Marvel: Familia System

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The group dispersed, each heading toward their assigned targets. Light made his way to the electronics store, his mind already racing with possibilities. The Hand was known for their meticulous planning, their ability to cover their tracks. But they weren't infallible. They couldn't account for every variable, every wildcard that might come their way. And Light was the ultimate wildcard.

He pushed open the door to the store, the bell above the entrance jingling softly. The shop was small, cramped with shelves filled with outdated gadgets and electronics parts. A bored-looking clerk sat behind the counter, barely glancing up as Light entered. The atmosphere was so mundane, so ordinary, that it almost made Light laugh. Almost.

Light scanned the room quickly, his eyes landing on a door at the back of the shop, partially obscured by a curtain. He approached the counter, his expression carefully neutral as he addressed the clerk.

"I'm looking for something specific," Light said, his tone casual. "A part that's hard to find."

The clerk finally looked up, his expression bored. "What kind of part?"

Light leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "A part that's not on display. Something... under the counter, perhaps?"

The clerk's eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering across his face. But before he could respond, Light's hand shot out, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him across the counter. The clerk let out a startled yelp, his hands flailing as he tried to break free.

"Let me make this easy for you," Light said, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. "I know what you're hiding here, and I'm giving you one chance to tell me where the entrance is."

The clerk's eyes widened in fear, his bravado crumbling under the intensity of Light's gaze. "I-I don't know what you're talking about—"

Light tightened his grip, cutting off the man's protest. "Don't lie to me," he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "I can make this much worse for you."

The clerk's resolve broke, and he pointed shakily outside. "It's not this shop! I-I promise!"

Light's fingers flared with flames, searing into the man's skin as he leaned closer, his voice cold and menacing. "Are you sure?" he asked, locking eyes with the terrified man.

"Argh! Y-yes! It's not this shop!" The clerk screamed, the pain evident in his voice.

Light called the flames back, his expression slipping into one of detached calm. He studied the man, who was now gasping for breath, clutching his seared skin. "Now, what to do with you?" he mused aloud, more to himself than to the man quivering before him.

Nero's orders had been clear: no harming innocents. But was this man truly innocent? He clearly knew what the Hand was up to beneath these shops, and yet he did nothing. Could someone who turned a blind eye to such horrors really be considered innocent? Would Nero even care if he rid the world of this piece of trash?

Light's gaze darkened as he weighed his options. His fingers twitched, itching to call forth the flames again, to burn away any trace of this man's existence. But something held him back—something irritatingly small and inconvenient, like a splinter lodged in his mind.

The clerk whimpered, his eyes pleading for mercy as he trembled under Light's scrutiny. He was pathetic, sniveling, and utterly worthless, but still, Light hesitated. Killing him would be easy, satisfying even, but would it be worth the potential consequences? Nero might not take kindly to such an action.

Then he remembered, "It is so strange. To think I forget I am Kira, the judge of good and evil." He chuckled, his voice low and unsettling. In his past life, he decided who was innocent and who was not. He just had to listen to his instinct. "It seems like you are not innocent."

Light's finger ignited with flames once more, stronger this time, the fire crackling with a menacing intensity. The clerk's scream of agony filled the small shop, the sound raw and desperate. Light watched impassively, his expression devoid of sympathy as he pressed the flames closer to the man's skin.

"Please! I'm telling you the truth!" the clerk cried out, his voice breaking under the pain. "I-I don't know anything else! I swear!"

Light tilted his head slightly, considering the man's pleas. His mind, cold and calculating, weighed the worth of the clerk's life against the satisfaction of erasing yet another piece of filth from the world. The decision was swift.

"Swearing on lies is a sin," Light said, his voice cold and final. The flames surged, engulfing the man completely as he let out one last, gut-wrenching scream before the fire consumed him entirely. In seconds, the clerk was nothing more than ash on the floor, a smoldering reminder of Light's judgment.

Satisfied, Light extinguished the flames and turned his attention back to the rest of the shop. The air was thick with the scent of charred flesh and burnt electronics, but he paid it no mind. This place was nothing but a façade, a front for the Hand's operations. There was no value in preserving it.

Light moved toward the back door, pushing it open with the tip of his finger, which still flickered with the remnants of his fire. Beyond the door was a small storage room, filled with dusty shelves and forgotten boxes.

Shrugging, Light turned to leave. "Well, at least he was honest." His voice was casual, almost indifferent, as if he hadn't just turned a man into ash. With one last glance around the now empty store, Light stepped back into the alley, already thinking about his next move.

The electronics shop was a bust, but there were still other stores to check. He crossed the narrow alley and approached the next shop in line—a small bookstore that looked as though it hadn't seen a customer in years. The windows were dusty, the sign faded and peeling. But Light wasn't fooled by appearances. He'd seen too many places like this, where the real action was hidden just beneath the surface.

He pushed open the door, the bell above it jingling softly. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old paper and dust. The shelves were crammed with books, most of them seemingly untouched for decades. A single, elderly man sat behind the counter, his eyes following Light's every move with a suspicion that was hard to miss.

Light didn't waste time with pleasantries. He strode up to the counter, his expression hard. "I'm looking for something specific," he said, his tone leaving no room for misunderstanding.

The old man didn't respond immediately. He just stared at Light, his gaze unblinking. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper. "This is a bookstore, son. We have a lot of specific things. You'll have to be more precise."

Chuckling, Light leaned in, his voice a soft, dangerous whisper. "The door to let me down. Where is it?"

The old man's eyes narrowed, his fingers twitching. He shifted slightly, his gaze flicking toward the back of the shop for just a moment—a moment too long. Light caught the movement, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be," Light said, his tone almost conversational. "I'm in a bit of a hurry."

The old man swallowed, the tension in the air thickening as he realized there was no way out of this. His voice trembled as he finally responded. "There's nothing here for you, son. Just books. Old, dusty books."

Light sighed, shaking his head. "You know, lying doesn't suit you." He reached across the counter, grabbing the man by the collar and pulling him close. The flames in his hand flared to life, casting an ominous glow across the man's terrified face. "Let's try this again."

The old man winced at the heat, his resolve crumbling under the pressure. "Please, I don't want any trouble!" he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "The entrance is in the storeroom, behind the shelves. Just… don't hurt me."

Light released him, the fire in his hand dying down to a simmer. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" he said, his tone laced with mock sympathy. Without waiting for a response, he turned and made his way toward the back of the store, leaving the old man shaking behind the counter.

Suddenly, Light felt his Observation Haki activate, alerting him to the danger just in time. He tilted his head slightly, and a bullet whizzed past where his skull had been just a second ago. The sound of the shot echoed through the small store, filling the silence with a sharp, deadly reminder of the old man's desperation.

Light turned slowly to face the elderly man, who was now holding a Glock in his trembling hand, eyes wide with fear and regret. The gun's barrel was still smoking, the old man's frail fingers barely managing to keep their grip.

Light shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips as he stepped closer. "Older and crueler, they used to say. The older one gets, the more he sees, and in time, he loses whatever compassion and sympathy he once had. It seems they were right."

Without another word, flames leaped from Light's hand, snaking through the air with a deadly grace. They found the old man instantly, wrapping around him in a burning embrace. His screams filled the room, raw and piercing, as the fire consumed him. The scent of burning flesh mingled with the musty odor of old books, creating a nauseating blend that clung to the air.

Light watched impassively, his expression unchanged as the man was reduced to ashes. There was no satisfaction in the act, no pleasure in the kill—just the cold efficiency of someone who had long since stopped questioning the morality of his actions.

As the last of the man's screams faded, the door to the shop burst open. Mystique and her group rushed in, weapons drawn, their eyes darting around the room, searching for the source of the noise. They were greeted by the sight of Light standing amidst the carnage, the flames still flickering lazily in his hand.

"Did you find it?" Mystique asked, her voice steady but tinged with irritation. She didn't even bother asking about the charred remains on the floor; she knew better than to expect any different from Light.

Light simply nodded, turning toward the back of the store. He led them to the trapdoor hidden behind the shelves, his movements calm. He pushed aside a stack of dusty books and revealed the entrance, a heavy metal door embedded in the floor. It was secured with a series of complex locks, the kind that would take a normal person hours to bypass.

But Light was anything but normal.

With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed a torrent of flames that melted through the locks in seconds. The metal groaned under the intense heat before giving way, and the trapdoor swung open, revealing a dark staircase leading down into the depths of the underground facility.

Mystique peered into the darkness, her expression unreadable. "How deep does it go?" she asked, more to herself than anyone else.

"Deep enough," Light replied, stepping aside to let the others take the lead. He had no intention of being the first down the stairs—he'd done his part, and now it was time for Mystique and her team to do theirs.

They moved quickly, descending the stairs in a practiced formation, their weapons at the ready. The air grew colder and damper as they went deeper, the sounds of the city above fading away into an oppressive silence. The only light came from the flames flickering around Light's hand, casting eerie shadows on the walls as they made their way down.

At the bottom of the stairs, they found themselves in a narrow corridor, the walls lined with reinforced metal. It was clear that the Hand had gone to great lengths to keep this place hidden, but they hadn't counted on someone like Light finding it.

Mystique signaled for her team to spread out, her gaze fixed on the heavy door at the end of the corridor. It was the only way forward, and whatever lay beyond it was likely the heart of the Hand's operation.

Light hung back, leaning casually against the wall as Mystique and her team prepared to breach the door. He could hear the faint sounds of movement on the other side—voices, footsteps, the unmistakable hum of machinery. The Hand was busy, but they were about to be rudely interrupted.

Mystique glanced back at Light, her eyes narrowing. "Stay sharp," she said, her tone laced with warning. She knew better than to trust him completely, but for now, they were on the same side.

Light smirked, the flames in his hand flaring briefly. "Always."

With a nod, Mystique gave the signal, and her team moved in. They hit the door hard, weapons ready, bursting into the room with military precision. The Hand operatives inside barely had time to react before they were met with a hail of gunfire and flames.

Light watched from the doorway, his eyes sweeping the room with detached curiosity. The lab was a twisted marvel of technology and cruelty—rows of computers whirred, monitoring the life signs of the unfortunate souls suspended in the glass tanks that lined the walls. Each tank was filled with a sickly green liquid, distorting the figures trapped inside. Some were mutants, their bodies bearing the unmistakable marks of their powers, while others appeared to be ordinary humans, perhaps victims of the Hand's twisted experiments.

He let out a low whistle, his gaze lingering on the tanks. "Fifty-three," he counted aloud, his tone casual, almost bored. "Quite the collection."

Mystique's team was already fanning out, securing the area with practiced efficiency. Light watched them for a moment, noting the way they moved—professional, precise, but lacking the flair that he so enjoyed. There was no art to their violence, no creativity. It was all so predictable.

His eyes drifted back to the tanks, and he felt a flicker of something—annoyance, perhaps? Disappointment? It didn't matter. What mattered was the power these people represented, power that was being wasted, trapped in these glass prisons. Light's fingers twitched, the flames in his hand flaring briefly before he forced them to subside.

Mystique approached one of the tanks, her expression unreadable as she stared at the mutant within. "We need to get them out of here," she said, her voice low, but firm. "This place is a death trap."

Light leaned against the wall, watching her with a faint smirk. "And here I thought Magneto's people were all about survival of the fittest. What's the plan? Free them and let them run wild?"

Mystique shot him a glare, her eyes flashing with anger. "These people have been through enough. They deserve a chance."

Light shrugged, unconcerned. "Suit yourself. But don't expect them to thank you. And definitely don't expect me to help."

With that, he turned on his heel and left Mystique to her moral dilemma. He had done his part, set the stage, and now it was time to let the pieces fall where they may. As he stepped out of the underground facility and back into the dimly lit bookstore, he pulled out his phone. His fingers danced over the screen as he typed a message to L:

"Destruction, done."

Light paused, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips before he sent another message:

"Oops, typo. I meant distraction."

He chuckled softly to himself, slipping the phone back into his pocket as he pushed open the door to the street. The cool air greeted him, a stark contrast to the inferno he had left behind. But there was no time to savor the moment. The Hand would be swarming the area soon, drawn by the chaos he had unleashed.

As if on cue, Light spotted the dark figures of Hand agents converging on the bookstore. Their movements were swift, silent, and coordinated—just as he expected. He counted at least a hundred, their presence turning the quiet street into a battlefield. They surrounded the entrance, weapons at the ready, their eyes scanning for any sign of him.

Light didn't give them the chance to attack. With a single, fluid motion, he ignited a massive blast of fire, forcing them to take a step back, their carefully laid plans momentarily disrupted. The light from the flames reflected in their wide eyes, fear and fury flickering across their faces. But when the smoke cleared, Light was already gone.

High above the street, he hovered in the sky, watching the chaos below with a grin. The Hand agents were searching frantically for him, their formation broken, their confidence shaken. It was almost too easy, but Light had never been one to shy away from a bit of overkill.

"Would Magneto kill me if Mystique failed to run?" he mused aloud, his voice carrying on the wind. The thought amused him more than it should have, and he laughed—a sharp, cruel sound that echoed across the rooftops. His gaze caught an approaching jet but he ignored it all the same.

He watched for a moment longer, enjoying the sight of the Hand's futile efforts to regain control. Then, with a final glance at the smoldering ruins below, he vanished into the blue sky, leaving behind only the lingering scent of smoke and the sound of distant, panicked shouts.

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