Steam curled from Arthur's damp white hair as he stepped out of the shower, toweling off the last traces of water.
The penthouse's guest room was now his bedroom, which was spacious, with a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Golden City's glittering skyline.
Upon exiting, he noticed that Becky was already there, simply folding a set of sleepwear on his bed.
"Dinner will be ready soon," she said without looking up, "Do you have any preferences?"
Arthur draped the towel over his shoulders, "I like my food spicy. I don't mind if it's sweet."
Becky nodded, making a mental note before bowing slightly and exiting.
Arthur dressed in loose black sleep pants and a fitted white shirt, the fabric soft against his skin. He had just settled onto the bed when his door burst open.
"Yo, newbie!" Duke's booming voice preceded him as he strode in, followed by Annie and Bruce.
Annie flopped onto Arthur's bed without invitation, her twin ponytails bouncing, "Bro, your bed is far softer than mine."
Bruce hovered awkwardly near the doorway, "S-sorry for intruding. We just… wanted to hang out."
Arthur studied them for a moment before shrugging, "Fine by me."
Duke leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, "So, is dropping the soap a real thing or a made-up story?"
Annie smacked his arm, "Out of all—"
Arthur's expression didn't change as he casually stated, "Oh, that's true. Never happened to me, but I have seen a few guys become princesses overnight. Years without a woman can turn a man into a warrior."
Bruce cleared his throat, "C-can we change the subject, please? Something that doesn't involve how scary prison is."
Annie rolled her eyes, "How about how we met Vanessa and basically became her children?"
She pointed at Duke, "Big guy was first. Vanessa found him breaking into her penthouse trying to steal her food but failed miserably."
Duke grunted, "I was sixteen back then and had responsibilities to some guys. In my eyes, a hot rich girl with no bodyguards and an elevator that led straight to her room—it was an easy hit. But the problem was, I became the easy hit for her. I didn't even make it past her driver, who was standing in the main lobby. He basically humiliated me in front of everyone, but Mom saw how determined I was to rob her and decided to give me a job as her sidekick."
"Then it's me," Annie continued.
"I was a street psychic doing mind reading and scamming quite a number of people in my community. But I got tangled with not-so-nice people; I was forced to work with them, otherwise they were going to rat me out to the police. One day, when Mom came for a reading for the first time, I saw her as the biggest opportunity of my life and needed to suck as much money from her as possible. But somehow, she managed to outplay me and made me confess. To which she gave me two options: prison or become her sidekick. You can guess which one I picked."
Bruce adjusted his glasses, "And I… was stuck in a collapsing building during a villain attack. My entire family was gone that day, and I thought I was going to join them, but Mom pulled me out and saved me. I believe she felt sorry for me and gave me a room to stay. Slowly, over time, seeing these guys and herself working in the field saving lives sparked something within my heart, and soon after, I asked if I could be her sidekick."
Arthur glanced at them, "I won't lie when I say that she has some odd taste with her sidekicks."
Duke lightly chuckled, "Pretty much."
Annie stretched, "Alright, how about we learn about each other's powers since we're a team now?" She focused, and a green aura shimmered around her body, causing her to hover in the air.
"My Trigger is called Psychic. One of my abilities lets me read thoughts, communicate through thoughts, and read memories. My second ability lets me lift objects and even shoot energy blasts."
Duke cracked his knuckles, "Critical Impact. Each successful strike builds a damage multiplier. The first strike is one hundred percent of my body strength, and any follow-up deals an extra twenty percent more damage, and the number will keep on stacking until the combo ends."
Bruce pushed up his glasses, "Teleportation. I can jump myself and anyone I'm touching about five hundred yards max. I don't have a cooldown anymore since I've gotten better at using it."
Arthur was silent for a beat before responding, "Absolute Authority. My left eye disables Triggers if anyone makes eye contact with it, and my right eye summons my knight, Galahad."
Annie's gaze sharpened, "Galahad?"
Arthur smiled, "Miss Star gave me the name Arthur. I feel like it's befitting for his caliber."
Duke crossed his arms, "That'll make things easier during missions when we need to call each other. You should know that Bruce is our support who handles evacuation and quick repositioning. Annie's our rescue who mainly deals with intel and civilian extraction. I'm the vanguard, meaning fighting and dealing with the villains."
Arthur frowned, "And me?"
Annie grinned, "Well, you are someone who can play multiple roles. That's why we thought it's best if you were the wildcard in the group."
Before Arthur could respond, Vanessa's voice echoed from downstairs, "Dinner's ready, children!"
"Let's continue this tomorrow; maybe we might get a mission," Annie said as she hovered off the bed while the rest followed behind her.
The docks were a labyrinth of rusted shipping containers and flickering lights.
The scent of salt and oil hung heavy in the air, mixing with the sharper, more dangerous tang of chemicals leaking from unsealed crates.
Biscuit stood with his arms crossed, his dough-like skin rippling as another crate was loaded onto the freighter.
His men worked quickly but nervously, their breath visible in the cold night air.
One of the guys, who had a scar across his cheek, hesitated as he lifted a container marked with a black skull-and-crossbones.
The guy placed the chemical before approaching Biscuit, "Boss… this stuff's volatile. If we're not careful—"
Biscuit backhanded him without looking. The thug crumpled, his body skidding across the wet concrete.
"I don't pay you to think," Biscuit growled. "I pay you to move."
The other men worked faster.
Then—a slow clap echoed from the shadows.
Biscuit's head snapped toward the sound. A figure emerged from between two stacks of containers, draped in a long black coat, his face obscured by a hood.
"Impressive workforce," the man said, his voice smooth and cold. "Pity it's being wasted on petty smuggling."
Biscuit's men reached for their weapons, but he held up a hand, "Who the hell are you?"
The stranger didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a thin manila folder, tossing it at Biscuit's feet.
"I have a job for you."
Biscuit scowled but picked it up, flipping it open. Inside was a photo of a white-haired young man with heterochromatic eyes—one red, one blue. Beneath it, a detailed dossier:
NAME: Arthur (formerly known as "The Disabler/Demon Child") TRIGGER: Absolute Authority
Left Eye: Temporary Trigger Nullification Right Eye: Spectral Knight Summoning THREAT LEVEL: S-Rank (Formerly Classified)
Biscuit's eyes narrowed, "The kid who killed Empire Gold?"
The stranger nodded, "The Association is assigning him a mission at Stonewall Island in three days. I want him eliminated before he sets foot there."
Biscuit snorted, tossing the folder back, "Not interested. I don't do hits."
The stranger didn't move. "This isn't a request."
Biscuit's right arm transformed into a wolf arm as he stepped forward, "Yeah? And what's gonna make me say yes?"
The stranger's hood shifted slightly, revealing a smile underneath.
Then, from the darkness behind him, two more figures stepped forward.
One, a woman with glowing violet eyes, her fingers crackling with energy.
The other, a massive silhouette, his breath rattling like a dying engine.
Biscuit froze.
"Because," the stranger said lightly, "if you don't, my associates will turn this dock—and everyone on it—into a crater."
A beat of silence.
Then Biscuit grinned, deforming his arm, "Fine. But I'm charging double."
The stranger's smile widened, a cold satisfaction settling in his chest. Arthur's end was a step closer, a pawn removed from the board before he could unravel the Association's web. The boy's power—those eyes—threatened years of careful planning, but with Biscuit's greed and the associates' might, the risk would be neutralized. Still, a flicker of doubt gnawed at him: could a child so marked by fate truly be erased so easily, or was this a move that would awaken a greater storm?