The screech of metal and distant rumble of collapsing masonry echoed through the tunnels. The group was pinned behind a pillar at the edge of the metro platform, the air choked with dust and gunpowder. Agent June pressed his back to the concrete, breathing hard, his neural interface flickering with diagnostic data. Agent September crouched by the exposed panel of a power box, setting a drone the size of a wristwatch loose into the dim recesses of the platform. February reloaded, calm despite the tremor in her fingers. January stared ahead, jaw tight, eyes cold. He felt it before he saw it.
Heavy footsteps. Not rushed, not sloppy. Intentional.
"MOVE!" January shouted.
But it wasn't alone.
Black List enforcers poured from the stairwell behind him—eight men, armored, rifles raised.
"June," January said calmly, "take care of the trash."
The hulking agent didn't reply.
He moved.
With a snarl, June lunged forward. His cybernetic enhancements activated—pulses of energy sparking along the neural ports of his spine. He met the first enforcer head-on, ducked a rifle blast, and snapped the man's arm in two places before hurling him headfirst into the wall with a sickening crunch.
Three others opened fire.
June spun behind a steel column, then launched himself upward in a jump that no normal human should have survived. His boot collided with one attacker's skull mid-air, sending the man flying. He grabbed the falling man's weapon mid-spin, rolled across the concrete, and used it to fire at the others—clean, controlled bursts.
The fourth enforcer tried to flank him.
Too slow.
June turned, caught the man's wrist, twisted it until bone snapped, then jabbed an elbow into his throat. The man crumpled. Two more charged in desperation.
June grabbed a broken pipe and hurled it like a spear. It pierced the chest armor of one soldier. The last one dropped his weapon and tried to flee.
June didn't let him.
He surged forward, tackled the man into the ground, and drove his fist into the helmeted face—once, twice, three times—until the helmet cracked. Blood pooled underneath.
The Black List men were down.
All of them.
And then the world narrowed.
Red Koschei stepped forward, weapon in hand. Massive. Still untouched.
"I've got his signal!" September called from the comms node. "I can lure him. Buy you seconds!"
He deployed a trio of small spider-like drones from his belt, each darting toward the Koschei. They blinked red. One sparked.
The monster fired, shredding two with ease.
But the third leapt onto his arm and pulsed a concussive charge.
"NOW!" September shouted, giving January and February a window.
They attacked in tandem.
February darted low, a blade slipping from her boot. January surged forward high, firing precise shots. The combination forced Red Koschei to pivot defensively, absorbing February's blade across his thigh, but with no effect. Armor? Or something else?
Red Koschei grabbed February mid-roll and flung her against a wall. January leapt in, kicking off a column and landing a sharp elbow strike to the mask. The blow rang out like a gong.
Then Koschei grabbed him.
The world twisted. January flew backward, crashing through a subway bench.
June was already moving.
His body blurred, neural enhancements firing on full sync. He met Red Koschei mid-charge, their fists colliding in a shockwave of kinetic force that cracked the tiles beneath them. The two titans exchanged a rapid flurry of punches, blocks, and parries. Each movement tested muscle and microprocessor alike. June gritted his teeth, adapting mid-combat—he was fast, trained, brutal. But Koschei was more than enhanced. He was a weapon.
And stronger.
A brutal uppercut lifted June off the ground and slammed him through a pillar.
"We're not going to beat him head-on," September said. He tossed a holo-lure across the platform, projecting three false versions of himself sprinting down alternate paths. Koschei paused, then fired, shattering the illusions. It bought a moment.
A roar.
From the shadows above, boosters hissed. Agent November descended like a comet, arms morphing mid-fall. Her right turned into a multi-barreled minigun that roared to life, unleashing a barrage of tungsten rounds. Koschei spun away, using a maintenance pillar for cover, then leapt upward with inhuman power.
N.O.V.A.'s arm shifted again. This time: a blade.
She met Koschei in midair.
Their blades and fists sparked against each other, metal screeching as steel clashed with alloyed bone. N.O.V.A.'s back boosters activated mid-swing, giving her a spiraling advantage. June recovered, joining her, the two enhanced agents now fighting in tandem—tech versus abomination.
Even then, Red Koschei did not falter.
He lifted N.O.V.A. and threw her into June, the two crashing into the far wall. His mask turned.
January rose, limping but unbroken.
Then—a whisper.
The crack of a suppressed rifle. Sharp. Distant.
Koschei stumbled.
A round had struck the silver mask, sending it flying.
High above, on the service ladder, Agent May adjusted her sniper scope.
Time stopped.
Even Koschei froze.
The face beneath the mask...
January stepped forward. His own face stared back at him.
It wasn't a clone. It wasn't a trick. But it had the same face as him.
Koschei hissed, eyes flashing, and threw a smoke device. Gas flooded the station. When the fog cleared, he was gone.
None of them moved.
Not even January.
The mirror of war had shattered, but the reflection remained.
"What the hell did they do to you..." January whispered, not sure if he was asking Koschei, or himself.