Kane
"Alright, let's go. The elevator's this way," I said, already regretting every decision that led me to this moment.
Mr. Inconvenient, walking like he had all the time in the world, added, "Well, it's been fun, guys. I suppose after this quick elevator ride, we'll part ways."
"Or," I suggested, "we could hit up a diner. Y'know, debrief. Decompress. Maybe eat enough grease to forget today ever happened today."
Mr. Inconvenient raised an eyebrow. "I suppose I could go for some food."
"Waffles," I muttered, already drooling. "God, I'd commit a minor war crime for waffles."
I glanced at the kid we picked up, tiny thing, dazed look, trauma radiating off her like Wi-Fi. "You hungry? What's your name, kid?"
"I… don't remember," she said, eyes distant.
"That's okay," Fenix cut in. He leaned over and whispered in my ear, "We'll talk more later."
I nodded, mostly to pretend I had any clue what the hell was going on.
This elevator was slower than a stoned sloth on a treadmill. "God, this elevator is slow," I said out loud to no one in particular. "Ayy, Freddy. You on?" I asked the AI in my head.
"Yes. It's been a while," Freddy answered, calm as ever.
"What do you need?" he asked.
I looked down at the girl. "You see this kid? Got anything on her? Missing persons reports, weird lab logs, cryptic bullshit?"
Ping!
Elevator doors slid open. Finally,
"Lobby floor," the elevator chirped.
"Funny," I laughed. "Tsunami Tech's got a fuckin' lobby. Classy. For a bunch of criminals."
"Illegal operations or not," Fenix replied, "it's still a corpo. Reputation matters when you're selling your soul wholesale."
"Speaking of which," he added, "how about that diner? We need to talk."
"Yeah," I nodded, crouching in front of the girl. "Hey, kid. We want you to come with us. No pressure. No one's dragging you anywhere. But if you come, maybe we can help you remember who you are. Might even get you some waffles."
"Uhhm… maybe… I don't know. Okay. We can go," she finally said, voice barely above a whisper.
"Great!" I said, trying not to sound too relieved. "There's a diner a couple turns away. Let's move—before I pass out from waffle withdrawal."
At the diner, I pushed open the door. Bell jingled like a gunshot.
"Table for one... two… three..four?" the waiter said, eyeing us like we were a tax audit come to life. The poor guy probably just wanted a quiet shift and a strong drink.
We took a seat. I looked at Fenix. "Alright. What's the deal?"
He leaned in, expression suddenly serious.
"Since I didn't exactly convince you about stopping Project Nightmare," he said, "I think it's time I told you about my past."
Fenix leaned in, arms resting on the scratched table, voice calm and precise.
"I was born or maybe made in a lab. Honestly, I don't remember which. My parents? Dead. They were researchers, working on a chemical compound designed to push people past their natural limits, make them the absolute peak of human evolution."
I raised an eyebrow, mid-chew. "Oh, like gym bros on crack?"
He didn't flinch. "The royals didn't like it. The superiors, the monarchs, all of them feared what it meant. If someone could unlock that kind of power, they could potentially challenge the throne. So they labeled my parents as traitors and had them executed."
The kid stopped eating.
"But that formula? It didn't die with them. Someone finished their work. Eventually, it became the compound they now call Nightmare Fuel."
I leaned back, letting that settle.
"After that," Fenix continued, "I was taken in by a corporation Prox Tech. Funded by the royal family, of course. They raised me like a project, not a person. Turns out they weren't just interested in the chemical's power, they wanted something else. Something older."
He glanced at me, then the girl, then down at his barely touched plate.
"They've been trying to unseal the Heartless Ones. Demons, monsters, whatever name you want to give them, beings trapped in another realm. And only someone with a very specific kind of power can open that door."
"And that someone is you," I said flatly.
"Seems that way," he replied.
I stared at him. I couldn't tell if he was lying or if he just hated talking about it.
"Okay," I said, grabbing my coffee. "That's heavy."
Then I turned to Mr. Inconvenient. "Alright, your turn. What's your tragic nonsense?"