Department Store Terror (6)
Huff... huff... huff...
"Whoa... this one was really... gave me the chills."
In the emergency stairwell on some floor, Villain No. 13 slumped against the wall, catching his breath as his heart thundered from the all-out sprint. He swept back his sweat-matted hair.
That woman—of all things, she'd broken free of the brainwashing in that moment.
He and the Advisor had anticipated that Spade might resist hypnosis to some degree, but no one had foreseen it shattering right then and there.
Or had Dorothy warned him? Something like, "It might wear off if you force actions that go strongly against their own will—so be careful." Most things stuck fine, so he'd let his guard down. Apparently, ordering her to attack a comrade was still a step too far.
Who does that? She'd rather get her virginity stolen and be raped than harm a teammate?
A crackle from the comms terminal plugged into his ear, followed by Apple's voice. Even in a mess like this, she sounded as chipper as ever.
All radio signals in this sector were jammed, but Apple's tweaks kept this private line open.
He replied that he was fine and asked for a sitrep. Her response:
They probably figured he was cut off from the outside world. Better to corner and capture him before the Advisor could mount a rescue.
Running's an option, sure...
The terminal linked to the Advisor too. He could bail anytime. But his mana was spent healing the wounds from Club's attack. No more revives if he took a fatal hit.
As he pondered his next move, static crackled again. The Advisor's voice this time.
"Hold on, Advisor."
She wasn't wrong. Safety-wise, bailing now made sense. The original plan even called for aborting and fleeing once mana hit zero.
But the problem was... running now would make future ops a nightmare. Plus, Club had witnessed him controlling Spade firsthand.
Have Apple brainwash Club and wipe her memory? Worse, if Spade's hypnosis was fully broken, who knew what she remembered.
"Advisor, stand by. Apple, you hearing this?"
"Where are Spade and Club right now? Give me positions."
A near-scream from the Advisor, but he ignored it. With orders given, she wouldn't warp him out unilaterally.
Apple, carefree as ever regardless of his choice, cheerfully fed him the intel: current positions, their strategy, available resources.
"Switching to Plan B. You can handle it, Apple?"
Ignoring the Advisor's protests, No. 13 rose and shoved open the stairwell door.
Inside the barricaded mall—lights out, emergency lamps the only glow in the darkness.
Right by the door, a cat padded across the floor.
Fine. It's not over yet.
I've still got one ace up my sleeve.
Step... step... clunk!
Screeech...
Spade cracked open the stairwell door and peered inside. Two cats darted through.
"Got 'em in here too."
A voice echoed in her head, followed by a new visual overlay—Club's field of view shared directly.
Club was using her ability for vision sharing and voice projection. No devices needed, unjammable.
No eavesdropping worries, clearer than verbal orders. Downside: high mana drain for human links, unlike cats. Couldn't stay on constantly.
"Barrier blocks the shortest path. Heading down?"
"Got it."
She scooped up the milling white and tabby cats blocked by the barrier, vaulted the railing, and dropped to the lower floor. Following Club's lead, she found and opened another stairwell door.
—The pair were hunting No. 13. But in this massive department store, cats were essential.
Problem: cats couldn't open human doors like stairwells. Spade handled that.
Club stayed back, puppeteering hordes of cats—needed focus, so separated. Distance meant countermeasures if Spade got controlled again.
She was a sniper anyway; rushing in wasn't her style. Spot, snipe, done.
Her position: boxed in by barriers and walls, cats posted on all approaches. Any intruder, instant alert.
Spade solo-scouted, expanding Club's vision net. They'd snag No. 13 eventually.
The safest, sturdiest plan they could muster.
"Told you. Field improv's dangerous."
"Don't laugh. Ugh."
"Random assignment, right?"
Her power was a big draw for the capital's chaos.
"...D-Do we have to do this now?"
Hearing fangirl stuff straight-up? Awkward. Koreans weren't great with praise—made her skin crawl.
"Urgh..."
Club's mental voice sounded giddy. As a middle-schooler then, how articles hit her, kid-crush details...
"Please... stop..."
Now giggles mixed in. Genuine admiration, sure—but Club was at heart a troll who loved messing with people.
Then, abruptly, Club's voice cut out.
"Club?"
No reply. Unease flickered.
After several calls:
"Scared me going silent. You good?"
"Our link first, then? Cats don't drain as much?"
Club marked priority spots via vision share for now, promising more later—then link dropped abruptly.
Sudden silence brought unexpected loneliness.
The trailing cat meowed nyaa~ at her feet, as if to say I'm here.
Can't find him...
Even with all this? Maybe he'd bolted already.
Spade almost preferred that. Heroes protected citizens first. Capturing villains was secondary.
Safety secured; letting him go worked. Cornered villain = unpredictable. They were unsupported, vulnerable.
"?"
Static buzzed in her ear—from the 7th Squad comms terminal she'd kept in, just in case. Long dead, now reconnecting.
Apple's cheerful voice crackled through, warm and welcome.