Chapter 48: Noir (2)
Noir watched silently from the rooftop, his shadowy form blending into the cityscape.
Below, on the university campus, students moved from building to building, absorbed in their routines, unaware of the predator observing them.
His target was easy to spot: Claire McAllister, the daughter of Senator McAllister.
She sat in the front row of her class, diligently taking notes, her face illuminated by the light from her laptop. She looked ordinary enough—an unassuming college student, focused on her studies and her future.
But to Vought, and more specifically to Niklaus, she was far more than just a student.
She was leverage.
Back at Vought studios, Niklaus was delivering his speech at the grand inauguration of the studio, all smiles and passion.
He knew Senator McAllister was a problem—too powerful, too popular, and far too independent to bend to Vought's will through normal channels.
The old man had a sharp mind, and convincing him to align with Vought's rapid expansion would be impossible without something drastic.
Niklaus had considered using mind control to force McAllister's compliance, but that had lost its appeal.
He wanted something more… permanent and grounded.
And that's where Claire came in.
The plan was simple. Claire would become the unfortunate victim of an "accident."
An event tragic enough to put her life in jeopardy, and when all seemed lost, Vought would swoop in as the saviors.
They would administer Compound V to her, granting her powers, and in doing so, they would secure her—and her father's—loyalty.
The senator would be indebted to Vought, grateful for their intervention, and with his only daughter saved, he would bend his knees to Niklaus.
Noir's gaze remained fixed on Claire as the minutes passed.
She was oblivious, chatting quietly with a friend between lectures, laughing at something on her screen.
She had no idea that her life was about to change, that she was about to become a pawn in a game far bigger than herself.
Noir's orders were clear.
He wasn't to act just yet, not until the right moment.
Niklaus had been very specific about timing—everything had to be perfectly orchestrated.
For now, he was simply watching, memorizing her patterns, psychology, her routines, waiting for the signal.
---
Claire McAllister walked briskly to her car, the evening air cool against her skin.
The campus was quiet now, the once-busy streets almost deserted.
A few streetlights buzzed to life, casting long, distorted shadows across the parking lot.
She unlocked her car, climbing in and slinging her bag onto the passenger seat without thinking twice.
The silence was comforting, her mind already slipping into relaxation mode.
She didn't bother to check the back seat—why would she? She lived in a safe, predictable world.
At least, that's what she believed.
Sliding in her Sony earphones, she hit play on her favorite playlist.
The familiar music washed over her, dulling her senses to everything else around her.
The thrum of the engine vibrated softly beneath her as she started driving, heading down the fairly quiet streets.
The shadows seemed to cling to the corners of her vision, but she didn't notice.
How could she, with her focus elsewhere, drifting on the lyrics and rhythm? The evening felt normal, like any other—until it wasn't.
Without warning, a strange heaviness settled over her.
At first, it was subtle—like the sleepy weight of a long day catching up.
But soon, the fog thickened in her mind, her thoughts slowing, her vision dimming.
Claire blinked hard, trying to shake it off.
Her heart started to race, her fingers tightening around the steering wheel as confusion turned to fear.
What's wrong with me?
Her breathing quickened, shallow and ragged, but it wasn't enough.
The world was slipping out of her grasp. She blinked again, this time slower.
The shadows outside her car seemed darker, deeper, almost alive.
She couldn't think, couldn't focus.
Her arms felt like lead, her head swam.
From the back seat, the silent shadow moved.
Noir sat perfectly still, his form blending seamlessly with the darkness of the car.
He was a void, an absence of sound, of movement, of life. His presence was a black hole, swallowing the air, making the world around him heavier. He watched her calmly, waiting, as the slow siphoning of her chi took effect.
Claire gasped, her vision blurring.
The car veered slightly to the left, her grip on the wheel weakening. She struggled to pull herself back, to regain control, but it was useless. The fog in her mind was thickening, drowning her thoughts. Her chest tightened with panic.
The shadows grew.
The steering wheel slipped through her fingers as she fought to stay conscious, but everything felt distant, slipping away.
The music in her ears became distorted, warping as her senses dulled.
Suddenly, with a single movement, Noir shifted.
His boot pressed down with just enough force.
The car lurched violently as the rear tire exploded with a sharp, deafening crack, the sound cutting through the night like a gunshot.
Claire barely had time to react before the car spun out of control. The world outside turned into a blur of lights and dark streaks.
She screamed, but the sound was lost in the chaos as the car swerved and skidded across the road. The tires screeched against the asphalt, the engine roaring in protest.
Then, with a sickening crunch, the car slammed into the stone wall of a hotel.
Glass shattered, metal groaned and bent under the impact.
Her body was thrown forward, her head slamming into the steering wheel with brutal force.
Pain shot through her skull and chest, and her vision went white for a moment, the world disappearing into a flash of light and noise.
The music in her ears was still playing, faint and distant, almost mocking her with its calm rhythm as everything else around her crumbled into chaos.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, but it was slowing, fading.
Blood dripped down her temple and chest, warm and sticky.
The scent of burning rubber and gasoline filled her nostrils, suffocating.
And then she fell unconscious.
---
Noir moved silently through the wreckage, the burning car casting flickering shadows across his featureless, black figure.
The scent of gasoline filled the air, mixing with the crackling of flames. Claire's limp body was slumped against the deflated airbag, blood smeared across her forehead and clothes.
Her breathing was faint, barely noticeable.
She was unconscious now.
With an eerie calmness, Noir reached over, his gloved hands pulling her from the wreckage.
He did it effortlessly, as though she weighed nothing, dragging her a safe distance away from the burning car.
The flames crackled louder behind him, but he was indifferent to the chaos.
His focus was solely on the task at hand.
Claire's legs dangled lifelessly, her body limp.
She was out cold, unaware of what was to come.
From his belt, Noir pulled out a small, unassuming torch.
But this wasn't any ordinary torch. When he clicked it on, a searing, unnatural heat burst forth from the device.
The small flame glowed with a sinister intensity, far hotter than any normal fire. Without hesitation, Noir aimed it at her legs.
The flesh began to bubble and blister within seconds, the smell of burning skin filling the air.
Her legs twitched involuntarily as the fire worked its way up, roasting the muscles and sinew beneath.
The torch moved methodically, like a surgeon making precise incisions, charring her legs just enough to cripple her permanently but not kill her.
Her nerves were too damaged now for her to ever feel them fully again.
Satisfied with the job, Noir turned off the torch and clipped it back onto his belt.
He gazed down at her legs, which were now twisted, blackened, and unrecognizable.
She would never walk again, and no one would be able to save them. That much was certain.
But he wasn't finished.
Noir positioned himself carefully over her, his movements as quiet as ever. His boot hovered over her chest, and with perfect, calculated precision, he stomped down—just enough force to break several ribs and allow the glass shards to penetrate deeper, but not enough to kill her.
The bones cracked under his weight, the sound muffled by the wind and fire around them.
The impact would make it look like she'd been crushed by something in the crash, a heavy blow to the chest during the chaos.
She wouldn't remember. She wouldn't know.
All she would have left were the scars, and the pain, and the knowledge that something terrible had happened.
Noir stood for a moment, staring down at his handiwork.
His face—if there was one behind that mask—gave away nothing.
No satisfaction, no guilt. Just silence.
Then, just as quietly as he had been, Noir vanished into the night.
One moment he was there, the next he was gone, disappearing into the darkness as if he had never been there at all.
The flames roared behind him, and Claire lay broken on the ground, the aftermath of an "accident" that would change her life forever.
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