Black Tide

Chapter Twenty: Morning Hangover

The sound of birds chirping outside Kaine Maze’s window felt like a sledgehammer pounding inside his skull. He groaned, cracking one eye open and instantly regretting it as sunlight sliced through the blackout curtains Pred must have opened to torture him. His body ached, his head throbbed, and his mouth was as dry as a Mojave dune.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Pred’s voice chimed, entirely too chipper for Kaine’s condition. “Or should I say ‘Comatose Catastrophe’? How was your nap? Dream of murder bears?”

Kaine groaned again, rubbing his temples. “Shut up, Pred. Why do I feel like I got hit by a truck?”

“Well,” Pred said, his digital voice taking on a smug tone, “between the teleporting, the drones, and the improvised weaponry, you burned through enough energy last night to power Natchitoches for a year, and your body hates you. Combine that with getting slashed by a seven-foot-tall bear man, and voilà, you’ve got yourself a superpower hangover.”

Kaine rolled out of bed, his legs protesting as his prosthetics calibrated. He staggered toward the bathroom, muttering, “I need water. And coffee. Lots of coffee.”

“Hydration first, caffeine later,” Pred quipped. “Unless you want to puke in the sink.”

Ignoring the AI, Kaine gulped down a glass of water, grimacing as Pred launched into his morning report.

“So,” Pred began, “the fallout in California is about as messy as your hair right now. Public channels are buzzing about the Crimson Dawn safe house m******e in San Jose. They found Marcus Vega—or what’s left of him—and his bodyguards. It’s all over the news. And then there is the boat explosion. The talking heads are calling it a gang war.”

Kaine wiped his face with a towel. “And the not-so-public channels?”

“CJTF’s private comms are blowing up,” Pred replied. “They’re freaking out about Black Tide. Again. Seems our little display of precision violence has them chasing their tails. They’ve got theories ranging from rogue military units to super-advanced hacker collectives.”

“Good,” Kaine muttered. “Let them chase ghosts.”

Pred snickered. “Oh, and get this—remember the Hellfire you had me deliver to Sophie LaRue. Some couple caught the explosion while… uh, let’s just say they were making their own amateur action film. CJTF picked up the footage and nearly had an aneurysm.”

Kaine shook his head, his lips twitching into a faint smile despite himself. “Oh, that is priceless. Happy in not the only one having a s**t morning.”

Pred laughed. “Speaking of rough mornings, Jalisa texted last night. Asked if you were okay. I thought of faking your death but just told her you weren't feeling so hot.”

Kaine sighed, grabbing his phone. “Well, that wasn't a lie. Then or now.”

Kaine: Hey, J. Sorry about last night. Still feeling under the weather, but wanted to let you know I’m alive.

Jalisa: Don’t apologize! I’m glad you’re okay. Do you need anything? I can come over and bring soup or something.

Kaine hesitated, the idea of seeing her tugging at something deep inside. He wanted to say yes, but the thought of her relationship with Jared lingered like a bad taste in his mouth.

Kaine: I’d love that, but I don’t want you to catch whatever this is. How about fresh air instead? There’s a car show on Front Street today. Want to come with me?

Jalisa: A car show? I’d love that! I’ll meet you there at 1?

Kaine: Perfect. See you then.

As he put the phone down, Pred’s voice interrupted. “Smooth, Romeo. But let’s not forget—car shows don’t usually involve secret murder sprees. Try to keep it that way.”

Kaine rolled his eyes. “As long as no one tries to blow it up, I should be able to keep the body count at zero.”