toward a cluster of airport vehicles.
“Got visual,” Sarah said. “Engaging.”
She folded her wings into her body. letting speed gather until her skin prickled with cold. The wind tore past her ears. The runway lights rushed toward her like streaks of molten gold.
She aimed for the variant’s blind spot and closed the final distance in a heartbeat.
He sensed her a second too late.
Sarah struck his shoulder with the full momentum of her descent, sending him spinning end over end above the tarmac. The impact jarred her bones, but she righted herself quickly, wings flaring wide as she used the turbulence to regain altitude.
The variant’s snarl cut through the wind.
He came at her with stunning acceleration.
She baited him upward, drawing him away from the fuel lines, the civilians, the bottlenecked aircraft. Higher and higher they climbed, until the air thinned and the lights of the airport blurred into distant constellations.
“Nick, now,” she said.
A sonic boom cracked across the sky.
Nick appeared in a rush of compressed air, velocity bending the night around him. He collided with the Dioscuri mid-ascent, locking his arms around the variant’s torso in a controlled grapple.
“Got him,” Nick grunted.
The two men plummeted.
Sarah folded her wings and dove after them. The wind roared, her eyes streaming as she kept them in sight. Nick was maintaining his chokehold as the Dioscuri thrashed wildly, trying to break free.
They dropped toward the coastline at terrifying speed.
At the last possible moment, Nick disengaged.
The Dioscuri hit the ocean like a falling star, an eruption of water exploding upward. Sarah caught Nick midair, her arms straining with the force, and together they arced back toward the shoreline.
He was shaking from adrenaline. Nick never feared the fall. That was their bond in a nutshell. He trusted gravity enough to defy it, and she trusted herself enough to catch him.
They touched down near the loading bays just as a Protogenus response team wheeled a device toward them—sleek, metallic, humming with the all-too-familiar green glow.
“Weapon at twelve o’clock,” Sarah said.
Nick didn’t hesitate.
He put on a burst of speed, snatched the device from the operatives’ hands, and flew it so high they vanished into the darkness. Then he dropped it straight into the ocean.
A soft, distant splash followed.
Nick landed beside her, breathless but grinning. “Oops.”
Sarah shook her head, relief washing through her as Protogenus retreated from the area.
***
ARI CARDONNE
The chaos in Seattle unfolded like a nightmare.
People screamed at invisible attackers. Blood appeared on the pavement with no visible assailant. Glass shattered spontaneously.
The Dioscuri was invisible.
Unfortunately for him, so were she and Xavier.