William Dangerfield walked alone down the rain-slick streets, the world around him a blur of gray shadows and cold drizzle. The errands had gone on longer than expected, and now he was wandering, lost in his thoughts, trying to shake the memories that the last few days had dredged up.

  The rain had slowed to a light mist, clinging to his clothes, and his footsteps echoed softly against the wet pavement. His hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, fingers nervously brushing against the metal lighter he kept there — a habit, a reminder of the past he couldn't let go of.

  He turned a corner, eyes cast downward, when something caught his attention. At first, he thought it was just another passerby. But then he saw it — the unmistakable glow of red, cutting through the foggy air like a beacon. He froze, his breath catching in his throat.

  Standing in the middle of the street was a young man, drenched in rain, his eyes blazing with a vivid, unnatural light. A light that William knew all too well.

  "Laurel," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the patter of raindrops.

  Laurel Benigine. The boy with laser vision. A boy William had once called a friend — no, more than that. A comrade, a brother-in-arms during those harrowing days in the Power Royale. But Laurel had died. William had seen it himself — had watched, powerless, as Laurel's father, Danny, had taken his own son's life in a fit of madness. The memory was a jagged scar that had never quite healed.

  Yet here he was. Standing. Breathing. Those eyes glowing with a deadly crimson light.

  William's heart hammered in his chest. "Laurel... is that really you?"

  The figure did not respond. His eyes, normally so full of anger and defiance, were empty now, hollow. There was no recognition, no spark of the boy William remembered. Just a blank, soulless stare that chilled him to the bone.

  William's hand clenched around the lighter in his pocket, his mind racing. He could feel the familiar pull of metal all around him — the street signs, the fences, the rebar hidden beneath the concrete. He could feel the temptation to use it, to twist the metal into a shield or a weapon. But he hesitated.

  Memories flashed through his mind — of Laurel laughing, of Laurel fighting, of Laurel standing beside him, a fierce light in his eyes. Could he really destroy that, even now?

  "Laurel," he called again, louder this time. "If you're in there... say something."

  Still nothing. The rain fell harder, drumming against the pavement, and Laurel's eyes narrowed, a flash of red arcing out, cutting through the mist and slashing across a streetlight. The lamp exploded in a shower of sparks, and the world seemed to hold its breath.

  William took a step back. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath, struggling to make a decision. Every instinct told him to fight, to protect himself, but his heart rebelled against the idea of hurting his old friend.

  Then, out of nowhere, a flash of movement. Vlad Ivanov appeared at his side, his karabela sword gleaming in the dim light, water dripping from its polished edge. "You're hesitating, Dangerfield," Vlad said, his voice cold and matter-of-fact. "That's unlike you."

  William swallowed hard. "I... I knew him, Vlad. He was a friend. I can't—"

  "He's not your friend anymore," Vlad interrupted sharply, his eyes never leaving the zombie-like figure of Laurel. "He's something else now. Something dangerous."

  Laurel's head tilted slightly, as if registering Vlad's presence for the first time. The red glow in his eyes flared brighter, and he opened his mouth, a low, guttural sound escaping his lips.

  "Get back!" William warned, his hand finally rising, ready to call the metal to him, to form a shield, a wall — anything to keep them safe.

  But Vlad was already moving. With a swift, practiced motion, he lunged forward, his blade cutting through the rain with a sharp hiss. Laurel's eyes flared again, a burst of energy shooting out, but Vlad was faster. He sidestepped the beam, his movements precise and fluid, like a dancer in a deadly waltz.

  And then, in a single, swift stroke, Vlad's blade sliced through Laurel's midsection, cutting clean through him. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. The rain hung in the air like suspended tears, and William felt his heart drop.

  Laurel's body fell in two, collapsing to the ground with a sickening thud. The red glow in his eyes flickered and then faded, leaving only emptiness behind.

  William stared, his chest tight, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. "You didn't have to—"

  "Yes, I did," Vlad replied, wiping the blade clean with a cloth he produced from his coat pocket. His face was unreadable, his eyes cold. "If you couldn't do it, then someone had to. He wasn't human anymore. Just a shell. You know that as well as I do."

  William didn't answer. He just stared at the remains of his old friend, the rain washing away the blood that pooled around them. A deep sadness welled up inside him, mixing with the bitter taste of regret.

  Vlad sheathed his sword. "Come on," he said quietly. "We need to get back to the others. There might be more of them."

  William nodded numbly, his eyes lingering on Laurel's lifeless form one last time. "Yeah... yeah, you're right," he whispered, turning away.

  But as they walked back into the rain, William couldn't help but glance over his shoulder, a single question echoing in his mind: How?

  The rain had picked up again, a steady torrent that beat down on the streets with a relentless rhythm. William Dangerfield's breath came out in ragged puffs of steam, his heart still pounding from the encounter with Laurel. He hadn't spoken a word since. Vlad walked beside him, silent but alert, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his karabela sword. William could feel the tension between them, the unspoken question hanging in the air: What was that? What is happening to us?

  They continued down the narrow, rain-soaked alley, the shadows stretching long and dark around them. William's mind drifted back to a different time, a different life — to the Power Royale, to the day it had all gone to hell. He had been younger then, full of bravado and a sense of righteousness. The world had seemed black and white, his choices simple and clear. But now, it all felt like a blur — a jumble of regrets and forgotten promises.

  And then he saw him.

  A figure emerged from the shadows ahead, the rain streaming down his face. For a moment, William thought he was imagining it. But as the figure stepped into the dim light of a flickering streetlamp, he felt his stomach drop. It was Tommy Tomorrow, the boy he had killed in the Power Royale.

  Tommy looked just like he had back then — short, wiry, with sandy hair plastered to his forehead by the rain. His eyes were wide and empty, his skin pale and cold. He wore the same torn hoodie he'd had on that day, stained with mud and blood.

  William felt a lump form in his throat. "Tommy," he whispered, the name catching in his mouth like a thorn. His vision blurred as memories flooded in, memories he had tried to bury deep.

  The promise. He had promised Tommy that he would help pay for his mother's treatment. Tommy had been desperate, clutching at any hope he could find. William had given him that hope — and then, when the moment came, he had snatched it away, a single metal shard through the heart. He told himself it was mercy, that he was saving Tommy from a fate worse than death. But was he?

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  Tommy's eyes, even in death, seemed to plead with him, accuse him. And now here he was again, a ghost in the rain, his gaze locked onto William with that same desperate intensity.

  "I killed you," William muttered, more to himself than to the apparition in front of him. "I killed you, and I told myself it was for the right reasons."

  Tommy's lips parted, and a hollow, raspy sound escaped his mouth, like the wind whistling through a crack. It wasn't a voice, not really — more like an echo, a memory of a voice that had once been full of life.

  William's hands shook, the weight of the lighter in his pocket suddenly feeling unbearable. "I'm sorry, Tommy," he murmured. "I should have kept my promise... I should have—"

  The words caught in his throat, and Tommy lunged forward, his movements stiff and jerky like a marionette. The empty, dead eyes focused on William, and a low, guttural groan escaped his throat.

  William's hand flew out instinctively, metal shards ripping from the nearby streetlight, swirling around him in a jagged, deadly halo. His hesitation was gone, replaced by a cold, steely determination. "I won't make the same mistake twice," he muttered, and with a flick of his wrist, the metal shards shot forward.

  They pierced Tommy's chest, his arms, his legs, driving into him with a sickening thud. The body staggered, limbs twitching, but it did not fall. Tommy's mouth opened wider, his eyes staring straight into William's soul.

  "Stay down, Tommy," William whispered, his voice tight, his eyes wet with rain or tears — he couldn't tell which.

  And then, with a sharp twist of his hand, William drove a final shard straight through Tommy's heart. The body convulsed, shuddered, and then finally crumpled to the ground, the red glow in his eyes flickering and dying out.

  William stood over the body, his breath coming in ragged gasps, the rain soaking him to the bone. The guilt was still there, gnawing at him, but it was different now. He had done what he had to. He had let the past haunt him long enough.

  Vlad approached, his eyes fixed on the fallen figure. "You're getting better at this," he remarked dryly, his tone almost approving. "No more hesitation."

  William glanced at him, a shadow of a smile on his lips. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just getting numb."

  Before Vlad could respond, a rustling sound filled the air, like leaves scraping across concrete. William turned, his senses on high alert, and his heart froze in his chest.

  A new figure stepped out of the shadows, taller, broader, with dark hair and a determined set to his jaw. Even through the rain, William recognized him immediately — Angelo Vasquez, his closest ally in the Power Royale, the man who had saved his life more times than he could count.

  But Angelo's eyes were different now. They were vacant, lifeless, the same dull, empty stare that had marked Laurel and Tommy. The sight of him sent a shockwave through William's body.

  "No... Angelo, no," William whispered, his voice breaking. Memories of their battles together flashed through his mind — Angelo's laughter, his strength, his loyalty. He had been the rock that William leaned on when everything fell apart. And now, here he was, a shell of the man he used to be.

  Vlad's grip tightened on his sword. "Another one," he muttered under his breath. "What is going on?"

  William didn't answer. His eyes were locked on Angelo, his mind racing. He knew what he had to do, what he might have to do. But could he?

  Angelo took a step forward, his movements slow and deliberate, his face a blank mask. The rain hammered down harder, the world seeming to close in around them, and William felt the weight of the past pressing down on him like a vice.

  William Dangerfield stood in the rain, his hand outstretched, fingers twitching as he manipulated the metal fragments around him. Angelo's lifeless form lay still for only a moment before it began to twitch and writhe. The sound of cracking bones filled the air as Angelo's body started to contort, transforming grotesquely. The rain hissed on his skin as fur erupted from his arms and face. His eyes turned a dark, predatory black.

  Within seconds, the figure before him was no longer Angelo but a massive bear with glowing, empty eyes.

  "Of course, a bear," William muttered under his breath, feeling the weight of old memories pressing down on him. Angelo had always been unpredictable in the Power Royale, using his shape-shifting abilities in the most surprising ways. But this wasn't the Angelo he remembered — this was something else, something twisted, like a memory brought to life and poisoned by death.

  The bear lunged, swiping its massive claws at William, who narrowly dodged to the side. Instinct took over, and William summoned a shard of metal from the rubble nearby, launching it like a spear. It pierced the bear's shoulder, causing it to roar in anger, but it barely slowed.

  "Come on, Angelo," William hissed through gritted teeth, "I don't want to do this, but I will."

  The bear charged again, faster this time. William clenched his fist, drawing on his power to mold the shards of metal around him into a jagged net. He flicked his wrist, sending the net flying toward the creature. The bear stumbled, momentarily entangled, but then tore through it with raw strength.

  William took a deep breath, focusing. He needed to end this quickly. With a swift movement, he called every shard of metal in the vicinity to his command. The air around him shimmered with hundreds of razor-thin fragments, hovering like a deadly swarm. He thrust his hand forward, and the shards shot toward the bear like a storm of knives.

  The bear staggered back, growling, as metal sliced through fur and flesh. Finally, one shard found its mark, piercing the creature's heart. The bear's roar died in its throat, and Angelo's twisted form collapsed into the mud, his body reverting to its human shape for a fleeting moment before the light in his eyes went dark.

  William's shoulders heaved with heavy breaths, the adrenaline coursing through him. He heard footsteps approaching — hurried but cautious. He turned, ready for another fight, only to see Josh, Lauri, Lojan, and Vlad emerging from the shadows.

  "Looks like you've been busy," Lojan said with a smirk, his voice cutting through the rain. "This guy's not going to get back up, right?"

  William shook his head, still trying to catch his breath. "Not unless he's got another trick up his sleeve. But... this isn't Angelo. At least, not really."

  Josh's face was pale, his eyes wide with fear. "Then what is it? Some kind of zombie? He was dead — we all saw him die ten years ago."

  Lauri stepped forward, her hands crackling with faint sparks of electricity. "This has to be someone's ability. They're using memories of people we've lost... bringing them back to life to attack us."

  Vlad, leaning casually against a lamppost, took a long drag of his cigarette. "Sounds like a sick joke. So, we find whoever's doing this, and we put an end to it."

  William nodded, his gaze hardening. "But they're playing with our minds, making us relive everything. We need to be careful."

  Lojan cracked his knuckles, the grin never leaving his face. "Careful's not exactly my style, but I'm game."

  Josh swallowed hard, glancing at the others. "If these are memories, then they might not just be of people we've fought... they could be of people we loved. People we failed."

  William's jaw tightened. "Which means whoever's doing this knows us. Knows what we fear. Knows how to hurt us."

  Lauri looked over at William, her expression softening slightly. "Then we hunt them down, fast, before they send more."

  William met her gaze, and for a moment, the weight of their shared past seemed to lift. "Agreed. We need to find them. We need to end this."

  The rain continued to pour, but now it felt like a cold determination was burning in all their veins. As they moved out, side by side, they knew they were walking into the unknown, but at least they were facing it together.

  And this time, they were ready.

  The group stood in the dimly lit room of an old, abandoned warehouse, their faces illuminated by the flickering light of a single exposed bulb. The walls were lined with forgotten crates and broken furniture, creating a maze of shadows and echoes. The tension was palpable, each member of the team on high alert.

  Lauri Cruise pulled up the phone logs on her tablet, her fingers moving swiftly across the screen. "I've been tracking phone signals of everyone we've encountered so far. There's one person who's been desperately trying to get an Uber for the past hour. His location is nearby."

  "Desperate, huh?" William Dangerfield mused, adjusting his grip on a metal shard he had conjured. "Let's see who's been running from us."

  Josh, Lauri, Lojan, and Vlad followed Lauri as she led the way through the maze of the warehouse, their footsteps echoing off the walls. The air was thick with anticipation.

  They found him in a small, cluttered office in the back. Thomas Hennigan, a man in his late thirties with a nervous twitch, was frantically pacing, his phone clutched in his hand. His face was pale, and sweat glistened on his forehead.

  "Thomas Hennigan," Lauri said, stepping into the room with a steady voice. "We know what you've been doing."

  Thomas froze, his eyes darting from one person to the next. His hand trembled as he held up his phone. "I-I'm just trying to get out of here. I didn't mean for things to get this out of hand."

  "Cut the crap," Josh said, his voice shaking slightly. "We know you've been using your ability to bring back the dead. Why?"

  Thomas's eyes widened in fear. "You don't understand. I needed money, but I didn't want to kill anyone. I just—"

  "Just what?" Vlad interrupted, stepping closer with a scowl. "You brought back people to attack us. That's not exactly the kind of thing you just 'accidentally' do."

  Thomas gulped and backed up until he hit the wall. "Okay, okay! I was desperate. I wanted the money, and I thought if I could bring back people, I could... I could control them. I didn't know they'd come back like this. I didn't know—"

  Before he could finish, Thomas's face contorted with fear as he threw out his hand. The air shimmered, and two figures emerged from the shadows — Josh and Lauri's father, in a grotesque, zombified state. They staggered forward, their eyes hollow and dead.

  "No!" Josh shouted, drawing his mystical sword. "Not again!"

  Lojan, ever the opportunist, drew a gun from his coat. In a swift, practiced motion, he aimed and fired, the gunshot echoing through the room. The bullet struck Thomas squarely in the forehead, and he crumpled to the floor, his eyes wide in shock as he fell.

  "Nice shot," William commented dryly, lowering his metal manipulation to let the shards settle. He turned his attention to the two resurrected figures, his face hardening. "But why didn't Thomas bring back someone stronger? Why not Benito Garcia?"

  The question hung in the air, heavy with implications. The group looked at one another, the realization dawning on them.

  "Benito Garcia," Lauri echoed. "He's the one who was involved in the Power Royale, the one who could manipulate distances and molecules. If anyone was a threat to us, it would be him."

  Vlad, still leaning against the wall, flicked ash from his cigarette. "And what if he isn't dead? What if Thomas couldn't bring him back because he's still alive?"

  Josh's eyes widened as he processed the thought. "If Benito's still alive... then we might have a bigger problem than we thought."

  The room fell into a heavy silence, each person contemplating the grim possibilities. The rain outside began to pick up again, the sound mingling with the tension in the room.

  William finally spoke, his voice low and resolute. "We need to find out if Benito Garcia is still alive. If he is, we need to locate him before he becomes our next problem."

  The team nodded in agreement, their resolve hardening. They knew the path ahead would be fraught with danger and uncertainty. But for now, they had a new lead to follow, and a renewed sense of urgency.

  As they left the warehouse, the rain pounded down harder, drumming out their footsteps. The night was far from over, and the real fight was just beginning.

  To be continued...