CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: CASINO FIREFIGHT

The casino was a cacophony of flashing lights, synthetic jingles, and the hypnotic clatter of coins spilling into trays. Normally, crowds shuffled from machine to machine, chasing dopamine and luck in equal measure. But tonight, the floor was silent—abandoned. Security guards lay crumpled near doors and hallways, unconscious or groaning faintly.

Taylor moved like a ghost through the building.

She wore a dark hoodie reinforced with scrap padding, gloves to keep her prints off anything, and a narrow black band obscuring her eyes. Her forcefield was a protective layer of space itself wrapped around her skin. 

She hadn’t planned to get involved tonight.

Her aim had been simple: trail rumors of an illegal shipment tied to the Empire, map out potential supply routes, maybe find out where the weapons were stashed. But then she saw them.

The Undersiders.

Grue stood draped in his signature cloud of darkness, the thick smoke coiling and flickering as though it were alive. Bitch stalked nearby, her monstrous dogs at her side—massive, snarling creatures that barely resembled the animals they’d once been. Regent lounged with casual laziness, one boot propped against a broken table leg, twirling his scepter idly. And at the center, head tilted like she was privy to an information no one else knew, was Tattletale.

Her eyes locked onto Grue. Brian.

She’d known, of course. He hadn’t hidden the name of his group when they’d talked in the gym. And after their conversation, she had read up on them. But hearing about the Undersiders and seeing them in action—mid-heist, vault open, bags already full—were two different things.

She stepped into the open just as one of the dogs growled in her direction.

For a split second, she wondered if he recognized her. If something in her stance, her movement, or her presence would give her away.

But there was nothing. 

And maybe that stung more than it should have.

Regent turned lazily, blinked, then straightened. “Uh, hey—”

Pandemonium erupted.

Taylor moved before thought caught up. Blue shimmered at a nearby slot machine, and it was yanked into the dogs’ path. The crash sent tokens and sparks flying. Grue’s darkness expanded, flooding the place in shadows that hindered sight.

But that didn't stop her.

Her Six Eyes cut through the distortion. Shapes and outlines shimmered in her field of view, distances etched into perfect clarity. A dog lunged. Taylor twisted aside, brushing its flank with the edge of her field. The creature yelped, thrown slightly off-course by the unnatural resistance.

She didn’t use Red. Not because she couldn’t—but because she shouldn’t. Not here. Not unless she wanted blood on her hands again.

But it turned out she didn’t have to.

Tattletale stepped into view, the picture of effortless calm—but Taylor wasn’t fooled. She saw it in the way her shoulders held tension just beneath the surface, in the flicker of her eyes that scanned too quickly. It was a performance, meant to disarm. 

And though it worked on others, it wouldn't work on her. 

“I’m not here to fight,” she said, tone even, conversational. “And neither are you.”

Taylor didn’t answer. Her silence wasn’t agreement, but it wasn’t denial either. So her stance stayed defensive, hands clenched at her sides beneath the shimmer of her forcefield.

Tattletale was right. 

Taylor had stormed in with the intent to stop them, but the moment she saw real capes in action—the moment she saw Grue—she’d hesitated. Not out of fear for herself, but because she wasn’t sure she could stop them, at least not without killing them.  

“You’ve got that look,” Tattletale continued. “The one you get after your first real fight. After you realize you can’t undo what you’ve done.”

Taylor didn’t flinch, but her fists tightened.

“I get it,” the other girl said. “We all have something. Yours? It’s guilt. That mugger, right? The one you didn’t mean to kill.”

Taylor’s voice came out like steel. “I’m not joining you.”

“Didn’t say you were,” Tattletale replied, the grin in her words never wavering. “I’m saying you look like someone who needs people in your corner. Who needs control. And right now, you don’t have either.”

Taylor’s gaze flicked toward Grue, still wrapped in his darkness, unmoving. He wasn’t interfering, and that said more than any words could. 

“You work with Brian,” she said. Not accusatory. Just tired.

Tattletale’s expression softened beneath her mask, just a little. “He didn’t tell us anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Taylor didn’t respond.

“I figured it out on my own,” Tattletale added. “You’re not exactly subtle, and I’ve got a knack for patterns. Plus, Brian’s been training harder, showing up bruised, distracted. That’s the kind of guilt that doesn’t come from sparring with strangers.”

Taylor stiffened. But she didn’t move. Yet.

“You don’t want to be a villain,” Tattletale said. “But the hero thing? That hasn’t worked out so well, has it?”

Brian stepped forward. His voice was quiet, but it carried.

“Join us, Taylor.”

The words landed harder than they should have. Not because they were unexpected—but because they weren’t. He meant them. That was clear.

“You wouldn’t have to keep hiding,” he added. “You wouldn’t be alone.”

Taylor didn’t answer right away. She looked at him, really looked. The black armor. The shadowed eyes beneath the helmet. But all she saw was Brian—the guy who’d sparred with her, who’d made her laugh once or twice when she didn't even know she needed to.

Her thoughts were a knot of instincts, memories, and what-ifs. Part of her wanted to believe him. That this was a lifeline. A choice.

But then—

She felt it.

She didn’t know how, couldn’t explain it, but something shifted. A ripple in her awareness, like her power had stretched outward without her meaning to. A thread of intent brushing against her skin.

She turned her head slightly. 

Her gaze flicked past the casino lights, beyond the sprawled security guards and half-toppled slot machines. 

She focused.

There—northeast corner. Rooftop.

Someone was watching her.

No. Not just watching—tracking.

She could see everything: the rifle, its scope trained directly on her chest. The breath held behind the trigger finger.

A sniper.

She didn’t know if it was one of the Undersiders people. She didn’t know if Brian knew. But it didn’t matter.

The invitation came with a scope aimed at her chest.

She turned back to Brian, who hadn’t moved. 

“My answer is no. Not like this.”

Brian’s shoulders shifted, confusion bleeding into his posture. Not guilt. Not betrayal. He didn’t know.

She was about to say more—about to ask why—when the building trembled.

It was subtle at first, a tremor in the soles of her boots. Then the sound came—deep, guttural, and rising.

A roar.

Lights flickered. Glass rattled in the slot machines.

And then he arrived.

A figure crashed through the casino’s front doors like a living inferno. His body was already changing, already growing—claws extending, scales gleaming like molten metal, and a catlike face with four mouthparts in an X shape.

The heat surged, suffocating and immediate. Carpet ignited in his footsteps.

Taylor’s breath caught.

Lung.