The interior of the ship was draped in a thick, artificial silence, broken only by the rhythmic hum of the life-support systems. Jason moved with the grace of a shadow, his pulse steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Boing—
The sound was tiny, a high-pitched vibration of a metal wire finally losing its battle against his micro-saw. To Jason, it sounded like a victory bell. The final restraint holding his head snapped, the tension releasing with a satisfying whip-like recoil.
Jason sat up slowly, his joints popping after hours of forced stillness. He reached up and tore the restrictive mask from his face, tossing it aside with a sneer. His mouth opened wide, stretching his jaw, revealing a set of pointed, jagged fangs that glistened in the low light—features that clearly marked him as something other than human.
"Think you can keep a Ghost Shadow in a cage?" Jason whispered to the empty air, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "Cute. Real cute."
He looked toward the pilot's seat where Leo remained motionless. "Sleeping on the job? Rookie mistake. By the time I'm through with you, you'll be wishing you stayed in that nightmare."
Jason took a moment to breathe, checking his internal sensors. He reached out with his latent psionic sensitivity to gauge Leo's mental state. The chaotic, jagged spikes of terror he'd felt earlier had smoothed out into a dull, flat grey. The kid was exhausted—completely drained by whatever demons he'd been fighting.
Claustrophobia? Jason mused, rubbing his sore wrists. I haven't seen a case of space-sickness that bad in cycles. Kid must have been drifting in the void until his brain started eating itself. No distress signal, no hibernation pod... just a raw greenhorn who managed to get lucky and snag a ship with tech he doesn't understand.
He turned his attention to his legs, the saw blade humming against the remaining wires. He was indignant. A professional like him, caught by a kid who looked like he didn't know which end of a blaster to hold? It was insulting.
But that ship... Jason's eyes narrowed. My sensors didn't pick up a single ping before he boarded. That kind of cloak isn't standard issue for a drifter. If there's an advanced stealth vessel nearby, or if this ship itself is hiding more than it shows... that's a payout that changes everything.
He calculated the numbers in his head. A ship with that kind of signature-dampening tech could net 1.5 million credits on the black markets of Knowhere. Even stripped for parts, the cloaking core alone was worth a cool 800k.
"Fat sheep," Jason muttered, his movements quickening as greed began to outpace his caution. "You're a walking lottery ticket, kid."
In the pilot's seat, Leo's eyelids gave a sudden, sharp twitch. His lungs expanded, taking in a deep draught of the oxygen-rich air—a stark contrast to the thin, recycled breath of his previous drifting days. He was surfacing from a deep, dark well of sleep, though he hadn't fully opened his eyes yet.
Jason didn't notice the twitch. He was finally free. He stood up silently, his 1.8-meter frame unfolding like a coiled spring. He reached into his tactical belt and pulled out his Energy Stun Gun, his thumb flicking the safety to 'overload.'
He didn't turn on the lights. He didn't need them. He moved toward the cockpit, a predator navigating the dark by instinct.
Meanwhile, back on Earth, the air in Los Angeles was thick with the smell of exhaust and expensive perfume. Happy Hogan, however, was only smelling trouble.
He hadn't been lying to Tony. When Happy set his mind on something, he was like a bulldog on a pant leg. Using the backdoor access codes to Stark Industries' satellite grid, he'd tracked Aldrich Killian's signature silver sedan across the city. The trail ended at the TCL Chinese Theatre, a place usually reserved for tourists and movie premieres, not clandestine meetings.
Happy moved through the crowd, his eyes sharp. He spotted him—Eric Savin, the cold-eyed lackey who had been trailing Killian like a bad omen. Savin was carrying a sleek, reinforced briefcase, walking with a purpose that screamed "illegal transaction."
Savin approached a man sitting on a stone bench. The man looked like a wreck—shaking, drenched in sweat, his eyes darting around as he fiddled with a pair of military dog tags. He looked like a veteran suffering from a severe case of the shakes, or something much worse.
Happy tucked himself behind a pillar, close enough to catch the drift of their conversation over the noise of the street performers.
"Can you handle the heat?" Savin asked, his voice dripping with casual malice.
"I... I can do it. I just need it to stop. I can handle it," the man replied, his voice cracking. He looked like he was vibrating on a molecular level.
"Are you sure, Jack?" Savin leaned in, a nasty smirk playing on his lips. "Because there's no going back once the fuse is lit."
"Yes. Just give it to me."
Savin didn't look concerned. He dropped the case on the bench with a contemptuous thud. "This batch is top-shelf. Consider it a gift for your service."
Savin turned and walked away, popping a piece of gum into his mouth with an air of complete boredom. The man, Jack, lunged for the case, his fingers fumbling with the latches.
Happy didn't wait. He stepped out of the shadows and began walking toward Jack. He timed it perfectly, putting a heavy shoulder into the man as he passed.
Clatter—
The case hit the pavement, the latches snapping open. Several small, metallic cylinders—looking like high-tech pills or specialized components—spilled across the concrete.
"Aw, damn. My bad, buddy. Let me help you with that," Happy said, dropping into a crouch. He was fast. Before Jack could react, Happy's large hand had swept up one of the parts, palming it with the practiced ease of a man who'd spent years around Tony Stark's gadgets.
"Get away! Leave it!" Jack hissed.
Happy looked up, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe. A flickering, orange-red glow was pulsing beneath the skin of Jack's face. It looked like molten lava flowing through his veins, illuminating his skull from the inside. It was unnatural. It was terrifying.
Happy stood up, his body stiffening. "You... you okay, pal? You look a little feverish."
He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and walked away, his heart hammering against his ribs. He gripped the small metallic part in his pocket, needing to get it back to the lab. But he hadn't gone ten feet before a shadow fell over him.
It was Savin. The buzz-cut lackey was leaning against a streetlamp, wearing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Hey there, big guy. Looking for a movie? Or just looking for trouble?"
"Movie's over," Happy snapped, trying to push past. "And you're the villain. Get out of my way."
Savin didn't move. He stepped into Happy's personal space, his expression turning predatory. "That's funny. But you've got something that doesn't belong to you. Give it back, and maybe I let you go home to your boss."
Savin reached out and grabbed Happy's wrist. It felt like being gripped by a heated iron bar.
Happy didn't hesitate. He was a boxer at heart. He threw a heavy left hook straight at Savin's jaw. Savin moved like a snake, his head snapping back just enough for the punch to whistle past, but he let go of Happy's arm.
Happy didn't give him a chance to reset. He stepped in, putting his weight behind a straight right that caught Savin square on the bridge of his nose.
CRACK.
The sound of breaking bone echoed. Savin stumbled back, his nose flattened and blood spraying across his shirt. Happy held his ground, breathing hard. "The party's over, kid. Sit down."
Savin stood up straight. He didn't scream. He didn't even look angry. He simply looked at Happy as a burst of that same orange-red light flared beneath his skin. In front of Happy's disbelieving eyes, the shattered bridge of Savin's nose popped back into place. The bruising vanished. The blood seemed to evaporate. Within seconds, it was as if the punch had never happened.
"My turn," Savin whispered.
Happy threw another punch, but Savin caught his fist in mid-air. The strength was impossible. With a casual flick of his wrist, Savin sent Happy flying. The 230-pound man was tossed seven meters through the air, crashing into a row of chairs and hitting the pavement with a sickening thud.
Happy groaned, his vision swimming. Behind him, he heard a sound that didn't belong in a city—a sound of something boiling.
"Savin! Savin, help me! It's too hot!"
It was Jack. The man on the bench was glowing now, a brilliant, blinding orange. Smoke started to curl off his clothes. His skin was turning translucent, showing a skeleton that was white-hot.
Savin didn't even look back. He turned and started to run, his movements preternaturally fast.
Happy tried to stand, but his legs wouldn't work. He saw the light from Jack becoming a miniature sun. He barely had time to roll behind a heavy popcorn cart before the world turned white.
BOOM.
The explosion was catastrophic. A shockwave of pure thermal energy ripped through the plaza, shattering every window for three blocks and vaporizing everything within ten meters of the bench. The cart Happy was hiding behind was flipped and charred instantly.
Minutes later, the smoke began to clear. Happy lay on the ground, his suit tattered, his skin covered in angry, red burns. He was drifting in and out of consciousness. Through the haze of pain, he saw a figure walking through the flames.
It was Savin. His clothes were shredded, his skin blackened by the blast. But as Happy watched, the molten light flowed through the lackey's legs. Flesh knitted back together. Tattered muscle reformed. Within a few steps, Savin was whole again, walking away from the carnage like he was strolling through a park.
Happy's hand twitched, trying to point toward the center of the blast, but his strength failed. His eyes closed, leaving him in the wreckage.
Back in the void of space, the silence was about to be broken by a different kind of violence.
Jason was now standing directly behind Leo's pilot seat. He was close enough to smell the faint scent of ozone and copper that seemed to cling to the boy.
Jason flicked a dial on his stun gun. The blue electricity hummed, growing brighter and more lethal. He wasn't going to kill the kid—not yet—but he was going to make sure he didn't move for a long, long time.
"Wakey-wakey, fat sheep," Jason hissed.
He reached out with his left hand, grabbing the edge of the seat and spinning it around with a violent jerk. He leveled the stun gun at Leo's chest, his finger tightening on the trigger.
In that fraction of a second, Leo's golden eyes snapped open. They weren't confused. They were radiant.
Two streaks of liquid gold erupted from the floor plating, moving faster than the eye could follow. They converged on the stun gun in Jason's hand, flowing into the barrel and the trigger mechanism.
Jason pulled the trigger.
Instead of a forward-projected bolt, the energy hit a dead end of gold-reinforced metal and backfired. A massive surge of blue lightning arced back through the gun's handle, surging into Jason's body.
"GAAAAH!"
Jason's body convulsed as the high-voltage current fried his nervous system. He collapsed, the gun flying from his hand. But the gun didn't hit the floor.
While Jason lay twitching in a heap, the weapon melted in mid-air, its components compressing into a dense, solid block of metal. Then, with a sound like a gunshot, the block burst, spinning out into a series of incredibly thin, incredibly strong metal wires.
The wires lashed out, wrapping around Jason's arms, legs, and torso, dragging his paralyzed body across the floor until he was pinned back into the exact same corner where he had started.
Leo let out a long, weary sigh. His golden eyes dimmed, the radiance fading back into a dull amber. He didn't say a word. He didn't even look at the man he had just re-captured.
He simply leaned back in the chair, his eyes closing once more as the ship continued its silent journey through the stars. Jason was back to square one, bound tighter than before, left to stare at the ceiling in the dark.