Reverent: Six - 21. Line of Fire

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It started in Jakarta.

The anomaly hadn’t stayed quiet. The energy spike detected at the end of Sylvie’s speech had grown, warping not just signals but reality itself. Drones sent to the coordinates returned static and corrupted frames. Quinn called it an unstable echo event—a rupture with possible temporal distortion.
Ash didn’t wait for debate. “We deploy. Minimal team. Get eyes on it. Stop it before it spreads.”

Leo, Rhys, Kai, and Sylvie went first.

Quinn insisted she join. Not just for her expertise in tactical recon—Sylvie had worked covert ops before her PI days—but because the anomaly had created a feedback loop through government systems she’d helped hack. She understood the encryption patterns and, more critically, could neutralize them without triggering further collapse.

“She’s not just backup,” Quinn said. “She’s the failsafe.”

What they found was worse than they feared.

A marketplace split by a chasm that shimmered like water suspended mid-collapse. People stuck in moments, glitching between frames of reality. A child cried but the sound fractured, repeating and reversing. Two police officers frozen in mid-step like ghosts in a paused tape.

And then something moved through the rift.

Not a Fractured. Not VIREX. Something half-seen and wrong.

Kai took point. Sylvie handled civilians. Rhys and Leo braced the periphery, trying to contain the pulse with controlled detonations and kinetic barriers.

Then came the crowd. Word had gotten out.

Dozens—about fifty—civilians descended on the perimeter. Masked, armed, some with homemade insignias sewn into jackets: "Guardians of the Reverent." They weren’t soldiers—they were fans. Believers.
And they wanted to help.

They pushed past local barricades, shouting to Sylvie. “We know what you’re doing! Let us help!”

She held up her hands. “Please—you need to stay back! This isn’t a protest zone! You don’t understand the risk!”

But then the anomaly surged.

The air rippled. Screams rang out. One of the so-called Guardians opened fire at a phantom shadow and hit a reflective surface instead—the bullet ricocheted, striking another civilian.

Panic followed. A stampede. Makeshift weapons turned dangerous. Volunteers rushed in with little understanding, complicating every tactical move.

Kai and Sylvie had to divert, dragging unconscious civilians to cover. She threw herself between a rupturing power cable and a young woman, taking a shock across her back that nearly stopped her heart.

Leo used his kinetic shield to sweep a crumbling roof away from a group of pinned volunteers. Rhys caught a woman in his arms just before the light wave took her—she looked at him, whispered something, and then disintegrated like ash blown backward through time.

The fight stretched to twenty full minutes of chaos.

The team adapted, reformed, and pressed through the distortions. At one point, Kai found himself facing three mirror phantoms, shifting in and out of phase. He used hand-to-hand combat in bursts—targeting their moment of materialization. Rhys bent time around Sylvie so she could bypass a distortion wall. Leo took a direct hit but stayed on his feet, holding the line with nothing but raw kinetic force shielding the others.

Sylvie reached the source node—a makeshift beacon laced with VIREX tech, likely left behind to test response.

She tore open the panel and began rerouting the surge. “Two more minutes!” she shouted.

Rhys flung a time loop to buy her that window. But it weakened him—his nose bled. Leo grabbed his arm, keeping him upright as a feedback pulse hit them both.

Then—at last—the anomaly collapsed in on itself.

But the damage was done.

Nine civilians dead. Fourteen wounded. Three bodies unrecoverable.

•    

Back at the base, the silence was heavier than any lecture.

Sylvie sat with her head in her hands. “They came because of us.”

Rhys said nothing. He hadn’t let go of the scarf that woman was wearing. It was in his lap now, burnt and torn.

Micah offered a hand to Leo, who looked wrecked. “You saved dozens,” Micah whispered.

“I let three die,” Leo whispered back.

Ash stood in the center of the room. He’d already read the headlines:

"Jakarta Tragedy: When Heroes Inspire Sacrifice"

"Civilians Dead After Enhanced Team Incident"—

"Untrained, Undeterred: The Dangerous New Trend of Vigilante Admiration"

Quinn finally spoke. “This... was always going to happen. When symbols rise, people follow. But symbols can’t shield flesh and blood.”

Ash turned. “Then maybe they shouldn't follow us. Maybe they should never have known we existed.”
Sylvie flinched.

Kai, quiet until now, looked up. “We didn’t ask for worship. But now we carry it.”

Elias leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “And if we shut them out? Do you think that stops the next group?”

Ash clenched his jaw—but didn’t storm off this time. He looked around at the people he had led, loved, nearly lost.

“I’m not walking away from this,” he finally said.

Rhys stood, walked over, and wrapped his arms around Ash’s waist. Ash leaned into it.

Leo dropped into a chair, and Micah curled into his side, head on his chest.

Kai pulled Sylvie into a wordless hug. She didn’t cry—but she clung to him like she needed to.

Elias crossed to Quinn and leaned a shoulder against his, silent but steady.

The six—seven—held each other in the quiet. Ada lingered in the doorway, silent and shaken. She wasn’t part of that embrace—but she didn’t walk away.

By nightfall, international fallout had begun. Politicians on both sides argued whether the Reverent Six should be leashed or left alone. Jakarta officials condemned the lack of civilian protocol. Others called for standardized enhanced deployment rules. A trending hashtag—#ReverentFall—surfaced on global feeds.

Meanwhile, in the shadows of the world’s confusion, VIREX moved.

Encrypted chatter picked up by Quinn revealed that an extraction squad was being rerouted.

Ash reconvened the team the next morning, his voice steel:

“They made their move. We make ours. It’s time to end VIREX.”