“This is Camillah Rashand, coming to you live from downtown Carrow.”
An armored SWAT vehicle pulled up behind her. An officer dressed in heavy protective gear exited the back of the tactical vehicle. Smoke drifted across the street in slow gray sheets. The camera shifted, catching flashing patrol lights, shattered glass, and scattered debris littering the pavement.
“Moments ago, this scene turned into an active hostage crisis.”
She stepped aside so the camera could see.
Behind her, Flea stood perched high on a bent light pole, gripping young Zayden by the collar. The boy’s small hands clutched helplessly at Flea’s wrist. Below them, a man stood rigid in the street, fists clenched, eyes locked upward.
“A father,” Camillah continued, her voice tightening slightly, “is pleading for the life of his son.”
The lens zoomed closer, catching Flea’s grip on Zayden.
Police vehicles formed a perimeter below, officers crouched behind open doors, weapons raised but unmoving.
“Authorities have been ordered to hold their fire,” she said. “The suspect has made his demand clear. He wants Spant to reveal himself.”
“He has given a ten-minute deadline.”
She turned back toward the lens fully now.
“You can see the child. You can see the father. This is unfolding live.”
Her gaze hardened.
“So we ask the question everyone is asking right now…”
She took one slow step toward the camera.
“Where are you, Spant?”
Behind her, Flea shouted something inaudible. The boy struggled again. The father stayed rooted, fists clenched.
Camillah’s voice sharpened.
“How can you remain hidden when a child’s life hangs in the balance?”
She paused.
“Are you a protector… or are you just another shadow in this city?”
She held the stare into the lens.
“Because right now—a boy is running out of time.”
“Where is Spant?” someone shouted. “Why isn’t he here?”
***
At that exact moment, Lila Jean pulled the hoodie of Nyx over her head. Andre hadn’t said he had a child. Didn’t matter—she had to move.
“Hold on, sugah. Ah’m coming.”
Nyx leapt off her sofa, expecting her shadows to appear. She grunted in pain as her face hit the floor with a loud thud.
“What tha!?!”
She rubbed her face. She twitched her fingers, willing a shadow. Nothing. She stared at her hands.
“What’s going on here?”
From behind her, she heard a click. Not just one click—many clicks. She lifted her head over the sofa. Her eyes widened at the sight. Several large, roach-like creatures clicked in unison as they skittered forward—then froze.
As the swarm parted, they revealed a larger creature hunkered low. It ratcheted itself up to full height with a series of wet clicks. Its eyes locked on Nyx. It hissed.
Then it broke for her. The multi-legged thing scuttled at a horrific speed, its body a blur of vibrating shadows.
***
“Where is Spant?!” Camillah demanded, holding the microphone. “It has been five minutes, and the standoff between the father and Flea is still ongoing.”
Andre edged closer to the light pole. The lead officer commanded him to stand down.
“Mr. Brooks, this is a police matter. Step away from the light pole!” the officer shouted through the bullhorn.
He took in everything at once. SWAT all around him, the news media filming him, people with their cell phones out, Flea holding his son hostage, a sniper itching to pull the trigger.
There was no version of this where Andre saved his son and stayed hidden.
I could easily end this if no one else was around. All I would have to do was launch myself at Felix, he thought.
You have tied my hands, Felix. I will make you pay for taking my son.
Andre planted his foot on the light pole. Zayden’s eyes flicked to his.
The sniper’s laser dot targeted Flea’s head. It wavered—then vanished.
He mouthed, “Do you trust me?”
Zayden nodded, then winced. Flea’s fingers dug deeper into his neck.
The gravel under Andre’s foot gave way. He ground his teeth. The muscle in his right arm jumped, and a thick vein bulged beneath the skin.
Andre’s eyes darted to a flash of metal down the street. A metallic pop split the air.
He sprinted. One foot hit the wall. He launched halfway up the pole.
A round object sang toward Flea. The sound of rushing air made Flea turn. A silver baseball slammed into Flea’s face, knocking off his goggles. He lost his grip on Zayden.
Andre swung from the pole and drove his foot into Flea’s midsection.
Zayden dropped—and Andre caught him mid-fall, clutching him tight as he flipped to the ground.
A voice rang out from the distance.
“Never harm a child!”
Andre pulled Zayden into an embrace. The news crew hurried toward him.
“No comment!” he barked, already running with Zayden in his arms.
***
Flea lay motionless on the pavement.
He reached up, fingers grazing the bridge of his nose. Blood dripped across his glove. He blinked through tears.
His palm clawed the dirt and dragged one knee forward. When his vision steadied, he saw it—
The painted end of a bat pressed firmly against his broken nose.
He froze.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not kosher to threaten children?” a female voice said.
Curtain Call stood over him, boots planted wide, shoulders loose like she had all the time in the world. The bat angled downward from her grip.
A thin whistle leaked from Flea’s nostrils each time he tried to breathe.
She leaned more weight into the bat.
Cartilage shifted.
He choked on a cry.
“Well?” she said, tilting her head.
Carrow PD steadied their weapons atop the hoods of their cruisers. Officers moved out in both directions, flanking wide, pushing the crowd back. SWAT formed a line.
“That’s enough. Step away from him,” the lead officer ordered, advancing.
Curtain Call pressed harder.
Flea screamed.
“I have a clear shot,” the sniper said over his headset.
Curtain Call looked up.
A red laser dot rested in the center of her brow.
***
A few miles away, Selene Kade stood before the floor-to-ceiling glass of her office. The building’s logo reversed against the glass, casting a long, jagged shadow across her desk. The diamond of The Beacon hummed with a subtle, electric prestige. It was the perfect metaphor for her empire: beautiful, unbreakable, and built to make truth behave. To the people below, it was a source of news; to Selene, it was a lens through which she watched the world burn in high definition.
The big-screen television mounted on the wall went black as she placed the remote on her desk. She turned to the windows overlooking the city.
“Eric,” she said, lifting one finger.
Her assistant, Eric Paige, stood three steps behind her, a sharp silhouette in his dark sharkskin suit.
“Yes, Ms. Kade.”
She kept her back to him. Her eyes never left the glass, only shifted their focus. She watched his reflection as he shifted his weight, waiting for her to acknowledge him. She let him wait in the silence, watching him through a sidelong glance until she smiled.
“Get me everything you find on an Andre Brooks. He lives here in Carrow. His exact address. His son. The boy’s mother. His job. Who he’s dating. Everything.”
Eric watched her. He inclined his head and bowed.
“By the end of the hour, Ms. Kade,” he said, his voice as smooth and frictionless as his suit. “I’ll have the digital file on your desk. The hard copies will be waiting in your car.”
Selene’s smiling reflection in the glass watched him leave.
***
“Drop the bat and show your hands!” the lead officer barked.
Curtain Call bowed as she struck Flea in the face with the bat.
“I guess that’s my cue to take a bow.”
“Step away! NOW!” the officer shouted.
A SWAT member took position behind a fountain. “I have a clear shot,” he said.
Another red dot suddenly appeared on her hand. She stepped behind Flea and pressed her bat to his neck. Crouching, she angled his body between herself and the sniper.
“On your feet,” she said. “I need a fourth wall… and you just volunteered.”
***
A few minutes later, Andre carried Zayden into their apartment. Zayden was able to walk, but Andre refused to let go of him. He placed Zayden on the sofa and sat next to him. Andre rubbed his right hand with his left hand. Zayden watched quietly until he spoke.
“I’m okay, Dad.”
Andre stared at the marks on his neck, and something shifted in him. Yes, Zayden was safe, but now he needed to make sure Felix would never touch his son again.
He grasped his hand, feeling a burning sensation in it. He glanced at his son. Andre flexed his right hand, and a stinger popped from the back of his hand with a hollow snap. Zayden’s eyes widened. To see Spant pop a stinger meant he was furious.
He looked at the stinger, then at Zayden. “He threatened the life of someone extremely important to me.”
“Dad, maybe you should calm down first. I’ve only seen your stinger one time before, and then you were angry.”
The last time I used my stinger was the night Zayden’s father killed his mother...
He rose from the sofa. “I want to know why, Zayden.”
“Dad,” Zayden said as he followed him around the apartment.
Andre locked all the windows and pulled the curtains closed. He took one last look at Zayden before walking out of the apartment.
“Do not leave this apartment while I am gone.” He pulled his hoodie over his head. “Do not speak over the comms as Link. You are not to get involved in this.”
“Are... are you going to kill him?” Zayden asked, sitting back on the sofa. He curled into a tight ball, knees pulled to his chest. “You can’t kill him. I need you, Dad. The police will kill you.” Tears carved down his face. “Who will take care of me?”
Andre stilled, then turned to Zayden.
He reached out, laying his hand on Zayden’s trembling shoulder. Andre sank into a low crouch and pulled him into his chest.
“I won’t kill him, Zayden,” Andre said, standing to his full height. “But Flea asked for Spant, and I need to know why.”
He gave Andre a shaky nod.
***
He disappeared into the next room and returned with Link’s headset. “Here.” He placed it on Zayden’s head. “You can keep an eye on me. But do not leave this apartment while I am gone. Lock the door behind me.”
He waited until he heard the deadbolt click into place before walking away. He heard a notification from his phone. Andre looked at it and realized he had a missed call from Lila Jean. She must have called when she saw us on the news.
I will have to call you back later, LJ, he thought.
He ran down the hallway.
You wanted Spant, Felix. Well, you’re about to get him, he thought.
***
Camillah peeked her head over the patrol car. Her cameraman crouched beside her and filmed the chaos. Bystanders and the SWAT officers who had been close to Flea all ran around in a panic.
Curtain Call attacked anything that moved with her bat. “The show’s not over!” she yelled at someone running from her.
Flea stood in the center of it all. His hypnotic goggles spun slowly. If he made eye contact with someone, that person would fall into a panicked state.
“We are coming to you live from downtown Carrow once again. The agitator calling himself Flea is still demanding Spant show his face. His goggles have some kind of mind control—if you look into them, you go berserk. We….”
A bullet whizzed by her, stopping her mid-sentence. The cameraman aimed his camera in the direction the bullet came from. The SWAT member who fired the shot was tackled by his teammates.
“Again,” she said, motioning the cameraman to focus on her, “where is Spant? Why are you hiding when the city is under siege?”
From where he stood, Flea looked over the chaos he had created. He saw the police battling themselves. Civilians in a panic, attacking one another. Even Curtain Call, chasing the police dogs. He smiled evilly.
“These goggles are going to come in handy.”
Flea climbed onto the hood of a parked car. He danced in celebration, pleased with himself. He heard a click echo in his mind. He froze. The expression on his face changed from happy to serious.
“I want Spant!” he stomped his foot on the hood. “Where is Spant?!”
From his position, the cameraman looked up. “Do you hear that?” he asked, pulling out the camera.
“Hear what?” Camillah asked, looking around.
“That noise. It sounds like an engine,” he said, angling the camera upward.
He pressed the record button just before a motorcycle glided above them.
“Spant!” Camillah screamed. “He’s here. Everyone—Spant is here. Finally!”
The panic broke—just for a second—as heads turned upward.
Spant’s motorcycle landed on Flea. Flea’s chest was pinned to the hood under the front tire. He strained to keep his head upright as it dangled over the edge of the hood.
“Hello, Felix,” Spant said, revving the front tire closer to Flea’s neck.
Flea threw his hands up in surrender.
“I’m here. So explain,” Spant barked as he inched the tire toward Flea’s neck.
“Spant!” Link shouted over the comms.
“I’m fine.”