Chapter 172 Guests.

Chapter 172: 172 Guests.

It would almost be a criminal shame not to run such a meticulously plotted death trap.

"Ready to go?" I asked, reaching into one of my armored utility pouches.

"Miles, baby! I was literally born ready!" Rhea replied, her voice practically dripping with smug confidence over the comms.

I chuckled under my breath and pulled out the smooth, metallic sphere Rhea had given me before I left.

I gently set it down on the damp flagstones. Almost instantly, four thin, articulated mechanical legs sprouted from its chassis.

With a series of dainty, metallic clicks, the drone scurried forward, darting right past the ruined, rotting bodies of the trespassers who had foolishly challenged the hallway before me.

Honestly, I would have loved to go down that corridor myself. Letting those automated traps try and take a piece out of me while I casually deflected saw blades and tanked flamethrowers would be an incredibly fun afternoon.

That was the one major downside to being a professional villain. Your primary job was to design the lethal death traps, not run them like an obstacle course.

And sadly, I genuinely dared not run this one.

If the Mind got even a slight blip on his radar that I was coming for him, there was absolutely no guarantee he’d stick around.

He wouldn’t stay to fight; he’d fuck right off through some hidden escape pod, emergency portal, or whatever other random, high-tech bullshittery he had installed.

Trust me, I was an absolute industry expert on making a dramatic getaway to fight another day.

Well, sorry, but today I was going to have to insist he stay for a chat. Hence, Rhea’s infiltration drone.

I watched intently as the little bot skittered like a mechanical spider along the ceiling, completely bypassing the laser grid.

It was too light to set off any floor-based pressure pads, too small to be flagged by standard motion sensors, and lacked the thermal signature to draw the automated flamethrowers.

"Aaaaaand... bading! Gotcha," Rhea crowed as her drone reached the far end of the hall.

The little mechanical sphere clicked up the wall, planting itself directly above the massive vault door. The top of the drone split open like a high-tech egg, deploying a specialized splicing antenna.

A faint hum emanated through the stale air, and the entire corridor was suddenly washed in a localized EMP glow.

"Ha! Easiest game I’ve ever played."

"You good?" I asked.

"Hell yeah, boss! I’m in. System is totally compromised. I’m currently looping his external security cameras, deactivating the trap triggers, and making sure he never even notices you’re standing on his front porch."

"You’re an absolute lifesaver, Rhea," I said, stepping past the first set of hidden floor spikes.

"Miles, please! I’m a certified genius. Saving your life is just incidental to how fucking amazing I am! But it’s a nice side effect."

Rhea’s constant self-aggrandizing would be incredibly annoying if she wasn’t always absolutely, demonstrably correct.

"So we’re green?" I asked.

"Go for it, Miles. I’ll even get the door for you."

Right on cue, a heavy whirring sound echoed from the massive vault door. With a deep, protesting groan of heavy steel and hydraulics, the hatch slowly slid open, revealing the throat of a deeper, reinforced iron corridor.

"How incredibly polite," I said, stepping completely out of cover.

"I have literally never had someone call me that," Rhea noted.

That, I could believe.

I walked down the corridor without incident, bypassing the dormant laser emitters and silent flamethrower nozzles. But as I reached the vault door, I couldn’t help but linger, casting a wistful glance back at the hall of death I’d so easily circumvented.

"Aw, what’s the matter, Miles? Did you really want to set off the traps?" Rhea teased.

"Kinda," I admitted freely.

"You wanna go back and walk through it? I can turn them back on. Put it on ’Hardcore’ mode."

Oooh. That was deeply tempting.

But no. Priorities. We had business to attend to.

"Maybe on the way out," I said, turning forward and making my way slowly into the actual lair.

Even as I walked, I kept my magnetic powers actively keyed up, mapping the environment like a bat using sonar. I certainly didn’t lack for raw material down here.

I was walking through a large, rounded hub that branched off into a number of different directions. Several of these were obviously laboratories, judging by the heavy metallic makeup within them. I could sense the dense copper coils, the gold plating on microchips, and the endless, spiraling wiring of high-end server racks.

Another room felt distinctly like a surgical theater—lots of sterilized stainless steel and heavy, motorized operating tables. And a third was...

Wait. What the fuck?

I couldn’t quite keep myself from drifting over to the third doorway. I carefully felt out the metallic frame with my powers to ensure there wasn’t a silent alarm hidden in the hinges, and then I gently pushed the door open.

Oh.

Wow. Yeah.

It was a massive, climate-controlled collection of vintage comic books, all politely and respectfully arranged behind reinforced, museum-grade glass display cases.

Well. Everyone needed a hobby, I supposed.

I shut the door delicately, respecting the curation, and turned back to the central corridor.

Just beyond the final blast door, I could feel the massive, circular shape of the primary command room, mapped out perfectly by the structural steel reinforcing the walls. More cabling and computer wiring spiraled away toward a central elevated platform, along with...

Ah. Got it.

I’d know the specific tactile signature of a pneumatic escape hatch hidden at the base of a big-ass metal command chair anywhere. That sort of trapdoor was an absolute supervillain classic.

Too bad it wouldn’t be getting any use today.

I had to be incredibly deft about this. I stopped, stretching my gauntleted hand out toward the wall.

Damn, but this was difficult to do blind. Navigating a complex mechanical system strictly by magnetic feel was like trying to perform open-heart surgery with chopsticks. But I’d never lacked for practicing my technique.

After a tense moment of sifting through the layers of copper and steel, I managed to isolate the specific actuator wire meant to trigger the hidden hydraulic door.

I narrowed my magnetic field into a razor-sharp point, wrapped it tightly around the internal wire, and gave it a violent, localized tug.

Snap. Disconnected.

There we go. No emergency exits today.

Taking care of the Mind himself, however, was going to be a bit more of a direct problem. He was bound to have some localized, non-metallic defenses I wasn’t able to pick up on radar. But there was no avoiding it now.

It was time for a little corporate restructuring.

I aimed my hand directly at the heavy metal blast door and sent a sudden, massive kinetic pulse of raw magnetic power straight into the center mass.

The entire door violently buckled inward with a deafening crash, tearing completely off its reinforced hinges and flying into the room. I glided smoothly through the dust and the breach.

The visual layout of the room lined up with my magnetic mapping perfectly.

It was a massive, domed chamber constructed from old Victorian brickwork, heavily retrofitted with modern steel support beams.

But what was on the screens made my stomach turn. They were all flickering and dancing with hundreds of photos, videos, and stolen surveillance feeds—every single one of them focused entirely on Psyren.

Industrial pipes snaked down from the ceiling, and the faint drone of heavy machinery vibrated through the air.

A massive bank of primary monitors near the far wall loomed like the flared hood of a mechanical cobra, casting a sickly pale light over a large, imposing chair set atop the elevated platform.

The chair slowly swiveled around.

"I wasn’t expecting... guests..."