Leighton looked up at the heavy gray sky. The tracker pulsed in his palm. He crossed the barrens, ultrasonic hearing cutting through the wind until it locked onto a single heartbeat.

He clenched his teeth, fighting the monster rage wanted to make him. The tracker’s glow brightened, leading him down the cracked hall of an abandoned refinery.

He burst through a wall of concrete and found crates stamped with black dragons—machine guns, grenades, and high‑tech gear stacked in rows.

“Right on time,” Deadlock said, drawing his pistol. His cybernetic hand whirred. “Level gave me purpose—to put heroes down.”

“Heroes took everything from me,” he snarled, gun steady. “Wife. Sons. Reckoning’s due.”

“I’m sorry about your family,” Leighton said, fists tightening. “I lost my father too.”

Deadlock spun the gun, gunslinger‑style. “When I’m done, I’ll carve your heart out.”

Bullets ricocheted harmlessly off Leighton. Using superspeed, he slammed a crate into Deadlock. In response, Deadlock hit a remote—blue light flared as a glitch field locked onto Leighton’s hands.

“Let’s see you fight without powers,” Deadlock sneered.

Fists traded brutal blows—a knife grazed Leighton’s throat. Then the blue lights died as a virus froze Deadlock’s cyber‑arm. Leighton crushed the limb with a sickening crunch.

Leighton slammed him into the wall. “Where’s Level?”

“Ace Corps,” Deadlock gasped, clutching his ruined arm. “Roleplay’s got your key—Level’s claiming it now. Heroes die soon.”

Leighton tightened his grip. “Tell him I’m coming.”

Deadlock stumbled back into the shadows.

His powers drained; Leighton collapsed.

Darkness closed in at the edges of his vision. Precision, not rage, Heavy’s voice whispered in his mind.

Footsteps approached.

A firm hand touched his shoulder. Through the haze, a woman in black tactical gear turned him over.

“Easy. I’ve got you.” Mira’s voice was steady, calm.

Leighton blinked through exhaustion and recoiled. “Who are you?”

“Mira. Heavy told me you’d need backup. Looks like the virus I sent did its job.”

Leighton glanced at her. “Prove it.”

“I just saved your life. A little gratitude wouldn’t hurt,” Mira said, helping him toward a gray van.

Inside, Robert—Amp’s son—waited behind the wheel.

Leighton rasped, smiling.“Been a while, kid."

“What’s good, Leighton?” Robert said, gripping the wheel, purple sparks dancing over his knuckles.

They reached an abandoned high‑rise—their new base. Mira helped him inside.

“What is this place?” Leighton asked, rubbing his pounding head as his powers slowly recharged.

“Our base,” Mira replied, striding ahead.

Leighton folded his arms. “Why help me?”

“Level took my friends. Heavy saved me once. But I hacked the wrong files—it cost me everything. I couldn’t save them.”

Leighton watched her fingers glide across the tablet’s green glow. “You still trust people that easily?”

Mira froze, glancing up.

“Heck no.” She snorted. “Even antiviruses crack if you have the right code.”

Leighton raised a brow. “Trust easy?”

“Only what I can hack,” Mira replied.

He chuckled. “Too many firewalls.”

“Exactly,” she said. “I know how easy they break.”

Robert walked beside them, purple electricity dancing from his palm. He tossed a small orb into the darkness—it shimmered, then dissolved.

“Your father was a hero,” Leighton said, resting a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “We’ll honor him.”

“You didn’t bury him,” Robert said quietly, eyes dropping. “He’s gone.”

Leighton paused, Station’s memory tightening his chest. “I know. I understand.”

“Let me fry Level for what he did to my pops,” Robert said through clenched teeth, purple light flaring around his eyes.

“Revenge won’t bring him back,” Leighton said quietly. “Justice will.”

“Justice,” Robert muttered, nodding. “I’m in.”

Leighton met his gaze. “We’ll stop Level—together.”

Leighton eyed Mira. "Heavy's dock fire—you were the hacker kid he pulled out?"

Mira's tablet slipped. "Flames took my squad. You dragged Robert from the same blaze."

Robert sparked. "Pops' last words: 'Precision saves more than rage.'"
Scars clicked—trust forged in shared ash.

Mira tapped a four‑digit code into a panel. The lock beeped; the door slid open.

They entered the lab. The air was thick with chemical scent; machines hummed softly. Dr. Kinsinka turned from the monitors, glasses magnifying haunted eyes, black cane tapping.

“Welcome, Leighton. Your father warned me you’d come.” He held up a faded photo—himself beside Heavy.

“Who are you?”

“Dr. Kinsinka. I knew your father well. We have much to discuss.” He straightened with effort, gripping his cane. “Do you have the golden key?”

“No,” Leighton admitted, hesitating.

Dr. Kinsinka’s hands trembled. “There’s still time to stop Level—everything’s at stake.” His jaw tightened. “That key unlocks the Metric Gloves.”

Robert’s sparks flared; Mira froze mid‑keystroke. Leighton went still.

He pulled up another image."Metric Gloves—key-locked. Biometrics trigger soundwaves that melt metahuman brains citywide."
Even worse than what Black Guard became.

Mira’s hand froze above the tablet. “That’s genocide.”

“Who’s Black Guard?” Leighton asked, eyes narrowing.

Mira pulled up the file. Black Guard stared back—former cop West Smith, face twisted by black veins, eyes hollow from failed serum.

Electricity popped in Robert’s palm. “What do you mean failed?”

“It backfired,” Dr. Kinsinka sighed, taking a long swig from a silver flask.

“So you built a weapon to kill metahumans?” Leighton said, folding his arms.

Dr. Kinsinka muttered, swigging from his flask."God forgive me—it was a miscalculation.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Robert demanded, sparks crackling around him.

Leighton’s jaw tightened. “We strike Ace Corps. Destroy the Gloves.”

“I’ll hack the shipment times,” Mira said.

“Rest. Tomorrow—we train.” Leighton’s tone left no room for argument.

Shadows played across their faces, resolve hardening. Precision beats overwhelm.