Irwin closed the last few steps with a predator's gait, eyes burning with that old, entitled fury. He wanted a rise - not for Isaac, but for their father. He wanted Fletcher Sr. to nod, to see the power he could exert, to reaffirm his place as the son the family had bred for domination.

Isaac didn't look up. He sat at the table, fork paused mid-bite, the calm of someone who'd seen worse and come back. That only irritated Irwin more.

"Are you ignoring me, little brother?" Irwin snapped, then reached across and acted up for their father's approval. He grabbed Isaac's plate and hurled its contents onto him. Grease and eggs splattered across Isaac's clothes and the polished wood. The hall went still.

But that still received no reaction from Isaac, who merely wiped some food from his face and ate something that landed on his shirt.

Irwin's hand then flashed to a knife on the table. The blade's edge pressed cool against Isaac's throat. "Have you ever been close to dying?" he hissed. "It puts your life into perspective."

Seeing things escalate, the guards stepped forward like puppets on thin strings - shifting into the silent theatre of threat around the table. Sven's fingers tightened on the stem of his glass. Takeshi's hand hovered at his hip, every part of him ready.

The air tasted metallic, and the atmosphere was tense.

Isaac's face did not change. He lifted his chin just enough to meet Irwin's eyes, calm as a man waiting for tea. Silence stretched.

"You guys mind taking out anyone that isn't family?" Isaac asked casually, as if requesting someone to pass the salt. "Just don't kill them."

Sven grinned like a child let loose in a candy factory. "I thought you'd never ask." He moved first - a storm in a leather jacket. Takeshi followed like a shadow, precise and silent.

In the blink of an eye, the ten guards around the table were gone - not slashed, not burned, just folded into unconsciousness as if the world had briefly forgotten gravity.

The motion was a blur of limbs and practised torque; a gust of wind swept through the hall, and the only proof that movement had happened was the soft thud of bodies on the floor and the stunned faces of everyone still seated.

A few of the men on their feet were low-tier mutants, but they couldn't react quickly enough and crumpled too. It was over in a heartbeat. Fear and shock flushed through the room like hot water.

Fletcher Sr. sat frozen, mouth open. Irwin's grip slackened on the knife, his confidence evaporating into something like dread. Elizabeth pressed her hands to her lips; their mother's fingers trembled under the table, knuckles white as bone.

Isaac pushed Irwin's hand away and wiped grease from his sleeve with a small, deliberate movement. "You guys haven't changed," he said, voice smooth. "But I didn't remember you being this stupid. How did you not recognise these friends of mine?"

Recognition moved through the room like a slow, cold tide. Fletcher Sr.'s eyes flicked, then widened as memory and rumour snapped into place.

Sven, a mutant freelancer, once crossed paths with Fletcher Sr. while on a contract. And let's just say that Fletcher Sr. wasn't exactly happy after what Sven had done.

'That's the bastard who stole from me that time. How did I not recognise him?'

It had been just another to Sven; he did as requested, stealing from one of the Fletcher family's vaults. He received his commission and had crossed so many people that it was hard to keep track.

But Fletcher Sr. couldn't help but clench his fists as he recalled Sven giving him a cheeky wink before jumping straight through a glass window and blitzing off on his motorbike.

As for Takeshi, he was an even more frightening figure: the Blind Swordsman. The image of a blindfolded man cutting down men like reeds flashed across his mind. He just thought he was a weirdo dressing up; he never believed it would be the real thing.

But as that realisation settled in, it was already too late...

Irwin swallowed, trying to recompose himself - it seemed as though he hadn't connected the dots just yet.

"If you knew who they were, you would be much more on edge," Isaac continued, leaning back, the picture of controlled leisure. "Not that it would change anything. Even your entire gang of glorified thugs wouldn't make a difference."

Heat rose in Irwin's face. "You think you're better than me now?" he spat. "You always have been the failure of this family."

"A little dramatic, no?" Isaac allowed himself a faint smile. The words were casual, but the blade beneath them was honed.

Irwin couldn't hold back anymore and went to swing for Isaac, who simply laughed as he saw the punch coming.

'I can't believe I used to be scared of this guy.'

Slipping the punch that felt like it was coming in slow motion, Isaac turned into his brother and grabbed his wrist with his hand. Then, with a simple hip bump, Irwin was flung into the air and slammed onto the dining table.

"You remember this arm throw from when we did some judo as kids?" Isaac asked casually as he watched Irwin gasp for air after being winded.

He sprang to his feet, putting on a strong front.

But his shaking hands revealed his lack of composure - the man looked truly unravelled. He fumbled into his blazer pocket and produced a syringe with the kind of desperation that tasted like a cliff dive. No theatrics, he plunged the needle into his thigh without hesitation.

Isaac's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. 'TEMP Z,' he thought in a flash, the crude enhancer that mimicked mutant highs by flooding the body with volatile compounds.

The effect was immediate. Irwin's pupils dilated, veins standing out like blue cords. Muscle tensed, heat bloomed under his skin, and a wild, unnatural power lit his eyes. The room's edges blurred as his strength ratcheted up - the cheap mimicry of true mutation.

A silence screamed louder than any shout. Even with the guards down, with Sven and Takeshi ready like coiled springs, the manor felt perilously small. Irwin rose like a volcano unleashed, reckless and burning with manufactured fury.

Isaac's sighed, not in fear, but in annoyance.

He stood calmly, every inch of him radiating a kind of quiet that meant the storm was about to break.

"Guess I should knock some sense into him."

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