CHAPTER 2: BAPTISM BY FIRE
The Ironhide van was a metal coffin on wheels.
That was Herro's first thought when he climbed into the back and saw the interior properly. Battered armor plating lined the walls, dented and scarred from impacts he didn't want to imagine. The seats were mismatched—some looked military surplus, others salvaged from civilian vehicles, all held together with bolts and hope. Cables snaked along the ceiling, connecting communication equipment that looked like it had survived at least two wars.
The whole thing smelled like oil, sweat, and something vaguely chemical that Herro couldn't identify and didn't want to.
(This is what we're using to chase down criminals. This thing looks like it should be in a junkyard, not active duty.)
Lyra was already in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, the other lighting another cigarette. The engine rumbled to life with a sound that suggested it was held together through sheer force of will.
"Everyone in. We're moving."
The team filed in with practiced efficiency.
Hilda claimed the seat closest to the door—ready to bail out first, Herro assumed. She cracked her knuckles, flexed her fingers, rolled her shoulders. Pre-fight ritual, maybe. Or just restlessness.
Rosa took the seat across from her, humming something cheerful that completely clashed with the tension in the air. She pulled out her phone, typed something rapidly, then put it away.
Dean appeared silently—Herro genuinely didn't see him enter, he was just suddenly there—and settled into a corner seat. Eyes closed. Perfectly still. Like he was meditating even while the van was moving.
JJ slouched in with his portable terminal clutched to his chest like a security blanket, found the seat farthest from everyone else, and immediately buried himself in his screens.
Nate sat next to Herro, notebook already open, reviewing something. His shield—that circular disc of golden-blue energy—hovered near his left forearm, flickering slightly.
(It's not physically attached to him. It's just... there. Floating. Made of energy.)
The van lurched forward. Lyra drove like she was personally offended by traffic laws.
Herro pressed himself into his seat as the van took a corner at a speed that made physics cry.
"So." He kept his voice low, directed at Nate. "What exactly are we doing?"
Nate didn't look up from his notes. "Intercepting a Jackal cargo transport before it reaches the eastern highway."
"And then?"
"Stop them. Secure the cargo. Call in local authorities for cleanup."
"That's it?"
"That's it." Nate flipped a page. "In theory."
(In theory. Great. Love that qualifier. Very reassuring.)
"What's in the cargo?"
"Unknown. Could be weapons, drugs, contraband tech, stolen goods—Jackals move everything." Nate finally looked at him. "Whatever it is, they're using Gear-user escorts in broad daylight, which means it's either valuable or dangerous. Possibly both."
Herro's stomach tightened. "And we're just... going to attack them?"
"We're going to intercept them." Nate's tone was patient. "There's a difference. We're sanctioned by the Empire to handle this kind of threat. It's legal."
"Legal doesn't mean safe."
"No. It doesn't." Nate closed his notebook. "That's why you're staying in the van."
"What if—"
"Herro." Nate's expression shifted—became more serious, more personal. "I know you're scared. I know you don't think you're ready for this. But you need to see what we do. How we operate. What it means to be part of a Family Unit."
He gestured toward the rest of the team.
"Watch them. Learn from them. And when the time comes—when you're ready—you'll know what to do."
Herro wanted to argue. Wanted to say he'd never be ready, that watching people fight wouldn't make him less terrified of his own power, that this whole thing was a mistake.
But Nate's expression was so earnest, so genuinely confident in him, that the words died in his throat.
"...Okay."
"Good." Nate smiled slightly. "And Herro? If things go wrong—if something happens and the situation gets out of control—you run. You get out of the combat zone and you don't look back. Understood?"
"You keep saying that like it's going to happen."
"I'm saying it because it might." Nate's smile faded. "Combat is unpredictable. Gear users are unpredictable. We plan for the best and prepare for the worst."
Before Herro could respond, Lyra's voice cut through the van.
"ETA three minutes. Everyone lock in."
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
Hilda's restless fidgeting stopped. Her hands went still, her expression focused.
Rosa's humming cut off. She stared out the window, tracking something.
Dean's eyes opened. Silver and alert.
JJ's fingers flew across his terminal faster, his earlier social anxiety completely gone.
Nate checked his shield, made a small adjustment with his hand, settled into ready position.
Even Lyra's posture changed—slouched exhaustion replaced by military bearing, one hand steady on the wheel.
(They're different. They're completely different people than they were ten minutes ago.)
(These aren't the chaotic weirdos from headquarters. These are soldiers.)
Herro's heart hammered in his chest.
(This is real. This is actually happening. I've been here for two hours and we're already—)
"Visual contact," JJ announced. "Cargo truck, three motorcycle escorts, one SUV rear guard. Heading northeast on Industrial Route 40."
Lyra's response was immediate. "Rosa, you're up first. Clear the bikes."
"On it."
Rosa rolled down the window—wind immediately whipped through the van—and leaned out slightly, one hand extended.
Herro watched, fascinated despite his fear.
Her fingers moved in small, precise gestures. Like she was conducting an invisible orchestra.
The air outside the van changed.
The wind hit the Jackal convoy like a freight train from the side.
Two of the motorcycle escorts lost control immediately—their bikes skidding sideways, tires losing traction, riders thrown to the asphalt in a chaos of metal and momentum.
The third rider adapted—leaned into the wind, compensated, stayed upright.
Rosa's expression sharpened. "Two down. Third one's better than expected."
Her hand moved again. The wind shifted—no longer a direct gust but a spiraling vortex that caught the remaining bike's front wheel.
The rider fought it for three seconds.
Lost.
The bike went down.
"All escorts neutralized," Rosa reported, pulling herself back into the van. "Truck's too heavy for wind alone. I can slow it, not stop it."
"Good enough." Lyra accelerated, bringing the van alongside the cargo truck. "Hilda, you're on breach. Nate, cover her."
Hilda was already moving toward the van's side door.
(Wait. She's not going to—)
Hilda kicked the door open mid-drive.
Wind screamed into the van. The highway blurred past at terrifying speed.
And Hilda jumped.
(SHE JUMPED. SHE JUST JUMPED OUT OF A MOVING VEHICLE AT HIGHWAY SPEEDS—)
Mid-air, her body transformed.
It started at her hands—skin shifting, texture changing, color draining to chrome. The transformation spread up her arms, across her shoulders, down her torso and legs. In less than two seconds, Hilda Tanya became living metal.
She landed on the truck's roof with a sound like an anvil dropping.
The reinforced plating actually dented under the impact.
Herro stared, speechless.
(She's made of metal. Her entire body is metal. That's—that's insane—)
Hilda didn't waste time. Her metallic fingers punched into the roof hatch, tearing through steel like cardboard, and she dropped inside the cargo section.
Muffled sounds of violence followed. Shouting. Impact. Something breaking.
Five seconds later, Hilda's voice crackled through the van's comms.
"Cargo secured. Three hostiles inside—neutralized. We're clear."
Lyra's expression didn't change. "Good work. Nate, status on—"
"CIVILIAN VEHICLE!" JJ's shout was pure panic. "Intersection ahead—they're not stopping!"
Herro looked forward.
A civilian car—some kind of family sedan—was veering into the conflict zone, either panicking or completely unaware of what was happening. Its trajectory put it directly in the path of debris from the crashed motorcycles.
Nate reacted instantly.
His hand shot forward. The shield that had been hovering near his forearm launched like a discus, spinning through the air with surgical precision.
Golden-blue energy blazed as it cut through the debris field—slicing clean through metal fragments, motorcycle parts, chunks of asphalt. The shield carved a safe corridor through the chaos, every piece of wreckage either obliterated or deflected harmlessly away.
The civilian car swerved through the cleared path, missed the impact zone by inches, and kept going.
The shield arced back, returning to Nate's position like a trained falcon. He caught it smoothly, the energy construct settling back into its hover near his forearm.
Nate's face was strained, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Civilian clear," he reported. "Rosa, redirect that last bike piece—I can't cover everything at once."
"Already on it."
(They're coordinating perfectly. No hesitation. No confusion. They just... know what to do.)
Herro watched, transfixed.
Rosa's wind manipulation keeping the highway clear.
Nate's shield protecting civilians and deflecting threats.
Hilda inside the truck, handling whatever resistance was there.
JJ monitoring everything from his terminal, feeding information constantly.
Lyra driving with aggressive precision, keeping pace with the cargo truck.
Dean still in the corner, eyes open but body relaxed, waiting.
(This is what they do. This is normal for them.)
(And I'm supposed to be part of this.)
The thought was terrifying.
"SUV breaking off," JJ announced. "It's not running—it's circling. Driver's trying to—wait."
His expression changed. Confusion. Then alarm.
"That's not right. There's a second signal I didn't account for. Another vehicle—it wasn't on the initial scan. They were running dark, no electronics."
Lyra's hands tightened on the wheel. "Where?"
"Side road. Intersection ahead. It's coming fast—"
A second Jackal vehicle burst onto the highway.
Heavy armored car. Military-grade. The kind of thing that didn't belong in civilian spaces.
And its trajectory wasn't escape.
It was ramming.
"BRACE!" Lyra jerked the wheel hard.
Not fast enough.
The armored car clipped the van's rear quarter panel with a sound like the world ending. Metal screamed. Glass shattered. Physics decided the Ironhide van was a toy and treated it accordingly.
The van spun.
Herro's seatbelt locked. His body slammed against the restraints. The world became chaos—spinning, tilting, everything wrong.
Nate's shield flashed into existence around the interior. Golden-blue light wrapped the team as the van went airborne for a second that lasted forever.
They hit the ground on the van's side.
Momentum carried them another ten meters, scraping along asphalt, until friction finally won and everything stopped.
Silence.
Then groaning. Movement. The sounds of people checking if they were alive.
Herro's head was ringing.
His seatbelt had saved his life—probably—but his shoulder felt like someone had hit it with a hammer. His vision swam. Everything hurt in that vague, all-over way that meant adrenaline was doing overtime to keep him conscious.
(What happened. What just happened. We were driving and then—)
"Everyone check in," Lyra's voice. Strained but functional. "Sound off."
"Fine." Nate, nearby. Breathing hard.
"I'm okay!" Rosa, further away. "I think. Yeah. Okay."
"Peachy," JJ muttered. "Just fantastic. Love car accidents."
Dean said nothing, but Herro heard him moving.
Hilda's voice crackled over comms. "What the hell just happened? I felt the impact from inside the truck—"
"Second vehicle," Lyra grunted. "Ambush. They planned—"
The words cut off.
Not because she stopped talking.
Because something massive hit her.
The sound was catastrophic—metal on metal, the screech of tires, the crunch of a bridge support giving way. Through the shattered windshield, Herro saw it happen in horrifying slow motion.
A third vehicle—bigger than the first two, a commercial hauler with reinforced plating—came off the overpass bridge above them like a falling meteor. It slammed into Lyra's side of the van with enough force to collapse the entire driver compartment.
The impact drove the van another five meters across the asphalt.
And Lyra—
Lyra was pinned.
The massive truck had landed partially on top of the van's crushed front section, trapping her beneath tons of twisted metal. Her prosthetic arm was visible, bent at an unnatural angle. Her flesh hand was pressed against the truck's undercarriage, trying to push it off through sheer strength.
It wasn't moving.
"LYRA!" Nate's scream tore through the van.
He was struggling with his own restraints, trying to get free, trying to reach her.
The armored car's engine roared again.
JJ's terminal was somehow still functional. "They're not done. The first car's turning around—it's coming back."
Through the broken windshield, Herro could see it accelerating down the highway.
Directly toward them.
And then he saw something worse.
JJ had been thrown from the van entirely during the crash.
He was on the ground twenty meters away, moving slowly, trying to crawl to safety but disoriented, injured, too slow.
The armored car's trajectory would take it directly over him.
The driver saw him. Herro was sure of it.
The driver wasn't slowing down.
(No. No no no—)
"JJ!" Rosa's scream. "JJ, MOVE!"
He was trying. He was trying but he wasn't fast enough and the car was too close and nobody else could reach him in time—
Lyra was pinned.
Nate was trapped.
Rosa was dazed.
Dean was too far away.
Hilda was still in the cargo truck, unaware.
Nobody else could save him.
Just Herro.
Just him, and the power he'd spent months trying to forget.
The power that put four boys in the hospital.
The power that terrified him.
(Move. Get up. MOVE!)
His hands fumbled with the seatbelt. The mechanism was jammed. He pulled harder. Something gave. The belt released.
Herro fell from his seat—the van was on its side, everything was sideways—and scrambled toward the broken windshield.
Glass cut his palms. He didn't care.
JJ was twenty meters away.
The armored car was maybe fifty meters out and closing fast.
(I can't reach him. I can't get there in time. Even if I run, even if I'm faster than I've ever been, I can't—)
But he could do something else.
Something he'd done once before, in a moment of pure terror and rage.
Something that ended with four boys in the hospital and Herro in juvenile detention.
(No. I can't. I can't use it. What if I hit JJ instead? What if I lose control? What if—)
JJ looked up. Saw the car. Saw death coming.
His expression—pure, helpless fear.
The same expression Herro had seen on those boys' faces right before his Gear awakened.
Right before everything went wrong.
(Not again. I can't let it happen again. I can't just watch someone die when I could—)
The thought cut through his panic like a blade.
Could.
He could save JJ.
He could stop the car.
He had the power.
(But what if I lose control—)
Then you lose control. But at least you tried.
Herro threw himself through the shattered windshield.
Hit the asphalt hard. Rolled. Came up running.
The armored car was thirty meters away.
JJ was ten meters ahead of him, still crawling.
(I'm not going to make it. I'm not going to reach him in time—)
Herro changed direction. Angled himself between JJ and the oncoming vehicle.
Planted his feet.
Raised his hands.
Palms forward.
And for the first time since the incident—for the first time in months—Herro Touya stopped fighting his fear and let the power flow.
Deep inside Herro's chest, something responded.
His bucket of Terran Energy—normally a passive reservoir that he barely noticed—suddenly began draining. Rapidly. The energy flooded through his body, racing along pathways he didn't know existed, concentrating in his arms, his shoulders, his hands.
It felt like lightning in his veins.
The air around him distorted. Reality bent. Space itself seemed to compress between his palms and the oncoming vehicle.
Herro's vision narrowed. Everything except the car disappeared—JJ, the team, the wrecked van, all of it faded to background noise.
Just him.
Just the target.
Just the power building in his hands like a star about to go supernova.
(Please. Please let this work. Please don't let me hit JJ. Please—)
The armored car was ten meters away.
Herro released.
IMPACT.
An invisible force erupted from Herro's palms.
Not wind. Not fire. Not anything with a name.
Pure kinetic energy, given direction and purpose by his Gear, traveling faster than thought.
The blast hit the armored car dead center.
The vehicle didn't stop.
It launched.
The front end lifted off the ground, propelled upward by a force that had no business existing. The entire car—two tons of reinforced steel and criminal intent—flipped end over end like a toy thrown by an angry child.
It sailed through the air.
Rotated once. Twice.
Crashed down thirty meters away in a catastrophic crumple of metal and shattered glass.
Silence.
The engine didn't restart.
Nobody came out.
Herro collapsed to his knees.
The energy drain hit him all at once—exhaustion, nausea, a hollow feeling like something essential had been scooped out of his chest. His hands were shaking. His vision swam. He could barely breathe.
(What did I just do. What was that. I felt it—felt the energy draining, felt the power building, felt it leave my body and—)
"What..." JJ's voice. Small. Shaken. "...the hell was that?"
Herro couldn't answer. Didn't have the breath.
Footsteps behind him. Multiple people approaching.
"Herro." Nate's voice. Quiet. Complicated. "Herro, look at me."
He couldn't. He was staring at his hands—the same hands that had just launched a car thirty meters through the air.
The same hands that put four boys in the hospital.
(What if I'd aimed wrong. What if I'd hit JJ instead. What if I'd lost control and—)
"Hey."
A different voice. Rougher.
Herro looked up.
Hilda stood there, fully reverted from her metal form, staring at him with an expression he couldn't read. Not fear. Not disgust. Something else.
"That was sick," she said flatly. "Weird as hell, but sick."
Rosa appeared next to her, eyes wide. "Herro, that was—you just—"
"Yeah, I know." Herro's voice cracked. "I almost killed him, I almost—"
"You saved him," Rosa interrupted. Her smile was genuine, warm. "You saved JJ."
Dean was already at JJ's side, helping the tech specialist to his feet with gentle efficiency. JJ was still staring at Herro like he'd grown a second head.
"You threw a car," JJ said numbly. "With your hands. You just... threw a car."
"I didn't throw it, I—" Herro stopped. He didn't actually know how to explain what he'd done. "I don't know."
"That was Divergent Impact," Nate said quietly, crouching beside him. "Your Gear."
"I didn't mean to—I didn't know I could—"
"I know." Nate's hand on his shoulder. Grounding. "We'll talk about it later. Right now, we need to—"
CREAAAAAAKKKKKKKKK.
The sound of metal tearing.
Everyone's heads snapped toward the collapsed front of the van.
The massive truck that had fallen on Lyra was shifting. Moving.
Not being lifted.
Being pushed.
From underneath.
With one arm.
The truck rose slowly, groaning in protest as tons of reinforced metal were forced upward by a single flesh-and-blood hand. Lyra's face was visible now, teeth gritted, veins standing out on her neck, every muscle in her body straining against impossible weight.
The truck tilted. Shifted. Rolled off the van's crushed front section and crashed onto its side.
Lyra stood up.
Her prosthetic arm was bent, sparking, barely functional. Her clothes were torn. Blood ran from a cut above her eye. She looked like she'd just survived being hit by a building.
She also looked pissed.
"Alright," Lyra said, her voice deadly calm. "Which one of those assholes is still breathing?"
Nobody answered.
Because honestly, after watching her bench-press a commercial truck with one arm while pinned under it, nobody had words.
Lyra rolled her shoulders, wiped blood from her face with the back of her hand, and pulled out a cigarette that was somehow still intact. She lit it, took a long drag, and exhaled smoke.
"JJ. Status on hostiles."
JJ scrambled for his terminal, which had miraculously survived being thrown twenty meters. "Uh. Three vehicles down. All drivers either unconscious or—wait."
His expression changed. Went pale.
"There's a fourth signal. Infantry. Six heat signatures, closing on our position from the east. They're—shit, they're Gear users. All of them."
Lyra's expression didn't change. "Fantastic."
She turned to the team.
"Rosa, get the van stable. Nate, secure the cargo truck—make sure Hilda's targets stay down. Dean, triage. Check everyone for injuries. JJ, keep tracking those heat signatures."
Her eyes landed on Herro.
"You. With me."
Herro blinked. "What?"
"You heard me. On your feet."
"But I can barely—"
"Don't care. You just proved you can throw cars around. That means you're useful." Lyra's grin was sharp. Dangerous. "And I need useful right now."
Herro staggered to his feet, legs shaking, Terran Energy reserves nearly empty.
(She can't be serious. I can barely stand. I'm not ready for—)
Lyra was already walking toward the eastern approach, prosthetic arm sparking with each movement but still somehow functional.
"Come on, kid. Time for your second lesson."
"What was the first lesson?"
"How to save someone." Lyra flicked ash from her cigarette. "Now you get to learn how to not die while doing it."
The six heat signatures appeared on the horizon.
Gear users. Professional. Coordinated.
Coming straight for them.
Herro's fear spiked.
But underneath it—underneath the exhaustion and the doubt and the terror—was something else.
Something small and stubborn and absolutely refusing to quit.
(I saved JJ. I used my power and I saved someone.)
(Maybe... maybe I can do this.)
Lyra glanced back at him. Raised an eyebrow.
"You good?"
Herro took a breath. Straightened his shoulders as much as his exhausted body would allow.
"...Yeah. I'm good."
"Liar." Lyra's grin widened. "But I'll take it. Let's go."
They walked forward together—the chain-smoking veteran with one working arm and the terrified seventeen-year-old who'd just discovered his power—to face down six professional killers in broad daylight on a highway outside North Valor.
Behind them, the rest of the Ironhide Family scrambled to recover, regroup, and prepare for whatever came next.
And somewhere in the wreckage of three destroyed vehicles and one barely-functional van, Herro Touya found the faintest, most fragile hint of something he hadn't felt in months.
Hope.
END OF CHAPTER 3