The Legion: Heartson

Thomas knew he was in serious trouble as he peered at the amazing view below him.
Despite the sixteen year old's distaste for America, he couldn't deny that from above, the country was simply beautiful in the nighttime. Shimmering lights shined from every window and building, creating the image of an entire city, living and breathing right below him. Each building, each light, contained another person, simply living their life. Each person had a loved one, a story, a life.
For a brief moment, Thomas allowed himself to admire the scene. It was rare—too rare, that he had the luxury of time to take in such beauty. And yet, as much as the lights below entranced him, his mind refused to settle. He wasn't here to admire the view. There was work to do. Important work. And when he finished he would have to deal with the consequences from his father.
The city below seemed to darken, and in that moment, the world didn't feel beautiful at all.
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Two months earlier.
A harsh barked order dragged Thomas from his drifting thoughts back to the stuffy, cramped classroom.
Professor: Mr. Hunter, perhaps you'd care to actually attend class today?
Thomas, seated near the back, shot the man a winning grin, giving a lazy salute in response. But in reality, he was only half there. Today was the last day of term, and he was already mentally halfway out the door. He had something big lined up, something that made all of this, the lectures, the exams, the endless rules, fade into background noise.
As soon as class ended, he was off, sprinting down the hallway with a reckless abandon that had other students stumbling aside, some of them barely avoiding his path as he whipped past. He skidded around the corner, nearly plowing straight into two figures heading the opposite direction.
???: Whoa, watch it!
The boy in front, Leo, grabbed Thomas by the shoulders, steadying him with a half-exasperated look.
Leo: What are you, training for the Olympics?
Thomas blinked, then burst out laughing.
Thomas: Oi, didn't see you there, Leo! And Megan too!
He scratched the back of his head, eyes closed in a mock-apologetic smile, before popping them open again with a mischievous glint.
Thomas: Just call it… 'speed coursework avoidance' training. Pretty sure I'll qualify for the finals.
Megan raised an eyebrow, her mouth curving into an amused smirk.
Megan: So, what's the plan now, Mister Speed Demon? Freedom's right there, don't you want to celebrate a bit?
Thomas hesitated, glancing down at the phone clutched in his hand. A text flashed on the screen, one he'd been waiting on for what felt like ages.
Right. Just go.
Thomas: I'd love to, honestly.
He said, giving them a dramatic sigh.
Thomas: But I've got… you know, things. Very urgent, very mysterious things.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice with a conspiratorial wink.
Thomas: Dangerous things. Probably illegal. I'd tell you more, but then I'd have to… well, you know.

Leo rolled his eyes, crossing his arms with a knowing smirk.
Leo: You're full of it, Thomas.
Thomas: Completely. And proudly. But don't say I didn't warn you. I'll send you both postcards from the underworld.
Leo and Megan shared a look, exasperated but undeniably amused. Leo threw an arm around Thomas's shoulders, leaning in as he said.
Leo: At least let us in on it before you go gallivanting off on whatever adventure you think you're on. Let's do something stupid together, like we promised.
Thomas laughed, peeling himself away.
Thomas: Trust me, mate, this is the height of stupidity. But next time, yeah?
And before they could respond, he spun on his heel, giving them a lazy salute as he took off once more, his laughter trailing behind him down the hall.
There won't be a next time.
Next year, his father would send him somewhere else. Probably somewhere further. He'd never see them again.
The smile lingered on his face as he left, though it dimmed a little.
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As Thomas arrived, huffing and puffing, he glanced around at his chosen meeting spot—a dimly lit, abandoned garage on the far side of town, a place he'd come across a while back but never expected to actually use.
The lights overhead flickered, casting long, eerie shadows over the walls, making the space feel almost like it was breathing, as if it too knew how shady this meeting was. Clutching his suitcase tightly, he took a deep breath, steeling himself. His provisions were packed, his outfit switched to something a bit more "business-professional," and, most importantly, he'd arrived just barely on time.
As his footsteps thumped against the cold concrete floor, Thomas's eyes fell on the man seated in front of him. He was alone, in the middle of the room, perched on a single foldable chair, an envelope resting in his lap. His small, gray hairs and wrinkled face gave him an air of weariness, but the look in his eyes was cold.
Thomas: Real cozy. How are you today.
The man didn't even blink. Instead, he looked at Thomas with a mixture of irritation and pity, as if he were watching a child about to touch a hot stove. Silence stretched out, thick and uncomfortable. Thomas fidgeted, the grin slipping ever so slightly from his face.
Finally, the man spoke, his voice low and gravelly.
Negotiator: You realize it's impolite to begin negotiations without a proper greeting?
Thomas's heart thudded in his chest, his bravado wavering. He quickly straightened, forcing a bit more formality into his tone.
Thomas: My apologies, Thomas Martin.
The man stared at Thomas's hand but made no move to shake it. Instead, he scoffed, his eyes narrowing.
Negotiator: Showing up here alone, with that…is dangerous, especially for what you're here to get. What does a boy like you need with information like this?
He nodded toward the suitcase Thomas clutched.
Thomas: I'm afraid that's not really any of your business is it?
The man's eyes darkened, his lips curling into a frown.
Negotiator: You truly don't understand a thing about negotiation, do you?
Swallowing, Thomas let out a shaky breath, deciding to drop the pretense.
Thomas: I need that envelope, I have things to do. People to help. Is that really such a crime?
The man's lips twitched into a bitter smile.
Negotiator: Helping people, is it? Tell yourself that if you want. But you're lying, and you know it. Beneath that noble nonsense, there's something more.
Thomas: Maybe you just don't get the concept of nobility. Maybe that's why you're so set on tearing me down.
The man let out a deep, rumbling laugh, as if Thomas had just told the world's funniest joke.
Negotiator: Boy, you haven't the faintest idea how this works.
He shook his head, muttering something under his breath.
Negotiator: Doesn't matter, I don't care what you do with it. I want my pay.
Thomas: £10,000.
Thomas said confidently, believing it more than fair. He waited for the man's nod, but instead, he got another scoff and a raised eyebrow.
Negotiator: £50,000.
The man replied smoothly, a faint, smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Thomas froze, his mind racing. But he needed that envelope—desperately. He pushed down his pride, the anger simmering in his chest, and forced out the word he knew the man wanted to hear.
Thomas: Deal.
The man's grin widened, dark amusement filling his eyes.
Negotiator: Maybe I should've asked for 100,000.
Thomas's lip curled in irritation, but he didn't argue. He pulled out the briefcase, opening it to retrieve the necessary amount. As he counted, his focus broke as he heard a rustle of fabric. He barely had time to process before the man lunged, pressing a cold knife to Thomas's throat, his voice a low snarl.
Negotiator: Last rule of negotiation, boy. Never walk in blind and alone.
His grip tightened, eyes glittering with cruel satisfaction. He expected Thomas to panic, to beg. But Thomas's expression remained calm, his scowl barely shifting.
Thomas: Who says I came alone?
A sharp crack split the air, and the man screamed as a bullet tore through his arm. Blood spattered across the ground as he fell back, clutching his wounded limb, his face contorted in agony. As the man writhed on the floor, Thomas barely glanced his way, instead taking a measured step forward to grab the envelope, now within his reach.
From above, a figure dropped down from the rafters, landing heavily beside him. The dark skinned girl looked barely older than Thomas, but there was something in her posture, her gaze, that was anything but youthful. Her arm, mechanical, glinting in the dim light, shifted back into place, the muzzle still smoking slightly from the shot.
Thomas: Thank you, Olivia.
Thomas said casually, as if they were simply wrapping up a transaction at a shop. His voice held no trace of fear, only quiet confidence.
The man on the floor struggled to sit up, his eyes wild with terror as he took in the mechanical girl and her transformed arm. He could only manage a strangled gasp, horror distorting his features.
Negotiator: What… what are you?
But Thomas didn't spare him a second glance, envelope now safely tucked under his arm. He turned back to the man, his tone formal, almost pleasant, as he gave a short bow.
Thomas: And with that, our negotiation is complete. Thank you for your service.
As he walked away, Olivia beside him, he didn't look back. The man's desperate curses followed him, but Thomas's mind was already on the envelope in his hand.