CHAPTER 11: ROBOTIC WRATH: A FIGHT TO PROTECT THE FUTURE 2

Continuation...

MORINJO

The battlefield chills as their cold, unfeeling gazes lock onto me—a silent vow of annihilation. I feel Path Finder stirring within, his presence resonating in my mind like a low growl.

"Ready, Morinjo?" he asks, his voice echoing in my head.

"Always," I reply aloud, syncing with him as we merge.

I channel the ground beneath me, propelling myself high into the air. At the peak, I twist, flames igniting around me as we crash back to earth. The impact sends a fiery shockwave, reducing the first wave of sprinting robots to smoldering debris.

"Not bad," Path Finder remarks, a hint of approval in his tone.

More of them rush forward, their arm-blades gleaming like steel fangs. I step toward them deliberately, flames sparking at my palms. "Let's show them how it's done," Path Finder growls, and I feel him guiding my movements as we hurl firebolts with deadly precision.

"Where are they coming from?" I mutter, watching more robots descend from the sky like mechanical locusts.

"Does it matter? Burn them all."

Switching to lightning, I unleash crackling arcs that slice through the horde. Path Finder's power surges with mine, amplifying the strikes. But for every robot that falls, two more take its place.

"They're multiplying. We need to retreat!" I shout.

"Retreat? We're just getting started!" Path Finder growls, pushing me to keep fighting.

"They're endless! We can't hold this line forever," I snap back.

He doesn't argue but activates our comms. "This is Path Finder. I need backup! Do you copy?"

Static. No response.

"Looks like it's just us," I say grimly.

"Good. More for us to destroy."

Together, we fight as one, our strikes seamless and devastating. Struggling soldiers and terrified students stagger through the chaos. We shield them, pulling them to safety, but the effort drains us both.

A faint roar cuts through the din, and I glance skyward. A sleek jet streaks toward the battlefield.

"Backup?" I ask, hope flickering.

"Or more trouble," Path Finder mutters.

The jet slows as it nears, and a figure leaps from the craft, bullets spraying from Powered Gauntlets as they plummet. The figure lands hard, dust and sparks scattering, rising with the poised confidence of a seasoned warrior.

The stranger's armor is unlike anything I've seen. Sleek and futuristic, its design mirrors the American flag, a vibrant mix of red, white, and blue. At the forefront is a sleek, aerodynamic helmet that covers the face entirely, leaving an air of mystery. A shining silver star dominates the chest, while intricate metallic wings—both aesthetic and functional—extend from the back, shimmering like an eagle's feathers. His arms and legs are armored with segmented metallic plating, allowing for both flexibility and durability. His gauntlets are rugged and powerful, with bright red detailing that hints at his readiness for action. His boots share a similarly robust design, grounded and functional for any terrain. His utility belt wraps around the waist, featuring tactical pouches that enhance the armor's practicality without compromising its visual appeal.

He wastes no time, diving into the fight with precise strikes and unrelenting firepower. The gauntlets roar, obliterating robots as he maneuvers with a practiced fluidity.

I charge toward him, clearing his flank with bolts of lightning. "Who the hell are you?"

Without missing a beat, he fires another shot. "Your friendly neighborhood Peregrine Falcon."

"You don't look friendly. Who sent you?"

"The U.S. President and General," he replies, dodging a robot's strike before smashing it to scrap. "I'm with the U.S. Armed Forces."

I scoff, sending a fire-laced kick into another wave of robots. "Since when does the military have superheroes?"

"Since 2024," he says casually. "You sound surprised."

Path Finder chuckles in my mind. *"Looks like you've got competition."*

"Not impressed," I mutter, sending a fire-laced kick into another wave

"That was *then*. Now the U.S. has two of us."

"'Us'? Who's the other?"

He glances at me briefly, even as he fires off another round. "Captain Jack."

A robot lunges at me from behind, but he steps in, taking it down with a single blast. "Don't worry," he says, smirking. "I've got your back."

"Thanks," I mutter, slightly thrown by his calm confidence.

As the fight rages on, he continues, "Sooner or later, your team's going to join us."

"Not a chance," I counter, launching a wave of lightning. "We don't work for governments or organizations."

"Who said anything about working *for*?" He flips over a robot, landing in a flawless sweep-kick. "You'd be working *with* us. There's a difference."

"Really?" I shoot him a skeptical look, flames bursting from my fists. "What's the difference?"

His grin is infuriatingly self-assured. "Stick around. You'll see."

We keep fighting, side by side, as the robotic horde shows no sign of letting up.

"Working for someone means taking orders from an employer who pays you.

Working with someone means being colleagues—equals—where both of you answer to the same higher authority," Peregrine Falcon explains as we take a moment to catch our breath. The battlefield is littered with smoldering, shattered robots.

"At last," I say. "We got them all. Nice working with you—"

"Peregrine Falcon," he finishes, offering a half-smile.

I nod, glancing at the wreckage. "Do you have any idea where these robots came from?"

"No clue. But we need to find out," he replies, his voice serious.

I spot movement out of the corner of my eye. One of the robots, battered and broken, is crawling toward the school gate, its movements desperate and jerky. I stride toward it, flames igniting in my left palm.

"Don't move, machine!" I bark, raising my hand.

Falcon places a firm hand on my shoulder. "Wait. Stop."

"Why?" I snap, glancing at him.

He steps forward calmly. "Let's try asking nicely."

"Asking nicely?" I echo, incredulous.

Falcon ignores my tone, crouching near the damaged robot. "Don't be afraid," he says evenly, his voice disarming. "We'll spare you—if you answer a few questions."

The robot pauses, its glowing eyes flickering.

"Who sent you?" Falcon presses, his tone soft but commanding.

A deep, distorted laugh erupts from the robot, loud and unnatural. Then, as if possessed by a hive mind, the other destroyed robots around us begin to echo the same laughter. The air grows colder.

The robot's voice distorts, merging with the others: "The man who sent us is coming with chaos. He will avenge his wife, his life, by reducing New York City to rubble. All humans will bow to him as their eternal king—including your so-called heroes."

I step closer, narrowing my eyes. "Who is he?"

The robot's head turns toward me, its cracked faceplate twitching as if amused. "You wish to know his name?" it taunts. "He is Cyberman. The one and only Terminator. He will crush the Earth's protectors and rule this world—forever."

Falcon straightens, his jaw tightening. I step beside him, my voice steady but firm. "Go back to wherever you came from and deliver this message to your commander: We'll be ready for him."

The robot tilts its head mockingly. "You think you can stop him?"

I lean in, letting fire dance in my palm for effect. "If we defeated Malacoda and his army, Cyberman will fall just the same."

The robot's laughter fades into silence as its body collapses, finally shutting down. Falcon looks at me, his expression grim.

"Well," he says, breaking the tension. "Looks like things are about to get interesting."

"Interesting?" I glance at him, the weight of the battle pressing on me. "I'd call it a disaster waiting to happen."

"Disasters are what we're here for." His grin is faint but confident, a spark of hope in an otherwise grim moment.

For a second, I can't help but share his smirk. Then, turning toward the wreckage, I let out a breath. "Let's prepare. We don't have much time."

JESSICA

With the combined effort of Menace and the U.S. soldiers, we manage to evacuate thousands of children, teenagers, and teachers. Not all of them make it—some of the younger ones are lost in the chaos, their bravery costing them everything. Each loss feels like a weight pressing on my chest, but I push the pain aside. There's no time to grieve, not now.

Menace lowers his crossbow and presses a button, folding it into a compact shape. His movements are precise, deliberate, like everything he does. As we walk toward the crowd of students reuniting with their parents, I can't help but watch him. His calm demeanor, his skill, his unwavering focus—they command respect.

He notices my stare. "What is it?" he asks, his voice even.

I hesitate, then smile faintly. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For stepping in, for fighting alongside me," I say. "I really appreciate it."

He tilts his head slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. "We're partners," he replies simply. "Teammates. Why thank me for doing my job?"

"Because you're not just doing your job. You're extraordinary at it," I say, my tone soft but sincere. "I've fought beside Sophia, Daniel, Alex, and the rest, but you—your skill, your passion—it's on another level. I wish I could fight like you."

He stops walking and turns to face me fully. "Don't wish to be me or anyone else," he says, his voice firm but kind. "Be yourself. Learn to love your own skills, your own abilities. Wishing to be someone else only makes you lose sight of who you are."

Before I can respond, the students rush toward us in a wave of gratitude. Their voices blend into a cacophony of thank-yous and cheers, their faces alight with relief and joy. Some hug me tightly, their small arms clinging as if I'm the only thing anchoring them to safety.

I lift the smaller ones, one by one, but exhaustion starts to creep in. My arms ache, my legs feel like lead, yet I can't stop. Not while they still need me.

"Hi, Black Cardinal!" A boy's voice cuts through the crowd. I look up to see a teenager—slim, handsome, with bright eyes and an infectious smile—making his way toward me.

"I'm Israel," he says, stopping a few feet away. His expression is warm and genuine. "One of the students you saved. I just… wanted to say thank you."

I smile back at him, the sincerity in his voice easing some of the weight on my shoulders. "You're welcome, Israel."

He holds out a piece of paper, slightly wrinkled from the chaos. "I made this for you."

I take it carefully, unfolding it to reveal a pencil sketch. It's me—detailed, lifelike, with a strength in the lines that catches me off guard. For a moment, I'm speechless.

"This is beautiful," I finally say, my voice quiet. "Thank you, Israel."

He beams at the praise, but then his expression shifts. His body begins to tremble violently, his eyes widening in panic. Blood trickles from his nose, and before I can react, he collapses into my arms.

"Menace! Help me!" I scream, lowering him to the ground as his convulsions worsen. The blood flows faster, his entire body shaking uncontrollably.

Menace appears instantly, pulling me back. "Don't touch him!" he orders.

I let go reluctantly, watching as Israel's body stills the moment Menace separates us. His breathing evens out, but his face is pale, his frame trembling with residual fear.

"Thank you," I say, relief flooding my voice as I kneel beside the boy. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick, Israel?"

He doesn't answer, only bends forward, clutching his knees to steady himself.

"He's not sick," Menace says grimly.

I look up at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

Menace's expression darkens. "He's a seer. He just had a vision."

I blink, unsure whether to laugh or argue. "You're joking, right?"

"No," Israel whispers, his voice trembling but resolute. "I am a seer."

He looks up at me, tears streaming down his face, his entire body still trembling.

"What did you see?" I ask gently, dread pooling in my stomach.

Israel's lips quiver, his voice barely a whisper. "It was… terrible."

His haunted eyes meet mine, and I brace myself for what's coming next.

MORINJO

Peregrine Falcon leads me through the survivors' camp. The soldiers we pass look exhausted, their faces etched with desperation and relief. We stop in front of the General, who steps forward to shake my hand.

"Path Finder," he says, his voice heavy with gratitude. "You and your team saved us. Without you, we'd all be dead."

"We're just doing our job," I reply, gripping his hand firmly. My eyes shift to Falcon for a moment before I ask, "The new guy mentioned something about heroes the U.S. government is assembling. Is that true?"

The General nods, a faint smile breaking through his worn expression. "Yes. President Trump and the White House are working with the U.N. to gather heroes—both veterans and rookies. The world needs saving now more than ever."

I glance at Falcon, studying him. "You. I've got to admit, I admire the costume—and the skills."

"Thanks, Finder," Falcon says

Turning back to the General, I narrow my eyes. "Why didn't you send his assistant to meet me instead?"

The General hesitates before answering. "Falcon's needed in a meeting. The President and the U.N. are discussing an alliance with your team, but you were diverted here by an urgent call."

I frown. "If America's got its heroes now, maybe we shouldn't answer the next distress call."

The General's expression tightens. "Don't take it the wrong way, Finder. We're not saying you're useless. If anything, we want to work with your team—if you're willing."

"Work with or work for?" I ask, my voice dropping a notch.

Before the General can respond, Falcon steps in. "Work with," he says firmly. "We're on the same side."

The General shrugs, but I don't miss the tension in his jaw.

Before I can push further, someone calls my name. "Finder!"

I turn to see Jessica approaching, Menace and a teenager trailing behind her. Jessica's expression is unreadable, but there's an urgency in her voice. "We need to talk."

I step closer, my attention shifting between her and the boy. "What's this about?"

She glances at the teenager before answering. "Him. There's something we all need to hear."

I study the kid for a moment, my instincts flaring. Something's off. This isn't just another rescue mission. Whatever's going on, it isn't ending here. "Alright," I say, motioning to the others. "Let's regroup at the Tower."

To be continued....

Watch out for Ultimate Ventures season 3