Bob pressed his foot harder on the gas. The truck jolted forward, tires kicking up dust as they sped through the fog. He didn't like this. The Pink Zone was never empty, and now they were heading straight toward something unknown.
Gabe's voice came through the radio again. "Hold up. We've got Glints ahead."
Bob frowned. "Hostile?"
"Not sure," Gabe said. "They're stationary. Looks like a small group."
Bob slowed the truck as the shapes in the fog became clearer. A few figures stood around a makeshift camp, their Glints active, energy crackling faintly in the fog. Then he saw the emblem on their gear… The Traveling Medics.
Bob pulled the truck to a stop. Iris immediately moved ahead, her posture wary but not aggressive. The others followed, stepping into the open. One of the Medics turned toward them, his Glint flickering like spectral hands moving around his arms.
"Dr. Cal?" Gabe called out.
A familiar figure stepped forward from the group. Dr. Callahan "Cal" Voss, the leader of the Traveling Medics, adjusted his gloves, which pulsed with faint blue energy. His Cecaelia Glint, a mutation that gave him precise, floating appendages for surgical work, was active.
"Well, if it isn't Bob and his crew. I was wondering when we'd run into you again."
Bob's gaze shifted to the camp. Several guards, all in Glint form, stood nearby, their stances tense but not immediately hostile. A single heavily secured tent sat at the center of the camp, guarded by two enforcers, their forms hardened with protective auras.
"What's going on here?" Bob asked.
Dr. Cal exhaled. "Surgical operation. We're treating a critical patient, Veyron Moreau, the leader of the Little Fingers. He's in bad shape."
Bob's brows lifted. "What happened to him?"
Dr. Cal motioned for them to step closer. He kept his voice low. "Residual energy. A Boss-level Fade hit him hard. His body should be healing, but the lingering Fog energy is preventing it. If we don't remove it, he'll die."
Bob crossed his arms. "Residual energy?"
Dr. Cal nodded. "Yeah, it happens sometimes. When a Fade is powerful enough, it can leave behind traces of its energy inside a person, disrupting their ability to heal naturally. It's rare, but it's deadly."
Sly whistled. "Never heard of that before."
"Most people haven't," Dr. Cal said. "But we can remove it. We're close to finishing, but we need more time."
Bob exchanged looks with the others. Then, a realization hit him like a brick. "Dr. Cal… the Red Hands are coming this way."
Dr. Cal's face darkened. "They what?"
"If they see what you can do," Bob continued, "they'll force you to work for them. You need to get out of here!"
Dr. Cal shook his head, his spectral appendages twitching with barely contained urgency. "We can't leave until the operation is complete. If we stop now, Veyron won't survive."
Bob clenched his jaw, glancing toward the Little Finger guards, their Glints crackling in the fog, standing like statues on high alert. Their energy shimmered in the thick mist, watching Bob's crew closely but making no aggressive move. For now, they were neutral, waiting for a reason to act. As long as Bob's crew didn't interfere with the operation, they seemed content to hold position.
The tension stretched. The hum of Dr. Cal's energy tools was the only sound between them, punctuated by the faint, ragged breathing from within the secured tent. The operation was reaching a critical stage, the air thick with the acrid scent of burning Fog residue as Dr. Cal worked to purge the corruption from Veyron's body. Bob's fingers twitched against his gauntlets. He didn't like this. The entire situation felt like a noose tightening around them, the calm before the inevitable storm.
Then Gabe's voice cut through the haze, sharp and urgent. "They're here!"
Bob turned, eyes narrowing as the distant mist shifted unnaturally. Heavy footfalls. Multiple figures advancing. The oppressive silence of the Pink Zone fractured as the first Red Hands enforcers emerged, their Glints fully activated, bodies pulsing with unnatural energy. Their movements were too precise, too coordinated.
At the center of the force, Darius "Ironjaw" stepped forward. His massive, titan-like form loomed over the battlefield, his half-metallic, half-stone skin gleaming in the dim light. His Titan Beast Glint radiated raw power, making the ground quake beneath his steps.
Darius's deep voice rumbled through the fog. "There you are, Bob."
Bob didn't flinch. "You took your time."
Darius's grin was all metal and menace. "Had to make sure everything was in place." He gestured to the soldiers around him, the eerie glow of their Pink Fragment implants pulsing under their skin. "Let me introduce you to the new era of Red Hands warriors. Stronger. Faster. More efficient than any normal Glint user."
Bob's eyes narrowed as he examined the soldiers. Their movements were precise, unnaturally synchronized, as if their bodies were reacting faster than their own instincts could dictate.
"Implants," Darius continued, tapping his own metallic jaw. "Pink Fragments embedded straight into the body. They push Glint users beyond their limits, increasing output, reducing strain. These men have been modified to be superior at every level." His grin widened, cruel and self-assured. "They'll crush you before you even get a chance to warm up."
Bob scoffed, shifting his stance. "Bold of you to share Red Hands' little secret with me."
Darius let out a metallic chuckle. "Why not? You're all going to die here. At least now you'll know why."
As if on cue, another group emerged from the opposite direction, stepping into formation like pieces in a well-planned trap. Lucian Duvall led the main Little Fingers cartel forces, each of them already in Glint form, their auras pulsing with restrained power. Their approach was deliberate, their expressions unreadable, but their presence alone made one thing clear… this wasn't just a Red Hands fight anymore. The air grew heavier, tension twisting through the fog as their arrival signified a deeper problem.
Lucian stepped forward, his movements precise, calculated. He looked directly at Bob before glancing toward Darius with a neutral expression. "Lucian Duvall," he introduced himself. "Second-in-command of the Little Fingers. We're here to assist."
Bob's gaze shifted from Lucian to the guards standing behind him, then to the Glint being operated on inside the medical tent. The colors, the insignia, the tension in their stance. It all clicked into place.
They were part of the same group. Little Fingers. The pieces aligned in Bob's mind, each realization stacking like bricks in a collapsing wall. He knew that name. But from where?
Then Gabe muttered, almost as if reading Bob's thoughts. "Pink Dust."
The realization hit Bob like a hammer. The Pink Dust trade. Back at that small outpost, they had seen what it did to people. Bodies breaking down from the inside. Power surging beyond control. It gave a boost, but once someone started using it, they couldn't stop. And now, standing in front of him, was one of the masterminds behind it. The cartel responsible.
Bob's entire posture shifted, his fists clenching. His mind barely registered Lucian's words as the man smirked, oblivious to the fury building in Bob's crew. "Oh, you know our product!" Lucian said casually, as if discussing fine wine rather than the same substance that had destroyed lives.
Rage flashed through Bob. His knuckles cracked under the strain of his grip. The Little Fingers weren't just another faction caught in this mess. They were the source.
Lucian, still unaware of Bob's reaction, turned away, approaching Darius. His voice was calm, professional. "We're here."
Darius gave him a satisfied nod. "Good. No mistakes. We wipe them out."
Lucian hesitated. His eyes flickered toward Bob's crew, then toward the surgical tent where Veyron was still unconscious. His grip on his weapon tightened.
Bob turned back to Dr. Cal, his voice firm. "You need to listen to me, Doc. These aren't just some random group… we're talking about drug lords! You know what Pink Dust does, how it wrecks users, how it turns people into addicts, their bodies burning out because they think they can handle more power than they should. These are the people responsible for that suffering. And you're saving their one of them."
Dr. Cal's hands remained steady over his patient, but there was a hesitation in his breath. His tentacles twitched slightly, a small motion that hinted at doubt. He didn't respond immediately, and for a brief moment, Bob thought he had gotten through.
Then Dr. Cal exhaled, steady and resolved. "A patient is a patient, Bob. It's not my job to decide who lives or dies. It's my job to save whoever is in front of me. That's a doctor's duty."
Bob's jaw clenched. "And what happens when they get back on their feet? When they go back to poisoning people, turning them into husks of what they used to be? You really think saving this guy is the right thing to do?"
Dr. Cal didn't look up. "I don't save people because they deserve it. I save them because no one else will. Now, if you're done trying to convince me, I need to finish this."
Bob clenched his fists and exhaled through his nose. There was no time left to argue. He didn't agree with Dr. Cal, but that didn't mean he would leave him and his people to the Red Hands and the cartel. They had their differences, but dragging them into a bloodbath without a choice wasn't something Bob could accept. Even if Dr. Cal refused to run now, Bob would make sure an escape was still possible when the time came.
His body tensed, the air around him rippling as his Goliath form activated, his frame expanding, muscles hardening like living stone, veins surging with raw power. The weight of his transformation pressed down on the ground beneath him, and the very air seemed to vibrate with the shift in energy.
Darius's grin widened, savoring the moment. He lifted his arm, his voice carrying through the fog. "Kill them all."
The enhanced soldiers surged forward, their bodies flickering with unnatural speed, and the battlefield erupted.