The sharp sound of someone stumbling, shoes catching on a loose rug, and the sudden crack of a body hitting the floor. Mr. Jhel had slipped during the chaos, his balance thrown completely off. He was already holding the pistol, and the fall jerked his arm wildly.
The shot went off before he could adjust, and instead of striking the narrow doorway he'd aimed at, the bullet tore through plaster and vanished into the ceiling with a deafening bang.
Dust and bits of wood rained softly down.
Tom didn't hesitate.
Despite the near-total darkness, he moved with eerie precision. His pupils dilated instantly, and everything came into sharp clarity, colors muted, shapes clean. His skill, Eye in the Dark, activated like a reflex. In the blackness, the room felt brighter to him than it did to most people under direct sunlight.
He saw the pistol still clutched in Mr. Jhel's palm, his fingers tightening again, preparing to recover and fire properly.
Tom didn't let him.
He lunged forward, swept the gun aside with a sharp, fluid strike of his palm, knocking it clear across the wooden floor, and in the same motion, pinned Mr. Jhel down by the collar, eyes locked with his.
A flicker. A pulse. The system skill clicked into place.
Mind Control: Active.
Tom's gaze was unwavering, expression suddenly still, serious in a way he rarely looked, even under pressure. "Cooperate," he said, his voice calm but firm. "You're going to tell us everything we want to know. Every detail. No games."
Just then, the room lit up with a soft click, Gregor had found the switch and turned on the overhead light. Warm yellow light spilled across the walls, illuminating the scene in full: Tom crouched low over Mr. Jhel, pinning him to the floor.
Mr. Jhel was older, greying, dressed in a wrinkled dress shirt, now torn slightly at the elbow. He looked stunned, but only for a second.
Then he laughed.
Loud, full-bodied, absurd laughter. It echoed through the room in a way that made the tension twist.
Tom blinked.
Jhel grinned up at him, eyes wild. "Mind control?" he said through breathless chuckles. "You tried to mind control me?" He snorted again. "Oh, that's rich. That sort of trick doesn't work on me, kid."
Tom froze, not in fear, but confusion. He leaned back slightly, his brows pinched, eyes scanning for any clue that this might be a bluff. It was strange that the skill didn't work on him and even stranger that he knew what Tom just tried to do.
Behind him, Gregor stood in the middle of the room, gun still holstered but hands tense. He furrowed his brow at the two of them. "Is this supposed to be his reaction?" he asked dryly.
"No," Tom muttered.
Mr. Jhel sat up slightly, breathing still ragged from the scuffle. "If that's all you came here with, then this visit's already a waste. Let me go. You're not getting anything from me."
Tom exhaled through his nose. He stood up slowly, stepping back with a controlled grace, brushing invisible dust off his sleeves.
His tone was light again, bordering on amused. "Well, I guess we're doing this the civilized way after all."
He extended a hand toward Jhel, who stared at it like it might explode. Tom didn't flinch. "Sorry for the whole mind-control thing," he said casually. "And since you tried to shoot us, I'd say we're even."
Gregor grunted from behind. "I'm pretty sure we're not even," he said. "You're supposed to be the talker. I'm supposed to be the one doing the tackling and disarming."
Tom gave him a quick glance over his shoulder. "Yeah, well, things have changed."
"Oh, please enlighten me."
Tom turned fully toward him, tone shifting ever so slightly, confident, a little proud. "I'm not just a human boy anymore, Gregor. I've got upgrades. A few physical skills. I can handle myself now."
Gregor narrowed his eyes. "You know that's the exact thing people say right before they get shot?"
Tom shrugged. "True. But then they usually don't have Eye in the Dark, Reaction Boost II, and a full set of backlogged survival skills from training mode."
Gregor just muttered, "Still not your job," and crossed his arms.
Mr. Jhel had slowly risen to his feet. He rubbed the side of his neck where Tom had grabbed him, then took a slow step back toward the couch. "you're amateurs if you thought I'd fold that easily."
Tom tilted his head. "I mean, you did fall."
That earned another dark chuckle from Jhel. "That won't happen again."
Before either of them could react, Jhel dropped into the corner of the couch cushion, reached beneath it, and in one fluid movement, pulled out a second pistol, this one matte black and short-barreled.
He raised it. Fast.
But Gregor was faster.
In a flash, his own sidearm was out, held steady in both hands, aimed straight at Jhel's head. Neither man blinked. Neither flinched.
Both guns were drawn. A standoff.
Tom exhaled loudly and stepped slightly between them.
"Let's not," he said, not quite tired, but definitely over it. He raised a hand, palm open toward Gregor. "Lower it."
Gregor didn't move immediately. "He just pulled a second gun on us."
"I noticed," Tom said. "But we're not here to shoot people, remember?"
Gregor's voice was low. "I'm here to shoot people if they shoot first."
"And he hasn't yet," Tom replied, eyes locked on Jhel. "So let's de-escalate. Please."
After a pause, Gregor slowly lowered his weapon, but didn't holster it. Just kept it ready, close.
Tom turned to Jhel, hands still visible, posture open. "Look. We're not here to make a mess. We just want information. A conversation. That's it."
Jhel didn't lower his gun, but he didn't fire either. He studied Tom's face like he was trying to read past it, see if the calm was real or just well-practiced.
Tom waited.
Finally, Jhel's arm relaxed slightly. Not down, but no longer tight.
"You try another one of your little tricks," Jhel said, "and I will shoot."
Tom gave him a slight nod. "Understood."
The silence that followed was heavy, but not hostile. It was a tension that held everyone in place, waiting for someone to blink.
Gregor took a half-step forward, still wary. "We good?"
Tom looked at Jhel. "Are we good?"
Jhel muttered something under his breath. Then, with a grunt, he brought his gun down.
"Talk," he said. "But you better make it worth my time."
Tom allowed himself a small smile. "We usually do."