—Four... five... and... six! Aahhh, my poor little arms! —Alex groaned, his face flushed red and the veins in his neck bulging from the sheer effort.
With a high-pitched squeak that lacked any trace of military dignity, he racked the barbell back onto the metal supports. The sharp clank of iron echoed loudly, blending into the background noise of Blakk Industries' crowded and humid gym. Alex lay flat on the synthetic leather mat, his chest heaving rapidly as he stared at the pathetic weight plates he had just lifted.
«What a load of crap... barely six reps with ninety pounds,» he thought, rubbing his sore shoulders with a grimace of absolute frustration. «I must be the laughingstock of all transmigrators.»
«While other chosen ones cross over to new worlds and get the magical power to bench-press a pickup truck with one hand, the universe spits on me and gives me the fantastic, wildly unathletic power of 'super perception'. Great.»
He sat up slowly on the edge of the bench and took a long swig from his cold water bottle. He let the liquid soothe his dry throat while his breathing returned to normal. Despite the physical humiliation of his scrawny arms, he couldn't complain too much about his current situation.
Ever since he discovered what he reverently dubbed "The Pizza Sanctuary" two days ago, his quality of life had done a complete one-eighty. His meals had gone from a grayish mush to something you could actually call food... if by "eating" you meant clogging your arteries with fat, carbs, and melted cheese.
«Well, Valentina kept her word,» Alex reflected, a satisfied smirk crossing his face as he remembered the chaotic deal they struck in the intelligence office. «No missions for forty-eight hours. The woman let herself be bribed with a few family-sized pizzas. Though honestly, I don't blame her... who wouldn't sell their soul for a little pepperoni in this dump?»
With no real missions or obligations, Alex had spent his free time exploring the bowels of the massive, dark fortress. For being the headquarters of the most feared villain in Slugterra, the entertainment options were severely lacking. The only things that sparked even a sliver of interest were the shooting range and this massive weight room.
He scanned the room. The air was thick, heavy with the smell of ozone, cold metal, and stale sweat. All around him, dozens of foot soldiers and lower-ranking officers were lifting ridiculous amounts of weight, grunting like pack mules.
«Damn caveman machismo... this place is a total sausage fest,» he complained bitterly in his mind, frowning at the sheer lack of diversity. «Nothing but sweaty, beefy dudes. Aside from Valentina—who, frankly, I wouldn't touch without a hazmat suit and industrial-grade soap—I haven't seen a single female working as a guard or soldier in this entire base.»
Of course, his solemn internal crusade against the "oppressive system" was a complete sham. Deep down, his hormone-driven teenage brain just wanted some eye candy to break up the monotony of industrial gray and scarred faces. Pumping iron wasn't exactly his passion—in fact, he hated it—but it was the only way to burn off his pent-up energy. It was either this, or stare at the cold metal wall of his room until he went insane.
He set his water bottle aside and closed his eyes for a second. The clanking of steel and the grunts of the soldiers seemed to fade out, replaced by a lingering echo in his memory.
—Blakk is not a man you can trust...
The voice of that kid, Eli Shane, kept rattling around in his head. His warning at the pizzeria had been clear, almost desperate. Alex opened his eyes slowly, and a malicious, almost predatory smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
«Betray me?» he asked himself, clenching his fists with absolute, borderline-arrogant confidence. «Let him try. I'll show him exactly what this cheap knockoff of Dio's Stand can do.»
That was his ace in the hole. The bizarre, overpowered ability he had been granted upon crossing the barrier between worlds. An analytical and spatial awareness so severely "broken" that the usually clueless Alex only realized he had it three days after waking up in a bioluminescent mushroom forest.
Thanks to that hidden power, he had survived the jungle, outsmarted twenty armed mercenaries, secured a toxic pool of Dark Water, and pulled off every single feat that had fast-tracked him to his current rank.
Dr. Blakk thought he had a brilliant young soldier under his thumb. He had absolutely no idea about the tactical monster he had invited into his own fortress.
After thirty extra minutes of physical torture, Alex noticed out of the corner of his eye that an impeccably dressed shadow was making a beeline toward him. It was Maurice. Dr. Blakk's administrator and right-hand man stopped a few feet away, watching him with his usual expression of cold, calculating disdain.
—You have a new mission. Report to Valentina in Intelligence, —Maurice ordered in his nasal voice, holding out a black, official-looking clipboard—. And, please... control yourself this time.
«He said it,» Alex thought, his breath hitching for a fraction of a second. «I am absolutely positive that bastard said it with a mocking tone.»
Alex stood up, wiping the sweat from his neck with a towel before snatching the clipboard. He wasn't going to let the bureaucrat get the last word.
—First of all, there is zero privacy in this place; gossip flies faster than slugs, —Alex shot back, looking him dead in the eye—. Second, absolutely nothing happened between her and me. And third, don't worry, Maurice, I would never touch your girlfriend.
Maurice didn't flinch. He simply blinked behind his glasses, spun on his heel, and walked away in dead silence, his footsteps echoing rhythmically against the rubber gym floor.
«Man, working sucks,» Alex mused as he gathered his things. «I gotta admit, riding a high-end Mecha-Beast and shooting magic slugs sounds like any kid's wet dream, but the second they force you to do it for a job... it kind of loses all the magic.»
Walking through the cold, metallic corridors of the fortress toward the Intelligence Wing, Alex glanced down to review the clipboard he'd just been handed. He immediately frowned.
«Why the hell give me a physical document if everything is blacked out with sharpie?» he thought, irritated as he flipped through the pages. «Mission Name: Classified. Objectives: Classified. Tactical Data: Classified, classified, classified. At the bottom, it just says 'Report to the intelligence room'. You could have just sent me a text for that. Villains these days are so un-eco-friendly.»
A few minutes later, he was standing in front of Valentina's desk. The Commander of Intelligence—whose office was the exact same chaotic pigsty as the day before—handed him two black metal devices with sharp, angular edges. To Alex's eyes, they looked exactly like the detachable Joy-Cons of a Nintendo Switch.
—Open it, —Valentina instructed, making a sharp, outward snapping motion with her hands.
Alex mirrored the gesture. He gripped both modules and pulled them apart with a highly satisfying metallic click. Instantly, the devices sprang to life.
A holographic projection erupted between his hands. It wasn't just static light; crimson energy traced perfect geometric lines in the air, creating a vibrant, razor-sharp display.
The visual effect was so fluid, crisp, and high-contrast that it reminded Alex of the intense lighting effects from his favorite action anime. The harsh red neon glow washed over his face, casting sharp, dynamic shadows against the cluttered walls of the office.
The floating screen displayed a mugshot of a man, accompanied by a wall of text, coordinates, and constantly shifting data graphs.
—This is your mission, —Valentina began, leaning against her desk—. The guy you see there used to be a commander for Blakk Industries. He joined our ranks a while back, but shortly after getting his hands on a Cryptogrif slug... he cut all comms and dropped off the map. Obviously, the Doctor has taken this as treason.
Valentina typed something into her console, and the hologram rotated to show a topographic map.
—Your mission is to drag this guy back to base. We are going to teach him personally why nobody double-crosses Blakk Industries.
Alex shifted his gaze to the header of the hologram to read his target's name. The bold red letters hovered in the air: MISTER SATURDAY.
«Mister Saturday?» Alex thought, blinking a few times to make sure he was reading it right. «Good lord... what is up with the names in this place? Diablos Nacho, Sergeant Bough, and now this clown called Mister Saturday. Sounds like the host of a cheap daytime game show.»
Alex let out an almost inaudible sigh and looked up at the ceiling for a split second, feeling a sudden wave of gratitude.
«Thanks, Mom. Seriously, thanks for not being so creative, naming me Alex, and having some basic common sense. Love you.»
—Woo-hoo!
Alex's scream of pure adrenaline was completely drowned out by the deafening roar of the modified engine. Riding the Bengal Tiger Mecha-Beast at top speed through the tunnels of Slugterra was a near-religious experience.
The wind whipped violently against his face, but he didn't care; he was ecstatic, melting into the vibration of the chassis and the raw horsepower of the machine.
Unlike his previous raid, where he had to babysit a slow, noisy platoon of twenty grunts, this was a covert op. A strictly solo mission.
«Makes perfect sense,» Alex analyzed as he drifted through a hairpin turn, the metal claws screeching against the rock. «Blakk has an ego the size of his own fortress. If he sends a whole army after a single deserter, people will start asking questions. He doesn't want anyone in the 99 Caverns to know that it's possible to steal from him right under his nose, make a fool out of him, and walk away. That's why everything was so heavily classified. Typical politicians and dictators: sweep the trash under the rug before the public smells it.»
After a few minutes of driving at suicidal speeds, the natural lighting of the tunnels began to shift, giving way to the flickering artificial lights of a much more urban cavern. Alex gradually downshifted until he parked his Tiger in front of a colossal structure made of concrete and stained glass.
He killed the engine. The silence that followed was dead and heavy.
According to Intelligence's coordinates, this was the hideout of Mister Saturday and his stolen Cryptogrif slug. Alex hopped off his mount and stared at the facade in disbelief.
It was a massive shopping mall.
It was desolate, with shattered storefronts and burnt-out neon signs that buzzed faintly in the dark, giving the whole place an aura of decay and abandonment.
—Phew... —Alex whistled softly, his boots crunching over the broken glass at the main entrance.
«So a place of mass consumption like this actually exists in Slugterra...» he thought, staring up at the higher floors that faded into the shadows. «Looks like this underground world isn't as boring or primitive as I thought. If they have giant malls, I wonder if they also have their own version of Pornhub... or at least decent Wi-Fi to look it up.»
His filthy teenage rambling was abruptly cut short by a guttural sound. A wet crunch, followed by a low growl that echoed down the main concourse.
Alex froze in his tracks, his hand instinctively dropping to the grip of his blaster. About fifty feet away, emerging from the shadows of what used to be a jewelry store, two figures stepped out. They were men, but their skin had a pale, sickly hue. They walked with a heavy slouch, and when they looked up, a chill ran down Alex's spine: their eyes glowed with an unnatural crimson red, completely void of any humanity or consciousness.
Spotting Alex, the two subjects unleashed a deafening, high-pitched, raspy shriek, and broke into a frenzied, beast-like sprint right toward him.
«Super perception: activated.»
The second that thought crossed his mind, the world around him seemed to plunge into thick molasses. Time slowed to an absolute crawl. Alex could see individual drops of saliva flying from the infected men's mouths, every irregular twitch of their muscles. His brain instantly began drawing geometric trajectory lines in the air, calculating angles, weights, and velocities with flawless fluidity, like he was inside a high-budget animation sequence.
The first man lunged with his hands outstretched, aiming to tear his throat out. Alex didn't even blink. With a fluid, highly economical movement, he tilted his torso to the right, letting the attacker's claws slice through empty air. Immediately, he pivoted on his heels, riding the momentum of his dodge, and used the centrifugal force of the spin to smash the heavy stock of his blaster straight into the back of the first infected's neck. The man dropped like a rock, crunching hard against the tiled floor.
But there was no time to pause. The second attacker was already on top of him.
Without losing his balance, Alex snapped his left leg up like a coiled spring and planted his boot firmly into the second man's chest, stopping his charge dead in its tracks and keeping him at bay.
While holding him back with his extended leg, Alex took advantage of his body's tilted posture from the first strike. He aimed his blaster out to the side, completely away from the enemy, and pulled the trigger.
The air hissed violently. The Ramstone slug shot out of the chamber, transforming mid-flight into a beast of solid rock with razor-sharp horns. But it wasn't aiming for the man.
The projectile slammed full-force into a thick marble column to Alex's right. Just as his hyper-analytical mind had calculated, the slug banked off the exact perfect angle, reversing its trajectory like a deadly cue ball. The stone beast rocketed back and crashed brutally into the side of the second attacker—the exact one Alex was pinning with his boot.
The impact lifted the man entirely off the ground and tossed him several feet backward, knocking him out cold before he even hit the floor.
The Ramstone slug morphed back into its miniature form and bounced softly, landing right in Alex's open palm. Time snapped back to normal.
Alex stood up slowly, adjusting the collar of his black tactical jacket. He looked at the two bodies sprawled in the middle of the gloomy concourse, then glanced around at the smashed storefronts and the flickering ceiling lights. An ironic smirk crept onto his face.
—An abandoned mall and crazy zombies running down the aisles... —Alex said out loud, spinning his blaster expertly before holstering it—. What movie does that remind you of?