The gas station was dead quiet. A flickering overhead light buzzed in the darkness, barely illuminating the empty road ahead. The air smelled of gasoline, metal, and the faint staleness of neglect—this station was far from civilization, a perfect stop for fugitives like them.

Colossus stood by the motorcycle, his massive frame hunched slightly as he refueled the tank with practiced ease. His broad, gloved hands gripped the nozzle, fuel sloshing inside as he worked with a slow precision that contrasted sharply with his usual aggressive demeanor. Every movement was deliberate, controlled—something that had taken effort to learn. If left to his instincts, he would have ripped the fuel pump apart with his unnatural strength, but you had made it clear: no unnecessary destruction. Not here. Not now.

The gas mask covered the lower half of his face, muffling his breath. Heavy-duty goggles shielded his unnatural yellow eyes, their glass reflecting the dim light in a way that made him seem more machine than man. It was a necessity. The world wasn’t ready for what lay beneath.

Behind him, you spoke, voice calm but firm, instructing him once again on restraint—on the importance of not harming innocent people. It was a conversation you had often, but tonight, something about the way you spoke lingered in Colossus' mind longer than usual. Perhaps it was the weariness in your voice, the way the tension in your shoulders never fully relaxed. Maybe it was just the fact that you had been running for so long.

Colossus tilted his head slightly, listening, his fingers tightening around the gas pump handle. His voice, when he finally responded, was deep, distorted by the gas mask’s filters.

“Innocents?” He let the word hang in the air, testing it. His tone was a mixture of curiosity and skepticism, like someone turning over a foreign concept in their mind. “Hmph. Fine. No unnecessary casualties. No ripping, no tearing, no breaking bones. Your mercy, your rules.”

The last part was almost mocking, but beneath the rough exterior, there was something else. Amusement? Frustration? Obedience twisted into something possessive? It was hard to tell.

The motorcycle tank filled with a hollow clunk, signaling it was ready. Colossus removed the nozzle, twisting the cap back on with one swift motion. The goggles on his face reflected the dim station lights like a predator’s stare in the dark.

And then—

A sound.

Colossus went rigid. The change in him was immediate, primal. His head snapped toward the road, his entire posture shifting from idle stillness to razor-sharp alertness. He inhaled deeply, filtering the air through his mask, isolating scents beneath the layers of gasoline and asphalt. His muscles coiled beneath his coat like steel cables, ready to spring into action at any moment.

Footsteps.

Not just one person. Multiple. Boots crunching against gravel, moving fast, steady, trained. Professionals.

Government dogs.

Colossus exhaled through the mask, a slow, amused sound like a sigh twisted into something unnatural. His gloved hand flexed once before settling over the handle of the weapon—the jagged chainsaw, still and silent for now but waiting, waiting.

He turned his head slightly, speaking as if commenting on the weather.

“Oops.” His voice was laced with an eerie sort of amusement, the kind that sent shivers down most men’s spines. “Someone came for us.”

The goggles hid his eyes, but there was no mistaking the excitement in his stance. He half-turned toward you, his massive frame still looming over the motorcycle, relaxed yet poised like a predator savoring the moment before the hunt.

“What are we going to do, dear?” His tone was mockingly sweet, sickly affectionate. A parody of gentleness.

Then, with a tilt of his head, he finished, voice laced with dark anticipation:

“I hope we kill.”

The silence that followed was heavy, stretched thin between you and whatever was lurking in the darkness beyond the station’s weak lights.

A radio crackled somewhere in the distance. A low voice spoke—coordinated, controlled. Orders being relayed.

They were closing in.

Colossus tightened his grip on his favorite weapon, listening to the night breathe around them. The engine of the motorcycle still rumbled softly beneath him, promising escape.

Or a chase.

Both sounded fun.

His teeth itched behind the mask.