"No, really, it isn't."
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Kaine looked around slowly, deliberately, letting his gaze sweep over the growing mass of people. The crowd had taken on a shape now—no longer random pedestrians, but a tightening ring held together by a shared emotion. Fear first. Then hatred. Whatever mutant meant in this world, it carried a weight dense enough to bend behaviour around it. Individuals dissolved into a collective reflex.
He noted the patterns with clinical detachment. People at the edges craned their necks, curiosity overpowering caution. Those closest to him recoiled, expressions sharp with suspicion, some already justifying violence in their eyes. A few whispered urgently into phones. None of them looked heroic. None of them ever did.
Kaine didn't move.
The sound reached him before the sight: a low, powerful engine, reinforced and tuned for intimidation rather than speed. It rolled in like a declaration. Then came the footsteps—heavy, synchronized, armoured boots striking pavement with disciplined precision.
Soldiers.
They emerged from between vehicles and alleyways in black tactical armour, matte and angular, designed to absorb light rather than reflect it. This wasn't riot gear. This was military-grade suppression equipment. Their faces were hidden behind opaque visors, but their body language told the story clearly enough. These weren't recruits. Their movements were too economical. Too practiced. Every step carried the quiet confidence of people who had been in real combat and survived by being faster, colder, and more decisive than whoever stood in front of them.
Glowing batons snapped to life in their hands—nonlethal control tools, humming faintly with contained energy. They used them not as weapons, but as extensions of authority, guiding the crowd back with short, sharp gestures. The civilians obeyed readily, fear turning compliant when a larger, sanctioned violence entered the scene.
All eyes were on Kaine.
A voice boomed through an external speaker, distorted but firm.
"This is NOT a warning. Please exit through the nearest exit in an orderly line. Your safety is assured while we assess the threat."
The phrasing caught his attention. Assess the threat. Not resolve. Not arrest. A variable. An unknown.
Kaine raised his hands slowly, fingers spread, palms visible. The movement was precise, measured to avoid triggering reflexive aggression. He wasn't going to fight this. Not because he couldn't—his internal calculations had already mapped out the angles, the timing, the structural weaknesses of their formation—but because blind resistance was stupidity. And stupidity got people killed.
Hero conduct was irrelevant here. This was simply logic.
One soldier stepped forward, with heavier armour plating marking him as a frontline enforcer. He lifted a weapon—not a rifle in the traditional sense, but something bulkier, with an oversized scope and multiple sensors embedded along the barrel. It didn't hum like a stun weapon. It didn't click like a firearm.
It scanned.
Kaine held still as the device swept over him, feeling nothing but noting everything. Infrared. Bio-signature analysis. Possibly genetic markers. The soldier's visor tilted slightly as data streamed in, then he nodded once to another unit.
"Mutant sc—" The word caught in his throat. A pause. "—civilian. Follow us."
The correction was forced, clumsy. Kaine could hear what had almost come out instead. Mutant scum. Or worse. The restraint wasn't moral—it was procedural.
"It doesn't matter," Kaine said quietly, though no one had asked.
He followed without resistance as two soldiers flanked him, their movements mirroring each other. They guided him toward the street, where three armoured caravans sat parked at aggressive angles, completely disregarding traffic laws. Thick plating. Reinforced windows. The kind of vehicles designed to survive explosions rather than collisions.
Prepared for escalation.
The crowd watched in near silence now, phones raised, recording everything. Kaine didn't look at them. He didn't need to. He already knew what they'd see later when they replayed the footage: a strange man with red eyes being taken away for everyone's safety.
The back door of the nearest vehicle was yanked open. Hands grabbed his wrists—not gently—and cold metal snapped shut around them. Ordinary handcuffs. Mass-produced. A small oversight, but an interesting one. Either they underestimated him, or protocol demanded the appearance of normalcy.
He was pushed inside.
The door slammed shut with a heavy, final thud, sealing him into a dimly lit compartment lined with hard benches and restraint points. The engine roared as the vehicle pulled away, suspension absorbing the uneven road with mechanical indifference.
Kaine leaned back slightly, chains resting loosely against his wrists. His expression didn't change.
"…I wonder if other heroes get this kind of treatment?" he murmured to the empty compartment.
Outside, sirens wailed faintly, receding into the distance. Inside, Kaine's mind was already working, dissecting everything he'd seen.
A world where mutants justified military intervention.A specialized response force.Public compliance is born from fear rather than trust.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
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[Auther: If this doesn't come out tomorrow, I guess I'll stop setting up auto update.]