Kai Langford - July 2120
The city lights blink beneath the night sky like a dying circuit board. The air is thick with summer humidity, fresh, but heavy enough to cling to the skin.
We've been sitting up here for hours now, staking out a worn down workshop at the end of an unremarkable street. From up here, it looks like just another forgotten building, buried between convenience stores and half-lit apartments. But the Division doesn't send us anywhere without a reason.
I sit with my back against the wall, one knee raised, half-watching the dark shape of the targeted building. There's nothing for me to do until 009 gives the order, so I let my head rest against the concrete and close my eyes. The hum of the city becomes a low lull distant traffic, faint music from an open window, the occasional bark of a dog. We're high enough that no one can see us, ghosts perched above the world.
"Ugh, this is so boring," 016 groans, kicking her feet over the edge of the rooftop. "How long do we have to wait, 009? Can't we just blow the place up and be done with it already?"
Her voice cuts through the still air like static. I crack an eye open just enough to see her silhouette, a small frame, purple hair that almost glows under the neon reflections from the near by building, and those unnatural red eyes. She's loud, restless, and far too confident for someone who likes explosives as much as she does. But she's been in the Division long enough to have earned it. Dangerous doesn't even begin to cover her.
009 doesn't even look away from the workshop. "016," he says calmly, "you should know by now that we wait for the right moment."
He's older than both of us, older than most in the Division. Not the strongest, not the fastest, but he doesn't need to be. His power—Spatial Sense—makes him indispensable.
From where he sits, legs crossed and eyes half-closed, he can see through sound. Every subtle vibration, every footstep, every soft click of a security sensor paints a picture in his mind. Given time, he can map the entire interior of a building through the way the air shifts around it.
But it takes patience. And patience is something I've learned to stop questioning.
I glance at my watch. 23:19 p.m. The seconds tick with irritating precision.
"Come on, 004," 016 says, hopping off the ledge and walking over to me. "I know you're just itching to get yourself in there."
I don't bother opening my eyes. Instead, I lift a hand and wave her off lazily. "If I was itching, you'd know."
She snorts. "You're such a bore sometimes."
"Better than being reckless."
Waiting here or waiting back in the facility makes little difference to me. One cage is simply bigger than the other. The missions come, the missions go. You do what you're told, you get the job done, you survive. That's the rhythm.
When 009 finally speaks again, his voice is low, almost mechanical."Three heat signatures. Two on the ground floor, stationary. One upstairs, pacing between rooms. Movement near the eastern wall, machinery running. That's probably where they're keeping it."
The tension sharpens instantly. 016 straightens, her grin returning.
"Finally," she whispers, flexing her hands until faint sparks shimmer between her fingers. "Let's make this fun."
I push myself off the wall, rolling my shoulders. My heartbeat evens out to something quiet and controlled. The waiting is over.
009 opens his eyes, the faintest ripple of sound tracing the air around him. "Move on my mark," he says.
And just like that, the rooftop stillness fractures into motion.
009's voice cuts through the comms to confirm they work "Move."
016 leaps first, vaulting off the edge like a spark leaving a wire. The faint shimmer around her hands ignites into a soft, violet glow that slows her descent, her control over concussive energy turning what should be a drop high enough to kill anyone, into a graceful landing. She hits the ground, rolls, and disappears into the shadows.
I follow. The air rushes past my face for a brief, silent second before my boots hit the concrete below. I use my shadows to grab the edge of building before reaching the floor. The impact vibrates through my bones, but I barely register it. Pain, fear, excitement, those are luxuries I don't feel anymore. Not since that day...
I turn to look up at where 009 is, his brown hair barely visible unless you know he's there. His head tilting slightly as he sends out another sound pulse. His power ripples through the walls like sonar, invisible waves bouncing back with information.
"Two just behind the door," he says through the coms. "Both armed"
"Let me take them," 016 says, already grinning.
"No," 009 replies, firm. "We're not here for collateral. Just retrieve the samples and get out."
She groans but doesn't argue.
I take point, slipping through the side door and letting the shadows do the work on the lock. The hinges protest with a soft metallic creak; a bite of rust and chemical tang rolls out. Inside, the air is colder, stale, like a room that's been holding its breath for years
The first man is easy. He's facing the opposite direction, checking a monitor. I move behind him silently, one arm around his neck, a precise twist, and he's down before he even realises I'm there. My mind doesn't linger on it. The sound his body makes when it hits the floor barely registers.
016 whistles softly behind me. "Still efficient as ever."
I don't respond.
The second man turns at the noise, but a flash of purple erupts before he can shout. 016's blast sends him flying into the wall, where he slumps and stays there.
009's voice crackles through the comms, calm and precise. "Third one's upstairs."
I take the lead again, boots quiet against the metal steps as to go up the staircase. My pulse remains steady, my breath even. Every mission feels the same now, familiar, predictable. The people change, the places change, but the emptiness stays constant.
Upstairs, the last target is hunched over a terminal, typing fast. He hears me too late. I let the shadows peel from the corners like oil, thin and deliberate, and they slide across the room to find him. One coiling tendril of darkness threads around his throat before he can turn fully; his mouth opens, a raw sound caught and swallowed as the light dies from his eyes. The body goes still before a single word can leave his lips.
I scan the room before my eyes land on something. I press finger to my ear to talk to 009 "It's here. A metallic case, on the lower shelf."
I kneel, moving a few broken crates aside until I get a better view, a silver containment unit, labelled NEXA-α in faded print.
The moment my fingers brush the surface, a faint vibration hums through my hand—subtle, alive. It's as if the box recognises me, or at least something inside me it remembers.
016 leans over my shoulder, her breath brushing my ear. "That's it? Doesn't look like much."
"Most dangerous things don't," I mutter, glancing at her briefly.
She scowls. "What's that supposed to mean?" Then she kicks my boot, half out of boredom, half just to get a reaction. I catch her foot mid-swing and yank, hard enough to make her stumble. She flails for balance, fails, and lands flat on her back with a dull thump.
"Dick," she groans, glaring at me from the floor.
"You started it."
She kicks my back lightly, but I ignore her. The coms crackle to life before she can retaliate again.
"There's trouble," 009's voice cuts through the static. "More people just showed up... four of them."
I glance over my shoulder and 016 is already on her feet, her earlier scowl replaced by a wide grin of excitement.
"Oh, Yes." She claps her hands together, and a faint violet spark flares to life between her palms, the air around her humming with restrained energy. "Thought this mission was going to be boring."
I exhale slowly. "Guess it's not a clean in-and-out anymore."
"They're entering the building now," 009 adds, his tone clipped.
Almost on cue, shouts echo from downstairs, the unmistakable sound of distress, followed by hurried footsteps.
"I'll deal with them," 016 announces, already skipping toward the door.
Before she reaches it, a tendril of shadow snakes out from beneath my feet and wraps around her arm, halting her mid-step.
"Wait for 009," I say firmly.
She rolls her eyes dramatically. "You're no fun."
"They are armed," 009 reports. "guns and knives. But one of them… I think he might be enhanced. Ice signature."
016 grins wider. "Oh, that's great. Think he'll melt?"
"Not if he freezes you first," I mutter, releasing my hold. My shadows slither back across the floor like smoke retreating to its source.
"Copy that, 009," I reply into the coms.
The stairwell below rattles with movement, boots, metal and low voices. I draw closer to the edge of the landing, shadows coiling around my boots, rising up like smoke ready to strike.
016 bounces on her heels beside me, her palms already crackling with violet energy. Sparks jump between her fingers, casting a soft glow across her face. "Want to make it a competition?" she whispers.
I shoot her a sidelong glance. "You'll lose." Not wanting to entertain the idea.
She grins. "Not a chance."
The first intruder bursts through the stairwell door, gun raised. Before he can aim, my shadow lashes out, sharp, fast and silent. It wraps around his wrist and yanks him forward. 016's explosive energy arcs past me, colliding with the man's chest in a burst of violet light. He flies backward, crashing into the wall with a satisfying crack.
The others react instantly and fire blindly, bullets sparking against the metal railing. I pull the shadows higher, thickening the darkness around us until the upper floor becomes a dim blur, reflecting the impact of the bullets.
"Go," I murmur, and 016 leaps down into the chaos, laughing as she hurls glowing orbs of energy across the hall. Each one detonates on impact, controlled, but powerful enough to scatter the group.
I follow, landing silently amid the confusion. My shadows lash outward, disarming one man and dragging another across the floor before he can reach his weapon. I sweep my hand and a jagged shard of shadow cuts the room, striking each of them on the head. Their bodies go slack and I let them fall.
Then the temperature suddenly drops.
Frost creeps across the walls, spiderwebbing through the cracks in the tiles. My breath fogs instantly, the air biting cold. The man steps forward, grey hair, eyes like pale glass and his hands glimmering with ice.
016 freezes mid-movement, her grin fading. "Oh… okay. That's new."
He doesn't speak, just flicks his wrist, and a shard of ice shoots toward her. I move before she can react, a shadow snapping up to intercept. The ice shatters on impact, scattering like broken glass.
"Stay back," I tell her, stepping forward.
"Oh come on..."
"Now."
She huffs but retreats, violet sparks still dancing at her fingertips.
The man smiles faintly. Frost spreads beneath his boots as he steps closer. "You shouldn't have come here," he says, his voice calm and cold as the air around him.
I remain silent as the shadows coiling tighter around me, watching his every step.
He thrusts his hands forward, and the ground erupts in jagged ice. I leap aside, shadows propelling me upward and my tendrils lash out in response, wrapping around a column and hurling me across the room. I land behind him, swing a shadow like a blade but he ducks, freezing the air mid-motion, turning my strike solid and brittle.
The ice splinters; my shadows hiss and reform. He's fast, precise and controlled. But so am I.
016 watches from the stairs, violet light flickering in her palms, ready to intervene if needed.
I circle him slowly, feeling the cold gnaw at my skin. My breath forms fog in front of me. He raises an arm, summoning a wall of ice but my shadows move faster, slamming into him from below and pinning him to the ground.
He struggles, frost spreading up the black tendrils, but I tighten my grip until the ice cracks under the pressure.
But as I extend my shadows around him, he manages to wrench one arm free. In the same instant, a jagged shard of ice shoots across the room, straight toward 016.
"Damn it..." I try to redirect my shadows to intercept, but I'm too slow.
016 doesn't flinch. She raises a hand, and a pulse of violet energy bursts from her palm. The shard vaporises mid-air, melting into a hiss of steam before it ever reaches her.
I barely have time to breathe before the man slams his hand to the floor. Frost races outward in jagged patterns, and ice spears erupt from the ground. I spring backward, narrowly avoiding being skewered, but the impact shatters the shadows restraining him.
He's back on his feet in an instant, eyes burning with rage as he turns his focus on me.
I summon the darkness again, shadows coiling around my fists like living armour. He thrusts his arm forward, sending another shard of ice slicing through the air. I meet it head-on, my shadowed hand connects with the frozen spike, shattering it into glittering fragments.
He keeps firing, one shard after another, faster and sharper, but I keep pace, destroying each one with a single, precise strike. The room becomes a blur of motion, frost and shadow clashing in a storm of black and white.
Then he steps in too close. His mistake.
I thrust both hands forward, and the ground erupts. Shadows burst upward like chains, wrapping around his wrists, slamming him on his knees. He starts to struggle, but the darkness holds fast, binding him to the ground.
Before he can break free again, 016 appears behind him, her expression fierce, eyes blazing.
"Night-night," she mutters, before pressing her palm to his face.
The explosion is short, controlled, but powerful. A flash of violet light floods the room, followed by the dull thud of his body hitting the floor.
The air hangs still for a moment, filled only with the sound of melting ice and fading echoes.
016 straightens, shaking out her hand. "Whew. That was close. You're welcome, by the way."
I glance at her, expression unreadable. "You nearly blew his head off."
She grins. "Yeah, but it worked, didn't it?"
I step closer to the body, shadows curling faintly around my boots. "He's still breathing."
"Oh, come on, you can't tell me you're disappointed."
"You know we can't have any witnesses," I say simply, crouching down I pull a knife from behind my back before plunging it in his neck to finish the job.
She snorts, hands on her hips. "You're such a buzzkill, you know that? You'd make a terrible partner for a heist movie. No sense of fun."
I straighten, meeting her gaze briefly. "We're not here for fun."
016 just smirks, brushing frost off her jacket. "You keep saying that, but I think you secretly enjoy it."
I ignore her and tap my earpiece. "009. Targets are neutralised. Area clear."
"Copy that," 009's voice comes through, steady as always. "Extraction on the way."
016 sighs dramatically. "Guess that means mission's over."
"Looks like it."
A moment later, 009 joins us, circling the room with his usual quiet precision. His eyes drift over everything, measured, assessing, tired.
"Good job, but time to wrap things up," he says. "004, go secure the case. 016, grab any paperwork. Don't forget the laptop." His tone is clipped, efficient as always.
We work in silence and within minutes, every document, drive, and fragment of evidence is collected. 009 checks his own comm, voice low. "Extraction point, five minutes, lets move."
We leave the workshop and head back to the rooftop, 016 twirls the sparks of unspent energy between her fingers, its faint purple glow flickering across her grin. "Another clean job"
009 exhales through his nose, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. "Well, as clean as you can in a situation like that."
I don't respond. My eyes stay fixed on the skyline, the smear of neon against the dark, the heartbeat of a city that feels a lifetime away from me.
I can't tell if I hate what I've become anymore. Hate implies feeling and I stopped feeling a long time ago.
__________________________
The car rolls through the tall iron gates and into the facility grounds. By the time we stop, the guards are already waiting for us.
I readjust the collar around my neck, a reflex born of older missions, older failures, older fear, the sharp buzz that used to tear through my nape if I arrived late, if I'd screwed up. The reflexes linger, even when the danger is long gone.
I step out, boots thudding softly against the floor. A security guard moves toward me, posture rigid, hands extended for the briefcase.
I hand it over without hesitation. I don't glance inside. I don't need to. The mission is complete and that is all that matters. There are no questions, no curiosity, no room for concern.
As the guard secures the case, 016's voice cuts through the quiet.
"Ugh, I'm starving. Hey, you!" She points at the guard with dramatic flair. "There better still be food in the canteen waiting for us." Her tone is cocky, playful, the kind of noise I've learned to register but not participate in.
The guard doesn't respond, only a stiff nod. He's trained not to engage, not to acknowledge the people behind the tasks. Not that I blame him.
016 spins on her heel, bouncing down the corridor like some impossibly bright spark. Her energy makes the empty hall feel smaller, heavier.
009 comes up beside me, a hand brushing briefly against my back. "Come on. Lets get food"
I nod, expression neutral, no excitement, no irritation, no trace of anything beyond what's necessary. I watch him drift toward the canteen, shadows clinging to his frame under the dim lights.
I hesitate for a second, my boots scraping lightly against the concrete, eyes sweeping the garage. The metallic tang of fuel mixes with the hum of the building, alive with motion. My gaze lingers on the briefcase as it disappears down the corridor.
Finally, I move, following the faint echo of 016's laughter and the muted shuffle of 009's steps. Step by step, I let the sounds drift past me, registering them only as noise, nothing more.
The mission is over. Everything else is background.
As we reach the canteen, 016's excitement evaporates almost instantly.
"What a load of crap! How can they only give us this?" she snaps, kicking the chair as she storms past, tray in hand. Complaining doesn't slow her down though, if anything, it seems to sharpen her appetite. She's already digging into her portion with the same reckless enthusiasm that got her noticed in the Division in the first place.
I glance down at my tray. A few slices of dry toast with jam on the side. Predictable. I pick it up anyway and join the others at the table, sliding into my seat silently. 016's complaints continue, a steady stream of noise I barely register.
I watch her for a moment, noting how her energy fills the space, how even in boredom she finds a way to dominate the scene. It's almost enviable, almost, but the envy doesn't reach me anymore.
009 nudges his tray toward mine, a faint grin on his face. "Don't tell me you're not going to eat?"
I shrug. "I'm not really hungry."
016, meanwhile, has already abandoned her seat, leaning across the table to swipe a slice from my tray. "Then I'll have it!" half-laughing, half-serious. I make no move to stop her. If she wants it, she can have it.
I force myself to take a bite of the remaining toast, mechanically, tasting only the dryness, only the jam clinging stubbornly to the surface.
"You two did well today," 009 says, his voice carrying lazily over the low hum of the vents. "That ice guy was definitely a surprise, though."
016 grins, her mouth half-full of toast. "Yeah, no kidding. How are more regular people even getting their hands on those vials now?" She dips her knife into the jam and spreads another thick layer across her toast like she's not just talking about a near-death fight.
"Doesn't matter," I say flatly. "They get them. We deal with it."
016 rolls her eyes. "You make it sound like we're pest control."
"Close enough," I mutter, sipping my water.
009 gives a quiet chuckle. "You two make quite the pair. She blows things up; you brood in silence. Effective system."
016 grins and leans back in her chair. "Yeah, well, someone has to balance out Mr. Emotionless over here."
I glance at her, unimpressed. "And someone has to make sure you don't blow up the building again."
"Once," she protests, pointing her knife at me. "That happened once."
"Sure," I reply, turning back to my plate.
She huffs but smirks a little, tapping her knife against the table "You'd miss me if I was gone."
I don't answer and just keep eating. Honestly, I would prefer to work on my own, be on my own, but we get forces to work in teams. It's more efficient they say.
The canteen falls back into its quiet rhythm, the scrape of plates, the hum of fluorescent lights, and the faint sweetness of jam cutting through the stale air.
I finish the last bite without tasting it and leave for bed. The canteen fades behind me as I make my way down the corridor. The lights overhead flicker weakly.
016's laughter still echoes faintly in my head. She's a good partner, strong, reliable, knows how to follow orders. But there's always noise around her, energy that fills every space.
I don't know how she does it.
I'd rather be alone. No conversations, no small talk, no one trying to pull words out of me. People only get in the way, distract, expect, disappoint. Solitude is cleaner it's predictable and I don't have to worry about... breaking or destroying... those around me.
By the time I reach near my room, the corridor feels colder, emptier. The sound of suddenly footsteps echo down the hall, slow, measured, and I barely register them until I look up and see who's coming.
My father.
He crosses the corridor with a clipboard in one hand and a mug in the other, another late night. I keep my eyes down. Years of training taught me a useful rule, treat him like any other scientist here, nothing more. Letting him be anything else makes everything more complicated.
We pass close enough that I catch the faint scent of his aftershave and the stale coffee on his breath. He never misses a chance to make an entrance. Then, as we go by, he speaks catching me off guard. Calm, casual, exactly as he always does.
"I heard the mission went smoothly tonight."
I pause and turn. Hate for this man has long since gone; it burned out long ago and left something colder in its place. I nod once.
"There is something I wish to speak to you about."
So it wasn't a mistake him being this part of the building. He was seeking me. Regret sits like a weight at the back of my throat, I knew I should have just went straight to bed after the mission. My hands are behind my back, the soldier stance drilled into me since I was made into his weapon.
"Was there anything unusual tonight?" he asks, eyes on me. Professional. Neutral. Preferably efficient.
"There was one man who enhanced powers to control ice" I answer.
"So I heard." he replies before sighing and for a moment his face hardens into thought.
"At least the vials in the briefcase appear intact... at least Noah should be satisfied." He says Noah's name almost to himself. The name pricks at something I keep carefully bandaged.
I've spent years in the Special Operations Division and I've yet to meet Noah. Not properly anyways, only the blur of his face on company posters. Now older, accomplished and untouchable.
"If I may ask," I say, and for once my voice betrays a small, foolish hope, "when will I be able to see Noah?"
He leans back, the movement practiced. "Soon, Kai. He's occupied, his project takes precedence." The familiar excuse, the same brush-off he's used a hundred times. I have learned to swallow it.
"Yes, Sir. If you excuse me" I move to leave, to let the conversation end neatly and discrete, but he stops me and the corridor seems to shift.
"Kai," he says, and the tone is different now, controlled, careful. "I have task for you. Only you."
Something like interest, sharp and bright, but immediately squashed, stirs in my chest. I've never operated alone.
He explains without flourish, there is a traitor in our ranks. A scientist has been stealing data and passing it to a so‑called revolutionary group and the man is to be terminated.
"We've tracked his movements and tomorrow night I want you to finish him."
He watches me while he speaks, as if gauging whether I will accept.
"You want me to do this because I can get close without being noticed," I say. It's not a question. It's a report.
"That's right," he replies. "You are the best we have for this kind of task. Discreet. Reliable. No collateral."
I nod. The word reliable hangs there like a label I can never quite shake. He's right; I am finally useful to him. But only for now. The thought should matter more, but it does not.
"We'll discuss more tomorrow before you head out." He waves a hand dismissively and continues down the corridor, eyes already back on his clipboard.
I turn back towards my bedroom. The lights feel dimmer now, the night somehow feels colder. Then it suddently hits, a headache blooms at the base of my skull, hard and insistent, as if someone is hammering the back of my eyes. I press my hands there and try to breathe shallow until the pain loosens to a dull, manageable throb.
The facility breathes around me and I try to walk with a practiced calm, no hurry, no tremor.
My room is small and spare, a narrow bed, a locker, a single window high enough to show only a strip of indifferent sky. I kick my shoes off and drop onto the bed as the headache stabs once more, then ebbs.
The clock on the wall ticks toward the early morning and I pull the blanket up, the bed hard and narrow beneath me. Sleep does not come easy. I watch the shadow at the window edge lengthen and fold back on itself.
Finally, my breath slows and the headache softens to a distant drum. I let my eyes close.