The day had turned out really nice. The morning forecast for rain had been right, but by the time we reached the little town of Hope, the clouds had cleared and the sun was already drying the roads. Sarah had wanted to come here for our anniversary, a quiet place known for its wineries and slow, easy streets. My parents sat in the backseat, enjoying the escape from the city.
The drive home felt perfectly timed. Somewhere nearby, a super had started a fight, and the heroes were already dealing with him. Property damage, flashing lights, chaos was just part of life now that powers existed. But they were fighting somewhere north of Hope. We were heading south. With Sarah's hand resting in mine, we drove home.
We never made it.
I woke up from the nap with a sharp gasp, breathing fast, panic surging through me as my hand reached automatically for an arm that wasn't there.
A few hours later, I had déjà vu. I was sitting in my van, a couple of blocks from the warehouse, tucked into an underground parking lot. I fought down the little voice in my head saying, "Don't do this! Get therapy!" Annoying bugger.
The garage had one security camera. I reached to hack it, only to realize it wasn't even powered. Perfect. Less work for me, and fewer digital footprints to chase me later.
Even though this wasn't technically my first time out, something about tonight felt different. More final. More… real.
Like everything leading up to this was just a prologue.
And this sitting here in the dark, gearing up this was the actual beginning.
It was much harder to get into the suit in the back of the van. I had to do it lying down but once it was on and powered up, it felt like wearing nothing at all. The helmet's optics gave me some low-light assistance, though if it got any darker, I'd need the helmet lamp. I ran one last check of the suit and gear, making sure everything was where it needed to be. Finally I closed my eyes, took a long slow breath, then opened the doors.
Then I was off.
The suit moved like a dream now that I'd tuned it just right. This must be what having powers felt like. I slipped through alleys at a steady pace; everyone in the area clearly sensed the danger. I didn't even cross paths with a cat. Then, all at once, the warehouse loomed ahead of me.
I stopped and took it in again. Lights glowed faintly through the upper windows. No guards. No lookout. The only thing protecting the building was a single padlock on the front door.
I stood across the street, tucked into the shadows, listening to my own quickening breathing, my mind racing. There wouldn't be robots inside this time. I'd be fighting real people; horrible people who deserved to die… but still people.
I had started this campaign claiming I would make the hard choices heroes refused to make. Now I had to follow through. Even if it killed me.
I spent another minute psyching myself up, breathing slow and steady inside the helmet, reminding myself why I was here why someone had to do this. Why I was doing this.
Then I walked up to the main door and kicked it in; Lock, hinges, and frame exploding inward.
I drew my blaster, something I really should've done before kicking the door in and looked around. I stood in an empty, dusty reception area. An unmanned desk faced the entrance, and to the right a hallway stretched into what I assumed were offices. At the back of the room, another set of double doors led into the warehouse proper.
I scanned the empty space and relaxed only a little. Then I immediately felt stupid. I'd walked into a building without the faintest idea of its layout, kicked the door in like an idiot…and hadn't even been holding my weapon. What was I going to do if someone had been standing here? Shout, "Hey, you! Stop!" Idiot.
I forced my breathing steady and looked at my options.
The office area clearly hadn't been used in ages, no lights, no footprints, no signs of movement. No point wasting time. I crossed the room and pushed through the double doors into the warehouse.
I was not ready for what I saw.
I walked into a circus tent.
If I hadn't known there was a warehouse outside those canvas walls, I could've easily believed I'd stepped into a real circus. The room inside the tent looked and even smelled like one; hay covered the floor, and warm lights pulsed in time with distant carnival music, as if a full fairground was spinning just beyond the fabric. It was surreal.
"How the hell did they do this?" I muttered as I moved toward the flap door, blaster in hand but pointed down. I pushed it open.
Inside was… a circus.
A full-sized ring dominated the center, with stands rising around it. That was when I finally placed the music, it was coming from in here, echoing off the canvas walls. As I stepped farther in, two details struck me immediately: the whole setup wasn't finished; close, but not quite. There were some unpainted walls or stands not fully assembled, a few lights hung loose by their wires. Then I saw them in the middle of the ring, hauling boxes, were a clown… and Strongman.
The clown saw me first. He pointed and went, "HO HO!" honking his nose.
Strongman looked at the clown, then at me.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, shifting into confusion. "Who the hell are you? We're not ready yet! We open this weekend!" He waved both hands at me like I was an annoying customer. "Go away!"
"I'm not letting you hurt anyone else!" I shouted, though I had no idea what I expected to accomplish. Was he supposed to just quit his life of villainy because I yelled at him?
Strongman just rolled his eyes. "Newbies…"
He dropped the box with a thud and turned away. "I'll talk to the boss. You deal with him," he told the clown, jerking a thumb in my direction.
Then he walked toward another flap door without even looking back, dismissing me like I was some annoying kid who couldn't take a hint.
The clown let out another stupid laugh, reached into a box, and pulled out a large red‑and‑purple striped mallet. As he started toward me making those goofy, mocking noises with every step I raised my blaster.
"Stop!" I shouted. "Put that down!"
My voice cracked. Yeah that'll stop him.
The clown in fact didn't stop. He didn't even hesitate. He just kept waddling forward, honking his nose like an idiot getting closer, and closer, and closer.
I tightened my grip on the blaster. My finger hovered over the trigger… and didn't move.
You're not a killer.
You don't kill.
It's wrong to kill.
"Last warning!" I called out. "Stop!"
But it wasn't really a warning. It was me begging the universe to give me an excuse not to pull the trigger.
He didn't stop.
When he got close enough to swing, instinct finally took over. I pulled the trigger.
The red bolt slammed into the clown's right shoulder, spinning him sideways and dropping his face‑first into the hay‑strewn floor.
He didn't move.
A thin curl of smoke rose from his costume.
My stomach lurched.
Had I really just done that? Had I really…
Before I could take a step toward him, the clown let out another bright, idiotic "HO HO" and pushed himself up as if nothing had happened. The shoulder of his suit was charred and burned through, but the flesh underneath looked untouched.
He made a sudden movement toward his pocket, and I fired again.
The clown toppled onto his ass but kept going, digging around until he pulled out… a balloon. A green one. He started inflating it like this was all part of the act. My second shot left the same result as the first; burned fabric, untouched skin.
He twisted the balloon and held out a balloon dog toward me.
I shot him again.
And again.
Each time he went down, he bounced back up, launching into a new ridiculous routine, collapsing in dramatic, operatic death poses, making snow angels in the hay, honking his own nose like a final gasp for air.
I holstered my blaster. It wasn't working anyway.
"What the fuck are you made of?" I hissed, not expecting an answer.
"Gumdrops, rainbows, and a dollop of pixie dust!" he squeaked cheerfully. then swung the mallet into my leg.
It didn't hurt much, but it buckled my knee.
"Stupid…" I tried to grab the mallet on the second swing and missed, taking the blow off my helmet and rattling my brain.
I stepped into the next swing, letting the haft land just under my arm. Using the suit's strength, I yanked it away and threw it into the stands. "Stupid clown!"
As the clown hit the ground again, he reached into that ridiculous oversized pocket, pointed something at me, and with a pop! blasted me in the face with confetti and streamers.
That was about where my patience ran out.
I swung straight through the cloud of glitter and paper, catching him squarely and sending him giggling across the dirt.
"Alright. Enough!"
If my blaster didn't hurt him, nothing else I carried would either.
My eyes drifted up to the central support beam. An umbrella-style frame held the tent aloft, all of it tensioned by thick ropes knotted around the main pole.
I left the clown wobbling on the ground like a sea lion and moved toward it. I grabbed one of the ropes and tried to yank it free; no luck. Tougher than it looked.
Good thing I'd brought a knife.
The stupid laugh crept up behind me as I worked and then the clown shoved me. I barely budged. I got one rope loose, then drove my elbow backward, catching him square in the nose and earning a honk for my trouble. As he stumbled, I grabbed the mass of red hair—real, apparently—looped the rope around his neck, yanked it tight, and ripped that ridiculous nose off. The clown gasped then laughed like it was all part of the act.
A few tugs on the other end of the rope hoisted him a few meters off the ground, swinging wildly like some grotesque party decoration.
I tied the rope off and left him flailing in the air. If my blaster couldn't break his skin, a rope wasn't going to hurt him either. But at least he was out of the way.
Clapping brought my attention to the opening Strongman had gone through. There stood the Ringmaster, in full attire.
"What a magnificent showing! I'm sure if you had allowed the guests to arrive, they'd all be applauding right now!"
His voice carried effortlessly through the tent.
"You don't get any more victims subject to your evil drug," I said, pulling my blaster up. I wasn't confident I could hit him at this range so I held off shooting.
"You misunderstand…I don't need any more acts." He tapped his cane on the ground, smiling far too calmly. "I just need a crowd."
With that cue, two mutated people stepped out from the stands on either side of me.
To my right stood what remained of a man fused with a gorilla. He was enormous—larger than a human should be, but smaller than a real gorilla—covered in thick black fur that obscured his original features. His clothes had been shredded; the only recognizable item left was a bright orange vest, stretched to the breaking point. Even from here, I could see the blood‑red eyes glaring at me. My stomach twisted. These were people… and I couldn't let myself forget it.
To my left was what I guessed had once been a woman, now mostly a lion. Brown fur covered her body, and the tattered remains of a sundress hung around her like a toga. She wasn't as large as the man, but sharp claws jutted from both hands, cutting through what was left of her shoes. Fear churned in my chest. I had to stop them—but how far was I willing to go?
"But practice is the secret to perfection, as my mother always said."
With that, both hybrids—victims—charged.
I reached for my blaster… then stopped myself. These weren't villains. These were people forced into this. Hostages.
I'll knock them out or something.
The hesitation cost me.
The gorilla‑man barreled into me like a truck, slamming me onto my back.
Hostile hostages.
I scrambled up just in time to block a slash from the lioness. Sparks jumped off my forearm plate. I dove aside from the gorilla‑man's second charge and rolled to my feet again.
I glanced at my arm where the lioness had struck. Her claws had actually gouged into the steel plating.
It was a mistake to check the damage, as I quickly learned. The gorilla‑man tackled me; hard. We hit the ground in a crashing tumble. He hammered at my suit like, well… a crazed gorilla. His bloodshot eyes were wild with rage.
I managed to land a solid punch that bought just enough space for me to plant a foot on his chest. I kicked him off, sending him rolling backward.
I wasn't even fully on my feet before the lioness came down on me. I threw a punch and caught her in the mouth at the same moment her claws scraped down the side of my helmet. She let out a pained, startled meow and sprang back.
No time for breathers, the gorilla was already on me again.
I pushed to my feet, pulled my arm back, and activated my heavy hit. My arm snapped forward at the maximum speed and power the suit could handle. My fist slammed into his jaw, spinning him around and sending a tooth flying across the room. A sharp jolt shot up my own arm.
And I regretted it instantly.
This guy wasn't a villain; he was a victim.
And I had just hit him with enough force to punch a hole through a concrete wall.
My concern had been misplaced. The gorilla‑man pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, turning toward me. Those bloodshot eyes burned with unending rage. Did he even feel the hit?
I took a quick glance for the Ringmaster, only to see he and Strongman had disappeared. Another mistake. Before I could react, the lioness leapt onto my back, claws aimed at my neck. Luckily, she didn't pierce the armor, but before I could shove her off, the gorilla‑man came at me again, swinging wildly, feral and unstoppable.
And this time… I felt every hit.
Blow after blow slammed into me, forcing me into a defensive stance as I was shoved backward. The lioness had leapt away at some point. I needed a way out. The suit was holding, but it couldn't take everything. My body was starting to feel it.
Then something yanked at my pack—had to be the lioness—and pulled me backward. Arms shot out instinctively to break the fall. The gorilla‑man intercepted, snatching my arm, and with terrifying strength, hurled me over his head. I arced through the air, the suit and I slamming down with a bone‑jarring crash.
I didn't remember hitting the ground. One moment I was in the air, the next I was staring up at the tent ceiling, white spots exploding across my vision. I jerked upright—too fast—and the world spun. No time to be concussed.
I got to my knees and realized I was a dozen meters from my attackers. The gorilla‑man must have thrown me; I didn't remember the flight.
The lioness, apparently done with the fun, sat back on her haunches like a mocking cat.
The gorilla, if anything, looked angrier, and the moment it saw me moving, it charged again.
I pulled my blaster out, trying to hold it steady and hesitated. Same mistake again.
In an instant, the gorilla grabbed my wrist, yanking the arm up. Maybe there was enough human left in him to recognize a gun's danger. I grabbed its other hand as it reached for my blaster, and suddenly we were locked in a standing wrestling match. one I was slowly losing. Every flex of its mutated muscles drove home how strong it had become, how lethal a single mistake could be.
It started to push me down. My boots slid through the dirt, and suddenly I was staring at what used to be a pair of work boots on its feet, a reminder this was once a regular person.
"Fuck," I growled through clenched teeth.
Damn it. This wasn't even who I was here to fight. Was I really about to fail my entire campaign at the true beginning?
My suit strained, servos screaming as warning icons flashed yellow across my visor. I was seconds away from being overpowered.
I can't lose, I told myself.
"I won't lose," I said aloud, digging my heels in. I stopped sliding, barely.
And then it hit me.
I was being a hypocrite.
I had promised myself that, on this path, I wouldn't be like the heroes who hesitated, who let things get worse because they couldn't make the hard call. I had sworn I'd be different; that I'd do what they wouldn't.
I forced myself upright, inch by inch, muscles burning suit whining with effort. The gorilla‑man met my stare with those blood‑shot, tortured eyes.
I'm here to stop this. I'm here to make sure this never happens again; to save the next group of people.
The blaster quivered in my grip. Time slowed. Every second felt like a lifetime. I pressed down harder. Slowly, steadily.
"Never again."
And I pulled the trigger.
The gorilla twisted; its left ear and the skin around it were blown off. It reacted only to the impact but seemingly not the pain. But the jolt loosened its grip. My hand came free. I leveled the blaster and fired again, this time hitting it in the chest where the neck met the torso.
The gorilla made an odd, almost cooing sound before falling backward and lying still at last.
I stared down at what had once been an innocent human being; now burnt, twisted meat. Anger bubbled up in me. I had pulled the trigger, yes… but I wasn't the reason this man was dead.
And I knew exactly who was.
A roar snapped me back. The lioness charged. I raised the blaster and fired. She hit the ground mid-pounce. my second hostage of the night.
I didn't let myself think about it. I pushed through the next flap and stepped into what could've passed for a field hospital from any war movie, if field hospitals had circus walls of red and yellow stripes. Eight beds. Six people strapped down. All in various stages of mutation. All with IV lines pumping the same green fluid.
Standing over them was the Ringmaster, checking something on a very out-of-place, ordinary-looking tablet. When he noticed me, he froze.
"You subdued them?" he asked, genuinely shocked. "The gorilla was a new mixture, no pain response. You'd have to fight him to exhaustion or physically restrain him. How did you manage that alone?" His confusion blended irritation, curiosity, and something like professional pride, but not concern.
He muttered to himself and set the tablet aside.
"Fine. Strongman; keep him busy while I wake a few more."
"Got it," I heard from my right as Strongman walked in from another entrance.
I lifted my blaster and aimed it at him.
"Nah, man. You can't stun me. I'm immune to that shi—"
I cut off the rest with a shot to the chest.
He looked down at the small, smoking hole over his heart, blinking like he couldn't quite process what he was seeing. Super strength always came with durability, but nowhere near enough to stop a bolt from punching straight through him. His legs folded and he hit the ground hard.
I holstered my blaster. It was empty anyway.
"What the hell are you doing!?" the Ringmaster shrieked. "You killed him!"
He stumbled backward, sputtering. "You're not allowed to kill us! Heroes can't kill…. they'll eat you alive for this!"
"I'm not a hero."
I walked toward him. Without his hybrids, he was no more dangerous than any other man. His back hit the wall. Then, unexpectedly he yanked out a plain, everyday handgun and emptied the entire magazine into me.
I stopped walking and let the rounds crumble against my armor. I felt each impact, but they did nothing more than leave little black smudges.
"You think I'd build a suit like this and not make it bulletproof?"
I drew my knife.
"No! Stop!" he screamed as I closed the distance. He scrambled to run, but I caught his arm and yanked him back. He stared up at me, pleading, desperate begging for the chance to be arrested instead of whatever he thought came next. His eyes locked on the blade in my hand.
And then I slid the knife back into its sheath.
Instead, I grabbed him with both hands.
It took a little while to find where he kept his product. At least two dozen bags, ready, packaged, queued for more victims. I overturned the fridge they were stashed in, ripped out some cloth I found, and set the entire pile of that vile garbage on fire.
All but one dose.
I walked back into the holding room. The six victims were still tied to their beds, still unconscious. I'd removed their doses, but it looked too late for them.
Then I went to the seventh bed. The Ringmaster was strapped down, thrashing uselessly against the restraints.
"Please—you don't have to do this! We can work something out!"
"How many people begged you for the same thing?" I asked, my voice cold even through the helmet.
He stammered, hunting for a lie he thought might save him. "There's a cure! I—I'll give it to you!"
"Bullshit."
I hung up the last dose of his vile drug.
"I might not have a cure," I said, "but we can call this a vaccine—"
I pushed the needle into his arm as he screamed.
"—for everyone else."
The Ringmaster thrashed, begging, pleading, howling as the green liquid threaded its way through his veins. His voice cracked, then dwindled into raw panic before finally giving out. A moment later he slumped, unconscious. There had to be a sedative mixed in, that would explain why all the others were asleep.
I dug through a pile of discarded personal items until I found one of the victims' phones. Didn't know the password, but you don't need one to call 911. I gave them the address and crushed the phone in my hand.
Time to go.
As I walked to the exit, I walked under the clown and only then noticed he had stopped moving. I looked up at his red and blue face. Unbreakable skin, but still needed air.
I continued out into the dark night.