Lord Of Beasts

Vrooom!

Two motorcycles tore through New York’s streets like missiles, weaving between traffic with inches to spare as engines screamed loud enough to turn heads several blocks away. More than one driver slammed on their brakes as the pair shot through impossibly small gaps, and Ethan quickly realised Kaela wasn’t just reckless...

She was genuinely insane.

At one junction, a van pulled out without warning.

Kaela didn’t even hesitate.

Her tyres screeched violently as she dug one boot into the asphalt, sparks erupting beneath it while the Harley fishtailed sideways before somehow correcting itself at the last possible second.

She then shot Ethan a grin over her shoulder.

He simply shook his head.

’This woman’s got a death wish.’

If it had been anyone else, their leg would have shattered, and they would have been in a fatal collision. But with her strength and healing factor, she’d have to get hit by a truck a hundred times in a row before starting to worry.

And it was like the kettle calling the pot black, since Ethan wasn’t exactly taking the safe route.

He pushed the bike to its limits to keep up as they raced across the city. By the time they reached their destination, both of them had probably committed enough traffic offences to be imprisoned for life.

Yet, somehow, against all odds, neither of them had crashed.

Screech!

Kaela came to an abrupt halt, one that Ethan saw coming and had slowed down in anticipation of.

"What are we doing here?" he questioned aloud.

"I told you, it’s a meeting."

They were at an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city, similar to the industrial district in Brooklyn where his first gate had taken place.

’Damn, that feels like so long ago.’

But he couldn’t help but be more concerned about this supposed meeting, which was taking place somewhere unexpected.

The warehouse itself was eerily quiet.

Its rusted shutters were half-open, allowing only thin beams of sunlight to cut through the darkness inside. Dust floated lazily through the stale air, while the cavernous building echoed with every footstep as Ethan and Kaela walked further in.

Standing alone in the centre of the warehouse was a single man.

He wore the same black suit as every Association operative Ethan had met before, but it was clear he wasn’t your average cleanup officer. The man’s posture was too composed. He stood with his hands behind his back, completely motionless despite hearing them approach, almost like a soldier waiting for a briefing rather than someone greeting guests.

’I was expecting the old man,’ Ethan thought to himself.

But while it wasn’t Harold, there was a resemblance that was impossible to miss.

He had the same sharp jawline, composed expression, and most noticeably, the same cold, green eyes that seemed to see through one’s soul.

Before the man could even introduce himself, Ethan spoke first.

"Is that old man your pops?"

Kaela burst into laughter beside him.

The suited man blinked once before giving a slow nod.

"He is."

Ethan casually lit a cigarette with his index finger as they continued walking over, taking a long drag before pointing casually towards the man’s face.

"Knew it. You’ve got the same eyes."

He narrowed his own slightly before adding, "And you smell alike too."

The man frowned.

"What does that even mean?"

Ethan shrugged.

"You just do."

Kaela snorted beside him.

"I think that’s his polite way of saying you both smell like stuck-up assholes."

The man sighed quietly.

"Right..."

He extended a hand regardless.

"My name is Gregory Whitaker, son of Harold Whitaker as you’ve already realised. Most people just call me Greg. I’m the Director of Special Operations within the Association. And although Untitled myself, I oversee the Black Suits and coordinate the majority of operations involving Titled personnel."

"What blatant nepotism," was all Ethan had to say after hearing the man’s introduction.

Kaela burst into laughter.

A vein bulged on Greg’s temple, but his face remained composed as he continued, "My background is primarily military and intelligence."

He spoke calmly, each sentence measured and professional. But unfortunately for him, neither Ethan nor Kaela seemed to be taking what he was saying very seriously.

"Greg, huh?" Ethan repeated, as if that was the only thing he had taken away.

Kaela tilted her head.

"People actually call their kids that? It sounds like a loser from an old movie who reminds the teacher that they forgot to collect homework."

"I was thinking a shady accountant on those old billboard ads," Ethan added.

"No..."

Kaela shook her head thoughtfully.

"Assistant accountant."

Ethan nodded.

"Definitely, assistant."

Greg simply stared at the pair that was blatantly insulting him after arriving late before eventually asking, "Are you two finished?":

They just continued laughing in response.

Kaela only ever laughed this hard when she had Ethan around to bounce off of. But while joking around, the blue-eyed man was still alert as he took one last drag from his cigarette before flicking it aside.

’She seems familiar with this Greg guy. And if it’s like he said, he was probably some important guy in the CIA before the Gates took over the world. So even without a Title, he’s definitely still dangerous.’

Regardless of what he was, the man had pivoted well and landed himself a position second only to his father’s.

’It might even be better, especially if the black suits answer directly to him.’

Not that it granted him any special respect from Ethan, who didn’t suck up to anyone and never had. Greg looked as though he’d already aged several years in the matter of seconds he had interacted with the Titled duo.

’Father, you really weren’t exaggerating.’

Once the laughter finally died down, his expression became noticeably more serious.

"There has been a significant increase in underground Titled-related criminal activity over the past several months."

Both Ethan and Kaela stopped smiling, naturally intrigued.

Greg continued.

"A new drug has recently appeared on the market. It grants even weaker Titled, and even untitled individuals, temporary abilities derived from monster and beast materials."

He pulled out several photographs.

Mutated and deformed people, destroyed buildings, and pools of blood.

"The results are... unstable. The users exhibit dramatically enhanced physical capabilities, but the side effects are catastrophic and include violent psychosis, organ failure, and permanent mutations."

"In extreme cases, there is complete loss of sanity and even death."

Silence settled over the warehouse.

Greg slid another photograph of some sort of logo, which was what appeared to be a fang.

"This is becoming organised. There are suppliers, manufacturers, and distributors. We currently have no trace of who is funding this and how they were gathering the gate-sourced materials for their research and production."

Almost simultaneously, Ethan and Kaela spoke.

"Isn’t this something for Holt?"

They looked at one another before bursting into laughter again.

Greg pinched the bridge of his nose.

"No, Holt is extremely busy, and his expertise is intelligence gathering. He isn’t suited for dismantling criminal organisations from the ground up."

He looked between them.

"You both are. You’re powerful, smart, and can do what needs to be done."

He paused.

"So... what do you say? Want to be a part of this Anti-Titled Crime Unit?"

Kaela folded her arms and thought about it for a moment before coming out with a response that surprised both Greg and Ethan.

"I’ll do it if he does."

Greg quickly regained composure and nodded, then turned towards Ethan. But the blue-eyed man didn’t answer straight away...