300 gems = bonus chapter
*******
The next morning, the television blared news of a gang dispute that had ended in an execution-style killing. Five people were dead. John sat at his desk, pen in hand, reviewing a stack of documents. He glanced at Hattie, who stood nearby, poised and elegant in a white dress.
He remembered, with a sigh, that he was supposed to be on vacation.
"As disappointing as this may be, I have to remind you," Hattie said with a gentle smile, "you have more to handle at Hammer Industries than you think, Mr. Wick."
"Is that why you rang my doorbell so early?" John replied, giving her a look that was half resigned, half amused. "You should know, I hired you because someone needed to deal with this mountain of paperwork."
"Yes, I know, Mr. Wick." Hattie lifted her chin with the grace of a swan. "But I am only your assistant."
"Should I take that as a hint you want a promotion and a raise?"
Despite his reluctance, John signed off on the documents, muttering, "This is going to make Ferdinand jealous."
He worked efficiently, setting aside a few pages for closer inspection. "Steel Soldiers is already in production, and now General Ross wants modifications?" John mused. "Tell him we can provide portable Steel Soldier equipment, but that will cost extra."
He flipped to the next file. "Why are there Taran Industries documents here too?" It was about new bulletproof vest materials.
Hattie shrugged. "Besides you, Mr. Olov from Taran Industries is still on vacation in Miami."
"I should have him come back," John said, studying the bulletproof vest proposal. "Speaking of which, I need a new suit for Dax."
He kept two documents, handed the rest to Hattie, and stood to leave.
Outside, Ferdinand was completely absorbed in a paperback novel, his face intent and unguarded. When he saw John, he hurried over to open the car door.
"Call Dax," John said as he got in. "Tell him to come to Taran Industries in plain clothes."
Ferdinand nodded. He had Dax's number from their last meeting.
Hattie slid into the passenger seat, meeting John's gaze with a confident smile. "I need to go to the company as well."
"Alright," John agreed. It was on the way.
Hattie's lips curled in satisfaction as the car pulled away toward Taran Industries.
*****
When they arrived, Dax was waiting outside, blending in as an ordinary passerby. He fell in step as John approached.
"What did you call me for?" Dax asked, his tone casual.
Hattie watched him closely. In her research on John, she had discovered his frequent run-ins with the FBI. One of the agents involved was standing before her now—Benjamin Poindexter, known as Dax.
"You need a new suit, Dax," John said, leading the group straight to the bulletproof vest workshop.
He addressed the supervisor, a thin, middle-aged man. "Bring out the new bulletproof vests."
"Right away, Mr. Wick."
They entered the testing area, where a staff member donned a vest and stood ready. On a long table nearby were firearms, knives, and various throwing weapons.
John turned to Dax. "Show us your skills."
Dax picked up a pistol and fired a rapid, precise volley. Every bullet struck the vest dead center. He moved on to the throwing knives—five blades in three seconds, each one hitting the vest squarely. Then came the rest: whatever Dax picked up, he turned into a deadly weapon.
By the end, the vest was battered, its inner layers exposed, two knives embedded deep. The supervisor wiped sweat from his brow, visibly rattled.
"It's not that the material is bad," he stammered. "But after all this, even the best vest can't stop everything. And with Dax's throwing power…"
John nodded, frowning thoughtfully. "I need a full-body suit. Light, flexible, shock-absorbing, and puncture-proof."
The supervisor looked overwhelmed, but then his eyes lit up. "There's an unfinished prototype that might fit your requirements."
"We'll use that one," John decided.
He turned to Dax, who looked confused. "You're going to be a hero, Dax."
Dax's expression shifted, a mix of surprise and hope.
"You've been suppressing yourself for too long. It's time to let go."
They moved to the tailoring room. As the tailor measured Dax's shoulders, John spoke quietly. "You know, if you keep pushing everything down, you'll only want to break free more—like a spring."
He thought of the Obscurus: the destructive force born when a wizard suppresses their magic and emotions. Dax was a Squib, but the principle was the same. The hosts of an Obscurus often lived tragic lives, their emotions prone to extremes. You could try to kill the Obscurus, or you could make it your own and let it out.
John had chosen the latter path for Dax.
In this era of superheroes, why couldn't Dax become one too? Killing was evil—if it was done to the innocent. But what about the villains of Hell's Kitchen? Destruction could be turned to heroism.
This was the path John set for Dax. The FBI might be bound by rules, but there were always people the law could not touch. For them, you needed heroes.
Dax stood still as the tailor worked, his heart pounding. When John told him he could be a hero, he felt a longing stir inside him. He looked at John and saw something he had not seen in a long time: respect, equality, and genuine care.
After losing everything, John had given him a new purpose. He no longer needed therapy tapes to sleep. He no longer obsessed over his old North Star. He had stopped following Julie, and even Ray had noticed the change in him. Whenever the urge to destroy crept up, he would take out the gold coin John had given him and remember his promise.
When the suit was finished—a blue, skin-tight, shock-absorbing marvel—Dax could barely believe his reflection. Weapons were strapped to his back and waist, throwing knives ready at hand.
"It's light enough to wear under your street clothes," John said, inspecting the fit. "Add an 'S' and you'd be Superman."
John checked his pocket watch. "Let's see where we can do some good."
A suit, custom-made for Dax.
John took the book Ferdinand had been reading and headed for the restaurant.
*****
Later, John spotted Robert through the window, reading in his usual corner. He went in to say hello. As tea friends, they picked up right where they left off.
"What happened to your hand?" John asked.
Robert glanced at the bruise and smiled. "Just a scrape."
John did not press. Instead, he pulled out a book and set it on the table. "I promised you last time. This one is quite famous where I come from."
Robert smiled, picking up the book and squinting at the cover. "Wandering with Werewolves? That sounds magical."
He shook his head, a little surprised by John's taste. "I'll read it carefully."
Just then, the door opened, and an electrician stepped inside. John noticed Robert's eyes flicker toward the newcomer, his expression subtly changing.
"Need help?" John asked quietly, his back to the man.
Robert replied, "It's nothing serious."
*******
Don't forget to donate gems.