The gym is nearly silent, save for the low murmur of conversation between Alex and Akio. They’re the only ones here, Akio casually stretching as they talk

  The door swings open with a creak, drawing both their heads toward it. Chris and Lilian strut inside as if they own the place, perfectly in sync, decked out in matching designer tracksuits. The sheer audacity of it would be impressive, if it weren’t so ridiculous.

  Akio takes one look at them and bursts into laughter. Alex, on the other hand, drags a hand down her face with a groan, as if she’s just realized she’s stuck in an alternate reality where self-defense classes come with fashion statements.

  “We’re here!” Chris announces proudly, arms spread like he’s about to take a bow.

  “Oh my God,” Alex mutters.

  Akio is still wheezing. “You do realize you’re here to learn self-defense, not audition for a calisthenics video?”

  Lilian flicks her hair over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, is there some rule against looking good while fighting?”

  “It’s not so much looking good as it is—” Akio starts, but Alex interrupts, already exasperated.

  “Akio, don’t—why do you even bother?”

  Akio shrugs. “Beats me.”

  Chris, unfazed by the shade being thrown his way, unzips his track jacket with a flourish, and tosses it aside. Underneath, he’s wearing a muscle tank—one featuring an image of his own head photoshopped onto the body of a ridiculously shredded bodybuilder.

  Silence.

  Akio blinks. Once. Twice. “I don’t—”

  Chris tosses his track jacket onto the mat with exaggerated movement. Then, with all the confidence of a man who has never been in a real fight, he takes a fighting stance.

  Lilian gapes at him. “Oh no, honey, you did not pass this through me for approval.”

  Akio tilts his head at Chris, fascinated. “It’s like a train wreck. I should look away... but I can’t.”

  Chris turns to Lilian, puffing out his chest. “I wanted it to be a surprise. What, you don’t like it?”

  Lilian gives him a careful once-over. “It’s very... eccentric.”

  Chris flexes his arms slightly. “I figured I’d look like a hunk while learning to throw a punch.”

  Akio snorts. “Yeah, well, you won’t be punching anyone today—or ever. Not if you want to keep using your hands.”

  Alex finally tears her gaze from Chris’s nightmare of a shirt, rubbing her temples. “Akio’s right. We can’t have you shattering every bone in your wrist.”

  Akio nods sagely. “The palm strike, on the other hand, is just as effective as a punch—”

  Chris’s hand shoots up like an eager schoolchild.

  Alex sighs. “Yes, Chris?”

  “You’re the one teaching us, right?”

  Akio snorts. Chris turns to him. "I mean, no offense, Akio, but Alex has been in—and won—way more fights than you.”

  “Lilian pats Akio’s arm sympathetically. “He does have a point there, sweetie.”

  Akio lifts his hands in surrender. “I’m not even gonna argue. For once in my life, I am fully intending to sit back and watch.”

  Alex pointedly ignores Chris’s question, continuing as if no one even spoke. “The palm strike, followed by a knee to the gut—”

  She pauses, closing her eyes in visible frustration. “Yes, Lilian?”

  Lilian lowers her hand, adjusting the sleeves of her designer tracksuit. “Just a little question. Why is there talking in a fighting class?”

  Akio gasps dramatically. “Ooooooh!”

  Alex narrows her eyes, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You need to learn what not to do before—”

  “Boo!” Chris calls from beside Lilian, hand cupped over his mouth to amplify the sound. “This is a self-defense class. Let us see some self-defense.”

  Akio sprawls out in a chair, a violet shimmer, as he summons a bucket of popcorn with a satisfied grin. “Now this—this will be entertaining.”

  Chris strikes an exaggerated, theatrical fighting pose, like a character straight out of a bad kung fu movie. Alex simply arches a brow, unimpressed.

  “Fine. Come at me,” she says, crossing her arms.

  Chris exchanges a glance with Lilian. Then, with all the grace of an overconfident peacock, he charges.

  Chris steps into the Crystal Room, his safety goggles hanging loosely around his neck, absently rolling a sleek, black pen between his fingers. The room is dim, bathed in the eerie glow of the alien crystal, its light casting shifting patterns across the walls. He strides toward it, hand outstretched—

  "That doesn’t look like a shield."

  Chris spins at the voice, instinctively clicking the pen. With a soft shnk, the pen extends, unfolding into a sleek metal tuning fork that hums with energy.

  “That’s because it’s not.” His voice is cool, controlled. He gestures toward the door. “Close it.”

  The Professor hesitates only for a second before obeying, raising his hands in a silent surrender.

  Chris sighs. “Now, if you promise to stay quiet—”

  "What can I do to help?"

  Chris blinks. That was... unexpected. "I beg your pardon?"

  The Professor steps forward, expression calm. "Look. Anyone with half a brain can see the General is obsessed with this thing. And obsession? It’s a one-way ticket to losing your damn mind.” He exhales. “If that asshole hasn’t already.”

  Chris tilts his head. “So, what are you proposing?”

  A hesitation. Then—

  “Alex. I know what she’s not—” The Professor’s voice drops slightly. “She’s not going to take over the world anytime soon, is she?”

  Chris scoffs. “The only thing Alex is interested in taking over is my spot on the couch.” He softens slightly. “I give you my word—Alex is not a threat to anyone. Hasn’t really been in a while.”

  The Professor swallows hard, considering this. Finally, he nods. “So... what can I do to help?”

  Chris studies him for a beat longer, then flicks the tuning fork with his thumb. A low hum vibrates through the air.

  “I’m going to shrink this thing.”

  The Professor’s brows shoot up. “With… a pen?”

  Chris smirks. “Not just any pen. This baby disrupts molecular cohesion.” He tilts his head, casted hand flailing about in showmanship. “I call it the Mini-Maker.”

  “That name is awful.” The Professor stutters.

  Chris huffs. “Well, I had five minutes, cut me some slack.”

  Satisfied, he slides his goggles over his eyes.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “If you don’t have one of these,” he says, tapping the lenses, “I’d suggest looking away.”

  “Oh.” The Professor turns.

  Chris reaches for the protective covering over the crystal when—

  “Wait, wait, wait, wait!”

  Chris groans. “What?!”

  The Professor gestures frantically. “How do you plan to get it out of here?”

  Chris pauses. Okay, that was a fair question. “I have no idea where we are, so... you’re getting it out of here.”

  The Professor sputters. “I just walked in—how long have you had this plan?”

  Chris shrugs. “Well, the original plan was to threaten you—or someone else... but mostly you—into getting it out of here.”

  The Professor considers this. “Fair enough.”

  Chris lifts the cover again, taps the tuning fork against the crystal’s surface. The hum intensifies—then, in a blink, the massive crystal shrinks down to the size of a thimble. He snatches it up—

  And then the alarms start blaring.

  “Shit.”

  Chris clicks the tuning fork—shnk!—and it collapses back into a pen, which he slides effortlessly into his pocket. Then he yanks a necklace from his jacket and shoves it, along with the tiny crystal, into the Professor’s hands.

  “Give them both to Alex. She’ll know it’s from me.”

  The Professor barely nods before bolting.

  Chris pulls off his goggles, exhaling sharply. “I’ll be the distraction.”

  The Professor hesitates, then fires off directions. “Once you leave this room, turn right, right again, straight down to the parking lot.”

  And then he’s gone.

  Chris follows a second later.

  ~~~

  Chris speed-walks down the corridor, slowing just as a group of security guards rush past him toward the Crystal Room. So far, so good.

  He rounds the second corner, and crashes straight into another security guard, this one a private and very much more attentive.

  “Whoa, where to, old timer?” the man asks, eyeing Chris suspiciously.

  Chris scrambles for an excuse. “The, uh—the General asked me to grab his... gun from his car.”

  The guard narrows his eyes, hand moving toward the radio on his shoulder.

  Chris sighs.

  “Palm strike!”

  He slams his casted wrist into the guard’s nose. The excessive jostling causes a burst of pain throughout his entire arm, but he decides he's better off once he glances the guard's twisted nose.

  The man stumbles back, clutching his face. “What the hell?!”

  Chris winces. “I am so sorry! But I cannot let you contact the General.”

  The guard glares at him, blood trickling down his lip. “Did you have to break my nose?!”

  Chris shrugs. “I suppose not.”

  Then—

  “Knee!”

  Chris drives his knee into the guard’s groin. The man lets out a strangled noise, collapsing onto his knees.

  Chris grimaces. “Again, very sorry.”

  And with that—

  “Push kick.”

  A swift boot to the jaw sends the guard sprawling, unconscious.

  Chris straightens, groaning as he clutches his lower back. “Damn arthritis.”

  Teeth gritted, he stumbles forward. An Army Jeep sits unattended near the exit. Perfect.

  Easing into the driver’s seat, Chris quickly hotwires it, the task difficult but doable with only one working hand. He sighs in satisfaction as the engine rumbles to life.

  He glances at the rearview mirror just as more guards flood the building behind him.

  With a smirk, he steps on the gas and speeds off into the night.

  (Continuation)

  Akio sits cross-legged on a chair, his half-eaten popcorn bucket vanishing in a puff of purple smoke, freeing his hands to slow-clap with an air of pure amusement.

  “This,” he declares, shaking his head in delight, “is so much better than cable TV.”

  Across the gym, Chris is curled up in a defeated heap in the corner, a hand clutching his back like an old man. Lilian cradles his head in her arms, looking genuinely concerned at the way he’s repeatedly groaning.

  “Goddammit, Alex!” Chris groans. “I’m older than you.” He stops, realizing who he was talking to. Course corrects. “I’m elderly.”

  Alex folds her arms, unbothered. “I didn’t even touch you.”

  “She honestly didn’t,” Akio chimes in.

  Chris had raised an arm to throw a punch and instantly seized up, clutching his hamstrings before toppling over in an undignified heap. His back might have gone out somewhere between thinking about movement and attempting it.

  Lilian turns on Akio, unimpressed. “Whose side are you on?”

  Akio grins. “The funny side.”

  Alex sighs, exasperated. “Perhaps if you had let me finish talking, you would have known what to do instead of pulling every single muscle in your body.”

  Akio bursts into laughter. “Chris, your crash-and-burn was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. Who knew the human body could lock up that fast?”

  Alex raises a hand. “Me. I knew. Hence the talk I was so rudely interrupted from.”

  Chris groans, still in pain. “I changed my mind. I want Akio to be my instructor.”

  Akio whines petulantly. “What? No! I prefer watching.”

  Alex levels a stare at Chris. “You’re aware I trained Akio, right?”

  Lilian perks up. “Even better! We’ll be learning the same lessons—just from a much nicer person.”

  Akio beams. “Aw, thank you, Lilian.”

  “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

  Alex throws her hands in the air. “We’re talking about combat here! This is not a knitting club. You don’t learn to fight with positive affirmations! You learn by landing repeatedly on your fucking ass!”

  Lilian gasps. “Alex! Don’t swear.”

  Alex blinks. “Sorry.” Then she frowns. “Wait—why am I apologizing? I’m the drill sergeant here!”

  Chris slowly peels himself off the floor, wincing. “I don’t care if you’re the President—” He gestures weakly at Akio. “I’m sticking with him.”

  Akio raises a hand. “Is now a good time to mention how horrible I am at teaching?”

  Alex crosses her arms. “You’re going to let the guy who can’t aim a gun teach you survival skills?”

  Akio gasps dramatically. “I am vehemently offended! We’re talking hand-to-hand combat—where did all this gun talk come from?!”

  Alex levels a look at him. “You really think you can do a better job than I would?”

  Akio nods solemnly. “Considering how frail their bones are? Yes. Yes, I do.”

  Chris huffs. “We are standing right here.”

  Akio waves him off. “You can’t just shove these two on their asses repeatedly. Frankly, I’m surprised Chris still possess the ability to stand up straight.”

  Lilian scoffs. “Wow. Obviously it’s our turn to get offended.”

  Akio turns to her quickly. “You know I didn’t mean that, Lilian. I love you more than I love Chris.”

  Chris throws his hands up in exasperation while Lilian blushes.

  Alex sighs. “Fine. Have at it.”

  With a dramatic wave, she steps aside, making way for Akio. He turns to Chris and Lilian, clasping his hands together like an eager teacher about to deliver life-changing wisdom.

  “So,” he says, with an all-too-pleased smile. “Who here likes to dance?”

  Chris and Lilian exchange glances.

  Alex pinches the bridge of her nose. “This is going to be an unparalleled disaster.”

  Akio ignores her. He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, and steps forward with a flourish. “Lesson one: Fluidity. Balance. Coordination. Fighting is like dancing—”

  He pivots on one foot, lifts the other for a perfectly executed spin, and immediately kicks himself in the ankle.

  There is a brief moment where he attempts to correct. It does not work.

  Akio wobbles, arms pinwheeling wildly before—

  Thud.

  Chris, Lilian, and Alex watch as he crashes to the ground, limbs flailing about like a broken marionette.

  For a long moment, no one speaks.

  Akio groans into the mat. “…I have made a mistake.”

  Chris turns to Alex. “I take back everything. You’re my instructor again.”

  Alex’s arms are still crossed. “Oh no, you made your choice. Enjoy your dance lessons.”

  Akio slowly lifts a finger from where he’s sprawled. “In my defense… the floor is very hard.”

  Alex smirks. “You know what else is hard?” She levels a gaze at Chris and Lilian. “Combat.”

  Akio sighs dramatically, flopping onto his back. “I am good at combat.”

  Lilian leans over him. “You fell over.”

  Akio waves a hand dismissively. “Which is a perfectly valid combat technique if you want to confuse your opponent.”

  Chris squints. “…Is it though?”

  Akio looks him dead in the eye. “Are you confused?”

  Chris, hesitates.

  Akio grins triumphantly. “Exactly.”

  Alex points a finger at Chris and Lilian. “This is the worst decision you two have ever made.”

  Chris and Lilian look down at Akio, who is still lying flat on his back, smiling like he’s won something.

  Chris sighs. “…So do we still have to learn how to dance?”

  Akio, still sprawled on the floor, weakly gives a thumbs-up.

  “Yes.”

  The General crouches over the unconscious security guard, smacking him repeatedly in the face like a malfunctioning CPR dummy.

  His assistant clears her throat.

  With a sharp exhale, the General straightens, abandoning his efforts. “Talk to me.”

  The sergeant shifts uneasily. “He stole a Jeep, sir.”

  The General blinks once. “…A Jeep?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His brow twitches. “Christopher Jordan—sixty-five-year-old, semi-retired engineer, with one currently broken wrist—took down a trained soldier and stole a military-grade Jeep?”

  The sergeant swallows. “It… appears that way, sir.”

  The General scrubs a hand down his face. “What the hell are we even doing here?”

  Behind them, the security guard stirs with a groan, eyelids fluttering.

  The General glares down at him. “Good morning, Private. Sleep well?”

  The private jolts upright, scrambling into a stiff, regulation-perfect attention stance, even as blood drips down his nose and stains his uniform.

  “I’m sorry, sir! He got the jump on me!”

  The General studies him for a long, unblinking moment. “…How old are you, son?”

  “Twenty-eight, sir!”

  The General’s nostrils flare. “Congratulations! Because you just had your ass handed to you by a fucking sexagenarian!”

  The private makes the wise decision to keep his mouth shut.

  The General pivots on his heel. “Send someone competent after Chris. And tell the Professor to fire up the chamber. We need more Reapers.”

  The sergeant’s spine stiffens. “Sir—”

  “What?!”

  “Chris, uh… stole the crystal.” The words tumble out in a rush. “The crystal that powers the—”

  “I know what it powers!” The General’s voice cuts like a blade. He inhales sharply, nostrils flaring. “Fine. Send Fraker.”

  Another nervous pause.

  “Sir,” the sergeant ventures, “we haven’t tested the—”

  “I don’t care.” His patience is officially dead. “Have the Professor give him a once-over and send him out.”

  A longer pause.

  “…Sir.”

  The General’s jaw tightens. “What now?”

  The sergeant clears her throat. “No one’s seen the Professor since the last phase of the procedure.”

  The air in the room shifts.

  The General’s expression remains unreadable, but something in his stance changes—his posture turns still, as if his body is processing the implications before his mind catches up.

  Slowly, he exhales. “Fine.” A flick of his wrist. “Find him.”

  Then, dryly: “I mean, it’s not like he vanished into thin air, right?”

  The sergeant nods quickly, tension thrumming beneath her words. “No, sir. I’ll have someone sweep the facility.”

  “Good. Anything else?” His voice carries an implicit threat: daring any other problem to pop out at him. None does. “Excellent.”

  Satisfied, the General turns back to the battered private, eyes narrowing like a wolf spotting an injured deer.

  “You.” A pointed finger. “You’re coming with me.”

  The private hesitates. “W-Where, sir?”

  For the first time, the General almost smiles. But it isn’t reassuring.

  “To get your shots.”

  The private pales but salutes anyway, falling into step behind the General as they disappear down the hallway.