Liam suddenly ducked—instinct, reflex, and sothing more. A sharp crack rang through the dim room as a bullet scread past where his head had been, punching a hole clean through the plaster wall. Dust scattered into the air, and for a brief second, silence followed. If he had moved a second later, his brains would’ve been splattered across the precinct wall.
He twisted his head, eyes narrowing behind the mask. Four—no, three officers at the far end of the corridor, hunkered behind whatever cover they could find. They were shouting into their walkie-talkies, voices tense and clipped.
"Target spotted! East wing! Repeat—he’s in the east wing!"
Liam gritted his teeth. He couldn’t stay still—not here. They’d box him in and make this whole night for nothing. So he moved.
Bullets cut through the air as he launched himself forward, boots skimming across the tiled floor. He dove low, sliding on one knee, barely avoiding a shot that grazed the top of his shoulder. It singed his jacket but missed flesh.
As he approached the first officer, he twisted, caught the man’s gun mid-air with one hand, yanked it free, and smashed the butt of the rifle directly into the man’s face. The crunch of bone followed. Blood sprayed. The man crumpled.
Liam pivoted, spinning on one heel to face the second officer, who’d only just registered what happened. Too late. Liam already had the gun in both hands. With brutal force, he drove the weapon into the cop’s mouth, breaking teeth with a wet crunch. The man scread, fell, rolled on the ground in agony.
The third cop opened fire wildly, each shot echoing through the hallway like thunder. But Liam was gone. The muzzle flashes revealed nothing but empty air. He blinked in confusion.
Then—wind.
A breeze.
The officer turned in ti to see a masked face rise behind him like a ghost from hell. The intruder waved, mockingly, and before the cop could even breathe a word, a blunt strike caught him on the temple. He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
Shouts echoed behind Liam—more n coming. Backup. Fast and angry. He didn’t have ti.
He whirled and ran down the corridor, boots pounding hard and fast against the tile. The back door was ahead, the red "EXIT" sign flickering weakly. He reached it and ramd his body against the door, shoulder-first.
The hinges scread. The lock gave.
He stumbled out into the night, cool air slapping his face—and then bang—a single shot.
The sting was imdiate.
Pain lanced through his thigh. He stumbled, hissed through clenched teeth, nearly falling to a knee.
"Tch," a voice said from the shadows.
Liam’s gaze snapped toward the source.
A young man stepped into the weak light outside the building, holding a pistol with calm precision. Slim, well-dressed, dark hair slicked back and a smug confidence that reeked of arrogance.
Ryan.
Detective Ryan.
Vanessa had ntioned him—fresh, proud, and eager to prove himself. Liam recognized him instantly.
"Nightcrawler," Ryan said, smirking. "I thought you’d be more of a challenge."
He clicked his tongue, slowly raising his weapon again.
"Too easy."
The pain in Liam’s leg pulsed, red-hot, but he ignored it. He could hear footsteps behind him again—more officers, gaining ground fast. He didn’t have ti to hesitate.
"Fuck it," he muttered.
Then he lunged.
Ryan fired.
But Liam had already moved. He pivoted his body at the last second, ducking just as the trigger was pulled. The bullet missed by a hair, zipping past his ear—and slamd straight into the shoulder of an officer who had just burst through the back door.
The man scread, stumbling back as blood sprayed across the concrete.
Ryan’s eyes widened.
Liam was already in front of him.
He grabbed Ryan’s wrist mid-aim, twisted it violently, forcing the pistol to clatter to the ground. With his other hand, he drove a vicious punch into Ryan’s stomach, then followed with an elbow to the chin. Ryan staggered backward, groaning.
"You talk too much," Liam growled.
More officers were coming. He could hear the radios, the footsteps, the shouts.
He turned, adrenaline carrying him forward as he limped slightly, forcing his legs to keep moving. Every nerve scread in his thigh, but his mind burned with one thing only:
Escape.
Liam’s lungs burned as he sprinted through the alley, blood trailing down his thigh in a warm, sticky stream. The gunshot wound throbbed with each step, but adrenaline numbed the pain. Behind him, he could hear the echoing shouts of officers and the pounding of boots chasing him like a pack of wolves. He didn’t have ti to stop. He didn’t have ti to bleed.
As he reached the side of a three-story building, he leaped, his fingers gripping onto the cracks in the cent. His gloves gave him extra traction, but it was his unnatural strength and agility—his system-enhanced abilities—that allowed him to dig his fingers into the concrete like claws. With a powerful yank, he started climbing, digging into the structure as if the wall itself were soft clay. Below him, the officers skidded to a halt, staring in disbelief.
"What the hell...?" one officer muttered.
Another shouted, "Is he climbing? How the hell is he climbing like that?!"
Detective Ryan arrived just in ti to see Liam halfway up the wall. His face twisted in anger and frustration. "Don’t just stand there! Chase him! He mustn’t escape!"
The officers snapped out of their shock and started shouting orders, pointing their rifles toward the rooftop. But Liam was too fast. He crawled like a spider, scaling the side of the building in seconds. Once he reached the rooftop, he launched himself forward, running across and leaping onto the next roof without missing a beat.
He continued like this, vaulting from one building to another, navigating the rooftops like they were his personal playground. He ignored the pain in his leg. His mind was clear. Focused. Alive.
Two buildings later, Liam finally stopped. He dropped behind a large rusted container and sat against it, his chest heaving, body trembling with exhaustion. He didn’t have much ti, but he needed a mont. Just one.
The cool breeze of the night brushed over him, and he tilted his head back, eyes closed for a second. His bloodied leg pulsed dully, but he didn’t care. He’d done it. Sam was dead. His system would reward him soon. He could feel it.
Then a sharp, distorted voice echoed from below.
"Nightcrawler!" the voice ca through a gaphone. "You’re surrounded. Give it up. We’ve got the entire periter locked down. There’s nowhere left to run."
Liam’s eyes opened slowly, and a smirk curved his lips. He recognized the voice—Ryan. The young, cocky detective who had already shot him once tonight. Still speaking like he was in control.
"You hearing , Nightcrawler?" Ryan continued. "You look around that rooftop. See anyone coming to save you? See any friends? No one’s coming. You’re done."
Liam let out a dry laugh, and then he laughed louder. The kind of laugh that made n shiver. The sound carried over the rooftop and down the walls, loud enough for the officers below to hear. They tensed, eyes flicking to each other.
Ryan narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to the building. "What the hell is he laughing at?"
Then ca Liam’s voice, cold and mocking.
"Escape? Who said anything about escape? I’m not running anymore. I’m going to show you exactly who you just ssed with."
Silence followed, eerie and tense.
Suddenly, sothing small and tallic clinked down onto the ground beside Ryan. He looked down. A bullet. Bloody.
He barely had ti to react before he looked up and caught a glimpse—a shadow vaulting over the rooftop, leaping across the buildings like a demon in the night. Ryan’s jaw clenched.
"He’s moving again! Split up! So of you stay down here! The rest, with !"
Three officers peeled off and remained outside, surrounding the building as Ryan and the rest rushed inside. The stairwell groaned under their boots as they stord upward, shouting commands.
"Move! Go! Watch every corner!"
They cleared each floor quickly, weapons raised, breath sharp. Ryan was at the front, fueled by a cocktail of adrenaline and fury. They weren’t going to let him go this ti. They’d chase him to hell if they had to.
Finally, they reached the rooftop. Ryan burst through the door, gun raised.
Nothing.
The rooftop was empty. No shadows. No movent. No Liam.
Just wind. Silence. Moonlight.
Ryan stepped forward cautiously, scanning the edges of the building. He waved for his n to fan out and search.
Still nothing.
It was too quiet. Unnaturally quiet.
Ryan’s eyes narrowed, his instincts screaming that sothing was off. Liam had laughed. He’d taunted them. He’d dropped a bloody bullet from above. But now? It was like he’d vanished into thin air.
One of the officers walked near the edge and pointed his flashlight down into the alley. Still nothing.
Ryan cursed under his breath. "He’s toying with us."
He tightened his grip on his weapon, scanning the darkness.
Where the hell are you...?
The rooftop remained silent, the only sound being the faint rustle of the wind and the distant sirens of backup approaching. But it was too late.
Liam was gone.
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