The room fell silent except for the unconscious woman's steady breathing. Reeves pushed herself up from her crouch, her movements deliberate and controlled, but Mateo caught the way her knuckles remained white at her sides, the slight tremor in her jaw as she clenched it.
Eschart had crumpled to the floor, motionless. Mateo doubted that she was dead. Reeves had delivered just enough force to knock her out—precise, calculated violence.
"Maya. Bind her."
"Yes, Commander," Maya said as she walked to the captive and pulled out some special restraints they had brought with them.
The sleek, metal handcuffs clamped around Eschart's wrists with a sharp magnetic click, and Maya did the same with her ankles. Then she revealed a small metal ball and placed it between the woman's lips. With a press of a button, it expanded slightly, acting as a gag that would prevent any screaming when she regained consciousness.
"Maya, Amara," Reeves said, finally turning away from the unconscious form, "take her to the holding room upstairs. We'll continue this conversation when she wakes up."
As the two women hoisted Eschart between them and began moving toward the stairs, Mateo felt a cold weight settling in his stomach. The King. The creature-maker. The defected heroes. Each piece of the puzzle painted a picture he didn't want to complete—one where they were already several moves behind in a game they barely understood.
Reeves watched Maya and Amara disappear up the staircase before she spoke again. The brief silence stretched uncomfortably, filled only by the distant sound of Anon's muffled voice from the communications office and the creak of old wood settling.
"B-2 team, go to the Conference Room. We have a debriefing," she announced, her voice carrying that familiar command authority. "Downstairs team, it's time to switch."
As Mateo, Alex, Henrik, Akira, Switch, Amara and Maya began dispersing from the Public Service Counter, some of the tension finally left their shoulders. The immediate crisis had passed, but the underlying dread remained.
"Petal? Really?" Switch muttered under his breath, a hint of amusement breaking through the grimness.
The others let out quiet chuckles, the sound almost startling in the heavy atmosphere. Of course Reeves would have everyone call her Commander—it made sense now, seeing how she'd spoken with Eschart.
Mateo found himself wondering what other secrets their leader was carrying. What other former colleagues might they encounter on the wrong side of this war?
As they moved toward the staircase leading to the conference room, the other heroes descended from the opposite direction—a carefully choreographed changing of the guard. Inferno passed them first, his red suit somehow managing to radiate warmth even in the dim light. Marina followed, her movements fluid like water, and finally Seraphine. The temperature in the hallway dropped noticeably as she approached, her ice-blue eyes distant and unfocused. The grief over Ben's departure still clung to her like frost.
Mateo nodded acknowledgment to each of them. The rotation system made tactical sense—when one team went up for briefing, the other would maintain security on the lower floor.
His hand trailed along the wooden railing as they climbed the stairs. Even through their morning cleaning efforts, he could feel the building's decay beneath his palm. Splinters caught at his skin where termites had weakened the wood, and the musty smell of abandonment lingered despite their attempts at maintenance. The City Hall had once been something grand—polished floors, gleaming fixtures, the pride of local government. Now it was a hollow shell, much like everything else the war had touched.
They reached the second floor and turned left toward the room marked 'Conference Room.' Through a crack in the door labeled 'Clerk's Office'—now hastily redesignated as Intelligence/Communications—Mateo caught a glimpse of Anon hunched over multiple phones and a radio setup.
"Another sighting? Where—?" Anon's voice carried through the gap, frantic and focused. Papers scattered across his makeshift desk, coordinates scribbled in hasty handwriting. "No, no, I need exact locations. Commander Reeves needs—"
Mateo could practically feel the information flowing in—reports, coordinates, surveillance data. All of it painting the same picture: they were surrounded by threats they couldn't see coming.
Switch, Maya and Amara peeled off from their group, heading toward the Administrative Offices that had been converted into Squad Quarters. The rooms offered a direct view of the street below—perfect for monitoring approaches to their makeshift base.
Alex reached the Conference Room first and tried the handle. The mahogany door, bold and imposing even in its weathered state, didn't budge. Of course—only Reeves had the keys. Security protocol meant they could only access the basement, restrooms, the open Public Service Counter, and the Squad Quarters without supervision.
A few moments later, Reeves appeared at the top of the stairs, her composure completely restored as if the violent interrogation had never happened. She moved with that same controlled precision, fishing keys from her pocket and unlocking the conference room with practiced efficiency.
The Conference Room had received minimal changes beyond basic cleaning and maintenance. The long, oval-shaped table—polished wood that had once hosted city council meetings—now served as their war room. Twelve chairs surrounded it, and someone had mounted a whiteboard and projector on the far wall. The setup was functional, nothing more.
"I've already briefed the other soldiers," Reeves began, and Mateo felt that familiar bitter twist in his chest. Soldiers. Not heroes. Not the grand, shining protectors they'd trained to become at AA. Just soldiers in a war that had no room for idealism.
Maybe that was more honest. Heroes were supposed to save people, to inspire hope, to stand as symbols of something better. What they were doing now—interrogating prisoners, carrying corpses, fighting abominations—felt more like survival than heroism.
"We will be working in rotations," Reeves continued, beginning her characteristic pace across the front of the room. "Security cameras and motion sensors have been installed within a 100-meter radius of the base, but that doesn't mean we become complacent. Remember this rule: someone must always be on guard. Upper floor rotation: Mateo, Henrik, Maya, Amara, and Ken. Lower floor: Alex, Akira, Seraphine, Marina, and Zeke. Understood?"
They nodded in unison.
"Good." She paused her pacing. "Now, regarding today's encounters. B-3 and B-1 teams found nothing during their sweeps. However, half of B-2 encountered a villain with the ability to fuse or mutate multiple animals, creating combat-capable abominations. The villain escaped without leaving any trace, so tomorrow's scouting mission will prioritize finding clues about his appearance or whereabouts."
Mateo nodded, though he'd already heard Henrik's visceral description. The memory of those tortured, hybrid creatures made his stomach churn again.
"The other half of B-2 encountered two villains who proved to be significant threats. One was killed, one taken hostage. You're all aware of this outcome."
"Yes," they replied, though Mateo noticed how Alex shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
"Good." Reeves folded her hands behind her back, resuming her measured pacing. "But there's something I need to clarify. So I want to ask you a direct question."
She stopped walking and faced them fully.
"Do you think I'm stupid?"
Henrik's eyebrow arched slightly, and both Alex and Akira looked genuinely taken aback. Mateo kept his expression neutral, though he sensed this was leading somewhere uncomfortable.
"No, Commander," Alex replied carefully. "Why would you think that?"
"Excellent. Just wanted to establish that baseline." Reeves nodded with mock thoughtfulness. "In that case, I did give you explicit instructions not to split up during operations, did I not?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. They all nodded.
"So when you blatantly disobeyed my direct orders and split up to face multiple villains, you must have concluded that my command was fundamentally flawed. Which would make me stupid. Correct?"
"We did what was most tactically sound in the situation, Commander," Henrik spoke up quickly. "Multiple villain sightings required—"
"And who benefits from that decision, Mr. Mercer?" Reeves cut him off. "Let me paint you a picture. Imagine Zeke hadn't arrived when he did. Your team would either be dead right now, or worse—captured and tortured for intelligence about our operations, our location, our capabilities."
"If you had gone as a complete team to engage either threat, your chances of success would have been significantly higher. Yes, you might have missed the second group, but you would have guaranteed the survival of your assets. That's still a win for our side."
"But isn't the point of being a hero taking risks to destroy the villains?" Alex interjected, bouncing anxiously on the balls of her feet. "We have to do everything in our power to—"
"On the other hand," Reeves continued, talking over her, "if all of you had died, that would represent a catastrophic victory for the villains. Four fewer assets on our side. Four trained fighters who can never be replaced." Her voice grew colder. "Rushing blindly into combat without proper support is equivalent to signing your own death warrant. Which option sounds more 'tactically sound,' Mercer?"
Henrik stared at the floor, his jaw working silently.
"As for you, Velez," Reeves said, turning her attention to Alex. Her eyes narrowed to near-horizontal slits. "This war does not reward bravery. It rewards intelligence and tactical thinking. Rushing into battle isn't courage—it's suicide with extra steps. Do you understand?"
Alex tried to meet her gaze but wilted under the intensity. "Yes, Commander."
"Good," Reeves said, straightening her posture. "Never split up for any reason again. Is that clear?"
Mateo found himself wondering what Reeves would think if she learned that not only had they split from four to two, but Alex had also left her partner to confront two villains alone. Would that earn another lecture, or something worse?
"Now, for information you don't yet have." Reeves moved to the whiteboard and rotated it, revealing a detailed diagram on the opposite side.
The drawing showed what looked like a bird's-eye view of a city—buildings, streets, districts mapped out in rough detail. At the center sat a large black circle, and radiating outward from it were several wave-like lines, each one fainter than the last until they were barely visible at the edges.
"This represents the current state of our war," Reeves said, tapping the center with her finger. "Ground zero for villain activity. And this—" she pointed to the bottom edge where the waves were nearly invisible "—is us."
Mateo stared at the diagram, trying to process what he was seeing. If those waves represented villain influence or activity, they were sitting at the very edge of a massive disturbance. Like being on the beach when a tsunami was building offshore.
"Intelligence indicates that villain forces are beginning to leak outward from central strongholds," Reeves continued. "It's starting small—the two or three encounters per day we've been managing. But our defensive lines are thinning. When they collapse completely, we could be facing hundreds of hostiles instead of handful."
Akira made a small, involuntary sound—somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. The number hit Mateo like a physical blow. Hundreds. They could barely handle three or four villains without someone nearly dying.
"Current estimates suggest we have approximately two weeks before the situation escalates dramatically," Reeves said. "Which is precisely why following orders—even orders that seem 'stupid' to you—becomes a matter of survival."
Mateo felt his resolve crystallize into something harder and colder. Two weeks, maybe less. Two weeks to get stronger, to get smarter, to become the kind of fighter who could face down hundreds of enemies and still protect the people who mattered.
His brother's death hadn't been avenged yet. The villain who destroyed his family was still out there, probably getting stronger while Mateo struggled with basic combat situations. If hundreds of villains were coming, that monster might be among them.
The thought should have terrified him. Instead, it filled him with a grim anticipation. When that wave of enemies finally crashed over them, he'd be ready. He'd be the kind of soldier—the kind of weapon—that could cut through any number of villains to reach his target.
Even if it meant abandoning whatever idealistic notions about heroism he'd once held.
"This concludes today's briefing," Reeves said, setting down her marker. "Take the evening to rest and process this information. Tomorrow, we prepare for what's coming."
As they filed out of the conference room, Mateo caught Alex's expression—confused, hurt, still clinging to some notion that bravery and good intentions would be enough.
He almost envied her that innocence. Almost.