Chapter 114 Strategy Meeting

Everyone took their seats; Wolfe claimed the center like a conductor about to start an orchestra that could burn the city down. The air smelled of coffee and tension.

“First, how about we do introductions for the convenience of our new friends who will be joining our operation,” John said, voice even.

“I’d appreciate it if you do,” I replied, palms flat on my knees.

He ran through the roster. “You’ve met Healtouch, Nullblade, and Hover. I believe you’ve been acquainted with Tigress here and Wormhole. As for the man with the cane—”

“The name’s Guesswork,” the cane-man interrupted, voice smooth as oil. He leaned forward like a gambler showing his hand. “I’m a special guest. I believe you stole something from me.”

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” I said.

“Of course, we didn’t. That’s my thing. I don’t meet people easily.” He gave a small chuckle. “Now, now, I might be blind, but I know when I’m in front of greatness.”

I managed a tight smile. “I’m flattered,” I said, but I wasn’t. “So what did I steal from you?”

“A super bike,” Guesswork said matter-of-factly. “I believe you’ve made the acquaintance of a friend of mine, who calls himself White? Yeah, he’s mine.”

The words landed like a cold weight. My hand tightened without thought of a certain super bike. Giving up Bunny was not negotiable. If this man wanted the bike, I couldn’t give it to him. Bunny was more than a tool; he was the closest thing to a constant I’d ever had, since I left Markend. The idea of handing him over made something dangerous stir in my chest.

“Be careful what you are about to ask me, Guesswork… you are not going to like it…”

Guesswork kept his cane steady. He looked harmless in a way that made me let my guard down, but I realized I shouldn’t. Hover’s jaw worked. Nullblade’s eyes narrowed. Tigress leaned forward, fists clenching around her empty disposable coffee cup. No one moved. The room had the brittle quiet of a wire about to snap.

I could have stood up and told him to fuck off. I could have phased my hand through his skull and ended a lot of uncomfortable conversations. But I didn’t, because I’m a bigger man than that. I have things I wanted, and bashing his face to death wasn’t it. However, if he did give me an excuse to do so, I would love nothing more than to slaughter him where he stands.

John cut the tension with a motion. “Before the two of you tear each other apart, a word on our special guest.” He looked at the cane-man. “Guesswork is an arms dealer, loosely affiliated with the SRC. He’s a useful asset. The brass pushed him on this op; they trust his counsel. His… gift lets him guess with unerring accuracy. They marketed him as someone who connects the dots other people miss.”

Guesswork smiled without moving his lips, cane tapping a slow rhythm on the floor.

If he was so good at guessing, he might’ve clued in what I was thinking or what I was about to do if he didn’t let go of the topic.

“You see,” said Guesswork, voice smooth as warmed metal, “people love to dismiss guesses as trivia. Small things, throwaway details… they call them cliches, tropes, the noise of life. But there is a holism to everything. A stray cigarette butt, a mis-timed horn, the way a man ties his shoe; these are all threads in the same cloth. Guess wrong about one thread and the whole fabric tears.”

He walked the circle slowly, gaze hidden behind dark lenses. “Expectations are scaffolding. They prop up behavior; they teach us what to expect from others and from systems. That is why cliches don’t fail us… they exist because patterns do. A person raised in the alleys will always move differently from a person raised in a mansion. A cape trained by the SRC will carry the scars of structure. Ignoring the obvious because it is obvious is arrogance, and arrogance is blind.”

He tapped the cane again, softer. “So when I say your bike belongs to me, or when I say someone will walk through that door at 1503 hours, I do not divine by magic. I read the load-bearing lines of the city. I read the way men plan and lie and hope. I guess, and my guesses are wagers placed on patterns. Sometimes they fail. Mostly they do not.”

He sat back down like he’d given us a lecture and not a threat. The room was quieter for it.

John cleared his throat. “Give us your report, Guesswork.”

I raised a hand. “Wait.”

John paused mid-turn, frowning. “What is it?”

“We’re not seriously thinking of sending only the paramilitary, are we?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “There’s something we’re not being told. We’ve shared everything we know about the Ten, mostly Mother here doing the talking, since I’m the new guy. But I haven’t even done a full op with them yet. You really want to walk blind into their nest?”

John crossed his arms. “You’re underestimating the SRC paramilitary too much. They can handle it.”

I wasn’t convinced. I still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that the bulk of our forces would be composed of those blank-slate soldiers. They were “mundanes,” sure… just ones that had been cut open, rebuilt, and armed to the teeth with the SRC’s best hardware. Perfect soldiers. Faceless, efficient, with no real past. And, unlike most mundanes or capes, they couldn’t “pull.”

However, that didn’t make them any inferior.

They were immune to psychic influence too, even invisible to most sensory powers. That alone made them nightmares to fight, and more unnerving to work beside. The SRC had basically divided its muscle into two branches: the operatives like Wolfe and his task force, and this paramilitary arm that existed to do the wet work.

“I am just saying, you might be focusing too much on Mrs. Mind,” I leaned back in my chair. “I mean, the Council of City-States also has its own heavy hitters, right? Even one rated-twelve cape could make a difference here—”

John cut me off with a small sigh. “It seems you’re mistaken about something, Eclipse.” He sounded almost tired when he said it. “The Council and the Committee might appear united, but they’re separate powers entirely. Cooperation only happens when a threat jeopardizes both. The moment you revealed that the Ten were created by the SRC, this became our mess… not theirs.”

He continued, his voice level but sharp. “And as for high-rated capes… most of them are content to stand in front of cameras, play the hero, and keep their hands clean. They’re symbols and tools of morale. The few that aren’t are under the Warden’s direct supervision and only deployed in case of existential threats. The Ten, while dangerous, don’t qualify.”

I stared at him for a moment, then sighed and sank deeper into my seat. “Fine. I give up. But know that I’ve warned you.”

Onyx whispered in my ear, “You know you’re not a good person, Nick. It just wouldn’t work.”

Silver’s voice folded in behind hers, softer but firm. “It’ll be fine, Nick. Don’t waste breath trying to talk sense into him if he won’t bend.”

I wanted to argue I wasn’t trying to be a good person. I only wanted the setup to make tactical sense, but maybe I also wanted to know what it felt like to be on the side that pretended to be right. Sensibility was a kind of morality, too, and that was why I kept pushing: this lineup wouldn’t cut it.

Nullblade snapped, “You should know your place, Eclipse.”

“Bet you’re the first one who’s gonna die when we begin our operation,” I shot back.

“Fucker,” he growled.

I’d met every member of the Ten with my own eyes. My empathy wasn’t a blunt weapon I needed to rely on when push came to shove. Silver’s sensory readouts were sharp, and together they’d let me gauge the willpower in a room. The Ten weren’t the ragtag lunatics the papers made them out to be; up close, they were disciplined and frighteningly resilient, minds as solid as Crow’s or Wolfe’s. The SRC’s formal threat ratings had their place, but I had the advantage of seeing these people face-to-face. Admittedly, I hadn’t seen them in action first-hand, but I knew what I saw. The capes in this room were filled with too much inferiority; it was making me doubt the success of this operation.

I turned to Mother. “You should say something.”

She clicked the laptop closed and shook her head. “No. It’s futile. That’s how the bureaucracy works, and you have no say in it.”

The room hummed with a brittle silence. Guesswork rose, cane in hand, as if cued. He moved to the center and announced, “I’ll move on with my report,” then, with a practiced flourish, dragged a projector into position.

“Please,” remarked John.

Guesswork pulled out his smartphone and began swiping and tapping with uncanny precision. Within seconds, the projector flickered to life with a PowerPoint presentation that was already halfway formatted. He worked so fast I almost thought he was a speedster.

“In front of you,” he began, his tone cheerful but unnervingly smooth, “is the building known as the Tenfold Keep. Over ten stories tall, said to have both teleportation and invisibility capabilities. The latter, I can confirm. Wormhole and I managed to take a quick peek inside the barrier of invisibility and came out with some pictures… this one included. I have to thank my lucky stars they didn’t take notice of us. Otherwise, we’d probably be dead.”

The first slide showed a fortress-like structure rising from an empty plain, surrounded by forest. Its design was brutal and industrial, filled with sharp angles, thick plating, and almost no sign of life. The slides flipped, showing different angles, each one somehow more imposing than the last.

“It barely has any windows,” Guesswork continued, “except for the upper floors. It has only one entrance and no backdoors. Now, before I go further…” He turned slightly toward us, tapping his cane on the floor again. “A little insight into my powers. You see, I’m very smart… and at the same time, the stupidest person alive. I know things because I know them. Don’t ask me how. For instance, I know Healtouch and Nullblade are fucking.”

Healtouch choked on air while Nullblade froze. Guesswork went on casually, “I know Boss Wolfe there has a very complicated past. And I also know Eclipse over there hears voices in his head… and has an unrequited love.”

“Stay on topic,” I said coldly. “Or do you want me to bury you where you stand?”

Guesswork only chuckled, unbothered. “Ahem. Anyway… my superpower makes me very good at guessing, and I do this just by being near you. Which brings us back…”

He clicked his phone again, and the next slide appeared, a panoramic aerial view of the Tenfold Keep, a single crimson circle drawn around its perimeter.

“Ladies and gents,” Guesswork said with a crooked grin, tapping the red line with his cane, “that’s what I call the Red Line of Death.”

For him to give it such a grand name, it had to be bad news. The Red Line of Death. It sounded like something out of a pulp comic, but from the tone in Guesswork’s voice, it wasn’t just dramatic flair.

“Every time I think of walking past that line,” Guesswork said, his grin gone now, replaced by an uneasy grimace, “I feel this shiver of dread. Now, I have theories, but nothing conclusive. What I can guarantee is that crossing that line means certain death. Until we figure out what causes it, we can’t send our capes in. So, for now, we’re counting on you… Eclipse.”

That last part made my stomach twist. Of course they were.

John stepped forward, his voice steady, matter-of-fact, the kind of tone that made terrible things sound like routine. “This brings us to the importance of the SRC paramilitary, the Special Forces branch. Psychics have always been considered the most dangerous type of cape by the SRC. You know why. The Monarchy pulled stunts with them, bending reality and politics alike. And then there were the ambitious ones… capes who thought they could play god, like Crow.”

He paused, scanning the room before continuing. “Back during the SRC’s renaissance, we managed to capture the Witch, now known as Mrs. Mind.”

That name hung in the air like a ghost. I glanced toward Mother. Her expression didn’t change, but I felt her emotions swirl from resentment, anger, and guilt.

John went on. “Her telepathic abilities were the SRC’s answer to the Monarchy’s rise. They studied her, broke her open, and used her. Forced her to do things that would make most of you sick. Eventually, she was assigned to a classified initiative, Project Tenfold. A strike team made to eliminate threats from the shadows. They were sent on a mission that went dark. The next time anyone saw them, half were gone… and the rest weren’t the same. That’s where the rumors began… that Mrs. Mind had rewritten their heads. It was later disproven, of course, but by then, they weren’t the same people. Members kept dying and being replaced. Of the originals, only Paleman and Mrs. Mind remain. Of the founders, only Paleman, Mrs. Mind, and Lightning have survived.”

The projector flicked to a photo of Lightning, also Ning Light. The air in the room turned heavy.

Guesswork picked up from there, his tone suddenly careful. “He’s the focus of this operation. Lightning’s death means success. According to our intel, he’s the Ten’s true master and by far the most dangerous of them all.”

Healtouch frowned. “Wait… isn’t he just some errand boy? Like a messenger?”

“It’s a guise,” Guesswork said, his voice trembling slightly, the first time I’d heard fear from him. “I might be spouting bullshit here, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s…”

Hover leaned forward, irritated. “He’s what, Guesswork?”

Guesswork inhaled sharply, then said, “Rated fifteen.”

The room went dead quiet.

Even John froze.

A fifteen.

That wasn’t a cape anymore.

Instead, it was probably the closest thing we’d hear of a god.