Liam stood still on the edge of a rooftop parking lot, staring down at a block of pale concrete buildings.
One of them was his shitty studio apartment.
The city below hummed along like nothing had changed.
He didn't dare get any closer.
Neo-Gen's sketch was everywhere now.
The jawline was off. The mouth, too wide.
But the eyes—
They got the eyes right. Too right.
Anyone who'd seen him more than twice might start connecting the dots.
He couldn't afford that. Not now.
He slipped into the driver's seat of a dull-gray sedan, stolen but quiet. Low profile.
Before starting the engine, he checked himself in the mirror.
The eyes.
They always gave too much away.
He dug through a glove compartment until he found a pair of tinted sunglasses. He slid them on.
Cheap, scratched—just the kind drivers wore at night to cut the glare. Not exactly suspicious.
The city's glow faded in the rearview mirror as Liam gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white.
Ahead, brake lights pulsed red.
Red-blue strobes flashed in rhythm.
A roadblock.
Liam exhaled slowly.
Three lanes funneled into a slow crawl.
At each checkpoint, uniforms moved with mechanical precision—flashlights sweeping, gloved hands tapping on windows, voices low and clipped.
Some waved cars through. Others leaned in, scanning faces.
The SUV ahead of Liam stopped. Its trunk popped open. A beam cut through the dark interior.
Too thorough.
He gripped the wheel tighter.
Was this for me?
Liam's pulse hammered in his throat. The ice power still hummed under his skin—but freezing a cop would turn this from quiet evasion to open war. He eased his foot onto the gas, just enough to keep creeping forward.
Just another guy. Just another car.
He rolled the window down.
The cop leaned down, flashlight raking across Liam's face. "License and registration."
Liam handed over his brand-new National Superhuman Registry Card – the laminate still glossy, his mugshot barely a month old, with "TIER-D PHYSICAL ENHANCEMENT" laser-engraved in crisp black type.
Just as he predicted, the cop's posture relaxed at the sight of the card.
Neo-Gen's bulletin claimed he was unregistered, but the sight of this card immediately dispelled the officer's doubts.
The cop took it with newfound respect—even a Tier-D physical enhancer could crush a man's skull like a watermelon if provoked.
His flashlight beam finally dropped from Liam's face as he muttered, "Alright, Mr. Carter, we'll just follow procedure."
The cop flipped the card casually, glanced at the photo—then froze.
The cop stared. Too long.
Then he pulled out his phone.
Liam watched as the man swiped through something—
His wanted poster.
Not identical. Just a slight resemblance.
The cop's brow tightened.
"Take off the glasses."
Liam hesitated. Just enough.
His right foot shifted slightly, pressing into the pedal.
He could do it.
He could floor it, swerve left, maybe crash the barricade. Two seconds. Three, max.
Then—
SCREECH!
Tires screamed behind him.
In the mirror, a black sedan launched forward.
Coincidence? Another fugitive—or someone else who couldn't afford scrutiny?
Liam barely finished the thought when it clipped his rear bumper, missing his car by inches, and slammed straight into the cop holding his Superhuman ID.
Instinct took over—his hand shot out, snatching the card back just as the cop hit the ground.
Chaos bloomed.
Shouts. Radios. The sharp scent of burned rubber.
Some officers drew their sidearms—shots cracked through the night. Others jumped into cruisers, engines roaring to life.
Liam didn't wait. He didn't need to.
He eased forward, past the stumbling officers and the writhing headlights.
Slow. Controlled.
No one stopped him.
And when he was far enough—when the red and blue were just colors in the mirror again—
he floored it.
Several patrol cars screamed past Liam, sirens wailing and lights strobing.
That black sedan was still running—still trying to flee.
But Liam knew how this worked. Roadblocks. Spike strips. Maybe even air support.
He didn't want to be anywhere near that chaos.
He glanced at the median. No breaks. No ramps. No way to turn around without raising suspicion.
Then—blue. Lots of it.
Flashing lights clustered ahead, a wall of cruisers forming a blockade.
The black sedan slammed its brakes, reversed—tires shrieking.
Then forward again.
Then back.
It jerked like a trapped animal, ramming gaps, searching for one that didn't exist.
CRASH!
A cruiser T-boned it, flipping the sedan onto its roof.
Before the cops could react, two figures burst from the wreck—windows shattered, moving fast. Straight toward Liam.
Gunfire popped.
"Damn it!" Liam slammed the gear into reverse—
Too late.
The passenger door yanked open. A hand—knuckles split and bleeding—slammed against the headrest as a figure hauled itself into the seat.The rear door flew open—another figure dove in.
"Ram through!" the man in the passenger seat growled—a grizzled face with a scar splitting his eyebrow.
Liam gritted his teeth. "You just failed ramming through. How the hell am I supposed to—"
The man's hand snapped to Liam's throat. The moment his calloused fingers made contact—
A new thrum burned through Liam's veins.
The ice power vanished. Overwritten.
Somewhere deep in his body—a biological alarm reset. 24 hours. New countdown.
Liam's eyes flicked to the dashboard. 2:25 AM.
The man recoiled like he'd been shocked. His pupils shrank.
"What did you do? You—you stole it?"
"That copycat they're hunting!"
A woman's voice cut through from the backseat.
Liam flicked his eyes to the rearview mirror.
A woman stared back at him—late twenties, drenched in sweat and blood, but composed. Striking.
Beautiful.
Even in the chaos.