Chapter Five

The rain had eased, leaving the streets damp and gleaming under flickering streetlights. Lydia was on her way home — her secured location. Lydia's home wasn't just any safe house—it was a fortified stronghold, a remnant of her years working under Reynolds. Nestled in the heart of the city, the building appeared abandoned from the outside—cracked brick walls, boarded-up windows, masking the reinforced steel beneath. But to those who knew better, it was a tactical fortress.

The security checkpoint scanned Lydia's ID, a green light flickering as the reinforced doors slid open. She stepped inside, her boots echoing in the sterile hallway of her safe house. Dim blue lights lined the ceiling, casting long shadows against steel-paneled walls.

The conversation with the captain didn't linger in her mind as she took it as she took most conversations —normal.

She was expecting a routine pickup—something simple. Instead, something felt off.

A sharp sound. A shift in the air.

Lydia paused. A soft hum filled the space, the unmistakable buzz of active surveillance tech. Too many cameras, too perfectly placed.

A step forward.

The floor beneath her pulsed with a faint charge. EMP field. A calculated move. She stopped mid-step, her fingers twitching toward the knife hidden in her sleeve.

Lydia exhaled slowly. An ambush.

The moment she moved to react, the overhead lights cut out. A flash of red warnings flooded the walls, alarms remaining eerily silent.

Then—impact.

An electric pulse shot through her system, bypassing her reflexes. Her limbs locked, muscles betraying her. Non-lethal. Meant to stun.

Lydia staggered but stayed upright, teeth clenched as the paralysis wave pulsed through her nerves.

From the darkness, figures emerged—their silhouettes sharp, calculated. No insignias. No wasted movements. Professionals.

One of them tilted their head slightly, almost amused. "Lydia Ashwood."

She smirked. "I don't recall giving out introductions."

One stepped forward, a device in hand. A sleek injector, designed for one thing. Blood extraction.

"Let's not waste time," the figure said, voice distorted by a vocal modulator. "We just need a sample."

Lydia exhaled slowly, ignoring the burning sensation in her limbs. Her mind stayed sharp.

"If you wanted a donation, you could've asked," she said, voice calm despite the situation.

The figure tilted their head. "You work for Reynolds. Surely, you know that trust is a fragile thing."

The injector pressed against her arm. A faint sting.

And then—a data chip was slipped into her palm.

"See for yourself."

The paralysis began to fade. Lydia's fingers curled around the chip.

This wasn't just a hit.

It was a message.

And they wanted her to listen.

While Lydia was busy with her thoughts, the ambushers readily packed up and left. They knew that relying solely on the EMP gadget would be insufficient to contain the notorious Mistress of Gadgets, so they retreated, mission accomplished.

***.....***

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the dimly lit command center. Screens lined the walls, displaying security feeds, encrypted messages, and live data streams from the city. The sleek, metallic hallway leading to Reynolds' office was silent except for the steady hum of security drones overhead. Catherine and Cassie stopped in front of a reinforced door with no visible handle or keypad—only a biometric scanner.

Cassie exhaled sharply. "This is a waste of time."

Before Catherine could respond, the door slid open with a soft hiss. Inside, Rachez sat at a circular desk, multiple holographic screens floating around her. Rachez was a technopath—she didn't type, she thought, and systems obeyed. Data flickered in her eyes as encrypted firewalls unraveled with a mere flick of her mind.

She spoke only when necessary, precise as code, efficient as the machines she controlled. Loyalty wasn't a question—it was logic. And logic told her Reynolds was always right.

She barely spared them a glance before resuming her work, fingers dancing over the interface.

"You're late," she said flatly.

"Apologies for the delay. Traffic, and more importantly, having a life, got in the way." Catherine responded with a sly tone.

Rachez's voice was laced with venom. "If your lifestyle was the definition of life, then death would be a luxury."

Silence…

Catherine's green eyes blazed with rage and contempt, her claws extending subtly. In her mind's eye, she'd already gouged out Rachez's eyes, sliced her to pieces, and finished her off with a gruesome signature move — ripping out her heart. But reality dictated restraint; she was, after all, Reynolds' secretary.

The tense atmosphere was shattered by Cassie's sudden, explosive laughter. "Sh-she got you good, Catherine!" Cassie choked out, doubling over.

Rachez's gaze shifted to Cassie, her expression unreadable. Catherine's eyes narrowed, her face still simmering with anger.

Cassie's laughter slowly subsided, leaving behind an awkward silence. Rachez's expression remained impassive, but Catherine's anger still simmered just below the surface.

"Sorry," Cassie said, still chuckling, "but that was just... perfect."

"Good to see that you are back in shape after the incident with the telepath." Rachez said.

"It's gonna take more than a mental attack to keep me down." Cassie said boastfully.

"Is that so! Miss Muscles," Catherine cut in with an icy precision. " Well I remember saving some mutant after a tier four mutant knocked out her motor sensors."

Rachez's gaze returned to Catherine. "Reynolds is waiting. I suggest you compose yourself."

Catherine's eyes flashed with resentment, but she bit back her retort. With a deliberate calmness, she smoothed her expression and turned toward the door. "Let's get this over with."

As they exited the room, Cassie fell into step beside Catherine, a mischievous grin still playing on her lips. "You have to admit, that was pretty epic."

Catherine shot her a sideways glance. "You're not helping."

They entered Reynolds' office. At the far end of the room, Reynolds stood with his back to the entrance, watching a digital map shift in real time. Without turning, he spoke. "You're late."

Catherine stepped forward first, arms crossed. "Whatevs! Where's Lydia?"

"What do you mean 'where's Lydia?'" Reynolds turned and faced them. He held a grim and ambitious look.

"Lydia was scheduled for a routine pickup," Cassie said, her brow furrowing. "She should've checked in by now."

Reynolds' expression darkened. "I've lost contact with her. We need to assume the worst."

Catherine's eyes narrowed. "What's going on, Reynolds?"

He strode toward them, his movements fluid and calculated. "We have reason to believe Lydia's been compromised. I need you both to track her down and assess the situation."

Cassie's eyes locked onto Reynolds'. "What kind of compromise?"

Reynolds' gaze flickered, a hint of unease beneath his composed exterior. "Let's just say our enemies are getting desperate. We can't afford to lose Lydia... or what she carries."

The room fell silent, the weight of Reynolds' words hanging in the air like a challenge. Catherine's eyes flashed with determination. "We'll find her."

Reynolds nodded, a small, enigmatic smile playing on his lips. "I'm counting on it."

***.....***

Lydia slammed the door behind her, breathing hard. The safe house was dark, abandoned—perfect. Rain still clung to her coat, dripping onto the dusty floorboards as she moved toward the worn-out desk. Her mind was still reeling from the ambush, the precision of it. Not an assassination attempt—no, they had wanted something from her.

She reached into her pocket, fingers closing around the cold, metallic sliver. The data chip.

She set it down beside her system, wiping rain off her face before slotting the chip into the port. A moment's hesitation. Then a click. The screen flickered to life.

Encrypted files detected. Bypassing…

Lydia exhaled sharply. Who the hell are you? Whoever planted this had the resources to break into a secure city location, restrain her long enough to extract a blood sample, and leave her with this? They wanted her to see this.

The screen blinked again. A folder opened, rows of files unfurling in a cascade of classified documents, voice recordings, and video feeds.

Murfield Black Projects – Clearance: Omega

Her jaw tightened. She clicked the first file.

PROJECT: 4XIV & XLT

A video feed flickered on—a dimly lit cryogenic lab, rows of glass pods stretching into the dark. Inside them, mutants—some fully formed, others still half-developed, bodies altered beyond recognition. Tubes ran from their skin, their vitals monitored by scrolling data.

The camera panned to a scientist standing beside a control panel. Lydia's breath caught as she recognized the man speaking.

Reed. Reynolds' lead geneticist.

"Project 4XIV and XLT are ready for defrosting. Subject samples have been stabilized. Senator Reynolds has ordered the final phase—full activation within the week."

Lydia leaned forward, eyes narrowing. Final phase? Activation? These weren't just experiments. They were weapons.

Here's a polished version:

The video cut off abruptly, and another file opened, labeled "Documents." Emily's heart skipped a beat as she saw Reynolds' signature at the bottom of the page. But her excitement was short-lived - the file was empty.

Her mind began to whirl with possibilities, her nerves screaming for more information. Was this a trap? A test of her loyalty? She paused, taking a deep breath as she considered the possibilities.

Maybe the ambushers were just playing games with her, trying to unsettle her. But one thing was certain: Reynolds was planning something massive, something that could potentially dwarf their previous accomplishments. The question was, would it put her and her friends in danger?