Chapter 19: Breakfast of Champions
The morning sun warmed the back of Cole’s neck as he devoured a slice of peach, its juice running down his chin. He hadn’t realized how starving he was, how the twins had hollowed him out beyond just his power. The Director watched him from across the glass table, her expression one of cool amusement. “Most men,” she began, tracing the rim of her porcelain coffee cup, “would kill to have women literally addicted to their essence.” Cole froze, the sweet fruit turning to ash in his mouth. He remembered the frantic, grinding need in Lumina’s eyes, the cold efficiency of Noctua’s touch. “It’s not… it’s not like that,” he mumbled, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. “It’s a transaction. It’s always a transaction.” She leaned forward, her smile sharp and knowing. “Is it? Or is it a form of power they simply don’t know how to handle?” She let the question hang in the fragrant air between them. “I’ve upheld my end of our arrangement.” She slid a sleek data-slate across the table. A single, pulsing dot glowed on a city map. “Lisa’s location. She’s stable, for now.” Cole’s heart hammered against his ribs. This was it. This was why he’d endured it all. He reached for the slate, his fingers trembling.
“What’s the catch?”
The Director’s smile didn’t falter. She took a slow, deliberate sip of her coffee, the steam curling like a ghost in the morning air. “For centuries,” she said, her voice a low, conspiratorial hum, “women have wielded the only power society allowed them—the power of suggestion, of seduction, to get what they needed from men.” She set the cup down with a soft click. “You, Cole, have been handed a uniquely… potent version of that same key.” She leaned back, studying him. “The playing field is merely being leveled.”
Cole’s mind flashed to the Meta Mixer, to the feeling of being pressed between the twins, a resource to be consumed. He thought of Lumina’s purred words, ‘just five minutes with that magic cock.’ He felt a hot flush of shame, but beneath it, a strange, cold spark of understanding. “It doesn’t feel like leveling anything,” he muttered, looking down at his hands. “It feels like I’m the one getting played.”
“Perspective is everything,” she countered smoothly. “Now, as for Lisa.” Her gaze sharpened, all pretense of casual philosophy gone. “The catch is her power has become a permanent, uncontrolled emission. A disintegration field.” She let the term hang, brutal and absolute. “Anything organic that comes within ten feet of her… ceases to be. We lost two good agents before we understood the radius.”
Cole’s breath hitched. He pictured Lisa, not as the girl from his memories, but as a solitary star, burning anyone who dared to orbit too close. The hope that had flared in his chest now felt fragile, a paper boat in a storm.
“The hope,” the Director said, as if reading his thoughts, “is that your unique biology, your essence, might just be the only thing in this world that can get close enough to touch her.” She gave him a final, appraising look.
“Hopefully, you’ll have better luck.”
Cole stared at the data-slate, the glowing dot representing Lisa feeling both impossibly close and infinitely far away. The Director’s words about the disintegration field echoed in his mind, a cold, hard truth that solidified in his gut. “So, what? I just walk into that and hope for the best?”
“Not exactly.” The Director’s smile was a razor-thin line. “You need a team. Specifically, you need metas who can create a path, someone who can momentarily disrupt or shield against her field long enough for you to get within touching distance.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Use that… unique appeal of yours. Find a teleporter, a shielder, someone powerful. Overcharge them. Let them experience what you gave the twins.”
A bitter laugh escaped Cole’s lips. “So your big plan is for me to whore myself out to strangers? Again?” He remembered the frantic energy of the twins, the way their hands had claimed his body like it was a public utility.
“Think of it as strategic alliance building,” she countered, her tone utterly pragmatic. “Your essence is a catalyst. It makes them stronger, faster, more than they usually are. It’s a temporary, mutually beneficial exchange.” She gestured to the slate. “You overcharge them, and they boost you close enough for Lisa to see you, to recognize you. That might be all it takes to break through whatever’s holding her.”
The morning chill seeped through his thin shirt, raising goosebumps on his arms. He pictured it—approaching another meta, making that awkward, humiliating proposal. The transaction. His face burned with a fresh wave of shame. “And what if they say no? Or worse, what if they just take what they want and leave?”
“Then you find someone else,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “You’re a resource, Cole. A very specific, highly sought-after resource. Learn to leverage it.” She stood, smoothing her tailored trousers. “The slate has a shortlist of potential candidates. Their known locations, their abilities. It’s up to you to make the pitch.”
He watched her walk away, her footsteps silent on the polished terrace stone. The weight of the data-slate in his hand felt like a condemnation. He looked at the list, names and faces flickering on the screen, each one a potential new intimacy, a new negotiation. His stomach churned. But beneath the revulsion, a stubborn, desperate hope flickered. It was a distasteful, degrading plan, but it was a plan. And it was the only one he had.