Scene 15
They walked down a long corridor, flanked on the right by railings. Behind them, windows offered glimpses of rooms crammed with heavy machinery, weapons that seemed almost alive under the light filtering through the glass. Benjamin’s jaw clenched until it hurt.
“What is all this?” His voice was barely a whisper of disbelief.
Atlas raised both arms, as if presenting a forbidden treasure.
“Uh… I was hoping for a better moment to tell you, but… this is Blacklist.”
He paused, letting the words settle between them.
“Though Blacklist is much more than this.”
Benjamin tore his gaze from the windows, confused.
“Blacklist? What does that mean?”
“I’ll explain later. Just follow me—”
Suddenly, the corridor was bathed in red. Piercing alarms shredded the air.
“What’s happening?”
Atlas’s gaze froze, hard and cold as steel.
“This isn’t normal.” He turned to Benjamin. “We have to move. Now.”
They ran. Every step made the structure beneath their feet vibrate. Just as the exit seemed near, something stopped them. Not something… someone. Many someones.
Soldiers. White-and-gray armored suits, weapons raised. Red lasers cut the air, aiming for their heads.
Benjamin raised his fists.
“Don’t mess with me. I don’t have time for this.”
“Shut up,” Atlas growled, tension vibrating in his voice.
A dry, deliberate clap echoed. Green energy spread through the air. Gunfire. But it didn’t touch them. The agents exploded in a spray of blood and guts, splattering the walls.
Benjamin froze. His fists dropped, trembling.
“Don’t just stand there. Move.” Atlas ordered.
Benjamin swallowed hard. His mind raced: Who was this guy? He needed to know. His gaze hardened, brow furrowed like stone. Atlas went ahead; he followed.
They reached a dark room. A massive screen lit the workspace below, where people ran, trying to make sense of the chaos. Atlas positioned himself behind his console, commanding the scene. Benjamin stood beside him, still holding his breath.
Northwest came running, mask covering his face.
“Atlas! What’s going on?”
Atlas pointed at Benjamin.
“I think they’re after him.”
Northwest scrutinized him, then turned back to Atlas. He sighed, exhausted.
“Fix this mess.”
Atlas narrowed his eyes. Northwest left. The screen displayed a world map, multiple red points blinking.
“Not the time, but… this is all we can fix.”
Benjamin looked up.
“They’re… threats?”
“Of course.”
“You have all this power… why aren’t you doing something?”
Atlas barely glanced at him.
“These are the most dangerous threats. We have no power against them.” He paused. “Why do you think we haven’t done anything to you?”
“You said you could kill me… in the cell.”
“That wasn’t me. Now it’s easy, because you’ve lost your other abilities.”
Benjamin’s eyes went wide.
“I didn’t…”
He had no words.
“Now you have the chance to be a hero,” Atlas rasped. “A real one. This is your moment.”
Your moment. The words burned in his throat.
“Shit…” he muttered.
Doors slammed simultaneously. They both looked.
“Damn it,” Atlas exclaimed.
“Half and half,” Benjamin replied, adjusting his strategy.
The fight erupted. Every move was a calculation, every strike or shot deliberate. Blood splattered, noise reverberated. Benjamin began to grasp the rhythm of the power they wielded, how he could use it. Atlas stood there, a green pillar of authority, toppling soldiers with a gesture, giving Benjamin space to act.
Finally, in a brief lull, Benjamin approached Atlas.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” Atlas replied, cold and composed.
Silence stretched across the empty room, broken only by the echoes of the violence they had left behind. Atlas tapped his watch; trackers active.
“Negative, chief.”
“Good.” He fixed his gaze on Benjamin. “Bring that chair. We need to talk.”
When they sat, Atlas began the explanation: a project, a team of heroes, with a strategic purpose. Benjamin listened, absorbing every word. Subtext and tension hung in the air: Atlas knew too much about him, yet he had chosen him.
“Are you sure I’m the right one?”
“Pretty sure. But first—” Atlas stood. “We need to find a heroine. Evelyn Salazar.”