2 - Ghost Town

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As Marek rushed toward the ship, a sudden explosion rang out behind him. He paused, glanced over his shoulder at the cloud of smoke billowing into the sky, then took a deep breath and sprinted toward the docked vessel. Several large containers were being offloaded.

"Just in time," he muttered. "Only one enemy? They must really underestimate me."

The ship towered above him. As he approached, the ground beneath him cracked slightly as he crouched, then propelled himself into the air. A gust of wind exploded from the sheer force of his movement. He landed soundlessly on both feet, the wooden deck letting out a soft creak. The ship swayed gently beneath him.

The crew froze.

All eyes locked on him—exhausted faces, dark circles under their eyes. Disheveled. Worn out. A total mess.

"Why are we not working?!" Marek barked.

A figure emerged from the control tower. When he spotted Marek, a half-smile crept onto his face. He made his way down toward him.

"Back to work!" the man shouted. The crew immediately resumed their tasks.

He extended a hand. "Good to see you, Ed," Marek said as they shook hands firmly.

The sound of footsteps and cargo being moved returned to the air.

"You're probably here for that," Ed said knowingly.

He led the way as they walked past rows of containers in varying sizes and colors. Marek studied Ed's sluggish walk and the heavy shadows under his eyes.

"Must've been a hectic trip," Marek said.

Ed shrugged, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He offered one, but Marek raised a hand and patted his own pocket.

"I've got mine."

Lighting his cigarette, Ed exhaled a trail of smoke downward. "Too fancy for these now, huh? Ha. Damn right it was hectic. Ran into a few problems on the way."

He flicked his ash lazily against the side of a container. "We're here. I'm guessing things haven't been quiet on your end either."

He approached a container and reached for the padlock.

"How did you know?" Marek asked.

Ed pulled a key from his pocket and handed it over. "Just a hunch," he said, taking another long drag. Smoke curled from his lips as he chuckled. "Interesting."

Marek inserted the key. Before he could even turn it, the padlock popped open with a heavy clank and fell to the ground.

"Well, that's something," Ed muttered. "Meet me when you're done."

He took one last puff, exhaled downward, then dropped the cigarette and gently crushed it underfoot as he walked off.

"What a waste," Marek said dryly.

He grasped the container's handle and pulled it open slowly. Bright white lights flooded out, momentarily blinding him. The interior was eerily pristine. It looked like a lab or a clinic—clean metal, glass, antiseptic smells. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with bottles of strange substances. Boxes covered the floor, each carefully labeled—except one.

That one caught his eye.

It was larger, slightly warped, and had no label at all.

Marek approached it and knelt down. As he opened the box, he found a pile of papers stuffed inside. He pulled out the top sheet and flipped it over.

He smirked—then froze.

A scream echoed through the ship. Not a normal scream. It was raw, guttural—agonized.

Marek's expression shifted instantly. 'Were there more people on board?' he thought as he stood, dropping the paper. A shadow moved across the container's walls.

A blur came at him—fast.

He turned and instinctively raised his arm, blocking a strike aimed at his neck. A blast of air erupted from the impact, rattling everything around them.

"Well now," Marek said, grinning. "That's bold."

The figure before him dripped with blood—drenched from head to toe. Something about the clothes struck Marek as oddly familiar. But whatever this thing was, it wasn't immortal… and it definitely wasn't human.

So then… what the hell was it?

The bloody figure lunged again, baring blood-soaked fangs. It drew a butterfly knife, slashing for Marek's throat. Marek leaned forward and vanished—leaving only an afterimage behind. The figure's strike sliced clean through the illusion.

Marek reappeared behind it and placed a hand on its back.

Piano Keys.

The sound of dripping liquid echoed through the hollow container. The figure froze as searing pain erupted across his back—fire beams tore through his flesh, incinerating muscle and bone. He hissed through clenched teeth, his body trembling as molten flames and blood leaked from the gaping wound in his stomach.

Then—a wet, ripping sound.

Something moved inside him.

Before he could react, a hand burst through his abdomen, fingers slick with his own viscera. The digits flexed, liquid fire swirling between them like controlled serpentine flames.

"Ever heard of the move 'Piano Keys'?" Marek's voice was calm, almost amused. "The ability to control the uncontrollable. Never disappoints."

The figure's eyes widened.

Marek yanked his arm free in one brutal motion. The figure shrieked as tendons snapped, bones splintering from the force. Blood splattered the steel floor as Marek shook his soaked limb, flames still dripping from his fingertips.

"Are you going to move," he mused, "or should I help you?"

The figure's mind raced. *Was their intel on him outdated?*

A mistake. Distraction was fatal.

Marek seized his head—"Piano."

The figure thrashed. "Huh—?!"

"Keys."

Liquid fire erupted from Marek's palm. The beam liquefied flesh, bone, and brain matter in an instant. The figure's howl died as his skull caved inward, molten fire bursting through his eye sockets before Marek hurled the corpse through the container doors.

Blood rained in its wake.

"Had enough?" Marek grinned.

Outside, the scent of burnt metal hung thick in the air. His flames still dripped, smoldering craters into the dock's wood. Then—a growl.

He spun, firing left. The beam sheared through steel, leaving a molten hole.

No body.

"Still alive...?" Marek cocked his head.

A shadow lunged from the smoke—clothes burned away, skin a grotesque patchwork of grafts and third-degree burns. The figure grinned, breath ragged.

"So... it... begins."

"So you 'can' speak." Marek smirked.

The figure leapt, foot slamming into Marek's guard with unnatural force. Teeth gritted, Marek skidded back—then grabbed the attacker's ankle and *hurled* him into a stack of shipping containers.

Metal crumpled like paper.

"This took too long." Marek lit a cigarette, exhaling slow. For a moment, the breeze was peaceful.

Then the figure rose again.

Blood gurgled from its mouth as it staggered forward, only to freeze—Marek's glowing fingertips pressed against its forehead.

"Piano."

The figure's pupils shrank.

"Keys."

The blast launched the body skyward, flesh raining down in charred chunks before the sea swallowed it whole.

Silence.

Marek pinched his cigarette. "Beautiful."

Then—gunshots.

He turned. Cass stood, three bullet holes through her vest, skin already knitting itself shut beneath.

"You were saying?" she asked, leaning forward.

The driver's remaining eye twitched. Immortal. Of course.

"An interesting... person," he rasped, circling her. "I've heard of your kind. Pretending to be human. Why walk among ants when we were made to rule them?"

Cass sighed. "Spare me the speech."

He struck—knocking her to her knees. She retaliated, bullets ripping through him. But this time, his wounds didn't heal.

"My Beretta 92 never disappoints," she taunted.

The driver snarled, flames engulfing his arms. "I'll burn you to—"

A sword flashed.

Royal blue steel, drawn from nowhere, split the firebeam in two. Shockwaves tore the dock apart.

The driver blinked. When had—?

"Didn't even get your name," Marek said, sheathing the blade.

The driver's mouth opened—then his head toppled from his shoulders.

Cass whistled. "Showoff."

Marek kicked the head aside. "Cass, you're a real piece of work." He hauled her up as armored vehicles screeched into the port.

She groaned. "Cleanup duty?"

*"Quietly,"* Marek said, nodding to a shaded-glasses-wearing captain.

Inside a reeking container, Cass eyed a nondescript box. "So this is the research?"

Marek shook it playfully. "Yep."

For the first time, Cass laughed—genuine, bright. Marek's chest tightened.

"Come to my office tomorrow," he muttered, suddenly very interested in the wall. "I've got something to say."

"Why not now?" she teased.

"Tomorrow." He fled before she saw his blush.

Alone, Cass smirked. "Trying to act cool, huh?"

She touched her healed stomach, exhaling. Thank God. I would've died...

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