A feeling of suspense filled the air. The soldiers had come back to the door after they saw that Zabi had taken down Ross, eyes locked on the figure—a piece of the puzzle no one saw coming.

"Who is that? I can't see his face properly!"

"I think I saw him in one of the files at HQ!"

"He's a new detective—Armstrong is the name!"

They whispered among themselves, discussing like students about to make a presentation, eyes fixed on the uninvited guest.

Armstrong tried to talk to Ross, but their voices distracted him.

"You over there!"

He called out loud, pointing with the hand that held the coffee at the soldiers standing by the door, watching everything.

The night light gasped at his weird orange hair—it made him stand out, unreasonably so.

"Ah!"

They gasped in surprise. It was the first time someone had tried to communicate with them in such a predicament, and it shook them to the core.

"I want someone to hold the coffee cup for me!"

Armstrong requested—an oddly old request, to be precise.

They shook among themselves, faces squashing with pure cluelessness. Some weren't even sure of what they heard, or if they heard it right.

A man had just blasted in, then flew a massive chunk of ice shaped like a spear at their commander… and now he was asking them to hold his coffee cup.

At night, by the way.

"Am I talking to doorknobs?" he snapped. "I said someone should hold my cup for me—or do you want me to drop it to the ground or something!"

His face was clearly annoyed, wrinkles carving deep lines across his forehead with every word he muttered. He flew the soldiers' understanding right out of the bag.

STststs!!

The earpiece on the same soldier who talked to Roy connected.

Armstrong's eyes shifted to him instantly,he thought the soldier might try something funny.

"What's happening?" Roy inquired, eager as ever. His voice was so loud it reached Armstrong.

"Detective Armstrong is here, sir…!" the soldier answered, his low, almost female-like voice trembling. He clearly had more to say.

"And?" Roy pressed.

"He wants us to carry his cup for him!"

"What in the mother of God—just shoot him!"

"We would've, sir, but he's superpowered!"

A wave of silence followed. Roy was digesting what he had heard.

"Ahm… I'll call you later."

He ended the call before it even got good.

The comrades stood frozen, scared, unable to understand what had just transpired. Roy was weird, sure—but he wasn't the type to abandon his teammates in trouble.

"Sir… hello? Can you copy?"

They tried again.

Only silence answered.

There was no doubt about it. From now on, they were alone—stranded in a desert with an injured zabi.

Cough. Cough.

Zabi appeared on the fence—the same place he had slammed into earlier. He pulled himself up from the surprise attack Armstrong had brutally sent his way.

Behind his suit, the fabric was burned through, a hole revealing raw skin beneath.

There was no doubt about it.

That attack really did a number on him.

Suddenly, remnants of energy from the ice spear began moving back toward Armstrong—like a dog returning to its owner after chasing a squirrel. Slowly, it crumbled into dust until nothing was left.

"See? I told you to hold my cup for me," Armstrong whined, like a little kid trapped in a 28-year-old body. "Now I have to pour it to the ground beacause I can't fight with it in my hand ."

"You know you could just drink it at once… or keep it somewhere," one of the soilders replied.

Drip.

Armstrong slowly poured his coffee onto the ground, like a public tap in a park. Everyone—including Ross—couldn't believe what they were seeing.

He was acting like a madman. His take on things wasn't even remotely considerate.

"I'm so glad you could join us,"

Zabi muttered confidently, unhinged by the fact that a new enemy had entered the rumble.

"I know, I know. I've been waiting for this moment for a long time now. I wanted to ask you a question!"

Zabi began walking toward them, stretching his neck and back as loud clicks followed.

"Ask on. You have my undivided attention!"

"I'm looking for someone… a workmate of yours."

"I have many workmates. It wouldn't hurt if you were more definitive."

"We have a very packed history between us. His name is Veteran."

The wind stopped.

So did their heartbeats.

This was the first time they had heard someone from outside speak that name. And worse—it was an enemy searching for him.

Zabi's attention snapped instantly.

"I know a lot of Veterans. Be much more specific,"

Zabi mocked, probing. Because if Armstrong knew about Veteran—the man who always wore a motorbike helmet—what was stopping him from uncovering everything? Even their families.

"The one who gave you your powers."

Zabi froze.

His mind filled with thousands of riddled questions.

How did he know?

It happened a long time ago.

Fifteen years ago, the corridor had been empty. No witnesses. No records. No one even knew Zabi had powers back then.

So how did Armstrong uncover it?

"I'll save us both the trouble," Armstrong continued. "Just tell me where I can find Veteran, and I'll leave you all to continue whatever you've got going on here. It'll be like I was never even here."

A terrible negotiation—one that clashed hard with the heroic vibe he arrived with.

"You have a good deal," Zabi said calmly, "but I reject it. I'm a man who thinks with his arms—and there's no way in hell I'd ever tell you about him."

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the pistol he had stashed there. Surprisingly, he began loading bullets into it.

His posture changed.

So did his intent.

He locked eyes with Armstrong—hawk eyes.

"What's your greatest strength?"

He muttered loudly, dissecting Armstrong's physique. A red scanner ran up and down his body, his rings at work.

Suddenly—

He realized something.

Something he had never seen before.

Drinking coffee… was the man's strength.

Outstanding.

Yet confusing.

Unwilling to accept it, Zabi scanned him again. And again. Searching for something else—anything else.

Nothing.

An unwanted predicament. He needed to act, and act fast.

"Melting Touch."

The pistol in his hand turned into lava. Its shape disfigured as if it never existed. Instead of falling, the molten mass crawled up his arm, wrapping around it like a living bandage. It stopped at his elbow.

His entire arm transformed—into the muzzle of a gun.

A hole opened at the end of his hand.

Perfect.

Monstrous.

"Mehn… that's nasty," Armstrong commented casually.

Ross didn't say a word. He watched from the sidelines, the metal rod still impaled through him. Removing it would cause massive blood loss—maybe that's why Armstrong never bothered.

Across the battlefield—

Zabi raised the gun-hand and aimed at Armstrong like a practice dummy.

"I don't resort to these lengths," he said, voice echoing. "But the situation demands it. So I advise you—unsheathe your weapon. A warrior should go down with respect, just like Ross did."

The words echoed.

They would've moved Ross if not for the weapon stuck in his chest.

"Don't worry about that," Armstrong replied calmly. "Just let it leap."

"Hmh."

Zabi smirked. He fed off confidence—especially other people's.

He stepped one foot back, recoil stance, the other forward. Perfect balance.

Pow!!!

The shot fired.

He slid back slightly, but his stance held.

The bullet was abnormal—far larger than a normal pistol round. More like something from a sniper rifle.

Armstrong didn't move.

Not even an inch.

"Unless he can disappear or is immune to bullets, he's toast,"

the soldiers and Ross thought.

Spectators always see better than players, don't they?

Then—

Armstrong smirked.

"Rise… Coffee Web."

Instantly, coffee rose from the ground in scattered locations, concentrated with terrifying force—thin as power wires.

Siiiiiing!

One line chased the bullet midair.

Ding!!

It tore straight through it, stopping the bullet dead.

Siiiiiing!

Countless lines erupted from the ground around Zabi. The coffee had been moving in secret all along.

Stab. Stab. Stab!!

They pierced him—randomly, violently—but avoided his heart.

Then they froze solid, cold as iron rods, structure like thorns.

Unbreakable.

They connected the ground to his body—arms, legs, shoulders—locking every motor function in place.

For the first time that night—

Zabi was surrounded.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.