S5 Episode Five: "Battle Against the Basilisk"

The night air bit at Adam's exposed skin, a sharp contrast to the suffocating heat trapped inside his helmet and suit. He'd already drafted a request for cooling upgrades. Lance, predictably, had started sketching concepts before Adam even finished asking. O.R.A.C.L.E. would run the numbers and optimize the designs, as she always did.

Adam sat on the edge of the city's tallest building, his helmet resting beside him.

"Remind me what we're looking for?" he asked, toggling the comms to full volume.

"Lizard man," Lance replied, his voice thin with exhaustion. "Media's been cycling the story for two weeks. We need to track it down before it disappears again."

"Right. That was in the briefing."

"The one you weren't paying attention to?"

Adam grimaced. "My mind wandered."

A beat of silence. Then: "Should I have O.R.A.C.L.E. add more visuals to the overview?"

"No," Adam said quickly. "I'll focus better next time. Promise."

Lance's sigh crackled through the line. When he spoke again, his tone had shifted… less pointed, more just tired.

"You sound exhausted," Adam commented.

"I'm fine."

"You sound like you're juggling Midas Corp. and vigilante work on two hours of sleep."

"Can't argue with that," Lance admitted. A fatigued laugh followed. "Would you believe me if I said it wasn't catching up with me?"

"Not for a second," Adam said. "You should take a break."

"So should you."

"Fair point."

The city hummed beneath them: distant traffic, the occasional siren, the white noise of millions of people asleep. Adam let the quiet settle between them, comfortable in a way that only comes after years of partnership.

Then the comms pinged.

"Movement. Three blocks east," Lance's voice cut through, sharp again. "Get your helmet on. Now."

"How did you…"

The line went dead.

Adam's fingers moved on instinct, sealing his helmet into place. The HUD flickered to life, painting Lance's location across his vision. His friend's vitals were spiking: elevated heart rate, adrenaline spike, stress markers climbing fast.

"What happened to Lance?" Adam asked O.R.A.C.L.E., already moving toward the fire escape.

"His biometric readings suggest active engagement," the AI replied. "Recommend immediate assistance."

Adam didn't need the recommendation. He vaulted off the building's edge, using the descent to build momentum. The city blurred beneath him as he cut across rooftops and fire escapes, moving faster than safe. Below, sounds of struggle echoed between the buildings; impacts, shattering glass, something heavy hitting concrete.

He dropped down into an alley and saw it immediately.

The creature had Lance pinned… some massive reptilian thing with scales that caught the streetlight like oil on water. Its frame was wrong, too large, limbs too long. One clawed hand had Lance's arm twisted, the other pressing him against the wall. The thing's head was massive, all teeth and red eyes that burned with something almost intelligent.

"Hey!" Adam shouted.

The creature's head snapped toward him, those red eyes locking on. It was enough. Lance drove his foot up into its ribs, using the distraction to wrench free and roll sideways. Adam moved in before the thing could react, positioning himself between it and his friend.

The creature's face twisted into something between a roar and a hiss, pure aggression made sound.

Lance stepped up beside him, breathing hard. His helmet was gone. Blood ran down one side of his face where the creature's claws had caught him, three parallel cuts that went deep. His armor was torn in places.

"That's going to scar," Adam muttered.

"I've had worse," Lance said, but his voice was tight.

The creature took a step forward, its movements fluid and predatory. Its claws scraped against the asphalt.

"So what's the play?" Adam asked, keeping his eyes on the thing's center mass, watching for the tell of its next move.

Lance's breathing was already evening out, adrenaline burning through his exhaustion. "We keep it here. Don't let it reach the street level."

"And then?"

"We figure it out as we go."

Adam nodded. The creature hissed again, lowering its massive head.

"Here it comes," Lance warned.

The Basilisk charged.

-------

Several hours later, the infirmary lights felt too bright.

Adam sat slumped on one exam table while Lance occupied the other, both of them breathing like they'd run a marathon. The air smelled like antiseptic and copper. Blood had dried in dark streaks across Lance's torn suit, and Adam's left leg was propped up at an angle that made walking impossible for now.

Mechanical arms moved around Lance with surgical precision, cleaning the gashes across his face and chest. He didn't flinch when the disinfectant hit the wounds, but his jaw tightened.

"Three lacerations to the face, four centimeters deep," O.R.A.C.L.E. reported, her tone clinical but not cold.

"Additional lacerations to the left shoulder and chest. Two fractured ribs on your right side. Significant bruising around the right shoulder joint."

She paused.

"And, I presume, wounded pride."

Adam let out a hoarse laugh that turned into a wince.

"There it is. 'You should see the other guy,' right?"

"The other guy is still out there," Lance said quietly.

O.R.A.C.L.E.'s mechanical arms shifted to Adam, scanning his elevated leg.

"Severe sprain to your left knee and ankle. You're fortunate it's not worse, considering you took a direct hit from a creature that outweighs you by several hundred pounds."

"Mr. Hero over here took most of the damage trying to earn some cool battle scars," Adam said, gesturing at Lance with his good hand.

Lance didn't bite. His eyes were fixed on something in the middle distance, jaw still tight.

"Prognosis?" he asked.

"Your suit is beyond repair," O.R.A.C.L.E. replied.

One of her borrowed arms lifted a torn piece of chest plating as evidence before discarding it.

"As for your body, with proper rest and treatment, you should make a full recovery in approximately three weeks."

"Three weeks." Lance's hands gripped the edge of the exam table.

"That thing is still hunting. We barely drove it off. It'll come back."

"Which is why you need to heal," O.R.A.C.L.E. said, her voice taking on something almost gentle.

"You cannot stop it if you're dead."

"I can't stop it if I'm sitting here either." Lance tried to push himself upright, but the moment his weight shifted onto his right side, his face went white. He still didn't stop moving.

Three mechanical arms descended from above and pressed firmly against his shoulders, easing him back down. Not rough, but utterly unyielding.

"Please remain still," O.R.A.C.L.E. said.

"The medical procedures are not complete."

Lance stared up at the ceiling, breathing through his teeth. The arms continued their work: cleaning wounds, applying synthetic skin, injecting localized pain management. He looked exhausted in a way that went beyond physical damage.

"People are going to get hurt," he said finally.

"It's going to hunt again. Soon. We saw how it moved: calculated, intelligent. It wasn't just attacking. It was testing us."

Adam's attempt at levity died. He'd seen it too. The way the Basilisk had adapted mid-fight, changing tactics when something didn't work. That wasn't animal instinct. That was something worse.

"So what do we do?" Adam asked, quieter now.

Lance closed his eyes.

"We work the problem. O.R.A.C.L.E., pull every report on creature sightings in the last month. Cross-reference with missing persons. I want to know where it's been and where it's going."

"Already compiling," she replied.

"Though I should note that analyzing data does not require you to be conscious. Rest would be advisable."

"I'll rest when this is over."

"You'll rest now, or you'll collapse later at a significantly less convenient time," O.R.A.C.L.E. countered.

"Your cognitive function is already impaired due to blood loss and fatigue. You're making suboptimal decisions."

Lance opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. His hand moved to his ribs... an unconscious gesture that made him wince.

Adam watched his friend wrestle with the reality of his injuries. Lance was always the planner, the one who thought three steps ahead. But right now, he couldn't even stand without support.

"She's right," Adam said.

"We need you functional, not half-dead. Get some sleep. I'll monitor the feeds."

"With a sprained knee?"

"I can hobble to a computer just fine." Adam shifted his weight, immediately regretting it.

"Okay, maybe hobble is generous. But I can stay awake and watch screens. You need actual rest."

Lance was quiet for a long moment. The mechanical arms finished their work and retracted upward with a soft hydraulic hiss.

"Six hours," he finally said.

"Then we regroup and figure out how to take that thing out before it gets someone else."

"Agreed," O.R.A.C.L.E. said.

"I'll wake you if the situation changes."

Lance nodded and let himself sink back against the exam table. His eyes closed almost immediately, the adrenaline finally wearing off.

Adam watched him for a moment, then looked up at the nearest camera: O.R.A.C.L.E.'s ever-present eye.

"He's going to push himself too hard," Adam said quietly.

"Yes," O.R.A.C.L.E. agreed.

"He always does."

"Keep an eye on him?"

"Always."

Adam settled back against his own table, wincing as his ankle throbbed. The infirmary lights hummed then dimmed overhead. Somewhere in the city, a creature that shouldn't exist was planning its next move.

They'd barely survived the first encounter.

Next time, they'd need to do better.