Chapter 258 Darkness.

Chapter 258: 258 Darkness.

The night of the Intergate Arms heist rolled in thick and heavily overcast, blotting out the stars—absolutely perfect weather for a dramatic, high-altitude entrance.

After weeks of planning, tweaking schedules, and negotiating liability clauses, the operation was finally a go.

We rendezvoused with Steve and his designated transport vehicle just outside the rear security perimeter. Getting clearance took a few extra minutes, which wasn’t exactly a surprise.

Steve’s ride didn’t exactly scream ’elite paramilitary strike force.’ It was a heavily rusted, oversized utility van that fit the 90s’ pedophile theme perfectly.

But once I leaned out the window and smoothed things over with the heavily bribed gate guards, the barricades lifted.

As we drove onto the campus, I could see a pristine row of black town cars and stretched limousines parked near the main VIP lobby.

The wealthy investors had arrived right on schedule. Naturally, we steered clear of the red carpet.

We navigated around to the rear of the facility, parking the Cruiser and the tacky van in the shadows of the loading docks.

Lacey Davenport was already waiting for us on the concrete platform. She stood next to Vanessa, both of them barely illuminated by the harsh, flickering glow of a single hooded security lamp.

"Excellent timing, Miles," Lacey greeted, the dark, mirrored lenses of her glasses flashing as she checked a watch. "The VIP tour is just about to begin."

"Anything out of the ordinary on the scanners?" I asked, stepping out of the car and adjusting the heavy magnetic plating of my gauntlets.

"Not a peep to be heard," she assured me smoothly. "The facility is locked down, and the stage is entirely yours."

That was a relief, but I couldn’t entirely shake the cold knot of unease sitting heavy in my gut.

A bit of pre-show adrenaline was standard issue. When you were the one strictly responsible for choreographing a massive, multi-million-dollar operation with this many moving parts, you were bound to get the jitters.

But there always comes a specific moment when you just have to step up to the table, roll the dice, and see how they land. For tonight, that moment had officially arrived.

"Alright, let’s get to work," I said as the various iterations of Steve slouched out of the back of the utility van.

"Boys," I called out, gesturing them over to the loading dock. "Here is the deal. We go in fast, we go in loud, and we go in safe. Here are your uniforms."

I swung a pair of heavy, reinforced briefcases onto the concrete and popped the latches. The Steves leaned forward, letting out low, appreciative whistles at the gear Rhea had put together for the night.

Once they started pulling the equipment on, I had to admit, they looked like a genuinely terrifying strike force.

The helmets were cast from lightweight steel, molded to resemble angular, expressionless skulls.

A sharp, stylized ’P’ formed a menacing arc directly above the tinted eye visors. Thick, heavy black trench coats streaked with crimson accents completed the silhouette.

"Listen to me closely," I said, tapping the barrel of the nearest weapon. "The magazines currently loaded in these rifles are filled entirely with blanks. They are strictly for the cameras, the noise, and the muzzle flash."

Steve nodded, adjusting his skull helmet.

With Legion lurking somewhere in the city, if things got genuinely hairy, it might be necessary to have some actual suppressive firepower on the board.

One of the Steves popped the collar of his trench coat, while another smoothly racked the charging handle of his rifle. The dark lenses of his helmet gleamed under the light.

"Niiiiice, Miles. My man," Steve said, his voice slightly muffled by the faceplate as he lazily slung the weapon over his shoulder. "We’re gonna give you a real good show tonight."

"Good. Stick strictly to the rehearsed script," I told him, "and we’ll handle the heavy lifting." I reached up, tapping the encrypted receiver seated deep in my ear. "Rhea? Are we patched into the grid?"

"Sound off," her cheerful voice chimed instantly in my ear.

The Steves tapped the sides of their helmets in unison, verifying their feeds. I nodded in satisfaction.

It might have been a bit of an extravagant expense outfitting disposable henchmen with encrypted comms, but clean communication during a live production was absolutely vital.

I still had that nagging feeling that something unexpected was going to drop on our heads, so the more precautions I took, the better.

I turned back to the corporate executive. "Did you have any trouble bringing in my special set piece?"

"Not at all, Miles. Not at all," Lacey smiled. She reached behind her and slammed the palm of her hand against a heavy red buzzer on the wall.

The massive corrugated steel door of the loading bay gave a loud, metallic rattle and slowly began to grind upward.

I brightened considerably when the rising door revealed the massive, jagged lump of steel resting in the darkness inside.

It was completely hollowed out—stripped of its engines, avionics, and seating—but with a fresh coat of menacing black paint, it made for a truly spectacular prop.

"Absolute beauty," I murmured, extending a gauntleted hand toward the darkened bay.

The magnetic fields in the air began to hum and vibrate. My power seized the empty tiltrotor.

With a smooth, upward gesture of my wrist, the hollowed-out gunship rose effortlessly off the concrete.

It drifted out of the loading bay and hovered silently in the damp air above our heads, casting a massive, intimidating shadow over the parking lot.

"Alright, people," I said, turning back to the group and giving them one final, critical look. "Are we ready?"

Vanessa nodded firmly, her face set in lines of absolute concentration. The Steves gave a collective thumbs-up.

"Go to your breach points," I ordered the clones. I looked at Vanessa. "Wait for my signal, then make your entrance."

Without waiting for a reply, I channeled a heavy magnetic current down into the soles of my boots.

I pushed off the concrete, rising rapidly into the cold night air, dragging the massive, multi-ton shell of the tiltrotor up into the sky with me.

I crested the roof of the sprawling Intergate Arms facility, the wind whipping at my cape. I hovered silently fifty feet above the massive, reinforced skylight capping the primary testing laboratory.

Looking down through the heavy ballistic glass, the scene below was perfectly illuminated.

The cavernous lab was a hive of activity. Dead center on the floor, the Atoma Cell pulsed with a brilliant, steady blue light, its intricate copper rings spinning silently.

Off to the side, safely elevated behind the four-inch glass of the VIP observation deck, I could see Doctor Lindquist enthusiastically gesturing toward the glowing reactor.

A cluster of wealthy, well-dressed investors stood around him holding champagne flutes, completely oblivious to the massive shadow currently blotting out the stars directly above their heads.

It was a beautiful, picture-perfect corporate setup.

Time to break it.

I raised both hands, letting my magnetic field flare to life in a brilliant, blinding corona of purple energy. I locked my grip onto the heavy steel framing of the skylight below.

"Rhea," I said into the comms, my voice completely steady. "Kill their power grid."

The lights inside the laboratory instantly snapped off, plunging the massive room into absolute, terrified darkness.