Part Nine: Vac

The next day, I learned that the girl Lance had beaten at the Atrium was arrested and placed into custody. She was to be interrogated while Bluejay carried out their mission.

I also discovered a lot more about my squad—and their Gifts.

I already knew about Jesse's ability, but I hadn't realized the full extent of it. Without his limiter, he could apply his power to both animate and inanimate objects, if he chose to. That kind of precision made him more dangerous—if he wasn't limited.

Then there was Lance Steadman. His full name felt oddly formal once I learned it. His Gift involved healing, but also four distinct buffs. Godspeed boosted his speed. Bless amplified his strength. Protection increased his durability like a temporary armor. He could only activate one buff at a time, forcing him to constantly shift between them depending on the situation. Without his limiter, he could theoretically heal others and apply stronger buffs with greater efficiency. That kind of flexibility in the field could change the course of a fight.

Veronica Ansmire's Gift was equally staggering. She could increase her body's mass and become completely immovable for ten seconds at a time. There was a ten-second cooldown before she could activate it again, but during that brief window, she became an unstoppable wall. That immovability is what allowed her to shoulder-fire the Type-E Illumen Beam Cannon—a vehicle-mounted weapon no human should realistically be able to wield. Without her limiter, she could generate so much mass she might, theoretically, collapse into a black hole.

Over in Team Two, there was Alex Earnhest. His callsign was Killjoy, which he apparently earned from repeatedly calling his older sister, Amelia—our squad leader—that exact word. His Gift allowed him to use a different power each day, gaining a new one every year. Without his limiter, he could use every power he'd ever had simultaneously. The idea of that made my head spin.

John Whitmore, ex-military and more than a little unhinged, controlled living plastic soldiers. His Gift let him command green army men that grew into full-sized, humanoid mannequins. They followed his orders with eerie precision and could use any weapons the original toys came with. He could command up to six at a time. He also seemed convinced he was starring in some kind of retro action movie at all times. Honestly? It weirdly worked for him. Without his limiter he could possibly command a full scale army of green soldiers, including vehicles.

Then there was Tara Thornevale. Rich girl from northern New Angels. Callsign: Echo. They called her that partly because she hated to be repeated, but mostly because her Gift let her move through space to where she had been five seconds earlier. Apparently, she once used it to dodge training when Amelia locked the white room behind them. Jesse was infatuated with her, but I couldn't see the appeal.

And finally, Markus Reynolds. Callsign: Hoax. He was a known liar—or, as he liked to put it, someone who "stretched the truth." His Gift let him make three "promises" a day. If he said something within the bounds of what he was physically and mentally capable of doing—and if there was a witness—then, so long as he included the words I promise, it would happen. He mostly used his ability for insane long-range sniper shots. Like when I was being dragged toward the Cortex ship by a wire. He'd said:

"I can shoot the wire. I won't miss. I promise."

And he didn't.

There was talk of something called The Ultimate Promise, but I never found out what that was.

We learned a bit about our enemy, too.

I'd passed along intel about the staff-wielding Cortex member we'd encountered at the Atrium. He hadn't popped when I tried to step while holding him—something that should've instantly triggered a kill. We suspected his Gift allowed him to negate other abilities within a certain radius. The specifics were still unclear. We didn't know the conditions, the limits, or the rules of his power. But one thing was obvious:

He was a serious problem.

"Ready to head down to the Undercroft?" Jesse asked, swinging his room key around on its lanyard.

"Yep, lemme just finish this," I said, tightening the laces on my boots.

Today was the day. We were finally going to get closer to the truth about Cortex—what they were doing, what they wanted. And maybe, after the mission, we'd get some answers from the dagger girl's interrogation. If she talked.

Jesse and I stepped out of the room, the door locking shut behind us with a heavy click.

"Hey," I said as we headed down the hall, "when am I gonna get new uniforms? These ones are like triple XL on me."

"I dunno," Jesse replied. "I can ask Amelia later. Those were my old team leader's uniforms. He was my roommate too."

"Oh. What happened with him?"

Jesse's eyes dropped to the floor, his voice softening. "KIA, supposedly. But no one really knows."

"Damn," I muttered. "What happened? You don't gotta talk about it if you don't want to."

"Nah, it's fine, man…" Jesse exhaled. "His name was Caleb Mercer. Callsign was Vac. We called him Vacuum—for how many calories he consumed," he chuckled lightly, "and because of his Gift. He could extract and consume an Omen straight out of a person, saving them—and using a fraction of that power."

We reached the end of the hall. Jesse pressed the elevator button, and the panel glowed red as the gears groaned to life.

"We used him on every mission," he continued. "He really was a human limiter. Carried the weight of hundreds of Omens. A real powerhouse. But what he kept from us... was that he also absorbed pieces of the people he saved—fragments of memory, nightmares. His mind started to fracture. He was suffering."

The elevator doors slid open with a metallic hiss. We stepped inside.

"What happened next?" I asked, the confined space making my voice quieter.

"We were fighting a Class Two Omen. The team was wrecked, on the ropes. Caleb tried again and again to extract it, but couldn't get through. Then finally... he did. But his limiter couldn't take it. It ruptured."

"What? How could that even happen?"

"He'd taken in too much. That Class Two was the last straw. Sent him over the edge."

"Did you guys try to re-limit him?"

"We wanted to," Jesse said, voice flat. "But it was too late. Caleb vanished—flash of light, like he got erased from reality. Never seen again."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

The elevator hummed downward. Silence stretched between us. Jesse leaned against the wall, arms crossed, lost somewhere else. I didn't say anything else.

A strange unease lingered in my chest, coiled tight like a knot I couldn't loosen. The story of Caleb Mercer—Vac—hung over me like a shadow I hadn't earned. I didn't know the guy, but somehow I was wearing his old gear, walking his halls, even sleeping in the room he used to share with Jesse.

And yet, despite everything, the squad had treated me with respect. Not cold professionalism—real kindness. Jesse and Lance cracked jokes like I'd always been there. Veronica had even smiled at me. Even Amelia, with her slate-gray discipline, gave me the occasional nod that said I wasn't just some warm body filling a slot.

They didn't have to. I was the replacement. The new guy tossed in to plug the hole left behind by someone they clearly admired. They could've looked at me and seen nothing but what wasn't there—who wasn't there.

But they didn't.

That made the unease worse, in a way. Like I hadn't earned their trust yet, but they were giving it anyway. Like I was walking on ground someone else had died to pave, and every step I took should've been heavier.

I didn't want to disappoint them. I didn't want to be a ghost in someone else's place.

Still... I was grateful. No cold shoulders. Just a team that had lost something and, somehow, decided to keep moving anyway—with me in the formation.

Maybe that was the job.

Or maybe that was just who they were.

The elevator jolted softly before settling into place. The overhead lights flickered once, and then the doors hissed open, revealing the Undercroft.

It hit me instantly—the shift in air. Denser. Colder. Like stepping into a steel lung. The scent of gun oil, coolant, and old concrete filled my nose. Every sound felt sharp down here. The solid clack of boots on polished cement and the low murmur of focused voices.

Jesse stepped out first. I followed, still thinking about Caleb. The ghosts of this place didn't scream—they just watched.

We entered the prep bay. One long room with high ceilings, divided by lockers, loadout benches, and racks of gear. Stark white lights buzzed above us, painting the squad in hard lines and quiet shadows. They were already here, gearing up.

Lance stood by the weapons station, inspecting a freshly recharged battery cell for his bracers. Veronica was near the wall, the heavy frame of the Type-E cannon resting against a steel rack. She didn't need help lifting it, as it transformed its smaller device form. Looking at it before you could tell it was meant for something other than human hands.

Tara was sitting on a bench, legs crossed, holding her hands up to the light, inspecting her stun gloves like she was prepping for a fashion show instead of a combat op. Beside her, Markus adjusted the scope on his rifle with a lazy sort of precision. Somehow, he made even prepping for a firefight look like a casual hobby.

Alex and John were arguing quietly near the lockers. From the way John gestured with his hands—animated—it looked like he was giving Alex some kind of half-deranged tactical lecture. Probably involved plastic explosives and a movie reference. It was funny to watch this grown man submit to his child superior. 

"Lockers are open," Jesse said to me, heading toward his.

I moved to mine—bottom row, second from the left. Still felt weird seeing my callsign on it now. "DEATHSTEP" All official now.

I unzipped the top of my jumpsuit and peeled the sleeves off, tying them around my waist. The air down here was cold, but I preferred the freedom. The loose fabric from Caleb's massive frame clung to my waist just enough for me to be comfortable. 

I glanced around as the others continued prepping. Weapons snapped into harnesses. Stun gloves clicked into active mode with a faint buzz of current. Someone tested a stun glove behind me—Lance, probably—and the crackle echoed for half a second before silence returned.

Jesse grabbed his Wraithshot, checked the chamber, and mag-slung it on his back. We weren't inherently here to kill, not unless we had to. The Cortex operatives had to be taken alive if possible. Intel mattered more than blood.

Jesse pulled a fresh pair of gloves from his locker and flexed his fingers into them. "You sleep okay?" he asked casually.

"Yeah," I lied. "Ready as I'll ever be."

He gave me a look. Not judgment. Just... measuring. Like he was checking if I believed it, too.

"You'll be fine," he said. "Just stay sharp."

"Right."

Commando loaded up a prehistoric rifle, the M16. Alex loaded up some type of pack onto his back. 

"Isnt that a fire department issued hose pack?" I asked. 

"Yep!" He smiled, "The power today is Frostbite. Super freezing water and expanding ice crystals." 

"That's sick." 

There was a pause as the last bits of gear were slotted into place. Limiters double-checked and powered.

Then Amelia's voice cut across the room, sharp and clear.

"Final check. Jesse—Alex, readers good?"

"Locked and synched." he replied, flipping the screen up. 

"Good over here!" Alex replied. 

"Good." Amelia stepped forward, her own gear already secured. "We breach, secure, extract. Any information, technology, and personnel.Cortex doesn't get another chance to run."

I looked around the room again. Everyone was quiet now. Focused. Even Alex had stopped smirking.

This was real.

I adjusted the knot on my sleeves and rolled my shoulders.

No turning back now.