CHAPTER 151: Insurrection-20

CHAPTER 151: Insurrection-20

A screech of tires tore through the air just as Fénix's fingers began to lose their grip. A car sped down the side road, a metallic blur heading straight for where Bruno was holding Fénix aloft. The impact was sharp, a blunt blow that sent Bruno flying like a doll; the enormous body crashed against some metal sheets and lay still, knocked out by the hit.

Fénix felt the jolt and, breathing raggedly, fixed his gaze on the car as it slammed to a stop. The passenger door opened and Agnes jumped out, eyes wide, clothes stained with dust and blood, her face marked by tension. She held in her hand the tranquilizer she always carried in case things went wrong; now it seemed more like a lifeline than a tool.

"Finally!" Fénix spat, a mix of relief and sarcasm. "About time you showed up, Agnes."

Agnes didn't smile. She simply looked at Bruno for a moment, assessing, then approached with quick steps. She knelt beside the massive body, touched the nape of his neck; checked his pulse with a professional gesture and shook her head.

"He's unresponsive," she said coldly. "He's unconscious. We have to move."

Marcus, still dizzy, arched his body towards the car; a grimace of pain crossed his face, but his hands worked with precision. They helped Fénix up: an arm here, a push there. Fénix leaned on Marcus, legs trembling, and together they moved towards the rear of the vehicle.

"Grab this," said Agnes, offering a blanket she had pulled from the trunk. "Cover your face if you smell burnt."

Fénix took it without looking at her; his eyes sought Marcus for a second, and in that look was mute gratitude. They got into the car as best they could: Marcus first, pushing Fénix in a coordinated movement; Fénix let himself be guided, slid into the seat, and breathed deeply, trying to steady his pulse.

"Go," Marcus ordered roughly, turning the key in the ignition while watching in the rearview mirror where Bruno lay. "Don't stop for anything."

Agnes closed the door with a sharp slam; the engine roared and the car took off, disappearing into the dust and remnants of the spectacle. In the rearview mirror, the enormous, motionless body was visible. For a moment, a heavy silence filled the car: no one celebrated, no one claimed victory. Just the sound of the engine and the ragged breathing of three survivors.

Hours later, calm reigned in a house in a family neighborhood, owned by Agnes's aunt. Rain beat on the roof with a weary rhythm, and the air smelled of damp wood and freshly brewed coffee. In the living room, Fénix sat in a worn armchair, an ice pack pressed to his cheek, his face bruised and knuckles swollen. Marcus lay stretched out on the sofa, half-asleep, with an improvised bandage on his arm and a blanket covering his legs.

Agnes paced back and forth, still processing everything she had heard.
"So…" she finally said, crossing her arms, "a presentation at the zoo, a hybrid over four and a half meters tall, and a silver-nitrate grenade? And you survived?"
"More or less," Fénix grunted, reapplying the ice. "But you can bet Elena won't walk away from that so easily."

A short silence followed. The sound of the wall clock filled the gap.
Fénix looked up at Agnes.
"Hey… are you sure we're not a bother to your aunt?" he asked, an almost guilty tone. "We've already brought enough trouble today."

Agnes looked at him, shrugging with complete nonchalance.
"Relax," she replied. "My aunt is used to this kind of thing. She's a drug trafficker."
Fénix froze for a few seconds. Marcus, half-asleep, opened one eye.
"Excuse me?" murmured Fénix.
"Yes," Agnes repeated, as if talking about the weather. "Drug trafficker. Exports 'tropical flowers' and something else when customs isn't looking."
Fénix lowered the ice pack, incredulous.
"Perfect… we're hiding from a monster in a criminal's house. Great."
"Technically, it's family," said Marcus with his eyes closed. "That already improves the survival statistics."

Agnes sighed and sat down across from them, brow furrowed.
"Listen to me. We have to warn Enid. If she knows what happened, she can prepare an extraction team or at least cover for us."
"No," said Fénix firmly.
"What do you mean no?" Agnes retorted, annoyed. "You almost died today!"
Marcus opened one eye and spoke without moving from the sofa.
"Fénix doesn't want to go back to Enid out of pride," he said in a deep voice. "He thinks if he returns injured, she'll see it as a failure."
Fénix shot him a glare.
"It's not about pride," he said through gritted teeth. "It's… I don't want her to see me like this. Not after everything that's happened."
"Like this how? Alive?" Agnes replied, crossing her arms.
"Like this… fucked up, weak," he countered, squeezing the ice pack tightly. "She trusts me to maintain control, not to come crawling back like a wounded dog."

Marcus slowly sat up and looked at his companion with a tired half-smile.
"Well, if you ask me, Enid probably already knows. She always knows everything before you tell her."
Agnes nodded.
"Exactly. And if we don't warn her, when she finds out, she'll kill us… slowly."

Tension rose in the room until a soft sound interrupted the discussion: the clatter of a tray.
From the kitchen appeared a robust woman in her fifties, wearing a floral apron and her hair tied back. She had a warm smile and shrewd eyes that missed nothing.
"Enough of all this drama," said Agnes's aunt in a firm but kind voice. "I brought tea with cookies."

She placed the tray on the table and observed the three with curiosity.
"So you're my niece's friends," she said, smiling. "Finally, I see her with people her own age and not those weird 'clients' from the port."
Agnes covered her face with a hand, embarrassed.
"Aunt, please…"
"What?" said the woman, shrugging. "I'm glad she finally has friends. And don't worry, here no one asks questions, no one listens, and if anyone comes…" she raised an eyebrow mischievously, "I have contacts that make problems disappear."