Chapter 12

Ambition to Burn

[ Veritus Praxis Neuroadaptive Noetic Implant: Series 1 – Ascensus ]

Welcome to the Veritus Praxis Series – Ascensus.

IDENTIFICATION REQUIRED

> Alexander Rooke

Confirmed.

Welcome, Alexander. You are now a registered member of the Ascensus program.

Administrative override detected: Privacy mode enabled.

Scan in progress…

[ Ascension Potential Index ]

Known Power & Baseline Classifications: Technopathy (C-A, 1-3)

Personal Power Classifications & Tiers: Evaluating…

Physical and Cognitive Assessments: Evaluating…

Self-Actualization: Calibrating…

[ Core Profiling & Enhancements ]

Vitals Monitoring: Active

Adaptation Engine: Active

Evolutionary Potential Tracking: Offline

Latent Capability Detection: Active

Basic functions are available.

Please demonstrate your powers and perform moderate exercise as per an instructor’s guidance to complete initial calibration.

Alexander’s eyes snapped open. A dragging, gasping breath filled his lungs.

The last time he’d gone through implant initialization, he’d been in the delirious throes of ‘undying’. Having now experienced it fully for the second time, he wasn’t eager for a third.

Annie interrupted his thoughts. “How’d it go? What’d you get?”

He sighed and sat up from the leather operating chair, the kind used for small, localized installations and upgrades.

“It just shows my Technopathy. I assume the C-A and one-three are Class and Tier information,” he muttered, experimenting with the interface. He could either choose to read the inputs as if they floated in front of his eyes, or let the information flow into his mind unfiltered.

Annie stood with hands on hips like a teacher ready to deliver a lecture. “Exactly! See, mine says my MetaMetal Adaptation is Class B, Tier 1.”

She paused for dramatic effect. “I can transform my body into liquid metal, and eventually I’ll be able to do the whole thing. It’s considered a durable close-quarters ability, with great utility outside of combat too.”

She lowered her voice, waving a metal hand. “You could chop this off right now, but the moment I released my power, you’d see my real hand reform. What’s cut off would turn inert and evaporate quickly unless I willed it to stay. It’s almost like body-swapping. I’m going to be so unkillable when I can do my whole body.”

She wiggled her fingers, and the metal looked to recede into her skin. From the way she described it, Alexander suspected it functioned far stranger than it looked.

“But if I take too much damage to the metal, I can be forced back into full bio-form, losing the adaptation. If that happens, I’m toast. Pretty much night-night Annie.” She snapped her fingers and her arms were instantly covered, or replaced, in the curious liquid metal again.

“And I’ve got support powers,” she added, as if it were nothing special. “Thermal Flux Control and Density Flux Control, but I haven’t had much time to practice them.”

Alexander blinked. “Wait. You have three powers?”

“Yeah?” Annie frowned. “Wait, is this that memory thing again?”

Frank glanced at Alexander from the corner of his eye.

“I wasn’t sure,” Alexander admitted. “Mine only shows one.”

“Most people only get one. Two is uncommon but impressive. Three?” She shrugged. “One in a few thousand, maybe. You’ve gotta be lucky. And while dual combinations can be random, people who get three always have synergized powers. Everyone’s powers reflect who they are, but with three, the others start off as supports for the primary. The one that’s really you.”

Am I just unlucky, then?

Annie studied his face. “Hey, you might still have more than one, especially since you were classified as Redacted. When my powers manifested, the machine gave me a full readout. Even sent me a file on how others developed similar abilities.”

Frank had been listening while packing away his tools.

“Alright, superkids,” he said with a grin, clearly pleased with the nickname. “Help me unpack the shipment, then we’ll figure out what you two dangerous felons ought to do next.”

Heading toward the workshop, Frank swiped at the console behind the counter, disabling the blackout privacy mode.

Stolen story; please report.

Alexander followed, trailing behind, still filling him in on the superhero lore he lacked.

A new awareness entered his Technopathy range. A device almost as complex as their new implants, though where his felt compliant, and Annie’s felt friendly but shielded, this new one felt… rigid. Angry.

He glanced toward the windows. A blurry figure crossed the street toward the store, aiming what could only be described as a flickering ball of fire in his direction.

TEN MINUTES EARLIER

“I’m moving in ten. Get into position and be ready for me to flush the rats out,” Flashpoint ordered, watching the little store from his second-floor window.

Tall and muscular, with close-cropped dark hair, a faint heat shimmer clung to his skin like a mirage waiting to ignite. He wore lightweight tactical pants and a flame-patterned tank top. His city-issued jacket, black with reinforced shoulders and a faded municipal patch, hung forgotten on a nearby chair.

The two mercenaries stiffened and mumbled agreement before leaving.

He scoffed.

I’m a city-sanctioned supe! I shouldn’t have to deal with these fuckin’ bounty hunter types.

Three days earlier, an AEGIS officer had tipped him off about a possible Class R overlooked in the recent prison break. She claimed there were no records, no footage, but had tracked the suspect’s movement by glitches in city CCTV feeds.

He hadn’t given a damn, until she linked it to an active bounty that had already left three wounded. That meant easy surveillance, a quick takedown to claim his prize, and all the glory.

He’d brought on two mundane specialists to handle the grunt work. Unfortunately, his activity drew the attention of the two collectors, and he’d been forced to bring them into the operation. Which also meant he’d need to split the bounty.

Fuckin’ regulations.

They staged out of a small apartment, setting up recording devices and gear to pick up vibrations from across the street.

… And then nothing for days.

One specialist insisted the building had ballistic glass and dense metal shielding between the showroom and the back room. Frustrated, Flashpoint had been ready to storm in… until the redheaded fugitive arrived, wounded and hammering at the door. Jackpot.

A man had let her in. The mundanes woke him, muttering about a power outage disrupting their feeds, but the mercs confirmed the target was inside.

He made them watch the rest of the night while he went back to sleep, claiming it was to see if any collaborators would join them.

Idiots.

When the window blacked out in the morning, he hesitated, thinking of the woman who’d claimed there was a loose Redacted. And sounded like she believed it, too.

An hour or two wouldn’t matter, he’d figured. Until the waiting finally got to him.

Sick of waiting, he subvocalized to his implant. “Call Talia Kim.”

Her voice came through his implant. “Hello, Mr. Randy Tullman. Have you identified my target?”

Randy gritted his teeth. He hated his name but refused to change it. “That’s Flashpoint to you. And yeah, I found your Class R.”

“Excellent. I will rendezvous with you and—”

“I’m not waiting,” he said, cutting in.

“That wasn’t the deal,” she snapped. “He’s my—”

“Don’t fuckin’ care. You AEGIS spooks are all the same,” Randy spat. “What is it? ‘Augmented Entity Governance & Investigative Service’? Must think I’m an idiot or something. You wouldn’t have tipped me off if you had jurisdiction. You’re coloring outside the lines, spook.”

“We don’t know how dangerous—”

He interrupted again, enjoying the power he held over her. “Don’t care. The bounty and glory are mine. This was just a courtesy. End call.”

His implant cut the connection.

Flashpoint turned from the window and made his way across the room. “Pack it up and be ready to go by the time I return,” he ordered.

Grabbing his jacket, he headed outside.

Crossing the road, he raised his hand toward the storefront window. Figures moved inside, heading for the back.

Ballistic glass? Won’t make a difference.

Fire burst in his palm. He compressed it into a tiny sphere, generating more flame and packing it tighter each time. One of the targets turned toward him, and he took a moment to imagine the fear blooming on their face. He grinned, adjusted his aim, and let it fly toward the blurry cluster of people.

“Boom.”

The fireball screamed through the air, heat rippling off in waves.

Alexander’s mind caught up with what he was seeing.

“Incoming!” he shouted, reaching out to pull Annie toward the workshop.

It felt like it was happening in slow motion. The window, melting and deforming, bulging in their direction, before eventually shattering in a spray of glass.

Annie responded to his panicked shout on instinct. Spinning, she crossed her arms as the liquid metal spread out and formed a shield.

His hand found her shirt, and he threw himself backward.

The fireball hit her shield, pulsed, and then erupted in a shockwave that cracked the air like thunder.

Annie slammed into him. The blast hurled them through the doorway, where they hit the concrete hard, bounced, then slid across the room.

Frank, near his workbench, was thrown into it before hitting the floor with a grunt.

“Activate security lockdown! Authorization: Frank.”

Reinforced metal plates dropped into place over the walls and doors. Out front, the entire showroom floor was sealed off, like a metal coffin. The plating between the two rooms shuddered as something struck it repeatedly.

Alexander rose, ignoring fresh aches. “Annie! Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she groaned, swaying to her feet.

Alexander saw that the amount of metal she had covering her arms had reduced down to only covering the hands.

Frank pushed upright, bracing on the bench. “Clear space in the closet. Hurry.”

Annie glanced at Alexander and began tossing things aside.

Alexander looked Frank over, seeing that he was clearly favoring one leg. “How bad is it?”

Frank grinned through the pain. “Bad enough, kid. Listen, there’s an old smuggler’s hatch in there. Fake wall at the back. Takes you down into the maintenance tunnels.”

“We can’t leave you! Someone just firebombed the store.”

“I know. But I’m a civvy in good standing. They’ll arrest me, then let me go. Respected businessman and all that.”

Alexander scoffed. It was a familiar joke.

Alexander glanced at Annie, who was struggling with a metal tool cabinet.

“Tell them whatever you have to, Frank. We’re wanted fugitives. We threatened you. Make something up!”

Frank laughed. “Sure thing, kid. I’ll tell ‘em just how dangerous you two brats are, don’t you worry none.”

The pounding was growing louder, and the reinforced metal was an angry, glowing red.

“I think I see something,” Annie called.

“Code is eight-seven-seven-two,” Frank said.

Alexander keyed it in.

Annie shoved the wall aside, revealing a dark tunnel ending at a spot of light.

“Thank you, Frank,” she murmured. “I’m sorry about your store. If I hadn’t—”

“You get going, Scrappy.” His eyes lit up, having found the right nickname for her. “Take care of the kid for me. Look out for each other and—”

The doorway sizzled, a small hole burning through.

“Go now!” Frank insisted.

Annie leapt through, Alexander on her heels. He locked the console and slammed the hatch closed.

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