Cole turned his back on Ross and the others, and his expression hardened. He'd only watched them a few moments, but he'd already seen where their attention had settled—Jason Tate. Jason was chatting near the golden-cat mascot, completely unaware.
Ross and his crew heading toward Jason meant one thing: the lab. Jason had said his year-long project finally worked. If the Expendables were here now, ninety percent chance the target was that lab.
"Cole!" Jason waved when he spotted him, hands up, voice carrying.
Cole stopped. He hadn't gone to Jason earlier for a reason—he didn't want Ross and the others thinking they were connected. The flicker on his face when he realized their focus had been Jason might have looked like nothing to civilians, but men like Ross read those tiny shifts.
Sure enough, all three were watching him now, their faces set.
"Yin Yang, go test him," Ross said.
Yin Yang nodded, drifted over, and asked casually, "Sir, where's the bathroom?" His gaze slid, for a heartbeat, to a bulge in his own pocket—gun there, plain as day.
"I'll take you," Cole said.
He led Yin Yang into a remote corner. The instant they were out of view, the Mad Dog Knife appeared in Cole's hand and pressed cold against Yin Yang's throat.
"Mad Dog Knife," Yin Yang said evenly. "So you're the one who stole our mission."
He hadn't seen the blade appear. That alone bothered him.
"I know you," Cole said. "Yin Yang—the Expendables. Why are you looking into Jason Tate?"
Cole stayed taut with caution. He didn't rate himself above Yin Yang in hand-to-hand. With guns, ten of Yin Yang wouldn't scare him; up close, it was a different story.
"Kid," Yin Yang chuckled, "don't play with knives."
He exploded forward, hands finding Cole's wrist. Cole had been waiting for it. The knife vanished to the system warehouse, reappeared in his other hand, and flashed for Yin Yang's neck. Yin Yang recoiled fast enough to save his throat, but a bright line of blood scored his skin.
Yin Yang surged again, testing. Cole holstered the blade and met him barehanded. Their fists slammed together; both stepped back three paces. Cole set his feet easily. Yin Yang had to work to halt his own momentum.
"You've got power," Yin Yang said, intrigued. He blurred in close with fluid, unpredictable strikes.
This was where Cole felt it most: the gap in his fighting. Yin Yang's cadence refused to be read; the next step never telegraphed. Cole compensated with strength and something borderless—the way the Mad Dog Knife could be nowhere and then there again. The blade flickered right, then left, blocking angles a normal fighter would miss entirely.
Impacts, cloth ripping, breath grunts, the scuff of boots. Yin Yang's coveralls were torn in several places. If he'd been slower, he'd be bleeding badly. He clocked the puzzle: Cole was powerful, his blade-work uncanny—but the pure fighting fundamentals were rough. If those matched his strength, Yin Yang would already be dead.
The corner around them had become a wreck of splintered debris. Cole felt the ache hammering through his forearms and ribs—flying kicks hurt. Without the diluted serum multiplying his physical fitness, he'd have been down. He also noticed something else: Yin Yang never threw a killing shot. He placed blows to non-fatal targets. This was an exam, not an execution.
Another snap of motion—Yin Yang's foot cut through the air. Cole raised both arms, absorbed the kick, ignored the spike of pain, and wrapped him up. The knife kissed Yin Yang's throat again.
"I lose," Yin Yang said lightly, unbothered, and meant it.
Cole let him go. "You didn't lose, and I didn't win," he replied. "If it's a death match, you take it. If it's an assassination, you die."
Yin Yang offered his hand. "Yin Yang."
"Cole Shaw."
Yin Yang studied him. "Strong, and your endurance is ridiculous. Ross doesn't match you there. But your fighting's undercooked. With that strange blade work, it shouldn't be."
Cole gave a small, humourless smile. He wasn't going to explain that the knife's 'strangeness' came from a space only he could access.
"What are the Expendables planning for Jason Tate?" he asked.
"You know the business," Yin Yang said, shaking his head. "Can't tell you. But if you want to know…" He paused, eyes bright with the offer. "Join the Expendables"…