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What Lurks in the Shadows

Chapter 17

“Are you not even a little concerned about the threat he poses to our operation?” the man asked nervously, staring at his computer screen from his dimly lit living room.

“Of course I am!” the voice on the other end scoffed.

“He has to know about the cartel involvement. He—” The man froze. The lights in his colleague's room had just gone out, plunging the video feed into near darkness. He could still make out a faint outline of the other man’s face.

“Hey… what happened?” he asked cautiously.

“No idea. My lights just—wait, my PC’s still on. Let me check the breaker, I’ll be right ba—”

A sudden POP.

A heavy thud followed, the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the floor. Then, muffled footsteps, fading into silence.

The man sat motionless, his pulse hammering in his ears. The video call disconnected.

A message flickered across his laptop screen:

“You’re next.”

…

“Have you talked to a recruiter yet?” Daniella called as she padded down the hall, her talons clicking softly against the floor. A dim red glow spilled from the open doorway ahead, flickering against the walls like embers in the dark. The rhythmic clacking of a mechanical keyboard reached her ears, punctuated by brief pauses as if Conner was deep in thought.

Peeking her head inside, she found him at his desk, bathed in the crimson light from the LED lighting above. His PC and mouse glowed a steady red, while his keyboard flickered with blue highlights among the red, mimicking a starry night. She huffed, amused. Even his tech matched his wardrobe—black on black, save for the maroon shirt peeking out from beneath his unzipped hoodie.

“Conner, what the hell are you doing?” she asked, stepping closer.

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the trio of monitors before him. Classified government files covered one screen, his browser was open in the center, and on the far right, a digital whiteboard overflowed with scattered notes and images.

“Stuff,” Conner finally replied vaguely, his fingers resuming their rapid assault on the keyboard.

Daniella’s tail flicked behind her as she sat back on her haunches. “Please tell me you at least followed up on our applications before diving headfirst into another conspiracy rabbit hole.”

Daniella exhaled through her nose, a thin wisp of smoke curling from her nostrils. “Conner.”

“We have an interview in two weeks,” he said, still not looking at her.

Her ears perked up. “Wait, really?”

At last, he turned to face her, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “We’re a human-dragon pair applying together. We probably check all the boxes—and then some.”

She blinked, processing that. “Well… good.”

Conner chuckled, shaking his head before pivoting back to his monitors. “And for the record, this isn’t some crackpot conspiracy. This is exactly the kind of government bullshit I warned you about.”

Daniella sighed, shuffling up behind him and resting a paw on his shoulder. “Just don’t get yourself flagged before our interview, alright?”

Not hearing a response as she walked away, she paused mid step out the bedroom door. Rolling her eyes, she turned to Conner before giving the floor a hard smack with her tail.

“Wha—sorry.” Conner blinked, shaking himself out of his focus. “It’ll be fine, I promise.” He flashed her a reassuring smile before turning back to his screens.

“Pfff, I’ll show you fine,” Daniella scoffed, her tail raised high as she left the bedroom. A startled cough sputtered from behind her, followed by a muttered curse. Daniella smirked, her tail flicking with satisfaction. Got him.

…

Racking the slide of his suppressed pistol, the intruder inspected the chambered round—a precise movement honed by repetition. Satisfied, he tucked the weapon away, blending seamlessly into the night.

A distant car passed along the nearby street, its headlights sweeping faintly across the alley. Moving like liquid shadow, he advanced, each step deliberate. The plan echoed in his mind: Sabotage the breaker. Override the locks… Leave No Trace.

A crackle of static whispered in his ear. “Power's down.”

He responded with a quiet hum of acknowledgment, already shifting course toward the fire exit. Pressing a gloved hand to the electronic lock, he discharged a controlled pulse of electricity. The mechanism sputtered, flickered, then fell silent. A minor failsafe kept the lock engaged even in an outage, ensuring those inside remained trapped.

It suited him just fine.

The door creaked as he eased it open, slipping into the darkened corridor. The lock reset behind him with a mechanical chime, but he didn’t pause. Drawing his pistol once more, he inhaled deeply, centering himself.

A government facility losing power would draw attention before long.

Moving through the halls like a specter, his footfalls made no sound. He knew the layout, every turn and blind spot memorized.

“Status?” His voice was little more than a breath against the static.

“Still in his office. Failsafe’s working for you.”

“Good.”

Up the stairs he went, his presence barely a whisper against the cold walls. The dim glow of emergency lighting cast his silhouette in fractured glimpses—an outline more suggestion than solid form.

“Third office on the left.”

“Copy.”

Pressing his back to the wall, he reached toward the door lock. A flicker of energy danced at his fingertips, crackling as it kissed the metal. The lock gave a muted click.

The door swung open.

A sharp intake of breath came from inside. The office’s occupant stiffened, his blood running cold as he turned toward the figure looming in the doorway. The emergency light barely outlined the intruder’s form, but even that was enough to send the man scrambling.

He bolted over his desk, desperate for anything to shield himself. Papers scattered, a pen clattered to the floor.

A slow, measured chuckle filled the silence. Low. Amused.

“I told you, you were next… didn’t I?”

The man’s breath came in ragged gasps. “P-please—I can pay you! Whatever you want!”

A disapproving sigh. “You all say the same things.” The pistol rose, steady. “Your ‘leader’ thought he was untouchable, too. Look where that got him.”

The man sobbed openly now, his terror unmistakable. A sharp, acrid scent filled the air. He had lost control of himself in more ways than one.

The figure in the doorway exhaled sharply, almost a laugh. “Pathetic.”

The silenced shot cut through the room, a muted pop punctuated by the wet splatter against the wall. The body crumpled, twitching once before going still.

The intruder turned, raising a boot.

The office door shattered against the opposite wall as his kick sent it flying from its hinges.

“Whoops,” he murmured. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He clenched his jaw and moved on—no time to dwell on it now. Trying to regain some semblance of stealth, he vanished into the darkness.

…

“Conner!” Daniella called, pulling a large dish from the oven with a bare paw. “Dinner!” she added, her voice ringing through the house.

Silence.

With a sigh, she retrieved two bowls from the cabinets, portioning generous servings of lasagna. If he wasn’t going to come down, then she’d eat with him. She tamped down her irritation, reminding herself to be patient. He was struggling—closing himself off—and the last thing she wanted was to make him feel more alone.

As she eyed the steaming bowls, a flicker of realization struck. “Oh, I’m an idiot,” she muttered. A pulse of violet light danced up her horn, and the bowls lifted effortlessly off the kitchen island.

“Conner, I would appreciate some acknowledgment when I call you,” she sighed as she stepped into the bedroom.

The bowls settled gently on his desk, but Daniella barely noticed. Her gaze locked onto the Tek helmet, now partially disassembled and scattered across the surface.

“What are you doing?” she asked, stepping closer and resting her front paws in his lap.

“Replacing the visor,” Conner said, lifting the helmet to remove the carbon crystal lens. The dark-tinted glass bore tiny scuffs and scratches, imperfections that had clearly bothered him. The nanites were having difficulty repairing the glass properly.

“Is something wrong with it?” she asked, intrigued.

“Not exactly, but it’s a weak point in the armour,” he murmured, turning the helmet in his hands. The alloy had held up well, but the visor... that was another story. A single fracture could be fatal. A fully digital display was riskier, but far more secure.

Daniella frowned. “But isn’t the armour made entirely of nanites? Why strip it apart like that?”

Conner chuckled and stood, reaching beneath his desk for a sleek black case. As he lifted it to his chest, the case flared open. Segments of armor slithered across his body, metal plates locking into place like a living exoskeleton.

Daniella’s eyes widened at the Powercore—reminiscent of Iron Man’s first Arc Reactor, but sleeker, more advanced. A bright blue glow pulsed at its heart, tinged with a faint swirl of violet and a flicker of black.

Once the armor had fully formed, Conner donned the visorless helmet.

“I guess I never really explained how this armour works,” he mused, tapping his foot lightly against the floor.

A ripple spread outward, millions—possibly billions—of tiny black specks skittering toward him. They vanished into the armour like ink soaking into fabric.

“The nanites don’t form the armour itself,” he explained, smirking. “They handle repairs—both organic and inorganic. Every time they have deconstructed the suit, that was them breaking it down on an atomic level.”

He lifted a plate of metal, nearly identical to the old visor but thicker, denser. Unlike the original, it wasn’t transparent from the backside. With a smooth motion, he aligned it with his helmet. The armour’s red LEDs flickered to life, pulsing in a familiar pattern as the new visor clicked into place.

The hum of the armour’s Powercore grew in volume. Daniella had no idea how having something with an energy yield more powerful than a supernova so close to his body didn’t make him uncomfortable.

“Recalibrating…”

“LED Display System; Booting. Please Stand By.”

Conner crossed his arms, waiting in total darkness as the sensors calibrated.

“I would appreciate if you’d take that armour off and eat the food I made you,” Daniella said with an irritated huff.

The display inside Conner’s helmet lit up and he had to stifle a chuckle as it gave a reading of Daniella’s mood from her facial expression; “Irritated, likely at you.”

“Okay, sorry. The digital display will need more testing,” he muttered. “Later! Later, I will test it later!” He added quickly upon seeing Daniella bare her teeth.

The armor flared open as Conner stepped out. He pulled out his chair, waiting for Daniella to take her bowl before reaching for his own. “Thanks for the food, hun.” Conner murmured before taking a bite.

He would never tell his mother, but he much preferred Daniella’s cooking. Nothing was wrong with his mother’s cooking but Daniella just seemed to have a magic touch… even though she didn’t use magic to cook.

“Hey, do you mind telling me what you’ve been doing on your computer these past few days?” Daniella asked as she sat back on her haunches beside his chair. Conner looked up from his bowl to realize he had bumped his mouse causing his computer to wake up.

“Ugh, alright, I did tell you some but not everything.” He sighed as he spread the digital whiteboard across all three monitors. “To summarize; tax dollars are being funneled into a whole shitload of foreign aid,” Conner grumbled as he gestured to screenshots taken from Government spending reports.

“Gender Studies in Africa… Why?” Daniella questioned rhetorically as she read through the list. “Wait, wait, hold on. Is that– no, they did not spend twenty million dollars in Ghana for; ‘No Shitting on Beaches’ signs…”

“Are you fucking kidding me…” Daniella slammed her paw on the desk as she looked over to Conner. “No wonder you don’t pay your taxes!” Daniella exclaimed, causing Conner to choke on his food.

Choking on both food and laughter, Conner wheezed and pointed at another number on the list.

Daniella stared, jaw slack. “Two hundred fifty million dollars… to the UN… while Canadians are starving?” She let out a sharp breath. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Letting out a final cough followed by a strangled breath, Conner finally managed to speak. “Don’t worry, it gets worse,” he rasped before gesturing to his notes on issues in the trucking industry.

“Jesus Christ,” Daniella muttered as she began reading.

“So that’s where a large portion of the fentanyl that gets into the US is coming from…” Daniella muttered in disbelief.

“Mmmhmm,” Conner affirmed with a mouthful of food, trying to swallow it quickly before Daniella made him laugh again.

“I know this is super random and off topic, but you turned twenty yesterday…. Is there anything you want to do for your birthday?” Daniella asked as she shuffled closer. Conner felt her forepaw grasp his right arm gently as she looked down at him.

“Judging by the look you’re giving me, I don’t have a choice…” Conner sighed.

“Good, my human is learning.” Daniella giggled, pressing her snout into the crook of his neck.

“Yes, yes. I am, now if you’ll take a look at this stuff here…”

…

It had finally happened. Karma had come knocking.

His “business” partners were dropping like flies. Five bodies in a week—each one executed with the same pistol. No witnesses. No leads. At least, according to the police.

He gritted his teeth, fingers white-knuckled on the steering wheel. “No leads… how?” he muttered, his breath fogging up the windshield. The wind outside howled like some vengeful spirit, snow swirling across the road in chaotic gusts.

Even without the blizzard raging, his nerves were shot. “I should’ve known,” he admitted, voice barely audible over the storm. “Trafficking humans and draconians for profit was always gonna bite me in the ass.”

A flash of light filled his mirrors, blinding him. His heart skipped. Headlights—high beams—bearing down fast. The roar of an engine swallowed the wind as a truck loomed behind him, its massive grille nearly kissing his back window.

“Just my fucking luck,” he grumbled. “Some asshole in a—”

The truck backed off for a moment, only to surge forward again, its front end lifting slightly as the driver feathered the throttle, revving in challenge. The sound was deep, aggressive—a mechanical growl vibrating through his chest. Then, as if bored with the game, the truck peeled around him, blasting past on oversized tires that seemed to float effortlessly over the snow-covered road.

His relief was short-lived. The truck swerved hard, cutting him off.

“Shit!” He jerked the wheel, but it was too late. His tires lost purchase. The world became a blur of white and black as his car spun out of control. Trees rushed toward him—

Impact.

…

Cold.

That was the first thing he felt. A bone-deep chill clawing at his skin. The wind screamed through the shattered windshield, flinging snow into the ruined interior. His head throbbed.

Then he heard it.

A low, steady idle. V8. Powerful. Controlled.

Crunching footsteps. The snap of a branch. The deliberate click-clack of a pistol slide being racked.

His stomach dropped.

“This is less than ideal,” a voice mused, barely audible over the wind. A figure moved outside, obscured by the dark and the storm. “If I didn’t want your body to be found, this would be perfect. But this isn’t about making people disappear.” A pause. Then, a low growl. “It’s about sending a message.”

Metal groaned as the driver’s door was wrenched clean off its hinges and tossed aside like scrap.

Heart hammering, he turned, desperate to see his executioner’s face—

All he saw was a shadow, the glint of a suppressor—

Pfft.

A muffled shot.

Darkness.

The wind roared on, covering the tire tracks, the footprints—everything but the body.

The killer sighed, retrieving the spent casing and tucking it away. Then, without another glance, he trudged back toward his truck, his silhouette vanishing into the snow.

…

“This seems a little early for snowfall this heavy… don’t you think?” Daniella asked, watching the swirling flurries bury the outdoor pool. The wind howled against the windows, rattling them slightly with each gust.

Turning away from the floor-to-ceiling glass, she noticed Conner sitting on the couch, focused on something in his hands. One of his gauntlets wrapped around his right arm, its plating partially removed as he worked. He hadn’t even acknowledged the weather. Too busy focused on adding something beneath the armour plating.

“Conner!” she called, louder this time.

He blinked, snapping out of his focus, and turned to her. “Huh? Oh, sorry—zoned out. Something about the snow?”

She sighed, tapping her talons on the floor. “It’s a bit much for this time of year, don’t you think?”

“Eh, not really. We’re pretty far north,” he said, standing beside her to look outside. The snowflakes danced in the glow of the back patio light, thick and heavy, promising to bury the landscape by morning.

“Oh, right,” Conner added with a small smirk, “I did all the shopping while you were visiting your parents.”

Daniella’s wings twitched in irritation. “I said I’d do that!” she huffed.

“And I knew you’d say that,” Conner countered, raising a brow. “You really think I was gonna let you fly to the store in this blizzard?”

“I would’ve been fine,” she grumbled.

Conner gave her a flat look. “Sure. My truck doesn’t get stuck in deep snow, and I don’t run the risk of slamming into a power line because I can’t see the ground.”

Daniella scowled but said nothing. He wasn’t wrong, and they both knew it.

“You can stretch your wings whenever, unless it’s a thunderstorm or total whiteout,” he added firmly before turning back to the couch.

“Oh yeah?” Daniella teased, stepping closer. “And who put you in charge of when I fly?”

He hesitated, glancing back. “I’m just saying I don’t want you getting hurt—”

Before he could finish, she pounced.

Conner yelped as he was yanked off his feet, the world flipping upside down in an instant. He landed with a muffled oof on the couch, Daniella sprawled on top of him. Her warm breath tickled his chin, her weight pressing him deep into the cushions.

“Seriously?” he groaned, though amusement tugged at his lips.

Daniella hummed in satisfaction, resting her head against his chest. “Yep.”

Conner sighed dramatically. “So I’m just a glorified mattress now?”

She smirked, her tail curling around the couch. “Best one I’ve ever had.”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest, his arms wrapping around her instinctively. “Lucky me.”

The couple sat in silence, the crackling fire casting flickering shadows across the darkening living room. Conner, eyes half-lidded, watched as the flames reflected off Daniella’s black scales, each movement making them shimmer like polished obsidian. He opened his mouth to speak—

The metallic click of the front door handle twisting cut him off.

Daniella barely had time to register the sound before the warmth of Conner’s body vanished. She hit the couch cushions as he moved, her head snapping up just in time to see him materialize from the dim light, a black revolver in hand, body tense, positioned squarely between her and the door.

The door swung open.

“Jesus Christ, Dad! Knock before you open the damn door!” Conner barked, his finger sliding off the trigger as he tilted the heavy revolver skyward.

“Oh my God, you are too paranoid,” Catherine scoffed as she stepped in behind Jason.

“Yeah, well, my apologies for living in the middle of buttfuck nowhere with a damn reason to be paranoid,” Conner shot back, exasperated.

Daniella, still half-draped over the couch, offered an awkward smile. “Hi, guys.”

Jason nodded in greeting while Catherine simply waved, her expression unimpressed as she kicked off her boots.

Conner, still visibly irritated, set his revolver into its modified ‘safety’ position. “Any reason you came here unannounced?”

Jason sighed. “Yeah… your mother and I actually came to apologize.”

Conner’s brow creased. “About what?” A flash of violet light enveloped his revolver before it vanished into his pocket dimension.

Jason met his son’s gaze. “We haven’t really talked since you moved out.”

Conner exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Ah, I see. Look… we all say things in the heat of the moment. Water under the bridge.” He shrugged. “Besides, I think moving out was for the best.” He offered a small, knowing smile before making his way into the kitchen.

Daniella vaulted over the back of the couch, landing lightly beside him. “Should we tell them about us?” she whispered into his mind.

Conner glanced down, meeting her expectant gaze. He hesitated for a second.

“No.”

The single word echoed through her thoughts. Daniella frowned but didn’t push.

“You two eaten?” Conner asked aloud, yanking open the fridge. “I was about to make something for myself and this one here.” He gestured toward Daniella, who nudged him lightly with a wing.

A paw landed on his shoulder.

Conner turned, brow furrowed, meeting Daniella’s crimson stare.

“Why don’t I make everyone something,” she murmured, “and you go catch up on company business with your dad?”

The way she said it made it clear—it wasn’t a suggestion.

Conner exhaled through his nose. “Alright… okay, Dad, let’s go into the garage.”

As soon as the door shut behind them, Jason cleared his throat. “So, your girlfriend now?” he asked, brow raised.

“No,” Conner responded—too quickly. He technically wasn’t lying but he knew what his father had meant.

Jason smirked but said nothing, his eyes instead flicking to a bandage barely visible beneath Conner’s shirt. He let out a quiet chuckle and turned, taking in the sight before him.

Thirty-one cars, meticulously arranged, gleamed under the fluorescent garage lights. He knew this was only one level.

“Jesus,” Jason muttered, shaking his head. “You’ve been busy.”

“That’s an understatement.” Conner chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the driver’s side of his Corvette. Around them, high-performance vehicles—some already heavily modified, others mid-way through the process—filled the space like a shrine to speed and engineering.

Jason’s gaze drifted before he spoke again. “Speaking of what Daniella mentioned…” He paused. “There’s a business idea I wanted to run by you.”

Conner raised a brow. “And why would you be running a business idea by me?”

Jason gave him a flat look. “Because you practically run half of my company.”

Conner opened his mouth, then closed it. “Fair enough,” he muttered. “What is it?”

Jason hesitated, then met his son’s eyes. “I’ve been thinking… we should look into getting a military contract.”

“Bruh!” Conner scoffed, staring at Jason in disbelief before yanking open the Corvette’s door. His hands gripped the frame, his mind racing. Aerospace, weapons development—the idea was tempting, but the weight of it sat heavy in his gut. He knew how the world worked. Greed ruled everything. If his designs fell into the wrong hands, the devastation would be unimaginable.

A muffled “fuck” escaped him as he dropped into the driver’s seat.

“That wasn’t a no,” Jason pressed, folding his arms.

“Son of a bitch,” Conner groaned, letting his head thump against the steering wheel. The car let out an indignant beep as his hat tumbled off his head. He sighed, retrieving it before jamming it back into place. “Let me think about it.” His tone was firm, final.

Jason wasn’t done. “You realize the potential of weapons development, right?”

“Of course I do,” Conner exhaled, rubbing his temples. “And I want to get into aerospace, too, but I can only juggle so much at once.” He tapped the ignition button on the steering wheel.

A soft electronic whir preceded a mechanical clunk as he shifted into gear. The transmission whined as the car crept forward.

Jason leaned in through the open window. “What are you doing?”

Conner smirked, mischief glinting in his eyes. “Just follow. Passenger seat's a little… incompatible for a human.” With a chuckle, he rolled away at walking speed.

Jason followed the black Vette, his gaze flicking to the rear plate. Suspicion had simmered in his mind for a while, but seeing it now, undeniable proof staring him in the face, he grumbled under his breath. Conner was Blackout. No doubt about it.

As he rounded a bend deeper into the garage complex, something else caught his eye—a chrome Rimac Nevera with deep blue accents and twin racing stripes. Across the top of the windshield, a bold banner read:

“Outta Your League.”

Jason cocked an eyebrow. That car was a stark contrast to Conner’s usual taste. It had to be a reference to something, though it was lost on him.

Descending a ramp to the lower level, he found Conner securing the Corvette to a dyno with thick steel cables. The setup was excessive—the dyno itself looked insanely expensive, clearly designed for AWD and absurdly high horsepower.

Jason folded his arms. “What’s with the Rimac? Thought you hated EVs?” His tone carried a teasing edge.

Conner snorted, tightening a final strap. “Oh, I’ll buy EVs. I bought a few Teslas and a shitload of tannerite.” His grin was borderline psychotic. “But Rimac is different. They’re owned by Bugatti, and the Nevera? Damn cool car.”

Jason decided not to ask how his son got tannerite in Canada. Some things were better left unknown. Instead, he chuckled. “How powerful does this thing have to be for you to tie it down like it’s gonna break free?”

Conner looked up, dead serious. “Dad, you have no idea. This is the fastest car in this garage. Hell, it might be the fastest real car ever built.”

Jason arched a brow but accepted the offered ear protection. Conner gestured for him to stand way back. That alone was a red flag.

Taking a deep breath, Conner activated his nanites. The Tek suit materialized over him, its sleek plates locking into place as he slid into the driver’s seat. His armoured fingers flexed against the steering wheel.

Navigating the touchscreen, he tapped an option:

“Disable Power Limiter System?”

He confirmed and entered the password.

“Power Limiter: Offline. Proceed with extreme caution.”

His pulse hammered. “Alright,” he muttered, pressing the master ignition.

The roar that followed wasn’t normal. It was deep, guttural, a living thing snarling in fury. Conner’s helmet threw up a hazardous noise warning.

Feathering the throttle made the front end jump like a caged beast fighting its restraints. Backfire thumped against his chest as the car spat blue flames from its quad exhausts.

“Here goes nothing,” he exhaled.

Slowly, he eased into the accelerator. The supercharger whined, turbos spooling, the car creeping past 100 km/h. Then he engaged anti-lag.

The instant he floored it, the garage didn’t just shake—it convulsed.

The walls trembled. The floor quaked.

The scream of the supercharger merged with the howling turbos, creating an unholy mechanical symphony.

Jason stumbled back, eyes wide. This wasn’t a car. It was an explosion contained in metal.

Conner shifted to third—the roar intensified, the shriek of forced induction clawing at their eardrums.

Heat waves shimmered off the hood, distorting the air. The ventilation system struggled, oxygen thinning. Jason felt lightheaded.

The chassis twisted violently against the steel cables, metal shrieking as it fought to contain the beast.

At redline in eighth gear, Conner’s eyes widened.

857 km/h.

Letting off, the car spat fireballs as it wound down, the garage groaning as the pressure eased.

Silence, save for the faint creak of cooling metal.

Conner opened the door, turning to where the monitor should have been.

The cart holding the garage PC had been flung backward. The monitor? On the floor.

Sighing, he reconnected the durable screen. When it blinked back to life, he nearly fell over.

Jason’s mouth opened, closed. The numbers didn’t make sense.

14952 horsepower.

Without nitrous.

Conner let out a slow breath, staring at the readout. Then, a grin spread across his face.

“I have created a monster.”

“I—wha? How?” Jason balked.

Conner merely chuckled and gestured toward what looked like a fueling station inside the garage. The reservoir had a small viewing window, revealing the liquid inside.

Two mixtures—one gasoline-based, the other diesel—both glowed an eerie neon purple, flecked with pulsing streaks of black.

“Diesel?” Jason asked, brow furrowing.

Conner smirked. “The Peterbilt is in progress…”