The battle had shown Dante just how weak he still was. He had been knocked down, humiliated, cast aside like an afterthought. But it wouldn't happen again. Next time, he wouldn't be the one left in the dust. Next time, he would be stronger.
He exhaled slowly, standing from his chair. If Graves Safe Zone was going to survive, if he was going to reclaim his place as its rightful protector, then he had work to do. And he would start preparing now.
Bob tightened his grip on the wheel as the pickup truck rumbled down the cracked road, leaving the towering walls of the Graves Safe Zone behind. The sky was choked with the ever-present Pink Fog, casting the landscape into an endless haze. Behind him, the gates sealed shut with a heavy clang.
Vell and Gale stood just beyond, their silhouettes fading as the fog swallowed them. "Take care out there, Bob. And… thanks for everything. We owe you," Vell called out, his voice steady with gratitude. Gale gave a small nod, less expressive but no less appreciative.
From the upper walls of the Graves Safe Zone, Dante Graves stood with arms crossed, watching them leave. He didn't say anything, but Bob could feel the weight of his gaze. He had no time to care either.
They had a destination, one that mattered more than any unfinished business here. They were getting closer to Iris's parents. The journey had already taken longer than expected, but now, with the Graves Safe Zone behind them, there was nothing left to slow them down. Or so they thought.
Bob guided the pickup truck through the mist, keeping his pace steady. Gabe flew ahead, his Griffin Glint active, scanning for movement. Sly flickered in and out of sight, moving like a shadow. He felt lighter, faster, his body finally free of the strain from past injuries. Fully healed, fresh, and with a renewed determination, he moved with sharper precision, ready to push his limits and prove he was stronger than before. Iris walked near the truck, eyes sharp, spear ready. They weren't taking chances.
Gabe's voice crackled over the radio. "We've got company."
Bob didn't slow down. "Fades?"
"No. Red Hands. Scout ahead, not alone."
Sly's voice followed, irritation laced in his tone. "You gotta be kidding me."
Bob sighed, rubbing his temple. He wasn't in the mood for another fight. "Do we punch or sneak?"
Iris answered first. "Sneak. We don't need trouble right now."
Gabe made the call. "We'll turn west. Lose them."
Bob adjusted course, veering off the original path. For a few minutes, it seemed like they'd pulled it off. The scout didn't chase. Then Gabe cursed.
"They're moving. They are chasing us."
Bob glanced at the rearview mirror. Nothing but fog. But he trusted Gabe's eyes. "How bad?"
"They're circling. They already called backup."
Bob tapped the dashboard, thinking. "So, what now?"
"We don't stop moving," Gabe said. Then, his tone shifted. "Wait… the direction we're going… there's something there."
Bob didn't like the sound of that. "Like what?"
"No clue," Gabe said. "Could be Glints. Could be Fades. Either way, we're not alone. If they make a move, we fight back."
That was never good.
Sly clicked his tongue. "So, let me get this straight. We tried avoiding a fight, and now we're running straight into something worse?"
"Sounds about right," Iris muttered.
"Nice…," Bob said, pressing his foot harder on the gas.
-----
Quinn Adler adjusted the strap of her camera bag, keeping her movements quiet as she moved through the dimly lit corridors. Most of the guards had left, answering some urgent call. She didn't know what, didn't care. It gave her a window to investigate.
Quinn Adler wasn't supposed to be here. She had spent years working as an investigative journalist, chasing down leads that no one else would touch. But after being overshadowed by a rival who became the face of the post-meteor crisis, Elaine Myre, she found herself assigned to lesser stories… stories that didn't matter. Or so she thought.
Her latest assignment? Covering the spread of Pink Dust. At first, it seemed like just another drug crisis, another underworld operation that had no real impact beyond the desperate users it affected. But as she followed the supply lines, she realized it wasn't just street dealers pushing the drug, it was something much bigger. That trail had led her here, deep inside a safe zone, where she was now sneaking through restricted storage areas, trying to confirm what she had long suspected.
Rows of crates lined the storage room, Pink Dust shipments, stacked high. More than she expected. This wasn't just street dealing. This was a supply chain level. A well-oiled machine.
She flipped open a ledger, scanning through the shipment records. Some names she recognized. Others she didn't. Then her eyes narrowed. Some deliveries weren't going to slums or black markets. They were going to places with government protection.
Quinn's pulse quickened. If someone in power was backing this, then exposing it wouldn't just be dangerous, it would be suicidal… but that was the job.
A distant noise caught her attention. A low hum of movement outside the safe zone.
She slung the camera over her shoulder and moved toward the nearest window. The mist outside was shifting, silhouettes emerging, moving with urgency. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make sense of it. The uniforms, they looked familiar. A shade of red. Red Hands? She wasn't sure. She had never seen them up close, only heard rumors.
The safe zone enforcers rushed out, their movements tense and urgent. Something was happening outside the safe zone, serious enough to pull security away from their posts.
Quinn didn't know what had them scrambling, but she didn't need to. This was her chance.
With so many guards abandoning their positions, the restricted building at the center of the compound, the one she wasn't allowed near… was left with fewer eyes on it. If she moved now, she might finally uncover what they were hiding inside.
She exhaled slowly, a smirk creeping onto her lips. "Well… can't leave without seeing what they're hiding first."
-----
Darius "Ironjaw" towered over the battlefield, a walking fortress of stone and steel. His Juggernaut-Class Siege Beast Glint had reshaped him into a hulking war machine. Reinforced plating covered his body, his limbs built like battering rams, and his skin forged from metal and rock. Each step shook the ground, a low rumble rolling across the field. His metal jaw, fused shut from an old battle, tightened as he stared ahead. Darius wasn't a soldier. He was a siege weapon made to end wars.
With him marched the Red Hands' newest creations, experimental Glint soldiers with exposed Pink Fragment implants embedded in their flesh. The glowing shards pulsed violently, lodged in muscle and bone like jagged crystals forced beneath the skin. Each implant pushed their bodies past natural limits, amplifying speed, strength, and endurance beyond what their Fog Stage could normally handle. Twisted by power and pain, they advanced like engines of destruction, built to overwhelm and erase anything in their path.
But there was a cost. The implants placed immense strain on their bodies. Every second in combat pushed them further past human limits. Prolonged fighting led to internal bleeding, ruptured muscles, and failing organs. They were designed for shock and domination, not survival. In drawn-out battles, their own strength would kill them.
Today, they would be tested against Bob's crew. Darius had no intention of losing.. These were no ordinary troops. They were the next stage of evolution for the Red Hands, a project long in the making. And today, Bob's crew would be the first real test of their power.
"Darius clenched his metal-plated jaw, his voice grating through the communicator. "I want this done clean. Even with the implants, I'm not taking risks."
He turned to one of his scouts, a lean Glint user with enhanced tracking abilities. "Get to the Little Fingers. Deliver this message: they are to mobilize now. This isn't a request… it's an order from above. If they hesitate, remind them that their survival depends on obedience."
The scout nodded, vanishing into the Pink Fog without a word. Darius watched him go, then exhaled sharply. He had no patience for delays. Bob's crew had eluded them for too long. This time, they would have nowhere to run.
The response from the Little Fingers came after a long pause. Lucian Duvall, the cartel's second-in-command, sounded hesitant. "You do realize we're stretched thin here, right? Most of our enforcers are already deployed elsewhere. We can't just—"
The Red Hands scout scoffed, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. "This isn't a request, Duvall. It's an order. Higher-ups expect full cooperation. If you stall, it won't just be my problem—it'll be yours."
Lucian clicked his tongue in frustration. "Damn it..."
Then the scout delivered the final push. "Bob's crew is heading west."
Lucian's stomach dropped. He stiffened, his hesitation vanishing in an instant. "West? Are you sure?"
"Dead sure. Why?"
Lucian's heart pounded. That was where Veyron Moreau, Little Finger's leader, was undergoing surgery. The room was lightly guarded, almost exposed. If Bob's crew reached it, even by accident, Veyron wouldn't survive. One wrong turn, and their command structure could collapse in a single moment.
"Fine," Lucian spat, urgency overtaking his reluctance. "We're mobilizing now."