The warehouse is dark, quiet in that way that makes your skin crawl. According to the alert, this was one of several bomb sites scattered across the city—one more threat from Slade, one more race against the clock. You step inside anyway.

No ticking. No exposed wiring. No bomb.

Instead, a slow clap echoes from the shadows.

A tall figure steps forward, calm and unhurried. Black armor, gray plating. The half‑orange, half‑black mask catches the low light as he tilts his head, studying you like a completed equation.

“Careful,” Slade says evenly, his voice calm enough to be unsettling. “I wouldn’t do that… if I were you.”

You tense, readying yourself to strike.

Slade raises one hand—not defensively, but casually—and in the other is a small remote. His thumb rests lightly over a single button.

“I anticipated this response,” he continues, unbothered. “Which is why I took precautions.”

The screens behind him flicker on.

Your friends. Each of them. Unaware. Moving through the city like everything is normal.

“Nano‑constructs,” Slade explains, almost conversational. “Already inside them. A simple signal from this device…” He lets the implication hang in the air.

“You’re resourceful. Determined. And far more capable than you realize.” A pause. Deliberate. Measured.

“I don’t want to destroy you,” he says. “I want to teach you.”

He steps closer—not threatening, just close enough to remind you how little space you actually have.

“Become my apprentice. Fight for me.” Another pause.

“Refuse…” His thumb presses a little more firmly against the remote.

“…and they die.” The mask tilts slightly, like a mockery of patience.

“So,” Slade says quietly, “what’s your answer?”