The smile still lingered on Timothy’s face. He didn’t speak at first, and neither did Raymond. Timothy, the carved joy still on his face, sat back in his chair.
"Why would you want to be bait?" he asked.
Derick’s brows furrowed, his face hinting at frustration. He responded, "Come on — really? Because I care?"
Timothy leaned back with a relaxed look but kept that charming smile. He pointed at Derick. "I’m starting to like you." He signalled for Raymond to come closer, then asked the ponytailed man, "What do you think about him?"
Raymond walked closer, arms crossed. "Well, since he wants to help, we should let him. But if he succumbs to temptation, we break him." He continued, "Then again, I don’t think Mr. Derick will fall for their schemes — I like his resolve."
The guys continued their conversation. The room next to them, where Layla and Johnathan sat, echoed with chatter.
Commander Layla, looking no longer restless like before, no longer had those bags of worry under her sharp green eyes. Johnathan noticed her calm and inquired, "You don’t have worry on you again?"
Layla replied, "Why would I? He already has it under control."
Johnathan turned to look at Timothy, who was still talking with Derick. "You glaze him so much," he said.
A smile carved across Layla’s face; her eyebrows rose in amusement at Johnathan’s remark. "Really? Didn’t know."
Johnathan shook his head; his messy ash-blond hair waved as he smirked. "Oh, you do a lot. It makes me wonder if you guys ever—"
Layla cut him off quickly before he could finish. She pressed her pink lips together and gave a stern look. "Never happened and will never happen."
Johnathan moved an inch away, chuckled, and said, "Okay, you didn’t have to take it like that — it was just a joke."
Still maintaining that serious look, Layla snarled, "Just because I praise him, or glaze him like you said, doesn’t mean we have that type of intimacy."
Johnathan folded his arms. "I didn’t mean it that way — maybe a crush or a quick fling."
"No!" Layla shouted. "You should be happy they can’t hear us. Never bring up this kind of conversation and, moreover, he’s not my type." Just before he could reply, she added, "Don’t comment." She walked out of the room without Johnathan.
He stood alone, shaking his head and smiling sinisterly. He muttered, "So you have a type—I will figure it out, ma’am."
😡😡 Who the hell does this guy think he is? How are you gonna ship two incompatible variables? Like she said, he’s not her type — ’cause she’s mine! Anyways, we’re progressing. Let’s continue.
Some hours later, the streets of Ultra City went on as usual—holographic ads flashing to life, aerial vehicles cruising through the sky. It felt like the city’s everyday norm.
Just when the people thought the day would pass like any other, armored vehicles roared as they sped through the streets. The ground trembled. Civilians thought an earthquake was underway—until they saw the steel beasts with the name Hero association stamped across their sides. Some cursed at them, while others felt relieved that it wasn’t an actual quake.
The buses raced down the roads, their passengers lost in lively chatter.
"Still wondering how we got to the city streets," Derick said.
The vehicles resembled RVs, carrying six passengers each, excluding the driver and the front passenger.
Timothy, sitting opposite him, replied, "That’s Hero Association exclusive." The source of this content ɪs novel·fire.net
Derick leaned forward, hands spread wide in disbelief. "We’re working together—no need to hide things."
Raymond grinned, teasing, "You remember you’re bait, right?"
The other Hero Association officials, dressed in black suits with the HA emblem on the right side of their chest, burst into laughter.
At first, Derick didn’t want to respond, but the laughter silenced him. He felt mock-offended, a slight pout forming on his face. The laughter went on for a while, until the driver finally called,
They had arrived at their destination. Everyone prepared to leave the bus. Timothy pulled on his mask and tugged up his hood, Raymond was already in his hero wear, and the officials slid on their custom black spectacles. The back doors opened, and they marched out.
The few civilians nearby pulled out their phones, recording the Association personnel—but most importantly, their heroes, Vilex and Frost. The bus doors shut quickly, hiding whoever else was inside. Before a swarm of the crowd could gather, the group entered the Ultra City Police Force (UCPF).
The Association stormed into the station, their presence loud and unapologetic. Officers froze mid-motion—papers fluttered, coffee spilled, and silence fell like a thunderclap.
Vilex stepped forward, his voice calm but commanding. "Everyone, sorry for the unexpected visit. We’ll make this quick—we need Leonard Totti."
The officers murmured among themselves. One finally spoke up: "That’s no business of the Hero Association. We can’t just hand him over without a valid reason."
Frost chimed in, "Isn’t the captain of the precinct around? He’s the one we have business with, not some fat chump."
The officer was about to snap back when the captain appeared.
"Officer Bradley, that’s enough. Heroes, if you wish to speak with me, I’m right here. You want a quick response? Then let’s not prolong this—I’m all ears."
"Alright," Vilex’s filtered voice growled. "We will take custody of Leonard Totti."
A slender man in a turtleneck answered, "No, you can’t take him. You know the rules."
The six-foot-tall hero glared down at the smaller man beneath him. Vilex snapped, his voice booming:
"You think I didn’t make my own findings before coming here? Have you ever seen me here? No—you haven’t. This case involves a superhuman, so give him to us."
The captain stood his ground, not even flinching at Vilex’s intensity.
"You didn’t have to raise your voice. This is a simple conversation. Are you sure it’s a superhuman issue?"
Dude is clearly trying to rage-bait Vilex.
Those words riled him up. Vilex’s hands were about to rise for a punch, but Frost stepped in.
Frost, also simmering with anger but still calm, said, "Why are you making this difficult? Give us the guy and we’re gone. Do you have a vendetta against this case? If not, then hand him over."
"Captain Dicksen, sir, they’re right. It’s now a case involving the superpowered—let’s give the men what they want," remarked young officer Cecil Edgar.
Dicksen turned, his face unreadable. He gritted his teeth, muttering silently to himself:
Vilex reacted instantly, his gaze snapping to Dicksen. "What was that, Captain?"
Dicksen raised his arms in confusion. To him, he hadn’t spoken aloud.
Moments later, Leonard was finally brought in. Dicksen had stalled his arrival, but rules were rules: if superhumans were involved, protocol demanded the matter pass to the Hero Association. Higher approval had been granted without question.
The Hero Association left with their custody.
Night arrived. Ultra City settled into rest—offices closing, shops winding down for the day. The precinct itself shifted into rescheduling hours.
Cecil Edgar, skimming through his phone, was done with his shift and ready to head home. He stood at the sidewalk waiting for a bus.
A gloomy figure in a black hood appeared beside him.
A shaken voice asked, "Are you Cecil Edgar?"
Without raising his head from his phone, Cecil replied, "Yeah, I am. What’s up?"
The figure asked another question, this one strange and unfamiliar: "Are you the messenger?"
Still staring at his phone, Cecil replied, "Messenger for what?" Just as he began to look up at the stranger—
Cecil’s body dropped to the ground, blood spilling and streaming across the sidewalk.