He saw a shadow shivering in the distance, until it became a human form walking on top of the pile of junk, most probably trying to get a better angle on the three guys below. It was difficult to distinguish anything other than a vague hooded silhouette clad in dark gear that almost seemed to absorb light. Luke remembered a special operations team that had used a similar fabric for their combat uniform so they could pass undetected. Was this person a former service member? As the shadow moved, it was possible to distinguish a hood concealing his head and it clicked. The Vigilante.
The rumor of an individual fighting criminals in Chicago had reached his attention, even if most of the media dismissed the rumors as fabrication. Social media had different views, as blurred images and videos reported sightings of the mysterious figure everywhere.
The legend fascinated Luke on so many levels. His breath caught at seeing him in the flesh. From his angle, it was clear the Vigilante didn’t have a direct view of the three men, but Luke did. The wounded man wasn’t moving much, but while one of his companions crouched by him, gun out, ready to shoot, the third one had disappeared.
The silence hurt his ears more now than the gunfire as he watched the progress of the Vigilante toward two of the armed men. Where was the third one? He got his answer when a new shadow shifted from around the far-right wall. Unaware of the situation, the Vigilante would soon be caught in a trap.
Adrenaline flowed through his system so fast, Luke reached for his gun without realizing it. Who were the good guys and who were the bad guys? Should he help or not intervene, and if he fired, who would be his target?
Unless he made a decision, the Vigilante would be dead within seconds. Just as the black-hooded figure attacked, Luke fired.
It turned into carnage within seconds. When the Vigilante leaped to drop the first two men, Luke killed the third with a bullet to the head. The Vigilante whipped his head in Luke’s direction for an instant but returned to the task at hand. Luke was stunned by the attack—everything happened so fast. The Vigilante was precise and ruthless until the noise within the reservoir reduced to complete silence leaving three bodies on the ground.
The Vigilante looked toward Luke once more. The distance meant it would be impossible for the masked man to see his face or get to him, but Luke would be a fool to stick around and confirm his theory.
With as much speed as he could muster, he dropped through the hatch to the lower level and ran. Only the keen memory of his surroundings allowed him not to trip and fall on his face in the almost complete darkness. He didn’t dare switch on his headlamp and instead relied on the faint streams of lights coming from outside through the cracks and grids. If the Vigilante had trouble opening the steel door and Luke could reach the outer one in time, he might make it out alive.
Just as he saw the light streaming from the exit, his stomach dropped. A feeling he knew too well from the tours he’d done overseas as a Marine made him skid to a stop. He wasn’t alone anymore.
Despite being only a few feet from the exit, he turned and lifted his gun to see the Vigilante had done the same. The faceless figure was standing just outside the shadows, gun aimed at him.
For the longest moment, they remained there, facing each other, neither willing to stand down.
To Luke’s surprise, it was the Vigilante who slowly lowered his weapon. Luke did the same but remained on guard.
In the weirdest, most astonishing moment of his life, Luke saw the Vigilante bow his head, maybe in acknowledgment or thanks, before stepping back into the darkness and disappearing. Only the faint sound of footfalls disappearing in the distance told him what he’d seen wasn’t a figment of his imagination.
Chapter 2
As soon as the safety door locked behind her, Sloane Friday pulled off her hood and removed the mask from her face, finally drawing in a breath of fresh air. The mask’s design had been considerably improved since the first time she’d put it on, but it was still hot as hell under it. Pushing away her mess of deep pink hair from her face, she made her way into the lair’s command center and wasn’t surprised to see her friend and boss, Lance Sorenson, waiting for her.
The Viking of a man scanned his blue eyes up and down her form in that cold, analytical way he had, searching for wounds or injuries, and when he found none, his shoulders dropped a bit.
“I’m fine, big man. Just like each and every other time it’s been my turn to head into the field. It pisses me off that you’d think otherwise, Lance.”
It was early morning, and as usual, the other members of the team who’d been on support had gone upstairs to sleep or gone home as soon as Sloane confirmed that everything was under control and she was heading back to base.
As she moved to the gear area to discard her suit, Lance followed. “Drop the attitude, Sloane. You’re very capable, as much as anybody here, but you’re not invincible. That little trip had a lot of risks and what happened is proof I’m right. Not only that, but if that stranger hadn’t shot the other trafficker, we would’ve had to remove a bullet from you.”
With her body aching from fatigue, she peeled the suit off, not bothered that Lance was scolding her while she was in her underwear. “Our suits act as body armor, so you wouldn’t have had to remove a bullet from me.”
Lance shook his head, touching his side. “I know first-hand that our suits aren’t foolproof. We can’t maintain full mobility and complete protection at the same time.”
With a nod, Sloane examined her equipment to make sure everything was operational before putting it away. “And that’s exactly why we keep the risk to a minimum and prepare as much as we can for each mission. Exactly as we did tonight. As you can see for yourself, there isn’t a single scratch on me, and we have three dead drug traffickers that won’t be distributing their shit all over the city.”
Shit was a light word for something much more dangerous than what could generally be found in Chicago nowadays. The new compound known as Phantom had hit the street less than a month ago, tracking a bloody path through the population. So far, it was mostly addicts who’d been found dead due to an overdose, but what was even more concerning was the number of unexplained deaths they’d finally linked to the strange drug. Every suspicious death was tested for drugs, and in every case, Phantom had been detected. The fact they couldn’t link a reason for the deaths to Phantom both baffled and frustrated the authorities. Some victims jumped off buildings, others threw themselves in front of a train, others simply shot themselves in the head. All suicides, all with Phantom in the victims’ bloodstream, but there was no way of knowing why they’d so suddenly and quickly decided to end their existence.
“We all agreed that with fewer people trafficking Phantom, the distribution will slow as the producer or lab hasn’t given the formula to anybody else. But no one agreed to you trying to trap them underground. How can we support you if we can’t contact you through the comms?”
Sloane shivered. It was apparent Lance hadn’t finished, and she knew she wouldn’t get a shower any time soon, so she put on a pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt. “It was a spur of the moment decision and the right one. The only way to shut down Phantom is to go up the chain to the source. The only way to do that is to figure out where they’re moving and shipping the drug from. We’ve tried to locate them for weeks, and this was the first time we got them. We suspected the tunnels and they were there, all right. My only intention was to follow them, not to engage, you know that. But you know how valuable it would’ve been if I’d captured one. While I waited for them to return, I decided to explore a little and saw the opportunity to trap them inside. It was a calculated risk and I failed. Satisfied?”