Super Hero Rhapsody: 1975

The warehouse rear bays are wide open, and Gray-Coat operatives swarm the dock like ants. Crates disappear into unmarked trucks while papers burn in a metal drum, spitting ozone and ash.

Sally and Devlan reach the alley edge just as a scanner sweeps the loading lane. The routing strip from the keypad points straight here, a live thread into the harvest chain.

One Gray-Coat at the dock pauses, head turning toward the alley, while another waves a hand and keeps the convoy moving. Above them, a window on the office block glints with a watchful reflection.

Devlan shifts his grip on the pistol, eyes on Sally. Inside the warehouse, beyond the loading bay, the route clearly leads toward whatever is powering the harvest chain.

Sally slips into the wall on a breath and a blur, but the concrete ripples wrong. Instead of cleanly cutting across the alley side, she skates through packed rebar and old conduit, then jolts back half a step out of phase.

Inside the loading bay, one crate gets nudged loose by her passing wake and tips off a stack, thudding hard enough to make nearby Gray-Coats flinch and look up.

Devlan stays low at the alley mouth, pistol tracking the bay as the routing strip in Sally's hand catches the spill of firelight from the burning drum.

Sally's failed phase leaves a faint afterimage along the loading wall, and through it she catches a glimpse of a narrow service seam beside the dock doors, marked with the same code as the printed strip.

The Gray-Coats rush the loose crate back into line, but the bay is now split between the trucks and the seam, giving Sally a choice point before the next load moves.

Sally surges forward and snatches the loose crate before the Gray-Coats can muscle it back into the stack. The wood groans in her grip, then comes free with a hard jolt, dragging loose splinters and a strap of shipping wrap across the concrete.

Devlan rises from cover a little higher, pistol fixed on the loading bay while the burning drum throws red light across the trucks and the stamped labels.

A Gray-Coat reaches for the crate, but Sally has it first, and the stack shudders as she yanks it clear of the line. The service seam by the dock doors sits open to her left, its printed code matching the strip in her hand.

The nearest Gray-Coats hesitate, torn between the crate and the seam, while one truck engine coughs to life behind them. The bay is no longer orderly, and the handoff is starting to break.

The man under the awning does not reach for a weapon, but instead pulls a small, glowing remote from his coat and taps a sequence into the air. He is not the boss, but a mere relay, and the true cleanup team is already descending from the rooftops above.

Sally surges up the alley wall, faster than the rooftop team expects, and hits the first hanger hard enough to send him skidding across wet gravel.

She lands on the nearest crate stack, grabs the dangling line, and yanks the climber off balance before he can clear the roof edge.

Above the loading bay, the remaining Gray-Coats freeze for half a beat, then start cutting their lines as the truck below roars to life.

Devlan raises his gun from the alley mouth, tracking the roofline while Sally forces the lead climber into the open, pinned against the parapet.

The rooftop team stumbles backward, abandoning their descent for the moment, and one sealed crate tips free from the edge toward Sally's hands.

It slams onto the loading platform at her feet, unbroken and within reach, as the man under the awning looks up from below and barks for the final lift to be saved.

Sally drives her shoulder into the crate lid, and the seal bursts with a dry crack. Packed inside are wrapped data sleeves, paper tags, and a sealed hardcase marked with the same routing code as the alley wall.

The hardcase skids across the platform as the truck behind the bay lurches into gear. Its rear wheels start to roll, then stall when the crate spill scatters across the loading edge.

Devlan shifts his aim from the roofline to the truck cab, sighting the driver through the rain haze. A Gray-Coat on the roof flinches at the exposed evidence and starts backing away from the edge.

One sleeve flips open in the wet, and a stamped courier shell signature shows through before a boot can crush it. The truck slows instead of surging, its brake lights washing the alley red.

Above, the rappelling line team recoils from the spill and starts pulling up for good, leaving the loading platform exposed and the final crate no longer in their hands.

Sally snatches the hardcase off the slick platform and hauls it into her chest. The courier code is still visible through the rain, while the paper tags slap against her wrist.

Devlan shifts his stance and keeps the truck pinned, but the cab no longer seems eager to bolt. Up on the roofline, the last rappelling line hangs empty as another Gray-Coat backs away from the edge.

The man under the awning jerks the remote down, panic cutting through the command. The loading bay is littered with spilled evidence, and the truck’s brake lights wash over the alley while the team above retreats for real.

Sally’s badge flashes at her collar as she clamps the case tighter, the metal edge cold through her grip. Somewhere inside the bay, a door slams, and the last Gray-Coats vanish from sight.