The cold sea air stung Silas’s face as he crouched behind a stack of shipping containers, his breath misting in the night. Dock 17 stretched out before him, a maze of steel and shadows lit by the dim glow of a few flickering floodlights. The distant sounds of water lapping against the pier and the occasional squawk of seagulls created an uneasy backdrop to the tension crackling in the air.

Silas adjusted his AR goggles, the HUD flickering to life and outlining the shapes of Kisonic guards in neon red. There were six of them, stationed around the shipment, their movements efficient and wary. This wasn’t just some routine security detail; these men were ready for trouble.

“Focus,” Steve’s voice crackled in his earpiece, low and calm. Silas felt a surge of reassurance. The Iron Knight was nearby, hidden in the shadows, watching his every move. “Remember your training. Trust your instincts. You know what to do.”

“Easy for you to say,” Silas muttered, his hands tightening around the electric batons at his sides. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. This was what they’d trained for. He had the tools, the skills. All that was left was to take the leap.

A guard turned, his flashlight cutting through the dark. Silas pressed himself against the metal container, every nerve in his body on edge. The plan was simple—take out the perimeter guards, disable the tech defenses, and secure the shipment. Steve would handle any heavy lifting if things went south.

This was it. His moment.

Silas moved swiftly, his trench coat billowing behind him. He approached the nearest guard, his steps silent on the dock’s worn planks. He raised one of the batons, electricity crackling at the tip. All he had to do was strike. Quick and clean. Just like in training.

But when he was close enough to see the guard’s face—tired, wary, and all too human—Silas froze. Doubt crept in, rooting him to the spot. What if he messed up? What if the guard fought back? What if—

The guard’s eyes widened in surprise, and he started to turn, his hand moving toward the gun at his hip.

“Now!” Steve’s voice barked in his ear.

Silas’s hesitation vanished in an instant. He lunged forward, the baton arcing toward the guard’s arm, but it was sloppy, slower than it should have been. The guard reacted, swinging out with surprising speed. The blow grazed Silas’s shoulder, and pain flared, but adrenaline drowned it out. He stumbled back, panic clawing at him.

“Come on!” he hissed to himself, frustration boiling over. The guard advanced, his face twisted in a mix of anger and confusion. Silas tightened his grip on the baton, ready to strike again—

Suddenly, an invisible force exploded outward from him, sending the guard flying backward into a stack of crates with a bone-rattling crash. Silas stared, wide-eyed and breathless.

“No way…” he whispered, his heart hammering in his chest. “I’m a TK…”

A grin broke across his face, wide and wild, as the realization sank in. Pure, unfiltered excitement surged through him. “I’M A TK!” he shouted, the fear and doubt melting away in an instant.

“Silas, focus!” Steve’s voice cut in, urgent but with a hint of amusement. “Celebrate later. More guards incoming.”

The adrenaline coursing through him shifted, transforming fear into exhilaration. Silas spun, feeling a surge of confidence as he faced the two guards running toward him. The AR goggles highlighted their positions, giving him precious milliseconds to react. He reached out, instinctively tapping into the newfound power coursing through him.

The air around him seemed to pulse, and with a thought, he pushed. Both guards were sent sprawling, their weapons clattering to the ground. Silas didn’t hesitate this time—he moved in, the electric batons crackling as he struck, disabling them with swift precision.

It was like a switch had been flipped. Every movement felt more natural, every instinct sharper. Silas ducked and weaved, the batons sparking as he flowed from one takedown to the next. His mind raced, but his body was in perfect sync, driven by adrenaline and the thrill of discovery.

“Good,” Steve’s voice came through again, calm but unmistakably proud. “You’re in the zone. But don’t get cocky.”

“Too late!” Silas shouted back, unable to suppress the laugh that bubbled up as another guard charged him. He sidestepped, using his telekinetic push to throw the man off balance, then delivered a precise strike with the baton. It was chaotic and thrilling—a dance of electricity and motion that he was finally beginning to master.

“Next objective,” Steve instructed. “Disrupt the tech defenses.”

Silas nodded, breathing hard but grinning. “On it.”