CH: 112 - Different Grades
{Chapter: 112 - Different Grades}
There was an awkward pause before Aiden asked a question of his own. "Let me ask you something instead. Do you really want to be a hero?"
Michael's posture straightened. "Yes. Absolutely. Ever since I changed… since I got these powers, I've wanted to use them to help people. My son—he loves heroes. Always drawing them, pretending to be them. I want to be someone he can look up to, someone who makes a difference."
Aiden studied him for a moment. "Then you also need to understand something else. There's a price to being a hero. Real cost. Pain. Sacrifice. Maybe even losing parts of yourself—an arm, a leg… a piece of your soul. Still willing?"
Michael's smile faltered. He looked away, uncertain now, troubled. "I… I don't know."
Aiden didn't push. He simply nodded. "That's the right answer."
Suddenly, Quake's voice rang out from across the room. "Got it!"
Everyone's attention shifted as a virtual display lit up with a sharp image of a derelict building surrounded by fencing, drones, and what appeared to be hidden ground sensors.
"It's in Auckland all right," Quake said. "Abandoned textiles factory. But there's tech all around it. Not industrial—military-grade. Infrared cams, encrypted communication signals. This is definitely where they're hiding."
Phil nodded. "Perfect. Time to gear up. We leave in twenty."
"Michael," Fitz called from across the room, excitement clear in his voice. "Come with me. We've been working on a battle suit for you. Think you're going to like it."
Michael's face lit up like a child on Christmas morning. "Really? I get a suit?"
"Of course," Fitz said with a grin, already walking toward the lab. "You can't go into a fight dressed like an off-duty mechanic."
Aiden followed them, curiosity piqued. He wasn't expecting much, but Fitz always had a flair for upgrades.
In the lab, Fitz opened a containment case with a dramatic gesture. Inside was a sleek, black battle suit lined with reinforced alloy, resistant fabric, and glowing circuitry along the limbs—lightweight but clearly designed for combat efficiency.
Michael stepped forward, awestruck. He ran his hands over the suit, reverent. For someone like him, this wasn't just gear—it was a symbol. A second chance. A badge of belonging.
"I don't even know what to say," he muttered.
Fitz grinned. "Just try it on. We've integrated adaptive calibration sensors so it syncs to your bio-signature. It should hold up against Centipede-level combat… and maybe even make you look cool while doing it."
Michael nodded and started suiting up, still quiet, but a fire had started to kindle in his eyes. The same fire you see in those who have something to prove—to the world, and to themselves.
For a superhero, a combat suit is also a sign. Michael had fantasized about being a superhero and now that he has a battle suit his thoughts are running wild.
Aiden leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching him. He didn't say anything, but there was the faintest smile on his face.
---
Fitz folded his arms, watching Michael closely as he adjusted the newly-designed combat suit around his frame. "So... how's it feel?" he asked, an expectant smile playing on his lips.
Michael moved his arms and rotated his shoulders. The fabric of the suit stretched with him, responsive and lightweight. "Honestly?" he said, looking down at the black tactical mesh. "It feels… helpful. Comfortable. Not too tight. Kinda makes me feel like I can take on a tank."
Fitz chuckled, clearly proud of his work. "That's the idea. The polymer weave can adapt to different environments—cold, heat, humidity—and it's reinforced with a reactive nanomaterial that disperses kinetic energy. Punches, bullets, even minor explosions won't kill you. Well, probably won't."
Michael blinked. "Wait, probably?"
Fitz waved a hand dismissively. "It's a work in progress. But don't worry, the suit also monitors your vitals—heart rate, blood pressure, blood sugar—you name it. You'll know exactly when you're overexerting yourself. And if you get wounded, the internal sensors can alert medics before you even pass out. Plus, there's a backup communicator in the left glove and a GPS tracker embedded in the collar."
Michael let out a breath, clearly impressed. "Fitz… thank you. Really."
Fitz gave him a small, proud smile. "You're welcome. I mean, designing something for someone who actually appreciates it? That's a rare treat around here."
Then he glanced over at Aiden, who had been watching quietly from the side.
"What do you think? Want one?" Fitz asked hopefully.
Aiden didn't respond. Instead, a faint glow shimmered around his body, and his own battle suit materialized—dark, sleek, reinforced by a glowing lattice of hard-light constructs that shimmered with an otherworldly energy. It looked more like something designed for a demigod than a soldier.
Fitz's eyes widened as he took it in. "…Oh. Right. Well. Never mind."
He turned away, muttering under his breath, "Why do I even try?"
Michael glanced between the two of them, clearly a little self-conscious now. His suit looked almost civilian in comparison—more practical, less flashy. Like something a vigilante on a budget would wear.
Even Fitz couldn't help himself. "To be fair," he added, rubbing the back of his neck, "your suit is still extremely functional. If you're going to survive what's out there, you'll need practicality more than flair."
Aiden approached, giving the scientist a faint smile. "Still… I wouldn't mind if you helped me with a few upgrades. I'm partial to that sleek build you gave Michael. Same form, better tech Of course I want that style on my body."
Fitz's eyes lit up with the challenge. "Of course. Give me a few hours. I can even add a dual-channel power source so it doesn't fry itself trying to replicate your..."
Aiden nodded. "Deal."
---
Later, in the mission briefing room, Coulson projected a 3D model of the factory layout above the table. His tone was focused, calm—classic Phil Coulson.
"We've hit their operations before," he said. "But no matter how many times we take out a facility, they find a way to rebuild. This time, we're not just looking to destroy—we're looking to understand. What kind of data are they keeping? What are they planning next? And most importantly, how are the centipede warriors still operational after we cut off their original source?"
He tapped on the display, splitting the factory into quadrants.
"Aiden and May will take the west entrance. Michael, you're with me—we'll breach the pier. The goal is recon first, engagement second. We do this clean."
Michael nodded, clutching the tablet with the factory schematics. He studied every corridor, every dead end. He wanted to be useful. He wanted to be ready.
---
Inside the facility, Aiden and May slipped through the west wing's busted gate, stepping into a cavernous, dark warehouse that smelled faintly of oil and rust.
May's voice was barely a whisper. "No patrols. No guards. No motion sensors. Either they've moved out… or we walked into a trap."
Aiden swept his gaze across the scattered cargo crates. "Looks like they emptied the place in a hurry."
Meanwhile, across the compound, Coulson and Michael had already engaged with a team of centipede soldiers. Orange energy flickered in the distance. Explosions thudded through the metal walls.
Aiden heard the sound and immediately turned to May. "Let's go. Coulson's team made contact."
As they hurried toward the eastern quadrant, a deafening crash sounded to their right. A massive metal crate slammed to the floor and from the shadows stepped a centipede-enhanced soldier, body glowing with synthetic energy, eyes cold and mechanical.
The warrior cracked his knuckles. Muscles bulged beneath his armor. His presence was suffocating.
Aiden tilted his head and cracked his own knuckles lazily. "Figures."
But before he could even lift a hand, May was already in motion.
Her strikes were fast and precise—a blur of kicks, elbows, and jabs honed from years of field combat. She struck his ribs, swept at his knees, and aimed straight for pressure points. But every blow bounced off like she was hitting stone.
The centipede warrior grabbed her wrist mid-swing and lifted her effortlessly. His fist reared back for a devastating punch.
May twisted, gritting her teeth, trying to break free—but the grip was ironclad.
A blur of green light shot past her.
BOOM.
The centipede warrior's punch was intercepted mid-air by a massive glowing fist—Aiden's hard-light construct.
The force of the impact blew back dust and knocked several crates over. The centipede warrior staggered, his attack neutralized.
May's eyes widened. She looked at the construct, then at Aiden, who stood behind it with one hand outstretched and a look of calm focus on his face.
He dismissed the fist with a flick of his fingers.
May landed on her feet as the enemy stumbled back. She turned to Aiden, a quiet breath escaping her lips. "Thank you."
Aiden glanced at her and smiled faintly. "You're welcome."
He stepped forward, his aura flaring.
"Now," he muttered, staring the centipede warrior down, "let's see what you've got."
*****
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