The phone screen kept blinking as it finished booting up. Jackson held the device firmly, his jaw clenched while he watched it intently. The rest of the group leaned toward him, each showing a different expression—curiosity, caution, and a hint of anxiety.
The blinking stopped, revealing a black screen with a faint glow, just enough to see through the cracks in the broken glass. The phone was visibly worn, with smudges and dirt in the corners, as if it had been handled carelessly.
A few seconds passed in complete silence. The group waited for something else to happen, but the only thing that broke the tension was a metallic sound—the distinct tone of an incoming message.
Jackson looked at the screen and frowned. "Looks like a text," he muttered, turning the phone so the others could see.
The sender was a saved contact: "White Fang."
"White Fang?" Maverick repeated, crossing his arms and tilting his head. "Who the hell picks such a dramatic name?"
Jackson ignored the comment and, with a small motion, opened the message. The screen lit up with the text content, and Jackson's hands trembled slightly as he read it.
"We know who you are, Maximus Jones. If you want your mother to keep breathing, you'll do exactly as we say. Show that you care. More instructions soon."
Jackson looked up, his eyes meeting Maximus's. "It's for you," he said quietly, handing him the phone.
Maximus, who had been motionless until then, took it with trembling hands. He had barely finished reading when another message arrived. The screen flickered again—this time, with an image attached.
"This is her right now. Don't take too long."
Maximus tapped the file, and the image loaded slowly. A grainy, low-quality photo showed his mother tied to a chair, her face bruised, hair disheveled, and her fragile body slumped forward, barely conscious.
A deathly silence filled the room. Maximus felt a knot form in his throat. His vision blurred for a moment, and the phone almost slipped from his hands.
"Max?" Jackson asked, his tone concerned.
"What the hell is this?" exclaimed Maverick, stepping closer to look at the screen. "Is that your mom? What does this mean?"
Eagle, maintaining his usual calm posture, stepped forward and glanced over Maximus's shoulder at the photo. His normally apathetic face took on a seriousness that even made Maverick go quiet.
Max clenched his teeth, his hands tightening into fists. "I have to go after her. Now."
"Go where?" asked Jackson, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We don't know where she is or who these people are. If you go now, you're just jumping blind."
"That doesn't matter!" Max shouted, jerking Jackson's hand away. "I'm not just going to sit here while she's with those bastards!"
"Max," Eagle interjected, his tone firmer than usual. "This is clearly a trap. If you rush in, you'll not only endanger yourself but her too. We need to think this through."
"Think it through?" Max snapped, turning to face him. "You don't understand! It's my mom—how am I supposed to stay calm? If I don't do something now, she might—"
Eagle cut him off, raising his voice slightly. "Listen to me, Max. You're right—I don't understand how you feel. But I do know this: if you don't think through your next move, you'll blow your only chance to save her. And I won't let that happen, even if it means you end up hating me."
The room fell into tense silence. Jackson glanced around, trying to find a way to mediate. Maverick stood by the door, arms crossed, while Max breathed heavily, struggling to keep it together.
Finally, Max spoke, voice raw. "I don't care what anyone says. If S.H.I.E.L.D. won't help me, I'll do it myself."
"Then you're not doing it alone," said Maverick, breaking the silence. "If you're diving into this mess, I'm not letting you get yourself killed playing the hero. Count me in."
Jackson sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "This is crazy, but... I'm not letting you go alone either. If we're doing this, we do it right."
Eagle crossed his arms, staring sternly at Maximus. "If we go, we follow a plan. If you lose control, you'll be more of a problem than a help. Got it?"
Max nodded slowly, eyes filled with determination. "Got it."
Jackson stepped back, arms crossed, as the group remained still around Max. His mind raced. First things first—we need answers. Who were these people? Why target Max's mother? And more importantly, how the hell were they supposed to deal with this with barely any information?
Jackson knew Max was on the verge of losing it. The kid's hands still trembled as he held the phone, and the blank stare at the screen made it clear—left alone, he'd do something reckless.
"We need to find out who sent you this message," Jackson finally said, breaking the silence. "Codenames like that always mean something. 'White Fang' isn't random."
"And how exactly do you plan to figure that out?" asked Maverick, with his usual sarcastic tone—though it was more restrained this time. "Ask the phone to show us its call history?"
There was a brief silence before Max murmured, "What if we tell S.H.I.E.L.D.?" His eyes darted between Jackson and the others, searching for a sign of agreement. "We could use their resources. I'm sure if we explain everything, Fury will help..."
Jackson cut him off immediately, shaking his head. "No. Fury won't help."
Maximus stared in disbelief. "What? Why wouldn't he? He promised he'd protect my mom!"
Jackson stepped forward, his voice dead serious. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is in the middle of a national emergency, Max. We're at Level 3 alert. Every agent is either deployed or on high alert. No one is going to divert resources for this—no matter how important she is to you."
"What could possibly be a higher priority than this?" Max shouted, his frustration boiling over.
"It's S.H.I.E.L.D., Max," Jackson said calmly, but firmly. "They prioritize the greater good, not the personal. They always have."
Max's fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. His voice shook. "Fury promised me. When he recruited me, he promised he'd keep her safe. How did he let this happen?"
Eagle, who had remained silent, lifted his gaze from where he leaned in the corner. His eyes, usually relaxed, now had a cold, analytical glint. "You think Fury had everything under control? We're in chaos right now. That doesn't mean he doesn't care, Max. But S.H.I.E.L.D. can't be everywhere at once."
"It doesn't matter," Max snapped, voice breaking, breath ragged. "Fury said he'd protect her. How could he let this happen?"
Jackson watched the conflict raging in Max. He knew the kid was on the edge—but also that his pain and anger could be turned into something useful. Finally, Max closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was steadier, though still full of emotion.
"It doesn't matter how it happened. What matters now is how we fix it."
Jackson nodded. He's focused now. Good.
"Then we need a solution that doesn't involve S.H.I.E.L.D.," Jackson said, glancing at everyone. "If the agents are busy, we need someone outside the field. Someone with access to tech and security knowledge."
Eagle raised an eyebrow. "Who are you thinking of?"
Jackson let out a sigh, arms crossed like he was weighing his next words. Finally, he turned to Max. "Do you remember Fitz?"
Max raised an eyebrow. "The scientist? The guy from the lab?"
Jackson nodded. "That's him. He's a genius with tech and security. If anyone can trace this phone or pull useful data, it's him."
Maverick let out a dry laugh. "Fitz? You mean the guy who panics if you speak too loudly near his gear? Yeah, sounds like the perfect rescue-mission candidate..."
"He's our best option," Jackson said, ignoring him. "But that means we need to reach the lab. And do it without being seen."
Max scanned the room, his thoughts spinning. The situation was critical—but an idea sparked. He remembered his first day at the base. On instinct, he had memorized the security camera positions and angles. He had studied blind spots, using that knowledge to reach the training grounds.
"There are cameras in the hallways, I know," he said finally, voice resolute. "But I also know where the blind spots are. If I move fast and carefully, I can reach the lab undetected."
"And what about us?" asked Maverick, raising an eyebrow. "You think we're just gonna wait here while you play hero?"
Max hesitated before replying, voice lower. "I'm not sure I can guide all of you through without being seen. The blind spots are... tight. I'll barely make it myself."
Maverick opened his mouth, but paused. His expression showed he had more questions than he was ready to voice. Instead, he said, "When you get to Fitz, tell him to shut down the cameras or something. We're not staying here waiting for you to get caught."
Jackson quickly stepped in, frowning. "Listen, Max. Don't be stupid. Don't ditch us and try to do everything yourself. That's suicide, got it?"
Max pressed his lips together but didn't respond. Instead, he turned toward the door, determination etched into his face. Eagle, who had said nothing, gave a small nod, a silent sign of approval.
Without another word, Max launched himself into a run, leaving the room. His steps were light, quick, and calculated. As he moved through the corridors, he stuck to the shadows, exploiting every blind spot he had memorized.
Jackson watched him disappear down the hallway and let out a tense sigh. "Kid's got guts, I'll give him that," he muttered. Then he looked at the others. "But if he doesn't come back with good news... we're going to have to improvise. Get ready for anything."
The group remained silent, each trying to control their nerves. Everything now depended on Max reaching the lab—and, hopefully, getting the help they desperately needed.
Max slipped through the last blind spot he had memorized, pressing himself against the wall as he listened to the hums and clicks of rotating security cameras. Every step was perfectly calculated. His breath came fast with adrenaline, but he stayed focused.
Ahead was the ventilation grate that would lead him straight into Fitz's lab. He mentally thanked himself for paying attention on his first day—especially during the brutal orientation drill. Carefully, he unscrewed the panel and slid it aside before crawling into the narrow metal duct.
The air inside was thick and hot, and the sound of his body dragging along the confined space echoed around him. Max moved slowly, navigating each curve and junction with precision. Finally, he reached another grate—this one giving him a clear view into Fitz's lab.
From his position, he could see the scientist bent over a monitor, surrounded by schematics and data incomprehensible to most. Fitz mumbled to himself, far too focused to notice the faint metallic noise as Max pushed the grate open and dropped to the floor with a muffled thud.
"What the hell—?" Fitz spun around, holding a tool like it was a weapon. His eyes widened at the sight of Max. "How did you get in here? You're way out of your assigned area! Do you realize this is a direct breach of protocol?"
"I know, I know," Maximus said quickly, raising his hands in a peace gesture. "But I need your help. It's an emergency."
Fitz frowned, clearly suspicious. "What kind of emergency makes you break into my lab? And why aren't you with the other recruits? This is seriously unprofessional."
Maximus took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Listen, I don't have much time. My mother—she's been kidnapped. I don't know who took her, just that they left a message on a burner phone. Fitz, I need your help to trace them. If I don't act fast, they'll kill her."
Fitz's face shifted—shock, concern—but his guard didn't drop. "Your mother's been kidnapped? And you didn't report this to S.H.I.E.L.D.? Why aren't you with your superiors? They have the resources for this."
"Because they won't help!" Max's voice cracked with frustration. "We're on Level 3 lockdown, remember? Everyone's focused on whatever's happening outside. No one's going to reroute resources for a civilian, no matter how important she is to me. But you… you have the tools, Fitz. You can help."
Fitz crossed his arms, still hesitant. "This is incredibly risky. And if S.H.I.E.L.D. finds out I interfered, we're both in deep trouble."
Max stepped closer, eyes sharp. "I'm not asking you to risk everything. Just trace the phone. Give me something—an address, a lead. The rest is on me."
A tense silence followed. Fitz seemed to weigh his duty against empathy, then finally sighed and dropped the tool on the desk.
"Fine," he muttered. "But if we get caught, you have no idea how much paperwork they'll bury me in. And Simmons is going to murder me if she finds out I went off protocol."
Maximus exhaled, relieved. "Thank you, Fitz. Really."
"Don't thank me yet," Fitz said, already typing furiously. "Let's see if this actually works. Give me the phone—I'll see if I can trace the number and pull anything useful."
"That's all I need," Max said, handing him the phone. "With that, I can leave the base and find her."
Fitz shook his head as he worked. "I swear, Max, I don't know how you get yourself into these situations. Just tell me you have a plan, because I'm not pulling you out if this goes to hell."
"I have one," Max replied. It wasn't entirely true, but hesitation wasn't an option.
Minutes passed. Fitz was a whirlwind of code and commands, his focus absolute. Max watched in silence, the tension coiling in his chest. Every time Fitz muttered something under his breath, Max leaned forward slightly, hoping they were close to a breakthrough.
Finally, Fitz froze. His brows furrowed, fingers pausing mid-keystroke.
"This is… weird," he murmured, scratching his head. "The IP address from the message—it's completely exposed. No protection at all."
Maximus narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean? Can you trace it?"
Fitz nodded, eyes still locked on the screen. "Yeah, easily. But that's what's strange. There's no masking, no VPN, no rerouting. Whoever sent this doesn't know what they're doing."
Max frowned. "What are you getting at?"
Fitz kept typing, his expression sharpening. "It's like leaving a letter with your return address on it. Anyone with basic skills could trace this. Either the sender's a total amateur… or they want to be found."
Maximus processed that. "So it's easy to track, right?"
Fitz glanced up, a flicker of a grin on his face. "Exactly. And that's what I'm about to do."
He leaned in, fingers flying over the keyboard. The sound of tapping filled the room—tense, rhythmic. Max's heart pounded harder with each passing second. He couldn't help but wonder how close they were to finding something that could lead him to his mother.
Then, Fitz stopped. He stared at the screen, satisfied.
"Got it," he said calmly. "I've traced the IP. The signal's coming from a building on the outskirts of the city. It's not an exact location, but it gives us a pretty solid lead."
Max stepped closer, eyes scanning the display. "How far?"
Fitz checked quickly. "About twelve kilometers."
Maximus nodded, already switching gears. "It's a start. I'm going."
He turned sharply, already moving toward the exit with renewed urgency.
Shameless Note from a Shameless Author 😎
I'M BACK, BABY. 🔥 After four long months of "creative freedom" (a fancy way to say I've been crying, suffering, eating badly, overthinking life, and occasionally pooping—aka, the usual Monday routine 💀), I've finally returned to the trenches.
I took this time to live, reflect, and start laying the groundwork for something big: the foundation of a new novel that I PROMISE will be amazing. It's raw, personal, intense... basically, I'm cooking something spicy and I hope y'all are hungry. 🌶️📚
In the meantime, I'm slowly getting back into the rhythm here. Thank you for your patience, for sticking with me through this accidental hiatus, and for not forgetting this unhinged writer.
As always, if you want to show some love (and help keep me from spiraling again 😵💫), drop a comment, review, feedback—or toss me a power stone if your heart says so 💎❤️. Every little bit helps keep the chaos flowing in the right direction.
LET'S. KEEP. GOING. 🚀