The reinforced black fabric was unmistakable even through the drifting smoke. Ethan wasn't just standing there relying on his enhanced body. He was wearing a bulletproof vest.
"Where the hell did he get armor?" Wilson muttered, lowering his binoculars for a split second before snapping them back into place.
In all his years handling unstable superhumans, this was new. Most of them were arrogant to the point of stupidity. Power gave them ego, and ego made them careless. They hated firearms, despised conventional tactics, and saw body armor as something beneath them. They preferred to prove superiority by standing exposed.
Not this one.
Even with enhanced durability, he still layered protection. That decision alone made Wilson's blood pressure spike.
He had dealt with difficult supes before. He had broken them, outmaneuvered them, cleaned them up quietly. That was why Vought had placed him at the Sage Grove facility in the first place. But Subject Fifty-Eight was different. He didn't posture. He prepared.
"Stop panicking!" Wilson barked into the headset. "It's just a vest. Focus fire and tear it apart. He can't kill all of you."
The roar snapped the squads out of their hesitation. Rifles thundered again. Controlled bursts turned into concentrated streams, bullets hammering Ethan's chest in an attempt to shred the vest first.
Wilson tracked the target's movements carefully. When he saw Ethan's gaze shift upward, toward the rooftop position the Sixth Squad had reported earlier, he reacted instantly.
"Sixth Squad, take cover! He's looking at you! Take cover now!"
"Sixth Squad copies!"
"Absorb the hit and fire immediately after!"
On the rooftop, the shield bearer didn't need to be told twice. The moment Ethan's eyes fixed on their position, he planted the reinforced alloy shield firmly in front of him and leaned his weight behind it. Behind him, the RPG operator adjusted his stance, shifting slightly to line up the angle.
Through the narrow viewing slit in the center of the shield, the shield bearer could clearly see Ethan standing at the shattered window, vest torn but still intact.
He leaned closer to his mic and chuckled. "Look at this guy. Thinks he's about to light us up again."
"Let him try," another voice said over comms. "We'll return the favor."
A ripple of laughter followed. The earlier fear had faded into overconfidence. The shields had already held once. They believed the math was on their side.
Inside the SUV, Wilson allowed himself a small smile. He was already picturing the debrief, the paperwork, and the drink afterward. The situation felt contained again.
On the broken windowsill, Ethan's expression changed.
The red glow in his eyes intensified without warning. The air around his face shimmered like heat rising from asphalt.
Two blazing beams erupted.
The utility pole between the buildings was cut cleanly in half, metal shearing apart in a shower of sparks. The beams didn't slow. They surged straight toward the rooftop shield.
"Boss, something's off—"
The sentence never finished.
The reinforced alloy didn't glow gradually this time. It didn't hiss or resist. It vaporized.
The shield collapsed into molten fragments in less than a heartbeat, disintegrating under the upgraded heat. The beam punched straight through the shield bearer's torso, lifting him off his feet and throwing him backward across the rooftop.
The energy carried through.
It struck the RPG operator next. One of his legs vanished from the knee down, evaporated into charred smoke. The remaining flesh blackened instantly, the smell of burned meat filling the air.
"My leg! My—"
The warhead ignited a split second later.
The rooftop detonated in a violent fireball. Concrete shattered. Debris rained down into the street. The explosion swallowed the Sixth Squad's channel in static.
Then silence.
The once-busy comm line went dead quiet, like an empty street at three in the morning.
"Sixth Squad?" Wilson demanded.
"Sixth Squad, respond!"
No answer.
Finally, through heavy static, a broken voice whispered, "Shield failed… gunner's dead… I think… I think I saw my mother…"
The transmission cut off completely.
A cold wave swept through every man still standing.
They turned stiffly toward the house.
Ethan stepped down from the windowsill and dropped to the street. He walked forward slowly, boots crunching over shattered glass and spent casings. The bulletproof vest hung in tatters across his chest, riddled with holes but still partially intact.
A thin, unsettling smile spread across his face.
"Isn't anyone going to come greet my new performance?" he called out calmly.
The voice echoed unnaturally in the tense silence.
The pressure was suffocating.
One of the guards finally snapped. "You freak! I'll kill you!"
He stepped out from behind his shield and emptied his rifle in a reckless spray.
The bullets struck Ethan squarely.
Some flattened against the remaining armor. Others hit exposed skin and fell to the pavement, warped and useless. None penetrated.
Ethan didn't even flinch.
His gaze shifted lazily toward the shooter.
A flash of red.
The man was cut cleanly at the waist. The upper half separated from the lower half in a smooth line, edges cauterized black. The smell of scorched flesh spread immediately.
"Jesus—"
The surrounding teams felt their stomachs drop.
Fear surged through them. Instinct overrode discipline. They raised shields and opened fire together, pouring rounds toward Ethan in a desperate attempt to drown him in lead.
Gunfire roared. Brass scattered. Muzzle flashes strobed the street.
Bullets tore through what remained of the vest, shredding it into strips. Others slammed into Ethan's torso and limbs, deforming and dropping to the asphalt with sharp metallic pings.
His clothes were riddled with holes. Bruises blossomed beneath his skin. Pain pulsed through his body in familiar waves.
His eyes widened.
The red glow flared brighter than before.
Twin beams burst forward and swept horizontally across the front line.
The alloy shields—rated to withstand his earlier output—split cleanly down the center. The men behind them were bisected in the same instant, their bodies falling apart like sliced mannequins.
A heavy clang echoed as half a shield hit the pavement.
Then came the bodies, separated neatly into pieces.
The metallic scent of blood thickened the air.
Despair began to take root in the remaining squads. The rifles in their hands suddenly felt small, cold, and meaningless.
"Retreat!" Wilson roared into his headset, face flushed as he watched the massacre unfold through binoculars. "All units, pull back!"
The bullets weren't working. The RPG team was gone. The reinforced shields he had trusted had melted like wax.
Nothing was stopping the beams.
He couldn't understand it. Had the experimental department miscalculated, or had the subject's power escalated again?
It didn't matter.
Their tactics had failed.
Even as he shouted, another four-man team tried to reposition.
A red arc swept across them.
They were sliced apart as cleanly as the others.
Blood sprayed across asphalt. Armor fell in halves. The smell of iron grew heavy.
The battle had flipped completely. They were no longer hunters closing in on prey.
They were targets.
A crimson light swept across the street again.
Gunshots rang out repeatedly.
....
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