Sting Operation

Days passed in a blur of restlessness. The city seemed to hold its breath, tension simmering beneath the surface. Each morning brought new headlines—more praise for Second Dawn, more questions about their methods, and more stories of superhumans capturing criminals with ruthless efficiency. But for Remond, the world outside his apartment felt distant, muted by the weight of what he'd seen and what he still didn't understand.

He spent most of those days glued to the news, searching for patterns, for anything that might tell him what his mother was really planning. But the reports were always the same—polished, controlled, each superhuman encounter framed like a hero's tale. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

By the end of the week, with nothing but silence from Ho Dieng and no leads to follow, restlessness gnawed at him until he couldn't take it anymore. His leave was up, anyway. It was time to get back to the studio—and, perhaps, find some answers.

---

Back to Routine

The familiar buzz of the studio hit him the moment he stepped through the doors—voices overlapping, keyboards clacking, the faint hum of computers running overtime. The lobby was a whirl of motion, interns darting between cubicles with armfuls of files, editors squinting at their screens, coffee mugs in hand. For a second, Remond almost relaxed, tension easing from his shoulders. Almost.

"Look who finally decided to show up!"

The booming voice was impossible to miss. Remond turned to find Bronson striding over, grin wide and eyes glinting behind square glasses. The guy was a few years older, head of the video content research department and infamous for his obsession with scandalous stories and conspiracy theories.

"Heard you took some time off," Bronson said, clapping Remond on the shoulder with enough force to make him wince. "Good timing, though. You missed the chaos. But guess what, buddy?"

"You're about to fill me in," Remond replied dryly, forcing a smirk.

Bronson snorted. "Damn right. Second Dawn's been on a hot plate lately—some accusations about misconduct from their superhumans. Excessive force, collateral damage, and get this—unauthorized surveillance. And that's just what made it to the news."

Remond's eyes narrowed slightly. "Unauthorized surveillance?"

"Oh yeah." Bronson leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Word is, some of their operatives have been tracking people not even on the wanted list. Journalists, activists—hell, maybe even some of our competitors. Makes you wonder who's really in charge, huh?"

Remond's jaw tightened. He glanced aside, trying to seem nonchalant. "You think there's a story there?"

"Hell yes, there's a story!" Bronson's eyes lit up, manic excitement clear. "Which is why we're pitching it for a feature piece. We need to hit this fast, before someone else does. Especially with all that PR fluff they've got on air."

Before Remond could respond, another voice cut through the noise—sharp, annoyed.

"You've got to be kidding me, Bronson."

Elliot strode up, expression thunderous. The man was head of editorial—strict, composed, and not a fan of Bronson's conspiracy theories. "We're not running a hit piece on the world's first superhuman company based on rumors and anonymous sources. It'll ruin our credibility."

"Credibility?" Bronson scoffed, crossing his arms. "We'll lose credibility if we ignore this! The public's already suspicious. We should be out there investigating, not sitting on our hands."

"Second Dawn's untouchable right now," Elliot snapped back. "Do you have any idea what their legal team would do to us? We don't even have concrete evidence!"

"We will if we dig!"

A groan sounded from behind Elliot. Troy, the producer, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can we not do this today? We have deadlines."

"Hey, back me up here, Remond," Bronson said, elbowing him in the ribs. "You saw that press conference, right? Tell me you didn't get bad vibes from that lady running the show."

Bad vibes. Remond barely stopped himself from flinching. He took a slow breath, schooling his expression. This was it—his chance to find out what was really going on.

"He's got a point," Remond said evenly, earning an incredulous look from Elliot. "People are already talking about it. Ignoring the story won't make it go away. Besides, if we play it smart, we can at least find out if there's anything real behind the accusations."

Bronson beamed, punching the air. "Knew you'd back me up!"

Elliot groaned. "Oh, for the love of—fine! But if this blows up, it's on you two."

"Relax," Bronson said, waving him off. "We'll be subtle."

Troy chuckled darkly. "Oh yeah, because you're known for subtlety."

---

The Sting

By the time they gathered in the conference room, the sky outside had darkened to a deep gray, city lights flickering through the glass walls. The team crowded around the table—Bronson with his mountain of files, Troy tapping a pen impatiently, Elliot looking ready to strangle someone.

Troy cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "Alright, since we're apparently doing this, here's the plan." He flipped open a file, pages rustling. "We need firsthand information. Rumors won't cut it, and no one's gonna talk to us on record. So, we're going with a sting operation."

"Ooh, dangerous," Bronson grinned. "I like it."

"Don't get too excited," Troy muttered. "We've got to be smart about this. No exposing the studio. No getting caught. We're going to infiltrate one of their recruitment drives."

"They're still recruiting?" Elliot frowned. "Didn't they announce having a full roster?"

"Publicly, sure," Troy said, lips curling. "But according to a few sources, they've been screening new recruits privately. Low-key, under the radar. We get someone inside, find out what they're really up to."

Remond's fingers drummed lightly against the table, mind already turning. A recruitment drive. A way in.

"And who's going undercover?" Bronson asked eagerly. "Please tell me it's me."

"Hell no," Elliot snorted. "They'd see through you in a second."

Troy's eyes flickered to Remond, considering. "Actually, I was thinking someone with less... enthusiasm. Someone who can keep their head down."

All eyes turned to Remond.

He leaned back, crossing his arms. "You're kidding."

"You blend in better than anyone else here," Troy pointed out. "Plus, you're good at playing dumb. No offense."

"Some taken," Remond deadpanned.

"Great, it's settled," Bronson said cheerfully. "Remond's our guy."

Elliot groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We're all going to get fired."

"Only if we screw up," Troy said, smirking. "So don't screw up."

Remond exhaled slowly, glancing at the files spread across the table—blueprints, surveillance photos, lists of known operatives. This was insane. Suicidal, even. But if it got him closer to the truth about Second Dawn—and about his mother—then maybe it was worth the risk.

He picked up a file, flipping it open. "Fine," he muttered. "Let's do this."