143 Nick Wells

The talks with the SRC went rather well. It was better than I expected, honestly. They were far more curious about my testimony of the other world than the scraps of data I fed them. I gave them both. Piecemeal information, intentionally incomplete, with just enough truth to sound sincere. I told them about the National Supremacy Directorate, about its hierarchy, its world’s decline, and the war of capes that shaped its ruins. But what really caught their attention wasn’t the data. Instead, it was me. My actions. My so-called “revenge.”

I told them why I came to that world out of vengeance for the lives they’d ruined, particularly Missive. Again, I was more pissed than anything. I didn’t reveal the full extent of my powers, of course, but I was honest enough to be believable and make them think they understood me.

Of course, they bought my story.

How did I know that?

Because Bunny had already sent me the SRC’s internal assessment.

It was either the SRC was too sloppy with their encryption, or Bunny had gotten too good at breaking through it. Either way, their reports described me as “unstable, intelligent, emotionally detached, exhibiting high potential for catastrophic escalation under stress.” In other words, a walking apocalypse they could tolerate, for now.

I smirked at the thought, looking out the plane window. A horizon of clouds stretched beneath me, soft and endless. Somewhere below was the city I was supposed to start over in.

Bunny’s voice crackled through my phone. “Did you reach your destination yet?”

“Not yet,” I said, leaning back on the seat. “But I think the plane’s almost there.”

“Good,” he said. “Once you arrive, find Guesswork. He’ll hand you a car and a card with enough funds to make your life comfortable.”

I chuckled. “Oh, come on. I feel like I’m being spoiled.”

“Take advantage of it,” Bunny replied dryly. “It’s not like the SRC’s gonna give you a salary for saving their ass.”

“True enough,” I said, staring out the window again. “But they better still give me a salary…”

I was tempted to ask Bunny more about his powers. The fact he’d become a cape was still unsettling. If I ever derived his abilities through possession, I was sure I’d mutate, maybe even lose part of myself in the process. But the synergy… it would’ve been tempting. Data manipulation, reality parsing, self-replication… he was an entire network pretending to be a man.

“Hey,” Bunny said, interrupting my thoughts. “Don’t overthink. Just do what we planned, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I replied. “I’ll text you when I land.”

Before he could respond, a flight attendant leaned over the aisle beside me. “Sir, could you please turn off your phone? We’re about to descend.”

Her tone was polite but firm, the kind of voice trained to deal with difficult passengers. I was tempted to ignore her, just to see how long it’d take before she lost her composure. But that would defeat the purpose. I was here as a civilian, not a cape.

“Got it,” I said, raising the phone. “Hey, Bunny?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll see you soon.”

The line went dead. I powered off the phone and slipped it into my jacket pocket.

So, what was the situation? I was wearing a corporate suit, looking ordinary as ever. My reflection on the window didn’t look like a killer, or a cape, or even someone who’d nuked an entire city. Just a man with short dark hair, dull eyes, and black tie.

Outside, the clouds broke apart to reveal an archipelago scattered across a deep, endless blue. The sunlight shimmered off the waves like scales on some sleeping leviathan. Islands, dozens of them, surrounded by mist and pale reefs. Civilization clinging to the edges of the ocean.

The plane’s speakers crackled.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are now approaching the City of Wamond, Dam Region. Please fasten your seatbelts as we begin our descent.”

The sound of metal clicks and murmurs filled the cabin. I sighed and did as told, pulling the belt over my lap and locking it in place. Right now, I was supposed to be an upstanding citizen, law-abiding, courteous, and grounded. Not a murderer, not a ghost, and certainly not Eclipse.

Just Nick.

There were four continents in this world from Hesper, Faust, Median, and Damian. The Council of City-States sat on Hesper, the so-called cradle of civilization. That was also where I’d made my name, my legend, and my infamy. Which was why the SRC decided to ship me as far away from there as humanly possible.

The Damian Continent.

While Hesper hugged the equator and northern belts, Damian crouched in the far south, brushing the edge of the polar seas. A cold, proud land, broken by scattered islands and trade routes. The sea routes here connected directly to Median and Faust, perfect arteries for commerce, or in my case, for movement.

And then there was Wamond.

The city was a massive crescent of steel and light, sitting exactly where all trade paths converged. A mega-city carved by ambition and corruption in equal measure. It was, by all accounts, the perfect place for someone like me, someone who needed to disappear, and to move behind the scenes, even under SRC surveillance.

I wondered how Guesswork managed to get me this “cover gig.” It had to be more than paperwork and persuasion.

I still didn’t quite understand what the SRC planned to do with me. I’d been honest about the Entity… that impossible godlike force that twisted minds. I told them what I’d seen, what it had done. Whether they believed me or not didn’t matter. What mattered was their next move.

The SRC had always been flawed, with bloated bureaucracy pretending to keep the world safe. But if there was even a fragment of sanity left in that structure, I needed to see it for myself. Maybe, there was room for compromise. Maybe I could let them use me as a weapon, if it meant striking at something worse.

“I must be going crazy,” I muttered under my breath.

I chuckled softly, though it came out hollow.

Never in my life would I have imagined wanting to kill a fake god. And yet, here I was, dressed in a suit, flying into a city of strangers, ready to throw myself into whatever storm came next.

The seatbelt light flicked off. Passengers started gathering their bags, chattering, and stretching their legs. I didn’t have anything on me, so I stood up, stepped into the aisle, and followed the flow of bodies toward the exit.

The air outside hit me with a mix of salt and jet fuel. The terminal smelled of coffee, plastic, and recycled dreams.

“Huh?”

Guesswork was standing in the waiting area, holding a cardboard sign that read “Nick Wells” upside down.

He was grinning like an idiot.

“Subtle as ever,” I murmured. “Seriously, they are going with that name?”

The SRC wasn’t exactly creative when it came to aliases. I mean, my given name was Nicholas Caldwell. And what did they give me? Nick Wells. I sighed, long and tired.

“Hey, it’s not my fault,” Guesswork said, laughing and defensive. “They told me to make it ‘believable.’”

“Believable, huh? That’s just lazy.”

He grinned, unbothered. “You know what? How about I treat you to lunch? Consider it an apology for your awful fake name.”

“Fine. While at it, I need to buy stuff for myself.” I gestured to my empty hands. “As you can see, I didn’t have any baggage with me. Also, your signboard was upside down.”

Guesswork let out an unashamed laugh. “Details. You focus too much on details. Now, lunch!”

We stepped out of the terminal, the cold Damian air brushing past us. The parking lot stretched wide under a gray sky with rows of muted sedans and dull commuter vehicles glinting under weak sunlight. Among all that bland machinery, I saw a white-and-gold sports car. It was sleek and loud in its design, like a statement written in arrogance. The kind of car that screamed ‘look at me’ in a city where being noticed could get you killed.

Guesswork tossed me the keys, his grin wide. “It’s your car, from now on.”

I stared at it in disbelief. “This is too tacky.”

“Just get in,” he said, sliding into the driver’s seat as he used a damn spare key. “I’ll drive for now.”

The door hissed open as I climbed in, the leather reeking of luxury and overcompensation. Everything gleamed from the dashboard to the custom gold trims. Even the wheel had that smug shine that made me want to punch whoever designed it.

We drove out of the lot, the engine purring like a well-fed beast. I glanced at Guesswork, whose smile only widened at my visible discomfort.

“Isn’t this too eye-catching? Shouldn’t I lie low?” I asked, frowning. “Also, is it safe for a blind man driving?”

“It’s a power move, really,” he explained, waving his hand like an artist describing his masterpiece. “You’ve been relocated outside the Council’s jurisdiction, remember? Now you’re Nick Wells, a reformed operative transferred to a small branch of the SRC in Wamond. On paper, you’re just another asset under probation.”

“And in reality?”

“In reality, you’re a wolf among blind sheep. This car? It tells them you’re not to be underestimated. You show up in something like this, and suddenly, everyone assumes you’ve got backing, influence, or both. It’s psychological warfare, my friend.”

I gave him a dry look. “Won’t they use this to arrest me? ‘Hey, new guy, why does a supposed bankrupt ex-operative own a luxury car?’”

“Don’t worry,” Guesswork said smoothly. “I’ve already handled the paperwork. The car’s officially leased to your journalist cover identity.”

“Journalist?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You’re working for a local paper… an SRC front organization. Your job’s to monitor and report on minor cape activities. More than half the staff there are ordinary civilians, so keep your powers under wraps. Protect your identity. You’re supposed to look harmless.”

“Sounds fun,” I muttered. “Anything else I should know?”

“Yeah,” he added with a grin. “Don’t overthink your reputation as Eclipse. The SRC already buried that name under a mountain of bureaucratic noise. The Council of City-States can’t reach you here, and no one in Damian cares who you were. Hmmm… Call it information blackout..”

He glanced at me. “I hope that doesn’t hurt your ego, losing your world renown.”

“I’m not so petty,” I replied flatly.

Guesswork laughed. “Sure you’re not.”

The city skyline began to rise in the distance with glass towers gleaming through the mist, like jagged shards of light cutting into the overcast heavens. The roads widened, traffic thickened, and the car hummed steadily toward the heart of Wamond.

When we finally slowed down, Guesswork pointed ahead with a smirk. “There. First stop… shopping mall. Clothes, phone, civilian essentials, and then lunch.”

“No,” I said, arms crossed. “We should eat lunch first.”

Guesswork grinned. “Finally, something we agree on.”

We found ourselves in the food court of a sprawling mall, one of those glass-and-steel monstrosities that looked like a shrine to consumerism. The air smelled of fried oil, noodles, and sugar. Around us, people talked, laughed, and lived, mundane sounds that felt oddly alien to me. After months of war, blood, and annihilation, something as simple as the chatter of civilians almost felt sacred.

I had a bowl of beef rice sizzling before me, steam fogging my glasses. Guesswork dug into a plate of noodles like a man starved.

“This,” he said through a mouthful, “is the best thing I’ve eaten in a week. I missed real food.”

I took a bite and hummed in mild surprise. It was… good. The flavors weren’t overwhelming, just clean, simple, and alive. I let myself enjoy it.

“So,” I said after a while, “what am I expecting here? Our goal is to slowly build ourselves up to the point where we can kill the ‘Entity.’ And to do that, we need resources and powerful capes.” I looked at him. “How were the others, anyway?”

Guesswork slurped a strand of noodle, wiped his mouth, and answered casually, “Missive rebranded herself as Spoiler. She’s been working full-time hero with Hover. They’ve actually got a decent reputation in the SRC now.”

That caught me off guard. I blinked. “Spoiler? Really? Never thought she’d go for a name like that.”

He leaned back and smirked. “Guess where they’re based now.”

I gave him a flat look. “Just tell me.”

“Hehehehehe…” He chuckled before finally saying it. “Markend.”

I froze mid-bite. Markend. Of all places, why there? My old city. My… home. If I could still call it that. I swallowed the food that suddenly tasted like ash. “Markend, huh? Hilarious.”

“Yeah, cosmic irony’s got a sense of humor,” Guesswork said, stabbing at his noodles.

I coughed to break the silence, forcing a lighter tone. “Anyway, where’s my card? The one with the cash. I want to buy stuff… I don’t even have a second change of clothes.”

“Oh, look who’s embarrassed,” he teased, grinning like a kid who’d caught his teacher swearing. “Fine, fine, here…”

He slid a small black card across the table toward me. It gleamed faintly under the white lights.

I picked it up, examining the minimalist design. “This better not be bugged or something.”

“Relax,” he said. “If it is, then I’m bugged too. Now, as for the rest…”

He sighed, the humor draining from his voice. “Wormhole’s still recovering. He’s stuck in a coma. The SRC’s keeping a close watch on him, probably because they’re afraid he’ll blink out of the world the moment he wakes up. It’s pretty bad. In my eyes, he’s good as dead. I pray for his swift recovery, though.”

I stared at my reflection in the metal tray, the faint outline of my face distorted by light and shadow. So that’s how it was. Some of us alive, some barely hanging on, all of us scattered like debris after a storm.

I stabbed another piece of meat and muttered, “One step at a time, then.”

Guesswork nodded quietly. “One step at a time.”