Rehab for SuperVillains (18+)
Chapter 227: movements

Chapter 227: movements

The alley was a festering wound in the city’s underbelly, a claustrophobic slit between two rotting buildings where light dared not linger.

Steam hissed from corroded pipes, their groans a dying pulse, and the air clung heavy with the stench of damp asphalt and decay.

Shadows draped the narrow passage, fractured only by the spasmodic flicker of a failing streetlamp, its sickly glow stuttering against slick brick.

A lone figure leaned against the wall, swallowed by darkness, his black hood erasing his face, a faint red glow pulsing from the device strapped to his wrist, a heartbeat in the murk.

He waited, still as a specter, his breath shallow, his presence a whisper in the urban decay.

A low hum sliced the silence, followed by footsteps—calm, deliberate, heavy with unspoken authority, each step a claim on the night.

The hooded figure didn’t stir, his wrist device blinking steadily, its red light casting eerie reflections on the wet wall.

"Didn’t expect the call this soon," he said, his voice low, laced with dry amusement. "Things moving faster than you planned? Or.... Are they even going according to your plan?"

The footsteps halted, the air thickening, a palpable weight settling in the alley.

A silhouette emerged into the streetlamp’s faltering glow, partial and commanding.

Mid-forties, lean but broad-shouldered, his tailored coat hinting at a disciplined frame.

A trace of gray flecked his sideburns, catching the dim light, but his eyes—dark, unreadable voids—betrayed nothing, a predator’s stare cloaked in human calm.

"No," the man said, his voice smooth, calculated, the cadence of one who bent wills with words alone. "But we’ve had... unexpected complications."

The word landed like a stone in still water, silencing the alley’s ambient drone.

The hooded figure tilted his head, the red glow of his device pulsing faintly. "Complications?"

The man nodded, his movements precise, his silhouette sharp against the flickering steam. "The Reaper is dead."

Silence swallowed the alley, a void where sound dared not tread.

The hooded figure’s posture tightened, his voice a near-whisper. "What the fuck. You’ve got to be shitting me."

The man’s lips twitched, a cold, mirthless flicker. "Found in pieces. Even worse. Minced pieces. Her face... pulverized, her body a smear on the pavement."

The air grew denser, the steam hissing louder, as if the city recoiled from the revelation.

The hooded figure shifted, his wrist device’s pulse quickening, a soft hum in the quiet. "It can’t be Kael nor his band, no way someone can do that to the monster of a woman." He looked towards the man, his eyes wide with fear, "So, who did it?"

The man shook his head, his eyes narrowing, probing the shadows for answers they wouldn’t yield. "The cameras were broken even before the fight started. No trace. No eye witness, no trail. Like she was erased by something beyond us. A real monster who is neither a hero nor a villain... Yet."

The hooded figure muttered, almost to himself, "...And Kael’s at the heart of it again."

The man chuckled, a sharp, icy sound that cut through the steam’s hiss. "He always is, somehow manages to."

A heavy pause stretched between them, the alley’s darkness pressing closer, the streetlamp flickering, threatening to die.

The hooded figure’s fingers tapped his wrist device, a rhythmic click in the gloom.

"Didn’t see the twins coming either," he said, his tone probing, cautious. "They killed Radric and his entire team as if they were nothing, what were they even doing at the Haven."

"I don’t know. No one knows where the Haunter twins live or look like. It’s a mystery how that man works.," the man said, his voice low, a rare crack of unease in his composure.

"Unnatural... volatile. I think he was turning them into one of his dolls, keeping them like secrets in a vault."

The hooded figure nodded, his device’s red glow syncing with his thoughts.

"Kael’s powers... Empathetic Resonance," the man continued, his tone clinical, dissecting.

"Emotional manipulation, sensory augmentation... those might not even be the end of it, he is."

"Dangerous," the hooded figure cut, his voice flat, a statement carved in stone.

"Valuable," the man corrected, his eyes glinting, a predator sizing up a prize. "And that’s why she wants him. Doesn’t care if he’s broken or unwilling. She craves what’s rare."

The hooded figure turned, his gaze drifting to the city skyline, its neon haze pulsing against the dawn’s creeping orange, a chessboard of light and shadow.

"What’s the play now?"

The man’s lips curved, a calculated smile, his voice a low murmur.

"We wait. He’s under Lightning Lass’s wing. That villa? S-Class fortified. One wrong move, and six satellite drones with a strike team will swarm in ninety seconds. Also the entire area is full of S rank heroes."

"So, do we wait till they leave?" the hooded figure asked, his voice sharp, impatient.

The man nodded, his gray-flecked sideburns catching the streetlamp’s flicker. "Till he lowers his guard. He always does. And when he does..."

The sentence hung, a blade poised to fall, the alley’s shadows swallowing the unspoken promise.

The hooded figure’s wrist device hummed, a faint vibration in the quiet.

"I’ll keep eyes on him," he said, his voice resolute. "Track every move. Report it all."

"Good," the man said, turning, his coat blending into the alley’s gloom. "Twice daily updates. Don’t get caught. One slip, and the game’s done."

The hooded figure melted into the darkness, his form dissolving like smoke, the red glow of his device fading to nothing.

The man moved toward the alley’s far end, where a white car idled, its engine a soft purr in the dawn’s hush.

He paused, his hand on the door, his gaze lingering on the city’s skyline, its lights a puzzle he’d played for years, each piece falling into place.

A gust of wind tugged at his coat, parting it briefly, revealing the embossed insignia of Hero Command on his sleeve, a silver eagle glinting in the moonlight.

Below it, his nameplate shimmered, a final twist in the night’s shadows:

Harris.

He slid into the car, the door closing with a soft click, the vehicle vanishing into the morning’s haze, leaving the alley to its silence.

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