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A sudden tension filled the air as Sylas froze mid-step.
"What's going on?" he asked, frowning.
The man in the black fedora barked sharply, "Change of plans. Drop the bag right there, by my feet."
"Alright, alright," Sylas replied quickly, tossing the small black duffel toward him.
He wasn't about to reveal his powers in front of so many people. For now, he'd rather keep up the act just a normal guy caught in the wrong place.
Thud!
The bag landed at the man's boots. He crouched down to grab it, but never once took his eyes or the gun off the trembling passengers.
"You people must be rolling in cash," the man sneered, tucking the bag under his coat.
Seconds dragged by like hours. The passengers sat stiff, every breath tight with dread, the barrel of a pistol glinting in the bus's dim light.
Outside, the bus sped down the highway straight toward a police barricade ahead.
"Wait, that bus?" one of the officers muttered, lowering his binoculars. "That's not supposed to be here. All city buses were rerouted twenty minutes ago."
He grabbed the loudspeaker. "Stop the vehicle immediately!"
The driver glanced nervously at the gunman.
"Hit the gas!" the fedora-man shouted.
The driver slammed the pedal down.
Zzzzzzzzz!!!!
Tires screeched, The bus roared forward, smashing through the barricade in a storm of shattered glass and metal.
"Move! Move!"
Officers dove aside as the vehicle thundered past, one of them barely rolling out of the way in time.
The commanding officer cursed, slamming a hand on the hood of his cruiser. "What the hell is going on inside that bus?!"
He signaled his men. "Weapons ready! Anything suspicious shoot to stop."
Through the windows, he could see a busload of frightened civilians and a single man standing tall behind the driver.
"Hold your fire!" he ordered. "Don't shoot until I say so."
Inside, the gunman growled, "You—yeah, you, the driver. Get out there and tell them exactly what I said. My crew gets out safely, or these people die."
"M-me?" the driver stammered, his voice shaking.
"Unless you'd rather stay here forever," the man replied coldly.
The driver hesitated only a second before pressing the door release. The bus hissed open. Police immediately trained their rifles on the doorway.
"I'm the driver!" he shouted, raising both hands. "The bus has been hijacked!"
"Let him come forward slowly!" the officer commanded.
The driver edged back toward them, hands trembling high above his head. The moment he reached the officers, two of them grabbed him, pulled him down, and cuffed him for safety.
"Talk," the commanding officer said sharply.
"The hijacker's armed," the driver gasped. "About eighteen passengers on board. He said he'll release them once his friends get out safe. My name's Andrew Seas—my ID's in my pocket!"
They checked his wallet. Everything matched.
"Alright, Mr. Seas," the officer said grimly. "You're clear. Stay behind the perimeter."
He turned to his men. "Sniper Team Bravo, eyes on that bus. Southwest angle. I want visual confirmation."
"Copy that," came the reply. The sniper adjusted his scope and peered through the window.
"One male, armed. Targets in sight. Clean headshot possible. Request permission to engage."
The commander hesitated. "Negative for now. We take him only if he fires."
But the hijacker wasn't stupid. As if sensing danger, he suddenly dropped flat onto the aisle floor.
"You! You! And you—move over here!" he shouted.
The passengers shrank back in panic.
"I said move!" he screamed, firing once.
BANG!
A man cried out, clutching his shoulder as he fell to the ground, blood seeping through his sleeve.
"You! You! You! And you—come here! Now! I swear I'll drag someone down with me if I have to!"
He pointed at four women older, frail, terrified and forced them to stand between him and the windows, shielding his body from any sniper angle.
Outside, the commander's voice boomed through the megaphone. "Report!"
"Suspect is prone. One civilian injured. He's using hostages as cover," the sniper replied.
"Dammit," the commander muttered. "This guy's out of his mind."
Inside, the gunman grinned cruelly. "Alright, I need a messenger. You—yeah, the kid with the nerve."
He pointed at Sylas.
"Me?" Sylas asked, keeping his tone neutral.
"Yes, you. Get out there and tell them exactly what I said."
"Don't," whispered Missy, gripping his hand tightly.
He smiled reassuringly. "It's fine."
"Smart kid," the man said, smirking as he leveled his pistol at Missy. "And don't even think about getting clever."
Sylas didn't flinch. In truth, he wasn't worried if things went bad, he could save Missy in a blink.
He just didn't want to blow his cover yet.
He stepped off the bus, drawing every officer's attention.
"The hijacker says his partners need safe passage out, or the passengers die!" Sylas shouted.
"Another one?" the commander muttered. "Different voice?"
"Affirmative," the sniper confirmed. "That's a second suspect."
"Copy that. Stay calm," the commander called through the megaphone. "We'll do as you ask—just don't hurt anyone!"
None of them noticed the shadow creeping beneath the bus a living darkness slithering along the ground, gathering power.
And in that darkness, something began to stir.
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~Support with 200 PowerStones = 1 Bonus Chapter
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Thank you so much for your support and for reading!