[Four’s POV]

  'It could be worse,' Four told himself, though the thought was doing little to calm his nerves. 'Yeah… sure. I’ve had worse days. Probably.'

  His palms were slick with sweat, his gloves slipping slightly against the cold steel bar he was clinging to. The metal creaked faintly under his grip. His legs dangled freely, boots swaying above the concrete floor of the massive warehouse.

  Below him, two soldiers stood idly chatting, completely unaware that a man in a black suit was hanging directly over their heads like a bat with terrible luck.

  'I’ve had worse days,' he repeated silently, 'but not many.'

  The hangar was enormous. There were rows of cargo containers stacked like monoliths, the air thick with the hum of generators and the faint, acrid smell of oil. Pale industrial lights flickered overhead, and steel beams crisscrossed the ceiling. Four’s entire body ached from holding on, his muscles trembling, his breath audible inside his mask.

  He shifted slightly, trying to hook one leg around a secondary pipe. The movement sent him swinging gently back and forth, the motion nauseating but necessary. If he could get one boot locked in place, he could take some of the strain off his fingers.

  'If I had One’s or Two’s abilities, this would be easy,' he thought bitterly. 'I’d be halfway to the objective by now.'

  He paused, grimacing. 'Then again, I’d also be dead in months.'

  He sighed quietly, the sound fogging the inside of his visor.

  Below, one of the soldiers spoke, his voice echoing faintly in the gigantic storage.

  “They’re saying even the nobles from the Republic are coming.”

  The other soldier snorted. “Takes guts, doesn’t it? Even if the master isn’t allied with the Empire, showing up at a place this close to the Emperor after the peace talks collapsed? That’s suicide.”

  Four clenched his teeth. 'Great. Politics. Just what I needed while dangling for my life.'

  He adjusted his grip again, his forearms burning. Every second he hung there felt longer than the last. The soldiers’ conversation droned on, their words blending into the background hum of machinery.

  'F—' He bit down the curse, his jaw tightening. 'GET OUT! Just get out already.'

  He could almost picture it, the soldiers wandering off, giving him the silence he needed to drop down and finish the job. But no, they were settled in, leaning against a crate, comfortable, oblivious.

  'Of course they’d pick this spot. Out of an entire warehouse the size of a city block, they pick this one.' He took another deep breath, forcing himself to stay still. The metal bar vibrated faintly with his pulse.

  Four’s thoughts were a storm, a constant scream of don’t let go, don’t let go, until, with a final surge of effort, he managed to hook both legs around the steel beam. His body swung slightly from the motion, the metal groaning beneath his weight.

  Upside down, he finally released his grip.

  Blood rushed to his head as he hung there, arms dangling, lungs heaving. For the first time in what felt like hours, he allowed himself to breathe. His fingers ached, the joints stiff and raw. He peeled off one glove, flexing his hand and stretching each finger until the pain subsided.

  “Ah, man, I wish I’d been assigned upstairs,” one of the soldiers below complained. “They say there’ll be big names there, like actual celebrities. Can you imagine seeing one up close?”

  “What for? You’d just freeze up again,” the other soldier shot back. “Remember the Princess? You could barely talk.”

  “Oh, screw you! You were stuttering!” Their laughter bounced off the metal walls.

  Four rolled his eyes behind his mask. 'Children with guns,' he thought, tightening the straps around his boots. He slipped the glove back on, the fabric sticking slightly to his sweaty skin, then reached up and grabbed the beam again.

  His muscles screamed in protest, but he began moving.

  Hand over hand, he advanced across the steel beam, each shift of weight sending a faint metallic creak through the structure. He kept his body low, his movements fluid. Below, the soldiers were still talking, their voices fading as he moved deeper into the shadows.

  'Not the route I planned,' he thought, adjusting his grip. 'But it’ll have to do.'

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  He was halfway across when the sound broke the air.

  A soft scrape. Barely audible, but enough.

  “You hear that?” One of the soldiers asked.

  Four froze.

  The words cut through the air like a blade. His pulse spiked, pounding in his ears.

  One of the soldiers turned, scanning the shadows. “Sounded like… metal.”

  Four’s mind raced. 'Damn it. Was that me? The boots?'

  The soldiers moved closer, their rifles angled upward.

  'They’re going to look up.' Before the soldiers could look up, Four held his breath and activated his boon.

  It was one of the least powerful, but also one of the most effective.

  [I’m Not Here]

  In an instant, he vanished.

  Not in a flash of light or a shimmer of energy. He ceased to exist to the naked eye. The air seemed to swallow his presence whole. The faint outline of his body blurred and then blended perfectly with the steel and shadow around him.

  The tradeoff was brutal.

  His lungs burned almost immediately. The longer he held his breath, the faster the fatigue built up.

  [Out of Breath] was the glitch that haunted him. Invisibility at the cost of endurance. The cruel irony of his gift. It made him useless in a fight, but invaluable in infiltration.

  Below, the soldiers still hadn’t noticed.

  “Probably came from the comms,” one of them said, tapping the device on his helmet. “Listen. Maybe they’re trying to reach us.”

  Four let out a silent exhale of relief.

  “Weird,” the second soldier muttered. “It’s all static. No transmission.”

  “Maybe the central hub’s down?” The other asked.

  “No, we can’t leave. Orders were clear. Stay on this floor.” The first soldier’s tone hardened. “We’ve got gifts being moved here. If even one of them goes missing, we’ll have a diplomatic disaster on our hands.”

  Four rolled his eyes behind the mask. 'Great. Babysitters.'

  He moved again, careful, deliberate. His boots made no sound on the steel beam as he crept forward, inch by inch, toward the end of the rafters. Every muscle in his body screamed for oxygen, but he pushed through the pain.

  'Just a little farther.' He wished.

  The corridor below opened into a larger space. It was an atrium filled with crates and transport drones. He could see his target now. On the other side was a restricted-access door guarded by two automated turrets, their sensors sweeping the floor.

  'Almost there.' He shifted his weight and reached for the next bar.

  Yet, the world decided to erupt in sound.

  The wail of sirens blared through the entire facility, red lights flashing across the walls.

  Four froze, his heart slamming against his ribs. 'No, no, no. What the hell triggered that?'

  Below, the soldiers spun around, shouting into their comms. “Alarm’s live! What’s going on?”

  'No. Impossible. No one saw me!' Four’s thoughts raced, anger and disbelief twisting in his chest. 'Right? No one saw me… right?'

  But the alarms screamed otherwise.

  The blaring sirens filled every hallway, vibrating through the steel beams overhead. Red emergency lights strobed across the walls.

  Every door in the corridor slammed open at once.

  Heavy boots thundered against the floor as soldiers poured in from every direction. The air filled with the sharp click of rifles being cocked, the hum of Energy weapons charging. The quiet, empty facility had become a hive of chaos in seconds.

  Four kept clinging to the rafters. His body was still half-hidden by the beams on the ceiling. He couldn’t move. Not now. Not with this many of them.

  Hundreds of soldiers swept through the corridors. Tactical drones hovered close to the ground, their sensors glowing blue as they scanned every shadow, every vent, every corner.

  “What the hell’s going on?” one of the original guards shouted.

  “Maximum alert! The entire base is on lockdown!” another soldier barked, a rifle clutched tightly in his hands. His visor reflected the flashing red lights, making him look almost mechanical.

  “Why?” the first soldier demanded. “Is that why comms went down?”

  “No clue yet,” came the reply. “But the entire communication grid’s fried. The only thing Command managed to push through before the blackout was this. Someone had infiltrated the base.”

  The soldier swept his rifle across the room, the barrel tracking slowly across the dark corners of the warehouse.

  “Who’d be stupid enough to try that?” someone muttered. “Especially now, with all the celebrities and nobles arriving.”

  Four clenched his jaw. 'Me?'

  The thought was bitter.

  He wanted to move, to slip away, but the soldiers were everywhere. If he so much as shifted his weight, someone would hear it.

  Then one of the soldiers spoke again, his tone sharper, colder.

  “The Green Ranger.”

  Four froze.

  “They spotted him on one of the lower-level security feeds.” The soldier explained

  'The Green Ranger?' Four’s pulse spiked. 'No. No, that can’t be right.'

  He felt his stomach twist, a cold knot forming in his gut.'They sent someone else?'