Interstellar Spark

Aglaia and Natasha found themselves sealed inside rectangular crates, locked tight. Yet they harbored no fear. No prison could withstand the antimatter lasers concealed within their flex-muscle frames.

The Humanity Lab had long loomed as an enigma, its very location a secret whispered in shadows.

If they truly reached it this time, they might wield their gear to raze it. Such a blow would wound Massimo deeper than his own death.

Though separated in their boxes, their quantum communicators hummed flawlessly.

Brainwaves alone bridged their minds, a bond surer and sharper than any telepathy.

Nothing outside escaped their notice.

They listened as a senior officer instructed his team, 'Get these two to the lab right away. Don't open the crates on the way—got it?'

His underlings scrambled to obey, loading the crates onto a small transport ship. It lifted off from the checkpoint and sped to a nearby military base.

A swordfish-shaped warship awaited there, its five-hundred-meter hull glinting under moonlight.

Captain Malin, an Augment warrior, oversaw their swift transfer to the cargo hold. He barked for takeoff, bound for Paradise Three.

No lab lay there—just Massimo and his elite Augment strike force, eager to welcome them into his grasp.

Michael and Brian tore through the power highway in a wing-car, racing full-throttle toward the city center.

Brian slumped and muttered, "Did she really stoop so low? I thought she was different. It's over! Once Paradise command knows me, where can I run? Go alone!"

Michael shrugged casually and said, "Relax. I've tweaked your ID chip's data."

Brian couldn't mask his shock. He blurted, "Who are you? You look like some Fallen City drifter who pawned his last shack, yet you wield insane skills. What's in your gear?"

Michael grinned and replied, "Let's clear the next hurdle first."

Brian noticed then that nearby wing-cars slowed. Ahead, red lights flashed, and four air tanks circled the sky.

Doubt lingered over Scarlett's betrayal, but this snuffed it out.

His face paled as he stammered, "It's done. They've locked every route. We're finished."

Michael smirked at his fondness for "finished" and asked coolly, "Where to?"

He yanked the controls, veering the wing-car off the highway into a powerless side street.

Brian exclaimed, "There's no power source; it will glide only a few hundred meters at most!"

Michael spared no time to explain. He funneled energy into the craft while tracking the air tanks' startled pursuit. "Hold tight!" he shouted.

The wing-car surged, hitting breakneck speed. It streaked like smoke beyond the blockade, reaching the city center. There, it rejoined the glowing highway, blending into dense traffic. It looped around Massimo's towering statue as Michael pressed, "Quick—where?"

Brian gaped, dumbstruck. Michael's relentless feats had stunned him. After a beat, he sputtered an address.

Michael knew the city's layout from satellite feeds. He swerved toward it without hesitation.

Brian exhaled shakily and said, "You're tougher than Augments."

Michael laughed and replied, "I don't know if I outmatch them, but where I grew up, even Augments wouldn't last."