Black Tide

Chapter Twelve: Let’s Mix, B***h

The air around Iron Haven Gym reeked of sweat, blood, and desperation. The building, a decaying relic of old Los Angeles, was now the hangout for one of Crimson Dawn’s top lieutenants: Caleb “Crusher” Durant. A former prizefighter in the brutal cyber-sport Cyber Knuckle, Durant was infamous for his cybernetic enhancements and savage fighting style. His crew ran the gym like a fortress, but tonight, they were just bodies in Kaine’s path.

From his perch atop a crumbling billboard across the street, Kaine observed the scene. His HUD highlighted heat signatures through the gym walls—guards patrolling, Durant seated in a backroom, smug as hell.

“Pred,” Kaine said, voice steady, “how many?”

“Twenty guards, give or take,” Pred replied, his tone laced with amusement. “Durant’s crew is armed to the teeth.”

Kaine smirked. “I guess I'll have to knock out their teeth.”

With a casual step off the billboard, Kaine plummeted toward the ground. His anti-grav thrusters activated at the last second, landing him silently in the alley behind the gym. The suit’s speakers clicked on, blasting Rage Mode by Grayscale Fury, an eardrum-pounding anthem that shook the walls.

The first guard, a wiry man in a leather vest, burst out the back door, gun in hand. One punch sent the man sprawling, teeth scattering across the alley the side of his head caved in.

Inside, chaos erupted as the music grew louder. Kaine stepped into the gym’s main floor, a cavernous space filled with old punching bags and rusted weight benches. The crew opened fire, bullets ricocheting harmlessly off his armor.

“Didn’t your mama teach you better aim?” Kaine taunted, vaulting over a weight rack and landing in their midst.

He kicks a 50-pound dumbbell on the floor like a soccer ball, sending it into one guy's face with bloody results. His fists became hammers of destruction. A right hook shattered a man’s jaw, sending him spinning into a pile of dumbbells. A spinning kick knocked another into the ring ropes, where he dangled like a broken marionette.

A hulking brute charged with a crowbar. Kaine caught the swing mid-air and twisted the weapon out of the man’s grip before snapping it out of the air and slamming it into the man’s face. “You’re not even trying.”

One by one, the guards fell. Blood pooled on the cracked tile floor, the metallic scent mingling with the stale gym air. Kaine’s suit speakers switched tracks to Thronebreaker, a relentless beat that set the pace for his c*****e.

The last guard groaned and hit the mat, leaving the room eerily silent except for the music. Kaine turned toward the office in the back, its reinforced door standing as the final barrier.

“Durant’s in there,” Pred said. “He’s got backup plans, but… I think you’ll enjoy this.”

Kaine didn’t bother with finesse. He cuts the music before he delievers a straight kick that blasts the door off its hinges, revealing Durant lounging in a chair, a glass of whiskey in hand. The man’s cybernetic arms gleamed under the flickering fluorescents, his signature metal-knuckled fists resting on the table.

“Well, well,” Durant said, standing slowly. His voice was gravelly, a mix of bravado and irritation. “Well, I guess you are the one they are calling Black Tide. I'll be honest: I thought you were a hoax. You made quite a mess of my gym, and im guessing the entire organization. You are the one responsible for the corps, too. The only thing that makes sense, though I won't lie; it is terrifying.

Kaine stepped into the room, the glow of his armor reflecting off the cracked mirror behind Durant. “Mess? No, this is clean-up. You and your kind are less than garbage. It is time someone taught you that. As for the corps, no comment.”

Durant laughed, a deep, guttural sound. “You think you can just walk in here and—”

Kaine cut him off. “Shut up and mix, bitch.”

Durant grinned, stepping around the desk and rolling his shoulders. “Fine. No toys. Just fists.”

Kaine’s HUD lit up, analyzing Durant’s cybernetics. Enhanced strength, reinforced joints, and shock absorbers in his legs. It didn’t matter. Kaine was more than ready.

Durant lunged first, throwing a thunderous right hook. Kaine sidestepped, his movements impossibly smooth. He countered with a jab to Durant’s ribs, the impact denting the man’s reinforced torso.

“Gonna need more metal,” Kaine quipped, ducking under a wild swing.

Durant snarled, driving a knee toward Kaine’s midsection. Kaine blocked with his forearm, the clang of metal on armor reverberating through the room. He countered with a brutal uppercut, sending Durant stumbling into the wall.

“Come on,” Kaine said, rolling his neck. “I thought you were a fighter. Or are you only good when fighting helpless children? Buy, no, not even then. You prefer to blow them up from a distance before gunning them down like animals.”

Durant roared, charging like a bull. His fists came in a flurry, each strike aimed to crush. Kaine absorbed the blows, letting the armor take the brunt while calculating his next move.

Then he struck. A devastating combo—left jab, right hook, spinning backfist. Durant’s head snapped to the side, blood spraying from his mouth. Kaine followed with a knee to the stomach, lifting Durant off the ground.

“You’re—nothing!” Durant spat, his voice shaky.

“Wrong,” Kaine said, his tone ice-cold. “I am the tide. And you are in my f*****g way.”

Durant swung again, but Kaine caught his fist in mid-air. With a sickening crunch, Kaine twisted, tearing the cybernetic limb from its socket. Durant screamed, dropping to his knees.

Kaine crouched in front of him, his glowing red eyes inches from Durant’s terrified gaze. “This is for those who you were too much of a coward to look in the eye before you murdered them. Look into mine, now.”

The final punch shattered Durant’s skull, silencing him forever. Kaine stood, breathing deeply as blood pooled at his feet.

Kaine’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the message, a welcome distraction.

Jalisa: “Still awake?”

Kaine smirked, stepping over Durant’s corpse.

Kaine: “Yeah, you fell asleep on our call earlier.”

Jalisa: “I know. I'm sorry. I never noticed how soothing your voice is. Jared called and woke me up. On with him now.”

Kaine finds that despite himself, he feels a ping of jealousy at that, although he knows and accepts that the two of them are dating. His reply is meant to end the conversation so he can process those feelings.

Kaine: “Enjoy the night, hit me up later.”

Jalisa: “Don’t do that, Kaine. If I am texting you, it is because I want to talk to you. No matter what else I have going on. If that is a problem for you, too damn bad.”

Kaine chuckles as he reads the message. Shaking his head, he decides to send the hunt for the night. Activates his anti-grav thrusters and shoots into the air, leaving c*****e in his wake. Pred sets a path for home, and Kaine hits Mach 5 and lets Pred steer as he focuses on his messages.

Kaine: “My bad. I'm just playing my game, though. Got the new Borderlands. Gearing side quests.”

Jalisa: “It's okay. Just don't pull away from me again. Though I know you needed time to heal and process what happened to you, last year was hard. I missed you. I know the situation is not ideal. I'm sorry.”

Kaine feels his face, no his entire body, getting hot. He has to process that. She missed him. Damn. He had really dropped the ball. He has valid reasons for it. Getting his legs blown off and coming to terms with the loss of those he loved most in the world is a get-out-of-jail-free card for most cases. Still, he really fumbled Jalisa. And here she was, giving him a second chance to build something. He felt like an asshole because of Jared and the fact that no matter what they call this, the connections are likely to collide. And Kaine doesn't plan to lose her again.

Kaine: “I missed you too. Don't be sorry. I respect your relationship. I'm not trying to interrupt it, but I’m also not trying to lose you again. I'm here.”

Jalisa: “I know you are. I have always known.”

Pred starts playing slow jams in Kaine’s helmet. Kaine mentally gives his AI companion the finger but he is smiling wider than he has in a year.