Extraction Point
Mission:
- Survive Again
- Again
- Again
- And Again
Stole is a strong word—at least in this situation.
She'd merely copied it, a mimicry that defied logic. I couldn't fathom how she'd pulled it off. What kind of twisted ability allowed that? Did she have a Perk of her own? But why would she release that pink smoke at the stadium if that was going to block hers too?
I stared at her in abject horror, frozen amid the rubble. She unsheathed her wand with a deliberate flourish, eyes bloodshot and gleaming like embers in a dying fire. Her teeth gritted, then parted in a feral snarl. In a blur, she rocketed forward, slamming into me with cataclysmic force. We crashed through walls in rapid succession—plaster, brick, wood splintering like fragile illusions—each breach a fleeting biome of dust and debris. Four milliseconds per barrier, an eternity of chaos.
She hoisted me high, then drove her wand down like a hammer from God, straight into my chest. The impact shattered the floor beneath us, plunging us into freefall. I gasped, air fleeing my lungs in a desperate wheeze. We weren't in the library anymore; this was some archaic apartment hallway, frozen in the 1800s aesthetic—faded wallpaper peeling like old skin, gas lamps flickering in eternal dusk. Orange flames danced along the edges, casting elongated shadows that twisted like tormented souls.
By the time I staggered to my feet, lungs burning, she was already charging—wand trailing at her side, a comet's tail of crimson energy. She spun it in a lethal arc, but I braced, anticipating the storm.
She led the assault, strikes raining down in a relentless barrage. I slid aside, blocking the deadliest blows while countering with sharp jabs that forced her back, buying precious seconds to think.
She swung wide; I ducked, retaliating with two solid hits to her chest. But she lashed out with a kick that hurled me into the right wall, the impact rattling my bones. I rebounded off it, using the momentum to lunge back—but she mirrored from the opposite side. We collided mid-air; I seized her, slamming her to the ground with a thunderous crack.
She recovered in an instant, unleashing a Perk-fueled double kick that propelled me upward, crashing through to the second floor.
“It’s fairly disappointing,” she spat as I smashed into the ceiling, dislodging chunks of plaster, before dropping hard to the warped boards below.
Before I could scramble upright, she leaped through the hole, landing with predatory grace right in front of me. I looked up, meeting her blazing gaze. She unleashed a flurry—wand strikes exploding the ground in fiery craters as I rolled, dodged, slipped through the gaps like a shadow evading dawn.
Debris soared into the air, wooden shards fluttering like doomed butterflies—only to incinerate in mid-flight as lasers burst from her eyes, twin beams of searing red.
I hit the floor hard, the heat scorching my back, singeing fabric and skin alike.
“How can someone so lost, so amateur, wield power that could raze cities?” Mari sneered, her voice a venomous whip. “It baffles me, Connor. You baffle me.”
She vaulted to the ceiling, clinging like a demon, then launched downward. I caught her mid-descent, hurling her aside before blasting off the ground myself—striking her chest with a resonant blow. Missiles erupted from hidden compartments in my metallic arms, streaking toward her in a volley of smoke and fire.
The impact hurled her through hallways, walls buckling in her wake, but she planted her feet, skidding to a halt. The missiles detonated on contact, yet recoiled harmlessly from her crossed arms, glowing crimson shields that absorbed the blast. Above us, the ceiling gaped open like a wound, revealing the third floor's skeletal framework.
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She lowered her arms slowly, blood coating her form like a macabre second skin—her face barely recognizable beneath the mask of hate. We both resembled victims of some absurd prank, doused in strawberry jam, clothes shredded as if from a botched craft project gone wrong.
“When I was first assigned to capture Lowman, I never dreamed they'd pair me with the very target I needed,” Mari said, her tone laced with bitter irony. “You hid me in plain sight.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I hissed, defiance flaring despite the ache.
“Connor, you did everything. Through you, I unraveled the MP system. Through you, I turned the academy against you as the mole. Through you, I orchestrated the assault on YMPA,” she scoffed, a mirthless laugh bubbling up. “It never even occurred to you that I could be the one. Why? Because I was ‘hunting’ the mole right alongside you.”
I clenched my teeth, fury coiling like a spring. She advanced; I stormed forward to meet her. Energy warmed my arms, electricity crackling through my veins, dancing at my fingertips like captive lightning.
“I knew from the start—you weren’t the agent I anticipated. Retrieving the Armonk? Annihilating TSA squads? Rescuing the scientist? It feels like I’ve been robbed... or deceived,” Mari continued, sighing with genuine disappointment, shaking her head as if mourning a lost ideal. “Dear God.”
She halted her approach. “You’re an amateur. A disgrace. A failure. You should’ve left this world when you had the chance.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” I spat, words sharp as shards. “You have no clue what I’ve endured, what I’ve sacrificed, where I even came from.”
“Endured? Endured? What—scraping by on Utah’s streets? Heartache in a cozy suburban home, doting parents, maybe a loyal dog thrown in?” Mari hissed, her voice dripping scorn. “What’s its name?”
“I don’t have a dog.”
“Fair enough—you’d probably find a way to get it killed too, huh?” she derided, the barb landing like a slap.
No more words. I launched off the walls, propelling toward her in a ricochet of fury—but she jerked her hands, commanding the corridors to close in. Explosions of wood and splinters trailed me, walls crumpling like paper.
Yet as I closed for the strike, she slammed the left wall into my path. I crashed through, exiting the building in a torpedo of debris, plummeting toward the ground below. Dust and smoke billowed skyward on impact. I groaned in pain, moaned in fatigue, creaked in agony—curling sideways as my arms pulsed red, the electricity now a faint dance, blue streaks tiptoeing across my wrists.
That's when I noticed: my armor was gone. Stripped away in the chaos.
I threw my head aside, spotting my wand clattered on the cracked pavement, a beacon amid the ruin.
I had to reach it. Crawling like a wounded serpent, chest scraping the grit, hands leaving bloody imprints every agonizing inch. My breaths came in ragged bursts, vision blurring at the edges.
But as my fingers brushed the wand's hilt, something tugged at my leg—sharp, unyielding.
I froze, terror icing my spine. Gathering what courage remained, I twisted to look. Mari stood there, arms aglow, fist clenched around my ankle like a vice.
In pure defiance, instinct overriding thought, I kicked—Perk surging as she flew backward, slamming into a pole. The metal groaned and toppled, felled by the sheer force of her collision.
Pain tore through my spine with every joint's protest as I staggered upright.
The sun crested the mountains, its rays spilling over the peaks in a cascade of orange and gold, gilding the clouds in ethereal light.
I snatched my wand—should've done that first—and limped toward her. She rose too, wounded, battered, perhaps broken, her form a silhouette against the dawn.
We faced each other, breaths syncing in labored harmony. Wind whisked debris into the horizon, a fleeting funeral procession.
“What pain have you felt?” she breathed, voice raw. “Where has life clawed out your very heart?”
“Just because I care doesn’t mean I’ve never been hurt,” I coughed, words thick with phlegm and resolve. “In fact, I envy you. I hate that I still care. Because it feels like the world despises me for it.”
“No, no, no... don’t paint yourself as the victim,” Mari countered, her tone sharpening. “You had friends who rallied when they thought you were the mole. I can’t name one soul who’d risk a solo rescue for me. A team of five? They’d call it suicide.”
“Then what is pain to you? Hmm? What in your twisted, rigid, hollow existence justifies all this? And don’t hide behind orders—your conscience is as lost as mine,” I demanded, tears streaming unchecked, words choking out in sobs.
Mari averted her gaze, scanning the wreckage—anywhere but me.
“Well... you caused it,” she murmured.
My face twisted in confusion. “Caused what? What could I—an amateur agent—have possibly done to Mari French?”
She chuckled, a hollow sound. “French? I’d forgotten that alias...”
I narrowed my eyes, suspicion coiling.
“It was my third-grade teacher’s name. Mrs. French—a history tyrant who loathed me. No reason, really. Whenever I spoke truth, she’d snap: ‘Learn to be better, or I’ll make you learn.’”
“Sure she wasn’t your mom?” I quipped, the sarcasm a feeble shield.
“Nah... Mom ditched us for the wanderlust life. Preferred freedom over Dad—the very man you killed,” she replied, teeth clenched, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Mine dried in shock, wide and unblinking.
“Who?” I whispered, the word a ghost.
Mari’s eyes widened, a shocked smile cracking her facade. “Wow... So he was just disposable to you? Another notch on your hero belt, another mission ticked. Blind to what you stole... and what you unleashed.”
Her arms ignited anew, propelling her forward with accelerating fury.
“French is just a scar from a rotten past. Kindness? A myth. Love? Illusion. Rocke? Gone. Only retribution."
I’d never felt my heart so still before.