Blackie froze when Micah and Victor caught him mid-act. He paused, rubbed the side of his nose, then sighed in mild resignation.

"Was it really that obvious?"

He aimed the question at Victor. Victor only nodded, a grin tugging at his lips despite his effort to hold it back. He might not have known exactly what Blackie was plotting, but after spending enough time around him, the so-called serious face had become a reliable warning sign that trouble was brewing.

"Tch. Spoilsports," Blackie muttered.

The dramatic air around him collapsed instantly, the spark of mischief snuffed out now that the moment had been ruined. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, clearly uninterested in salvaging whatever scheme he had been cooking up.

Outside on the porch, Blackie scanned the yard, hands resting on his hips. His gaze quickly locked onto his earlier handiwork.

"Hey, you," he shouted. "Yeah, you. Get over here."

Blackfin was a far cry from the fearsome warlord he had been not long ago. One side of his face had swollen into a grotesque, uneven lump, pulling his features into something almost comical. He looked ridiculous, and he knew it.

Worse still, his confidence had been completely shattered. Just minutes earlier, he had watched one of the newcomers, that Micah fellow, shoot straight up into the sky and vanish hundreds of feet above them. Blackfin had no idea about Shatterstar's high-particle stealth shield or the open mech hatch waiting above. In his mind, the man had simply ascended into the heavens and disappeared.

The image had crushed what little bravado he had left.

Blackfin had dealt with Energy Users before, even mutants with abilities that bent the rules of reality, but people who casually walked on air were another matter entirely. This was his first time encountering something like that, and the thought crept uninvited into his mind that he might have crossed paths with actual gods.

Terror and awe twisted together in his gut.

When Blackie pointed at him with unmistakable authority, Blackfin felt his heart drop. He glanced left, then right, searching for reassurance from his men.

Shuffle.

A wall of hardened mercenaries, killers with blood on their hands and long histories of violence, all took a single step backward at the same time.

Blackfin's already bruised face darkened further.

'You sons of—'

"Quit looking around," Blackie barked, cutting off his thoughts. "I'm talking to you, Pumpkin-Head. Get your ass over here."

Humiliation burned hotter than fear. He was a kingpin, a warlord, a man who ruled through violence and reputation. Ordinarily, he would not even need to give an order, his men would have ripped someone like this apart without hesitation. Now, they had practically formed a protective ring behind themselves.

He did not dare delay any longer. The black-robed "grandpa" standing on the steps had started tapping his foot, slow and deliberate. That small gesture sent a spike of panic through Blackfin's spine.

Survival won out.

He bent at the waist in an awkward, hurried bow.

"Y-yes, Black… Grandpa?" he said, forcing the words out. "What do you need?"

He scurried forward, every step stiff with forced submission.

"Get a bed," Blackie said, sniffing loudly through his nose, clearly enjoying every second of this. "My Boss needs to lie down properly."

"Right away," Blackfin barked, snapping to attention before spinning toward his troops. "You heard him. Get four beds. For the Black Grandpa and his Boss to rest. And prepare food, fresh game, the good stuff. Beds better be soft, meat better be fresh. If we don't have it, go hunt for it."

He added the extra orders quickly, as if speed alone might earn him mercy.

The mercenaries exchanged uneasy looks. Four beds, and fresh game. Yes, they were in the jungle, but the area within two kilometers was a carefully laid minefield. Proper hunting meant going farther out. Farther out meant firearms, and firearms meant noise.

This jungle was not exclusively theirs.

The Apex Predators, the second-largest force in the region, was camped just beyond their claimed territory. Any gunfire could be seen as a challenge. Apex had more than four thousand soldiers to their twelve hundred, and tensions between the two groups were always simmering. Skirmishes, disappearances, and quiet retaliations were common.

What was the boss thinking?

These men were not fools. When they noticed Blackfin, his back turned to Blackie, flick them a sharp, meaningful look, understanding dawned.

The boss has a plan.

Several trusted lieutenants nodded quickly.

"We'll handle the hunt," one of them said. "You lot go get those… uh… special beds from the women's quarters."

They moved fast, piling into a Humvee and roaring out of camp before anyone could second-guess the orders.

"Bring plenty," Blackie called after them. "Don't come back with just a snack."

"Don't worry, Black Grandpa," Blackfin replied quickly, waving them off with forced enthusiasm. "You'll be satisfied."

Shortly after the Humvee disappeared…

BOOM!

A section of the wall near the edge of the camp exploded outward, chunks of stone and dust spraying into the air. A group of men stumbled through the breach, coughing and swearing as they hauled four massive circular objects wrapped tightly in tarps, clearly doing their best to keep them clean despite the dramatic entrance.

Blackie squinted at the scene. "Beds?" he said slowly. "Why are they round? And why are they so big. No wonder you had to blow out a wall."

Blackfin forced a grin that looked even worse with half his face swollen. "Had to pull a lot of strings to get these," he said proudly. "Top-shelf stuff. Barely got them installed. Haven't even had a chance to, uh, test-drive them yet."

Blackie gave him a long, puzzled look.

'Weird thing to be proud of. It's a bed.'

When the men finally lowered the bulky circles onto the ground in front of the porch, a new problem made itself painfully obvious. Blackfin's expression stiffened. In his panic and rush to please, he had completely forgotten about their size. The building's doorway was wider than most, but these things were not going to fit through it.

He froze, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple as his eyes flicked nervously toward Blackie. The volatile "grandpa" had been very clear earlier, and Blackfin had no desire to give him another excuse to practice slapping techniques.

His gaze had barely shifted before his vision was completely filled by a massive, five-fingered hand.

"Oh, fu—"

He tried to duck. It did not help.

WHAP!

The world spun violently as pain exploded across his face. Inside his head, Blackfin was screaming curses. Of course. He had forgotten the lunatic's parting words earlier, that casual little promise of "next time." The bastard had been waiting for an excuse to use him as a practice dummy again.

"Hm. Still not right," Blackie muttered, watching Blackfin's body sail away with thoughtful interest. "Next time I'll try twisting the wrist more."

He even demonstrated the motion in the air a few times, nodding to himself.

The men holding the tarp-covered beds flinched in unison, sympathy battling desperately with self-preservation.

'Boss really can't catch a break.'

"Just move. I'll handle it," Blackie said with a tired sigh, waving them aside.

They scrambled off the porch so fast they nearly tripped over one another, relief and curiosity written plainly across their faces. They watched as Blackie made a casual sweeping motion with his hand.

The four enormous circular beds vanished.

Blackie stepped inside, flicked his wrist again, and with a soft pop, the beds reappeared, neatly arranged across the floor. Thankfully, the interior space was massive. In a normal building, the room would have been completely overwhelmed.

This effortless display of spatial storage and retrieval sent another wave of stunned awe through Blackfin and his men. Vanishing objects. Instant materialization. Their fear deepened, mixing with something dangerously close to reverence.

'This has to be divine magic.'

More than a few of them began to wonder if the slap-happy maniac was not merely powerful, but something far beyond human.

Blackie clearly enjoyed their stares, his smug satisfaction barely contained.

Victor shook his head, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

'He's supposedly lived for twenty thousand years, and he still acts like a kid showing off a new toy.'

Still, at least the immediate problem had been solved. They finally had proper beds. Ethan would be able to rest without lying on cold stone. Victor stepped forward and grabbed the tarp covering the nearest one, yanking it free.

He stopped dead.

His expression shifted from neutral to confused, then to something deeply, profoundly unsettled. He stared at the bed, then glanced at Ethan and Rainie, before slowly turning his gaze toward Blackfin, who was hovering awkwardly in the doorway.

"Heh heh," Blackfin chuckled, managing a leer despite his swollen face. "Those are water beds. Took a hell of a lot of effort to get them out here. Not like back in the States, you know. Real rare stuff."

Victor continued to stare, his disbelief complete and absolute.

Rainie leaned in to look, then immediately saw the problem. Victor's forceful tug had set the central water bladder in motion, and the surface rippled with a very distinct, very suggestive wave.

Her face went bright red.

She had never actually used one before, but she was a modern woman. She did not need firsthand experience to understand how that worked.

You didn't have to ride the roller coaster to recognize the tracks.

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