Operation: OnlyHeroes

The SUV tore out of the parking garage, plunging us from the damp, echoing silence of B2 into the chaotic symphony of a city on edge. Sirens wailed in the distance. Grant—Grant—drove with a focused intensity, his knuckles white on the wheel.

"Seatbelt," he said, his voice a low, familiar rumble.

I fumbled for it, the click of the buckle a tiny anchor in the storm of my panic. I stared out at the newsstands flashing my face next to headlines of terror. "This can't be happening."

"It is," he said, his tone grim and final. He swerved around a delivery truck with effortless, silent power. "And it's going to get worse."

"How? How can it possibly get worse?"

"He's just setting the stage, Toby." Grant's eyes met mine for a split second. The fear I thought I'd seen earlier was there, but it felt... different now. Sharper. Almost performative. "This isn't the main event. This is the trailer."

The logic was cold and terrifying. I was a crack in the armor. A tool. My phone buzzed in my hand. Another DM from @OptiksMaster.

Running with the big dogs now, Latte Lad. Does the collar chafe?

"He just messaged me again," I said, my voice trembling.

"Don't answer him," Grant said, his voice sharp. A little too sharp. A flicker of something else—annoyance?—crossed his perfect features. "He's toying with you."

Something felt off. The cadence of his voice was almost perfect, but the edges were wrong. The warmth was a simulation. The fear was a prop.

We pulled into a service tunnel hidden behind a concrete wall that slid away for us. The transition from city chaos to sterile, hidden passage was jarring. This was the back door. The secret entrance.

The tunnel led to a private garage deep beneath Ascendants Tower. The door hissed shut behind us, sealing us in.

Grant killed the engine. The silence was absolute.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to me. The movement was too fluid, too graceful. It wasn't the slight, weary sigh of a hero after a crisis. It was the prelude to a performance.

"Okay," he said, and his voice lost the last vestige of its Grant-Sterling warmth. It became something cooler, more analytical. "Listen carefully. Bishop is waiting. She's... not happy. At the situation."

"Is there a difference?" I asked, my heart starting to hammer for a new reason.

"There is when she's the one holding the knife." He smiled. It was All-Star's smile, but the light behind it was all wrong. It was a mask, and for the first time, I could see the seams.

He got out of the car. I followed, my legs leaden. The garage was cold and empty.

The elevator doors opened as we approached. Ms. Bishop stood inside, her posture ramrod straight, her face a mask of icy fury. But her eyes... her eyes didn't go to me. They went to him. And they held not anger, but a fierce, impatient expectation.

"Took you long enough," she said, her voice clipped.

"Traffic was hectic, darling," Grant said, and his voice melted. It slid down an octave, shedding the heroic baritone for something smoother, more playful and infinitely more dangerous. "And the star of the hour needed a gentle hand."

I watched, frozen, as his features began to shift. It wasn't a violent ripple like before; it was a subtle melting, like clay being reshaped by an invisible hand. The jaw softened, the shoulders narrowed slightly, the hair darkened and grew unruly. The grey hoodie and jeans seemed to blur and reform into a sleek, black tailored suit.

In less than three seconds, Grant Sterling was gone.

Mr. Enigma stood in his place, adjusting their cufflinks with a smirk. They winked at me. "What's the matter, Latte Lad? You look like you've seen something alien."

My mouth was dry. I looked from their smirking face to Bishop's impassive one. "Where... where is he? The real Grant?"

"Indisposed," Bishop said coldly, stepping out of the elevator. "He is unavailable. And we needed an extraction. Enigma was the logical choice to ensure no one followed you but the cameras we wanted to follow you."

Enigma chuckled, a rich, sound that echoed in the sterile garage. "Oh, they followed. A few very lucky paparazzi got the most marvelous shot of 'All-Star' rescuing his precious intern from the scary campus. Very heroic. Very touching. The 'Golden Boy Protecting His Team' narrative is already trending. It's doing wonders to counterbalance the whole 'our other hero is tied to a chair' thing." They blew a kiss toward a security camera in the corner. "You're welcome, Shanice."

My mind reeled. The fear in the car. The intense driving. It was all a show. A scene staged for an audience I didn't know was watching. I was bait, but not just for the villain. For the public, too.

"You... you used me. Again."

"We contained you," Bishop corrected, her voice leaving no room for argument. "And we used the situation. There is a difference. Now, come. We have a statement to draft."

She turned and walked toward a reinforced door I hadn't noticed. Enigma fell into step beside me, leaning in conspiratorially.

"Don't look so glum, darling. You did wonderfully. The panic was very authentic. Really sold it." They patted my cheek, their touch cold. "Now comes the fun part. Lenora has such plans for you."

"Ms. Void? What does she have to do with this?"

Enigma's smile widened into something predatory. "Who do you think gave the order? Shanice here runs the day-to-day, but when the shadows misbehave?" They gestured for me to follow Bishop. "We answer to a different boss."

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