Inversal

By O.F

Adam, the protagonist, is recruited by the mysterious organization Inversal. Their mission is to stop Lucas, a malevolent individual seeking to use a time-inverting machine to wreak havoc on the world. Adam and his teammate Ethan use the same device to navigate challenges and thwart Lucas's destructive plans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: O.F
• Release date: Jun 16, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227560056

Book preview

INVERSAL

Chapter

One

The Rogue City Attack

In the stationary car, nestled within the embrace of urban quietude, sat an enigmatic woman in the front passenger seat, her presence shrouded in mystery. Her countenance betrayed little; her gaze fixed ahead with a steely determination, tethered to some unseen purpose. The subdued sunlight gently caressed her features, revealing a visage marked by a blend of sophistication and inscrutability. Almond-shaped eyes, framed by elegantly arched brows, held secrets untold, while high cheekbones imparted an air of refinement to her demeanor. Clad in attire that seamlessly fused timeless elegance with contemporary flair, she exuded an aura of understated allure amidst the silent tableau. Beside her, the driver maintained a vigilant stance, embodying a silent sentinel poised to spring into action at the faintest whisper of command.

The woman issued a command to the driver, her voice carrying authoritative weight. Its tone cut through the silence like a knife, filled with cold determination. Suddenly, the rear door opened with a low thud, making the driver tense up as he readied himself to follow the woman's grim orders. However, before he could act, a gunshot broke the silence, followed by the sickening sound of a body hitting metal.

The driver slumped forward, lifeless, a puppet cut from its strings. An unidentified man emerged from outside the car, his gun still smoking, his expression resolute and grim. The woman turned to face him, her eyes meeting his with a mix of defiance and resignation. There was a moment of heavy silence before he spoke, his voice dripping with disappointment and a touch of bitterness.

She responded, her tone devoid of remorse, each word laced with a steely resolve. The man then held up a basic phone, its screen glowing with a message. He played a voicemail from another woman, her voice a stark reminder of the stakes involved. The recording echoed in the confined space, adding an eerie soundtrack to the unfolding drama.

The woman's jaw tightened, strengthening her resolve. She spoke firmly to the man, each syllable deliberate and heavy with implication. His gaze fixed on her, the former ally who had now become his adversary. Her question hung in the air, thick with unspoken threats and promises. He responded with comments tinged with resignation, the weight of their shared past evident in his tone.

As she retorted, her tone challenging, the conversation neared its end. The tension was palpable, a silent countdown ticking away. The man raised his gun and fired, the shot echoing in the confined space of the car. The woman slumped forward, lifeless. The man watched her for a moment, a sense of finality washing over him. He murmured a word, heavy with their shared history, and then turned his gaze towards the school gates visible through the car window. This was a man from the future, dreaming about a past where he was the future.

Currently, in downtown Rogue City, a van is parked outside a concert hall. The evening is alive with anticipation as the orchestra tunes their instruments, and the audience settles into their seats, excitement palpable. High-ranking officials clink glasses in their private boxes, exchanging pleasantries and toasts, their laughter mingling with the hum of conversation.

Suddenly, a BAM shattered the tranquility. Attackers armed with machine guns burst in from behind the orchestra. Panic erupted as screams pierced the air. The attackers seized control, aiming their weapons at the audience while the high officials were held captive in their luxurious boxes. The contrast between the refined setting and the sudden violence was stark, the concert hall now a stage for terror.

Outside, a van lurked in the plaza. Police swarmed the area, their urgency palpable as they scrambled to contain the situation. Inside the van, tension hung thick as the driver turned to the passenger and commanded, Wake up the Teams.

The passenger turned to face the back of the van, where four black-clad young men sat, alert and ready. One appeared to be dozing but snapped into action at the command. This was Adam; his stature tall and imposing, his muscular frame hinting at strength and agility, his dark eyes sharp and focused as he swiftly readied his weapon, his movements precise and practiced. Acknowledging the directive, the passenger glanced at an array of uniform tags, a silent nod to the mission ahead. Outside, sirens wailed, signaling the escalating urgency. The teams armed themselves, donning helmets and shouldering their weapons, each movement a step closer to the impending confrontation.

As a Rogue City Tactical van screeched to a halt outside the theater, the passenger tossed corresponding tags to the Teams. With practiced precision, they affixed the tags to their shoulders, blending seamlessly into the chaos. The Teams stealthily merged with law enforcement officers flooding into the lobby. Inside, the atmosphere was charged with tension as Tactical teams massed at each entrance, preparing to confront the attackers. Adam observed intently as gas canisters were brought in for the air-conditioning system. The Tactical officers donned gas masks, bracing for the imminent confrontation, the weight of their mission bearing down on them.

In an exclusive box within the concert hall, Frost, a man dressed to impress, sat beside a uniformed official, poised and composed. With a sense of detachment, he peered down into the stalls below, his gaze sweeping over the sea of unconscious bodies that littered the auditorium like fallen leaves in a windstorm. The scene below was surreal, a grotesque tableau of chaos and silence.

In the exclusive confines of a box within the concert hall, Frost, dressed impeccably, sat beside a uniformed official. With a composed demeanor, he peered down at the sea of unconscious bodies in the stalls below. The official made a subtle gesture for calm before discreetly drawing a sidearm, the motion smooth and practiced.

Inside the theater, the attackers prepared with grim determination. One dampened a rag in a nearby drinking fountain, tying it around his nose and mouth. Others donned respirators and face masks, readying their weapons for the impending confrontation. The air was thick with tension, each breath a countdown to conflict.

Outside, chaos erupted as tactical teams breached the building, engaging in gunfire with the attackers. The echoes reverberated through the once tranquil halls, a symphony of violence and desperation.

In the corridors, a silent chase unfolded. Four teams moved swiftly but soundlessly, splitting into pairs at a junction, communicating through hand signals. The tension mounted as they pressed forward, their mission clear despite the uncertainty. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and gunpowder, every step a gamble with fate.

Adam commanded attention, his movements deliberate as he checked each box along the corridor. With heightened senses, he burst into a box, swiftly taking out the official beside Frost. The moment was a blur of motion and violence, the quiet box now a scene of deadly confrontation.

2 B, Adam declared firmly, his voice cutting through the tension. Frost stared, momentarily stunned by the sudden appearance.

2 B, Adam repeated a solemn reminder of their shared mission.

Or not 2 B, Frost responded, meeting Adam's gaze with a mixture of surprise and resignation.

You've been discovered. This siege is a distraction to make you disappear, Adam asserted, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

But I've made contact, Frost countered urgently, his eyes pleading for more time.

I have two minutes to either bring you in or kill you. Decide quickly, Adam declared, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

With a nod of understanding, Frost rose to his feet, his decision made. The room seemed to hold its breath, the finality of the moment sinking in.

Amid the chaos, Adam's interrogation persisted, urgency permeating every question. The air was thick with tension, each moment a race against time.

Where's the package? Adam demanded, his eyes locked on Frost.

Coat storage service, Frost answered curtly, handing Adam a numbered ticket.

Acknowledging with a nod, Adam refocused on his mission. The corridors of the concert hall were a battleground, with Tactical teams clashing with attackers in an unrelenting struggle. Tactical officers moved methodically, inspecting each box in their hunt for the hidden threat, their movements precise and determined.

Inside one of the concert hall's boxes, Adam sprang into action. With a swift move, he shattered the glass, his actions deliberate and precise. Glancing into the stalls below, he pulled out a black rope and quickly secured it to a nearby column. The sound of breaking glass echoed briefly before being swallowed by the surrounding commotion.

As Adam and Frost descended, gunfire erupted from below. The attackers fired, their shots reverberating through the chaos like thunder. With practiced skill, Adam and Frost blended into the unconscious audience, disguising themselves as if asleep, their breaths shallow and controlled.

Each gunshot heightened the tension, the atmosphere electric with danger. Frost pretended to sleep, his body taut with anticipation. Beside him, Adam moved silently, every sense alert to the imminent threat.

When the attackers targeted the sleeping audience, Adam sprang into action. Diverting their attention from Frost, he drew their aggression, his movements smooth and deliberate, like a dancer in a deadly ballet.

Amidst the turmoil, Adam sought refuge with real Rogue City Tactical officers. Taking cover, he observed one officer planting a bomb beneath the seats, a stark reminder of the high stakes and the ever-present danger.

In a critical moment, Adam found himself under scrutiny. A Rogue City Tactical officer, suspicious of his presence, tugged at the Velcro patch on his shoulder, causing it to fall.

Who are you? the officer demanded, suspicion heavy in his voice.

Caught off guard, Adam hesitated, his mind racing for a response. Before he could speak, another figure intervened, a member of the supposed Tactical team.

Or not 2 B, huh? the figure remarked casually, echoing Adam's earlier statement grimly.

Adam swiftly seized the bombs, his gaze unwavering as he turned to Frost. With urgency, he gestured to Frost, his instructions clear. Take him to the designated meeting point, he ordered a figure disguised as a tactical officer, his words carrying authority.

Without hesitation, the faux Tactical officer ushered Frost toward a nearby fire exit, their movements purposeful and coordinated as they navigated through the chaos. Meanwhile, Adam moved with purpose through the lobby, his strides determined and resolute, gunfire echoing around him like a deadly symphony.

Vaulting over the counter into the coat-check area, Adam landed beside an unconscious coat-check girl. His eyes scanned the area for danger, his senses finely tuned to every detail. Spotting another bomb, its countdown ticking ominously, he acted swiftly.

3:23, 3:22, the numbers flashed before his eyes, a stark reminder of the impending danger. With practiced efficiency, he checked the coat-check ticket number, his movements fluid as he navigated the racks, his mind a whirlwind of calculations and strategy.

Finally, he found a sports bag among the coats. Unzipping it swiftly, he revealed a black metallic object the size of a softball. Without hesitation, he tucked it into his pack, his thoughts racing to the next step.

Bounding over the counter again, Adam dashed down a service corridor, his footsteps echoing in the dimly lit space, each step a drumbeat of urgency. Checking numbers on doors as he ran, he finally halted at a door marked with a familiar number. With a swift motion, he threw it open, poised for action.

Behind the door was a utility room where three figures stood with guns trained on him. Adam wasted no time explaining. Tossing a bomb to one of them, he turned to Frost, holding the object they sought.

This encapsulation is unlike anything I've ever seen, Adam remarked, awe in his voice as he displayed the object, the weight of their discovery heavy in the air.

The exact age is unknown, but it is indeed authentic, Frost replied grimly, the gravity of their predicament evident in his tone.

As the reality of their situation sank in, Adam pressed on, searching for a solution. Did you find a way out? he asked, eyes fixed on Frost, desperation creeping into his voice.

Yes, service tunnels to sewers, came the reply, a glimmer of hope in Frost's eyes, the promise of escape a fragile lifeline.

Without hesitation, Adam sprang into action, his movements swift and decisive. Swap clothes, he ordered, his voice commanding as they prepared to escape into the labyrinthine tunnels beneath the city streets.

Tension mounted as Frost and the disguised Tactical officer swiftly exchanged uniforms, the transformation seamless under Adam's vigilant scrutiny. With practiced precision, they swapped garments, morphing identities in a matter of moments. Adam, exuding urgency, handed the metallic object from the sports bag to the third Tactical member.

Take this, and him, and use that exit. Ours is compromised, Adam instructed, his voice underscoring the escalating peril around them, each word a testament to the dire stakes.

He turned to the second Tactical member with a critical question. Can you defuse it? His tone held a thread of desperation as he showed the second Tactical member a bomb, the ticking clock a constant reminder of their dwindling time.

The Tactical member shook his head, his face darkening with the grim reality. It's centrally synchronized. Are there more?

Adam nodded in resigned acknowledgment. Stuffing the bomb into his pack, he braced himself for what lay ahead. Cover our tracks, he said tersely, already strategizing their next move.

Taking out the audience? the Tactical member asked, disbelief coloring his voice, the enormity of the situation weighing heavily on him.

Only the cheap seats, Adam replied grimly, his resolve unwavering, each word laced with the cold pragmatism of a soldier in the field.

Adam's newly dressed partner, now known as the 'Teammate,' stepped forward with determination. I'm with you—the Rogue City Agents are expecting a passenger, he declared his commitment clear and unwavering.

Running back into the concert hall, amidst the slumbering audience, Adam and the Teammate moved with urgency, collecting bombs as the timers ticked down—'1:58,' '1:57'—each second edging them closer to catastrophe, the ticking clock a relentless reminder of the stakes.

Danger lurked in the shadows. While crouched beside a bomb, Adam noticed a bullet hole in a nearby chair, a faint wisp of smoke spiraling from it—a silent warning of the threat surrounding them.

Suddenly, a gun clicked against Adam's head, the menace palpable and immediate. Spinning around, he found himself staring down the barrel of a Tactical officer's weapon—'0:34,' '0:33'—the seconds slipping away ruthlessly, the end drawing ever nearer.

Despite the imminent danger, Adam's voice remained steady, a rock amidst the storm. Leave them be, there's no need to harm them, he implored, making a desperate plea for mercy, the weight of his words hanging in the air, a fragile hope in the midst of chaos.

Adam's focus remained fixed on the bomb's countdown—'0:32,' '0:31'—each passing second pushing them closer to disaster. Anxiety tightened his chest as Adam pleaded with the tactical officer. He noticed a bullet hole emerging, smoke curling ominously around it. Confusion gripped Adam as he reached toward the hole, trying to make sense of the sudden development. Before he could react, the Tactical officer readied his weapon, the threat of violence looming large.

Suddenly, a deafening blast shattered the tension. The bullet hole exploded, leaving only a nick in Adam's uniform as evidence of the close call. Startled, he spun around to see the Tactical officer collapsing, revealing a figure in a gas mask and tactical gear underneath. Adam's gaze fixated on a small talisman dangling from the figure's pack—a coin tied to a zip by burgundy and beige thread. Questions flooded his mind, but there was no time for answers. The mission demanded his focus.

That wasn't one of us, remarked his teammate, uncertainty evident in his voice.

I'll take the help, Adam replied shortly, his attention snapping back to the final bomb—'0:03'—its countdown racing towards zero.

With determination and precision, Adam seized the bomb, swiftly lobbing it into the boxes above, where real tactical officers were evacuating officials to safety. The seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness as he hoped his aim was true.

Outside the concert hall, amidst the chaos of downtown Rogue City, Adam and his teammate emerged just as an explosion rocked the area, sending shockwaves through the crowd. The once lively streets turned into a chaotic frenzy, filled with the sounds of panic and confusion.

Inside, civilians stirred from their slumber by the distant violence, while outside, a van pulled up with its door wide open. Urgently, Adam and his teammate sought refuge inside, hoping to escape the turmoil that was rapidly escalating around them.

In the van, time seemed to stretch endlessly. Adam removed his mask, gasping for air. Yet, a sense of unease settled over the