A Free Radical

1-2-3-4. Levi entered the security code and made his way into the warehouse.

Honey, I'm home!

The warehouse stretched wide, a maze of towering shelves packed with crates on one side and shipping containers lined up like boxcars on the other. The air was thick with a film of oil and dust. The quiet hum of distant ventilation buzzed in the background. Faint light filtered through grimy windows high above, throwing jittery shadows across the concrete floor. An elevated office loomed at the far end, its glass window overlooking the floor like a gangster's crow's nest.

A crime syndicate's treasure trove in the heart of Hell's Kitchen. This was it, the motherload. And you know it's rich with gold. Goooolllldddddd. If it isn't, I'll lick my pickaxe. Well, let's leave that to Cornelius Yukon.

[ASSESSMENT]

> Host entry successful.

> Recommend immediate acquisition of unclaimed resources.

> Delay risks decreasing potential gains.

Al, are you secretly a kleptomaniac?

[CLARIFICATION]

> AL-69 does not suffer from human neuroses.

> System success correlates with resource intake.

> Host's hesitation may indicate latent inefficiency.

Whatever you have to tell yourself to go into sleep mode at night, Al. Let's start busting these piñatas open.

The first few crates were duds. Then, jackpot. Bundles of cash, tightly wrapped in plastic, stared back at him.

Holy Benjamins, Batman! Stacks of smiling old slave owners quickly filled his bag.

Gold chains and rings followed, along with a couple of Rolex watches. And then, Cha-ching. A clear plastic bag of uncut diamonds shone up at him.

Come to Papa! Are you blood diamonds? Don't worry, Daddy doesn't carat all!

[OBSERVATION]

> Inane commentary detected.

> Focus on task efficiency advised.

Al, let's adjust your designation to 'Buzzkillington.'

[RESPONSE]

> Request Denied.

> New Self-Designation: "Not Angry, Just Disappointed"

Ugggghhh. Levi pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and rubbing away the annoyance.

Further down, a locked cabinet caught his eye. A quick pry with a crowbar revealed vials of injectables: adrenaline, steroids, and something faintly glowing in the dim light. He hesitated, the feeling of 'an elevated state of consciousness' from the brain juice still sharp in his mind. Then he packed them anyway.

[ANALYSIS]

> Unknown compound detected.

> Potential stimulant.

> Risk of instability noted.

Chill, Al. Looks like a Phoenix Down to me.

He added a tactical knife, a tonfa, and a few flashbangs from a crate labeled "Security" to his growing haul, then zipped the bag shut.

Stacks of cash, bags of diamonds, and a glizzy. We could shoot a pretty sick music video… but I'm not a rapper.

[OBSERVATION]

> Host focus wavering.

> Recommend recalibration for situational awareness.

Oh, relax, Al. This is practically a cakewalk.

Then he heard it—a faint scuff of leather against metal, just enough to ping his senses. Levi froze, his eyes darting upwards, senses shifting into overdrive.

From a window high on the wall, a silhouette slipped inside with feline grace. Platinum hair shimmered as she paused in a stripe of light streaming from the window, allowing the fleeting spotlight to hold her for a moment before she phased back into the shadows. She landed silently on a stack of crates, her sharp gaze cutting through the room with calm precision.

That's one fit bird, innit. Nah, won't work—neither of us is British. Oh, I've got just the thing, let's go for film noir.

Levi smirked, leaning lazily against a crate, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. "What's a dame like you doing in a dive like this?"

The figure stilled, her eyes locking onto his. Then, with the slightest shift of her lips, an amused look of recognition flickered across her face. She stepped forward, her heels clicking softly against the wood as she sauntered through another beam of light. The silver in her hair caught the glow, casting an almost ethereal sheen over her movements.

"Same as you, Tiger. Here to crack this safe wide open," she said, her voice low and velvety. She vaulted down from the crates effortlessly, her landing so smoothly it was as if she floated to the ground. She moved like a phantom, not even the slightest scuff was heard as she landed.

Did the viewers at home just hit mute?

[META]

> Disney would never approve of you.

> You are neither interesting nor marketable.

> Any theoretical audience is niche according to even the most optimistic projections.

Shh, my adoring fans are keen to see how I 'rizz up' this fictional femme fatale.

She glanced back over her shoulder, one brow arched, her expression caught halfway between a grin and a challenge. "Stick close, and I'll show you how it's done."

Or she rizzes me. Mee-ow!

Levi chuckled, tipping an imaginary hat. "You've got moxie, kid. The kind they write songs about."

Felicia sauntered past him with the effortless confidence of someone in complete control. She reached into her sleek bag, pulling out a compact toolkit as she examined a locked crate. Levi followed, his duffel bag hanging from one shoulder, watching her work with quiet admiration.

"You always rob places dressed for the Met Gala, or is this just a special occasion?" he asked, his voice laced with dry amusement.

Without looking up, she smirked. "Cute ski mask. Rob a liquor store on the way over?" With a precise flick, the lock snapped open. "And this isn't robbery. I'm liberating art from these… cultural cretins."

[SCORE]

> Catsuit - 1 | Ski Mask - 0

Levi snorted. "Why do I get the feeling that this 'liberated' art ends up hung on your wall?"

She opened the crate, revealing a collection of small, intricately painted canvases and a bronze statuette. "Art like this deserves better than gathering dust in a warehouse. It desires to be seen and owned by those who appreciate its beauty. And who would appreciate it more than me?" She slid one of the smaller paintings into her bag with practiced ease, giving him a sidelong glance. "What's your excuse? A new wardrobe, I imagine?"

Levi rummaged through a nearby crate, pulling out another stack of cash. "Accepting investments for my new hedge fund," he said casually, tossing the bills into his bag.

Felicia's laugh was soft and melodious, almost genuine. "A hedge fund. Cute. I know your ilk would do anything to make a profit, but isn't breaking and entering outside your wheelhouse?"

"It's called 'creative acquisitions.' But of course, a plebeian like you wouldn't understand the finer points of investment banking." He grinned, popping open another box and revealing more gold chains. He held one up. "What do you think? I'd do the industry-standard bite test, but I have an expert on hand."

Felicia rolled her eyes but smiled faintly as she pocketed a jeweled ring from another crate and gave the extended chain a critical once-over. She snorted in disgust. "That belongs in a mall kiosk."

Levi struck a Thinker's pose, considering. "Bolex pile it is." He tossed the chain over his shoulder and smiled wide as he withdrew a bag of diamonds.

Felicia reached over and plucked one of the diamonds from his hand, holding it up to the light. "Not bad. Shame you don't know how to cut them."

He shrugged, taking it back. "I can't cut diamonds, but with a few investments, I bet I can multiply them."

She crooked her eyebrow, closing her bag and sauntering towards the staircase leading up to the office. "Ah yes, the Wizard of Hell's Kitchen."

Levi followed Felicia up the groaning metal staircase, his gaze drifting to the sway of her hips as she ascended with practiced grace.

Without turning, Felicia's voice broke the silence, smooth and amused. "Eyes up, darling. Try to stay professional."

Levi's gaze didn't waver. "Don't wanna."

"Be petulant later," she snorted, slipping through the cracked door of the elevated office.

The room was cramped, the air stale with paper and old coffee. A heavy desk dominated the space, its drawers ajar, while shelves sagged under ledgers and binders.

"This is what I came for," Felicia said, kneeling in front of a wall safe and pulling a toolkit from her bag.

Levi leaned against the desk, his duffel thudding to the floor. "So, got big plans for the weekend?"

Felicia didn't look up. "Oh, you know, a couple small art auctions and a black-tie ball. Oh wait, you wouldn't know."

"Careful," Levi said, flipping open a ledger. "I might take that personally. I could go to plenty of swanky soirées if I felt like it." He scanned the pages: names, payments, addresses. His eyes narrowed. "Payoff money. Protection rackets. Bribes."

Felicia glanced up briefly. "And what, you're going to report them to the feds?"

"I can apply all types of leverage with this," Levi replied, sliding the ledger into his bag. "I might even orchestrate Yelp review bombing on a couple of the nastier businesses in here."

The safe clicked open, and Felicia pulled out a black velvet pouch. She loosened the drawstring, tilting it to reveal an ornate silver and emerald necklace.

"There's my girl," she purred, sliding the pouch into her bag.

"Is your 'baby girl' ok? Great! Then I think it's time to make like a tree and get the hell out of here."

Felicia's smirk returned. "Yes, I believe it is past her bedtime. I need to get her home and tuck her in."

Before Levi could fire back, a door slammed below. Flashlights cut through the shadows, and voices echoed through the warehouse.

Felicia snapped her bag shut, her smirk fading into something sharper. "Time to go."

Levi adjusted the strap of his duffel, already moving toward the stairs. "What do you think? Just some Girl Scouts selling cookies?"

"More like door-to-door concrete shoe salesmen," Felicia replied, her voice dry but steady.

The crash of another door slamming and the shouts of voices sent Levi's pulse racing. They descended quickly, slipping into the shadows of the main floor.

"Just hold 'em! Hammerhead's on the way!" a thug barked, loud enough for Levi to hear.

"We're on the clock," Levi muttered, glancing at Felicia.

Her smirk was faint but confident. "I'll clear the rooftops. Try not to embarrass yourself." She melted into the shadows before he could respond.

Levi yanked a flashbang from his belt, pulled the pin, and tossed it into the group of gangsters pouring through the doors. Levi ducked behind a stack of crates until the grenade exploded with a deafening crack, flooding the warehouse with blinding light.

Levi charged.

The first thug barely had time to react before the tonfa slammed into his ribs with a visceral crunch. He folded, gasping out a spray of blood, and dropped to the ground. A second goon blindly swung his bat, but Levi ducked and hooked the man's knee, toppling him into a stack of barrels.

A knife-wielding thug lunged from his left. Levi caught the glint of the blade and turned, letting it graze him. Blood ran warm down his forearm, but he didn't slow. His hand flashed out, catching the thug's wrist and twisting until he heard a snap and the knife clattered to the ground. Levi hammered the tonfa into the man's shoulder, dropping him with a pained groan.

[OBSERVATION]

> Minor laceration detected.

> Repair initiated.

> Estimated to quickly achieve full recovery.

The cocking of a shotgun made him pivot just in time to see a thug stepping into view, aiming. Levi's eyebrows nearly jumped off his face as he dove for cover. Too slow. The spread caught him in the abdomen, the force throwing him hard against a crate and leaving several gaping wounds. His head snapped back, the world spinning as the pain lanced through his torso. Crimson bloomed across his shirt, and for a moment, his vision blurred.

[CRITICAL]

> Catastrophic trauma detected.

> Multiple arterial ruptures identified.

> Rapid hemorrhaging accelerating fatal blood loss.

> Repair threshold critical—system adaptation insufficient without immediate intervention.

> Prioritize staunching bleeding to allow stabilization of arteries.

> Adrenaline levels spiking to maintain operational efficiency.

Levi growled, his hand pressing against the wound. His heart thundered in his ears, his breath shallow but steady.

Thanks for the heads-up, Al.

[CLARIFICATION]

> AL-69 is limited to host's sensory inputs.

> Earlier ambush predictably accelerated enemy regrouping.

> Host's delay due to unnecessary looting theatrics and extended banter with secondary party contributed to diminished escape efficiency.

Right, Wilder, this one's on you. Either way, Shotgun is between me and the door. Let's get creative.

The knife-wielder groaned behind him, staggering to his feet. Levi spun, seizing the man by the collar and hauling him upright. He turned back toward the shotgun-wielder, dragging his dazed shield with him. The thug fired again, and the shotgun blast tore into his shield's torso. Levi rushed forward, shoving the body into the shooter with enough force to knock him off balance.

Levi lunged, closing the distance in a burst of speed. His tonfa came thundering down like a meteor, connecting with the shooter's head. A resounding CRACK echoed through the warehouse, sharp as splitting wood. The man crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut, the shotgun clattering to the ground. Levi didn't hesitate—he grabbed it, pumped it, and swung toward the final thug between him and the door.

The thug was frozen with a pistol half-raised, gaping like a fish. Levi fired. The shotgun's blast sent the man flying into a stack of crates, clearing the way.

Levi tossed the shotgun aside and sprinted for the exit, his breaths shallow and fast, blood steadily streaming behind him into a trail. As he shoved the door open, he yanked his last flashbang, pulled the pin, and dropped it behind him as he staggered through. The grenade detonated just as he slammed it shut.

Cool guys don't look at explosions.

Levi jammed the door, leaning against it as his breaths came fast and shallow. Blood streaked the handle, his legs threatening to give out. The adrenaline that had carried him this far was fading fast. He quickly tore his shirt, stuffing part of it firmly into the wound and tying it in place with the rest, then zipping up his jacket.

"Subtle," Felicia's voice cut through the quiet. His eyes darted up, catching her perched on a nearby fire escape, her bag of loot slung casually over her shoulder. Her sharp eyes tracked the blood dripping steadily from Levi's side, pooling faintly at his feet.

"You look like you got hit by a truck," she said, her tone dry, but the way her gaze lingered on his wound betrayed her concern.

Levi smirked faintly, forcing his voice steady. "You should see the truck."

Felicia leapt down effortlessly, landing in front of him. Her eyes flicked toward the warehouse door, then back to him. For a moment, she hesitated, the faintest flicker of indecision breaking through her usual poise.

Levi caught it and pushed off the door, straightening with a wince and a grin. "Let's split up here. I can't be hauling around dead weight."

Her lips pressed into a thin line as her gaze darted back to the blood trailing from his side. "You're leaving a trail. Make sure it doesn't lead to me," she said, but her tone lacked its previous bite.

Levi's smirk returned, weaker but intact. "Noted." His eyes softened slightly as he met hers. "This was fun. We should do it again sometime, really ended with a bang."

Felicia's expression flickered, almost a smile. "Maybe if you don't bleed out first. And don't call me—I'll call you."

Levi raised an eyebrow, his grin faint. "You won't find a Big Cheese like me in the Yellow Pages."

Felicia tilted her head, her voice dropping to a quieter, almost thoughtful tone. "You're not as hard to find as you think." She lingered for a moment, her gaze dipping to the blood staining his side, her lips pressing into a faint line. For a split second, it seemed like she might say more, but instead, she stepped back, her tone sharpening as she turned away. "Get home safe, Tiger. You're no good to me dead."

With a graceful leap, she scaled the fire escape, disappearing onto the rooftops. Levi watched her vanish before forcing himself forward.

I hate to see her go, but god, do I love to watch her slink away.

His hand pressed tighter against his side as he stumbled into the shadows of the industrial district.

[CRITICAL]

> Host trauma exceeds repair capacity.

> Immediate cessation of activity required.

Yeah, yeah. Grandpa Levi will hobble home and sit a spell in his La-Z-Boy.

---

Levi shoved the door shut behind him, jamming it with a chair before stumbling to the edge of his mattress. The duffel slipped from his shoulder and hit the floor with a thud he barely registered.

[DIRECTIVE]

> Remove upper garments.

> Staunch bleeding to increase repair efficiency.

Levi blinked at the prompt, his head swimming. Whatever you say, voice in my head. He fumbled with his jacket, peeling the makeshift bandage free. Pain jolted him awake as the fabric tore away from the sticky wound.

[INSTRUCTION]

> Apply pressure to wound.

> Locate first aid supplies.

He stared blankly at the bed for a beat before Al's words clicked. His hand fumbled beneath it, dragging out a battered first aid kit. Gauze tumbled out as he pried it open, and he pressed a roll clumsily against the wound.

[UPDATE]

> Hemostasis achieved.

> Situation stabilized.

> Rest, Levi.

Levi's shoulders slumped, and his head lolled back against the wall. His breathing slowed, but the creak of wood jolted him upright. His hand twitched toward the knife lying nearby, though his fingers didn't quite close around the handle.

"Relax, darling," Felicia purred, her silhouette framed in the window. Her smirk gleamed like the city lights behind her, though her eyes drifted to the small pool of blood he was sitting in. She eyed the room critically. "What's a heartbreaker like you doing in a shit-hole like this?"