YOUNGPOWER Chapter 9: Night At The Cliff

 

Night before Valentine’s day

The YoungPower backyard was a graveyard of empty cans and crushed grass, still stinking of the high-octane masculine sweat from the rally. The fairy lights some pledge had strung across the fence were flickering like they were on their last breath, throwing long, jittery shadows over the five of them standing by the open garage. The air was cold, but the vibe was heavy with the kind of tension that usually precedes a riot.

Joshua Bassett stood beside his black motorcycle, looking like a goddamn problem. He was geared for the forest—a plain black t-shirt that looked like it was losing a fight with his chest, his signature MANPOWER leather jacket zipped halfway, and dark blue jeans that had seen more blood than a trauma ward. He had a long, sheathed sword strapped diagonally across his back—brutal, heavy, and very real. In his duffel, he had the essentials: water, protein bars, a lighter, zip-ties for whatever "beast" he found, and the one thing that actually mattered—Brian’s emergency stabilizer.

Garrett stepped up first. He raised a hand that looked like a slab of meat, and when their palms met in a high-five, the crack sounded like a gunshot echoing off the garage walls.

“Good luck, dude,” Garrett rumbled, his voice thick with a rare moment of sincerity. “Come back with that Hardening shit unlocked. I’m deadass tired of seeing these girls walk around like they own the quad. I wanna see you manhandle those bitches until they forget how to say no.”

Joshua smirked, his eyes sharp and tired. “If I pull this off, G, you’ll be begging me to teach you how to make your skin feel like iron. Stay thirsty.”

Matt was next, slamming his hand into Joshua’s shoulder hard enough to make the leather creak. “You’re gonna come back a monster, bro. No doubt. We’ll hold the fort here. Just… try not to get eaten. Jonah would literally skin us alive if he lost his favorite project.”

Brian approached last, looking as clinical and detached as if he were checking a weather report. He pressed a small metal case into Joshua’s palm. Inside were two syringes—one glowing a faint, toxic blue, and a vial of yellow fluid.

“Take the blue one only if you feel the Alpha-T mutation slipping again,” Brian said, his voice a low, steady hum. “The yellow is just high-potency B12 and electrolytes. You’re gonna need the fuel to break a beast’s will. Don't waste it. We’ve got things handled on this end.”

Joshua met Brian’s gaze for a second longer than usual—a silent acknowledgement of the science and the weird, dark trust between them. Then, he turned to Felix.

Felix was standing a few feet back, arms crossed over his chest, his jaw looking like it was locked in place. His spiked mace was resting against his thigh, looking like a natural extension of his arm. Joshua stepped close, dropping his voice so the others couldn't catch the weight of it.

“Bro… you’re the leader while I’m out,” Joshua said, his voice dropping to a gravelly rasp. “I know you’re gonna make the right calls for MANPOWER. I trust your judgment more than anyone else’s in this house.” He paused, letting the silence hang between them. “I’ll be back tomorrow night. But if—for whatever reason—I don’t make it… because let’s be real, this mission is borderline suicide… take care of those bitches for me. Especially Mentari. Don’t let her win.”

Felix’s throat moved like he was swallowing glass. He nodded—short, sharp, and cold. “I’ve got it, Josh. Go break that beast. I’ll keep the throne warm.”

Joshua clapped him on the shoulder—a firm, brotherly grip that felt like a hand-off of the entire movement. Then he swung a leg over his bike, kicked the engine to life with a predatory growl that vibrated in everyone’s chest, and roared off into the night toward the black, jagged treeline of the northern forest.

The four of them stood there watching the red taillight bleed into the darkness. Silence hung over the yard for a heartbeat before Matt broke it with a jagged half-grin.

“So… what’s the plan, boss?” Matt asked, looking at Felix.

Felix’s lips curled into something slow, cold, and honestly a little cruel. He cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp in the quiet night.

“You know those girls have their little ‘Girls in Love’ party tomorrow night? Up at that cave ledge overlooking the valley?” Felix asked, his eyes glinting with a sudden, sharp intent. “Let’s gather the boys and ruin it. We’ll show them that you actually need men to have a real Valentine’s. We’re gonna break that stupid ‘independence’ attitude of theirs until they’re crying for the frat to come back.”

Brian raised an eyebrow, leaning against the garage door. “We’re launching an attack without Joshua? That wasn't the play, Felix.”

“C’mon, Bri,” Felix said, the smirk widening into something unhinged. “It’s just a prank. Mostly. We piss on their decorations, smash a few of those fairy lights, scare the freshmen until they realize who really runs this campus. But just in case they wanna throw hands…” He shrugged, his voice turning icy. “Gather the troops. I’m not scared of a confrontation. They’re gonna learn exactly who Felix Baker is by the time the sun comes up.”

Matt chuckled, a low, thirsty sound. “Now we’re talking. I’ve been waiting for a reason to kick something.”

Felix turned his gaze to Garrett, who was shifting uncomfortably under the sudden leadership shift. “Garrett! You’re on recon. You head up there tonight. Right now. Observe the setup, count how many girls are staying over, and see if they’ve got any security. Don't engage. Just watch and report back.”

“Me?” Garrett blinked, his brow furrowing. “Why me? I’m the heavy hitter.”

“Because I need Brian here to hatch the actual tactical plan, and I need Matt to round up the boys from Phalusic,” Felix said, his tone dripping with a new, arrogant authority. “You’re the least skillful guy in the circle, Garrett. C’mon, admit it. You’re good for looking at things and hitting things. Go look at things.”

Garrett’s jaw ticked, but he didn't argue. He wasn't stupid enough to challenge Felix when the vibe was this dark. “Fine,” he muttered, grabbing his jacket off the bike rack. “But if I find any of those girls alone up there tonight… I’m gonna fuck ‘em. I’m tired of waiting for a ‘plan’ to get some.”

He swung a leg over his own motorcycle, kicked it alive with a roar that echoed Joshua’s, and peeled out of the driveway toward the cave area.

The remaining three watched him go. Matt let out a low whistle. “Think he’ll actually just observe? Garrett’s been pretty wound up since the lab.”

Felix’s smile was thin and sharp as a razor blade. “Doesn't matter. Either way, tomorrow night those girls are gonna learn what happens when they think they can celebrate without us. They want to be 'in love'? We'll give them something to remember.”

He cracked his neck, his eyes fixed on the distant forest where Joshua had disappeared. “Let’s move. We’ve got a party to crash.”

The ledge overlooking the valley looked like a fever dream—or at least a very determined revenge fantasy. Fairy lights looped between the pines like golden veins, rose-gold heart balloons bobbed in the cool night air, and a cluster of blankets and pillows was spread out near the edge of the drop. A portable speaker was thumping out low, bass-heavy female rage anthems at a volume that felt more like a threat than a party. The whole vibe screamed: this space is ours, and you’re deadass not invited.

Teyona and Ana were wrestling with the last tent pole near the back of the ledge. Teyona’s knuckles were white as she forced the fiberglass into place. Ana laughed, the sound bright and clean, as the canvas finally popped up like a proud little fortress.

“This is the best,” Ana said, stepping back to admire their handiwork. She turned to Teyona, her eyes softening in a way that only ever happened when the world wasn't looking. “Staying together under the stars... it’s romantic, babe.”

Teyona’s usual jagged edges smoothed out for a split second. She didn't say anything—she wasn't the type for flowery talk. She just reached out, pulled Ana in by the waist, and kissed her. It was a slow, deep, hungry kiss that said everything her anger usually drowned out. When they finally broke apart, Teyona rested her forehead against Ana’s, breathing in her scent.

“Yeah,” Teyona murmured. “It really is.”

A few feet away, Mentari was sitting cross-legged on the hood of her car, her legs dangling over the edge. She was staring out over the dark valley, the city lights flickering below like diamonds someone had dropped in the mud.

“I think I’m gonna stay here too,” Mentari said quietly, her voice drifting on the wind. “It’s too beautiful to leave.”

Sydney stood a little apart from them, her arms crossed tight over her chest, her phone already out and glowing in her hand. She looked at the blankets, the dirt, the rustling trees, and the dark mouth of the cave, and she visibly shuddered.

“Seriously. I can’t. I actually can’t do this.” Sydney shook her head, her blonde hair catching the fairy lights. “I’m going back to the sorority house. I’m not built for the ‘great outdoors.’ I get cold if the AC is lower than 72, and I deadass hate insects. Ants, spiders, whatever the hell is lurking in these bushes... no. I want a hot bath and my actual bed with a thread count that doesn't include pine needles.”

Mentari glanced over. “Wanna take the car, Syd?”

“Nah,” Sydney said, already turning toward the path. “I’m gonna walk to the main road and catch the bus. I don’t like driving at night anyway; I can't see the potholes. Besides...” She gave a small, half-hearted smirk. “Maybe I’ll find some cute guys on the bus. A little late-night transit romance.”

Teyona’s head snapped up like she’d been stung.

“Can’t you stop thinking about boys for five fucking minutes?” Teyona’s voice was sharp, dripping with an incredulous kind of disgust. “You know men are evil. You know what they’ve done to us. And you still dream of finding one? What—you want some big, strong, tall guy to hug you at night? That’s such a patriarchy idea, Sydney. Get a grip.”

Sydney froze mid-step. She turned slowly, her eyes narrowing until they were like cold blue chips of ice.

“Oh, now you’re talking.” Her voice was low, vibrating with a dangerous kind of calm. “I was born this way, Tey. It’s not a choice for me to like men. And you know what? You’re doing the exact same thing those jock pricks did when they tried to slut-shame me. You’re gatekeeping my own sexuality. Fuck you. I’m tired. I can hate men as a collective and still want to get railed by a hot one. It’s called complexity. Look it up.”

She didn't wait for a response. She just turned and walked—fast, furious, her heels clicking hard against the rocky path like a countdown. She didn't even say goodbye.

Mentari watched her disappear into the shadows, then turned to Teyona, who was still fuming.

“You were too harsh,” Mentari said firmly. “Feminism isn't a monolith, Tey. You don't get to tell her who to want. Go apologize. Please.”

Teyona’s fists clenched at her sides, her chest heaving. “Men have raped women. They’ve oppressed us for centuries. What am I supposed to say? ‘Sorry I judged you for wanting to sleep with the enemy’? Mentari, you know they’re no good. And she worships them like a religion!”

“She’s fighting with us too,” Mentari reminded her. “She owns her body. Let her be.”

Teyona exhaled hard through her nose, her shoulders dropping an inch. “I need rest,” she muttered, unable to look Mentari in the eye. She ducked into the tent without another word. Ana gave Mentari a small, apologetic look—the kind of look you give someone when your girlfriend is being a total hot-head—and followed her inside.

Mentari stayed on the hood of the car, the silence of the woods settling around her like a heavy blanket.

Lower Ridge – Near the Cave Ledge

Garrett was crouching behind a cluster of boulders, his phone flashlight dimmed to the lowest setting. He’d parked his bike half a mile back and hiked the rest of the way, trying—and failing—to be quiet. Above him, the ledge was visible. He could see the lights twinkling and hear the faint, muffled thud of the music.

“Okay,” he muttered to himself, squinting through the dark. “All the girls went home except Teyona and her girl... and Mentari. Area covered is... what, 100 feet? 200? Wait—how the hell am I supposed to count square footage?” He groaned, rubbing his face. “If I fail this, Felix is gonna call me a dumbass again. I gotta prove I’m not just muscle.”

He lifted his phone, snapped a few blurry, shaky photos of the blankets and the tent, and hit send to the group chat.

Garrett: Dude how about it. I got the recon.

Brian’s reply came almost instantly, flashing on the screen.

Brian: G, you sent a selfie. Use the back camera, you thirst-trap-obsessed moron.

A second later, his phone vibrated with a video call. He answered it, and the screen split between Felix and Brian. Their faces were lit by their own phones, looking like ghosts in the dark.

“Be serious for once, Garrett,” Felix said, his voice deadpan and dripping with disappointment. “We need intelligence, not a picture of your jawline.”

Brian just shook his head, looking clinically exhausted. “Try again. And don't trip over your own feet this time.”

They hung up. Garrett’s face flushed hot, a surge of pure, concentrated embarrassment hitting him like a slap. He could feel the blood rushing to his ears.

“They really underestimate me,” he growled under his breath. The rejection stung. He was tired of being the "himbo" of the squad.

He stood up fast—too fast. In a burst of pure, unadulterated frustration, he turned and delivered a massive powered kick to the nearest pine tree. The trunk cracked with a sound like a gunshot. The whole tree groaned, splintering at the base, and toppled sideways, crashing through the underbrush with a deafening roar of snapping branches.

“THEY REALLY UNDERESTIMATE ME!” he roared at the falling timber.

He was breathing hard now, his chest heaving, his adrenaline spiked to a dangerous level. He turned to head back to his bike, his eyes still glued to his phone as he replayed the video call in his head, fuming. He wasn't paying attention to the path.

His boot caught on a thick, gnarled root. He stumbled forward, his arms windmilling as he tried to catch his balance. He went crashing through a thicket of bushes and landed straight into someone coming up the path from the main road.

Both of them went rigid as they hit the dirt.

“Syd?” Garrett gasped, recognizing the scent of expensive perfume and hairspray.

“Garrett?” Sydney hissed, her eyes wide with shock.

They stared at each other for half a heartbeat—the "Big Gorilla" and the "Petite Goddess." Then, the instinct took over. They both scrambled up and dropped into fighting stances.

Garrett let out a jagged, arrogant laugh. He banged his chest with both fists, the sound heavy and solid, and then gave his groin an aggressive shake, his eyes dark with a sudden, predatory "YoungPower" energy.

“Well, well,” Garrett sneered, his voice dropping into that familiar, thirsty rasp. “Looks like I don't have to wait for tomorrow night to destroy a Goddess. I’m gonna break you right here on the dirt, Sydney.”

Sydney looked down at her sleeve, her face twisting in horror. “Shit... I’m wearing my favorite cardigan. You got dirt on my favorite knit, you oversized sack of garbage.”

She dropped into a low crouch, her eyes snapping from shock to a cold, lethal focus. She reached into her pocket, her fingers closing around her customized taser.

“Bring it on, big boy,” Sydney spat, her voice like a whip. “I’ve been wanting an excuse to see if your balls are as big as your ego. Spoiler alert: I doubt it.”

 

Garrett deadass lost it. His face went that specific shade of bruised purple that only happens when a meathead’s ego gets checked. “You bitch! Don’t you ever question my ball size! It’s extra large! You hear me? Extra large!” He lunged, his massive fist swinging in a wild, unhinged haymaker he actually called his “Big Knuckle.” The air literally whistled as he threw punch after punch, each one heavy enough to delete her ribs from existence. Sydney didn’t play. She danced backward, agile as hell, her heels clicking on the rocky path like a series of taunts. “Ahh, you can’t touch me, you oversized gorilla!” she mocked, her voice dripping with salt.

She didn't give him time to reset. She leaped, grabbed a low-hanging pine branch with both hands, and swung her body in a perfect, athletic arc. She drove her stiletto heel straight into Garrett’s face. The sharp point connected with a sickening, wet crack—right across his cheekbone and lip. “ARGHHHHHH!” Garrett staggered back, blood instantly blooming across his mouth. He tasted copper and felt the stinging heat of torn skin, but the humiliation hit way harder than the heel. He had this stupid, shocked expression—eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream—that made him look like a cartoon character who just ran full-tilt into a brick wall.

“You will pay for that! I’m gonna break you!” Garrett roared. He lunged again, managing to grab her ankle mid-air as she tried to swing away for a second hit. With one brutal, low-IQ yank, he pulled her down from the branch. Sydney hit the rocky ground hard on her back, the breath exploding out of her in a sharp gasp. Garrett—who was nearly three times her size and fueled by pure rage—grabbed her by the waist and swung her body like a ragdoll, slamming her sideways into the nearest tree trunk.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” Sydney’s scream was raw. The impact rattled her teeth in her skull. Pain exploded across her shoulder and ribs, turning her vision into a blurred mess for a second. But she wasn’t done. Her hand darted to her thigh holster, gripping the new telescopic baton from the Justice Girl gear. She pressed the button with a sharp, metallic click. The black metal rod snapped out to its full length in a smooth, lethal extension.

Garrett loomed over her, blocking out the stars, raising one massive, heavy boot. “ELEPHANT POWER STOMP!” he screamed, bringing it down like a sledgehammer meant to crush her skull. Sydney rolled at the last second, the boot cratering the dirt exactly where her head had been a heartbeat before. She scrambled up, gripped the baton in both hands, and let her eyes flick downward. Garrett’s legs were spread wide for balance, and underneath those tight blue jeans, the thick, heavy outline of his balls was unmistakable. They were right there. Vulnerable. A total target.

Sydney’s lips curled into something predatory. “EAT THIS, GORILLA!” She lunged low, the baton whipping upward in a vicious arc—the World Ending Punch. The metal tip slammed directly into his testicles with pinpoint, full-force precision.

Garrett’s eyes didn't just bulge; they looked like they were trying to exit his head. His mouth opened in a soundless scream that quickly devolved into a high, broken, pathetic wail. “NOT AGAIN! FUCK!” His entire body locked up like it had been hit by a lightning bolt. His knees buckled inward, and his face contorted into pure, humiliated agony. His cheeks flushed a deep, sickly red, his eyes watered instantly, and his mouth twisted into that pathetic, involuntary O-shape every man on the planet dreads. A strangled, keening noise escaped his throat—half-sob, half-screech. His hands flew to his groin way too late, cupping the ruined package as if he could somehow undo the trauma. His legs trembled, turned to jelly, and then gave out completely.

He toppled forward like a felled oak tree. All 6'4" and 280-plus pounds of unhinged muscle crashed right down onto Sydney. “SHIT! SHIT!” she hissed. She was pinned beneath him instantly, his massive chest crushing her ribs and making it impossible to draw a full breath. One thick, heavy arm flopped across her shoulder, and his sweaty, blood-streaked face was inches from hers. His weight was suffocating, a literal wall of meat. She couldn't move her arms, couldn't squirm out. His labored, wheezing breaths puffed hot and gross against her cheek.

And then she felt it—the ground beneath them didn't just shift; it cracked. They were right on the ragged edge of the cliff drop-off, and the combined weight of Garrett’s massive frame and their struggle was too much. The rock groaned, a deep, tectonic split, and the ledge gave way.

“AAAAAAAAAAA!”

Both of them plummeted. It wasn't a mountain-sized fall, maybe fifteen feet, but in the dark, it felt like an eternity of stomach-flipping gravity. Garrett hit the rocky ledge below first, landing flat on his back with a bone-rattling, heavy THUD that echoed off the limestone. The impact knocked the wind out of him for the second time, his head bouncing once off the stone. Sydney landed right on top of him—chest-to-chest, hips-to-hips. Her face slammed into the crook of his neck, her nose filling with the scent of his leather jacket and iron-rich blood. His arms had instinctively wrapped around her on the way down—a pure, lizard-brain reflex—cushioning her fall just enough that she didn't break her neck on the landing.

For a long, vibrating second, neither of them moved. There was only the sound of heavy, jagged breathing. She could feel his heartbeat thundering like a trapped animal against her own chest. Her cheek was pressed hard against his collarbone, and the overwhelming smell of pine, sweat, blood, and expensive  jacket filled her senses, locking them both in a cursed, broken embrace on the stone.

Sydney’s brain was rattling inside her skull like a marble in a tin can. One second she was delivering a masterclass in ball-busting, and the next, the ground had deleted itself. The world had turned into a blur of grey rock and dark branches until she’d hit the ledge below with a bone-shaking thud.

She was pinned to Garrett’s chest, her face shoved into the crook of his sweaty, leather-clad neck. He smelled like high-octane YoungPower ego—a mix of cheap leather, iron-rich blood, and that aggressive "I use 3-in-1 shampoo" musk that every dude in the frat seemed to sweat out. It was suffocating. She tried to push herself up, but her ribs screamed in protest, feeling like they’d been put through a industrial trash compactor.

"Get... the hell... off me," she wheezed, her voice muffled against his collarbone.

Garrett didn't respond with words. He just let out a long, pathetic, vibrating groan that felt like it was coming from his very soul. He was flat on his back, eyes rolled toward the stars, his mouth still twisted in that jagged "O" of pure, unadulterated ball-trauma. The fall had been bad, but the metal baton to the nuts had been a life-altering event. He looked like a broken action figure—all that "Elephant Power" hype, all 280 pounds of muscle, reduced to a twitching heap of denim and bruises.

"Seriously, Garrett," Sydney spat, finally managing to wedge her elbows against his pectorals and shove herself up a few inches. She was sitting on his stomach now, her hips pinned between his thick, sprawling thighs. The position was beyond cursed. "Your 'extra large' balls just caused a literal landslide. Are you happy? You’re officially the most destructive dumbass on campus. You deadass broke the cliff."

Garrett’s eyes finally focused on her. He looked down bad—blood was leaking from his lip where her stiletto had carved a canyon across his face, and his skin was a mottled shade of red and sickly purple.

"You... you hit me... with a stick," he croaked, his voice two octaves higher than it had been ten minutes ago. He sounded like he’d gone through a forced puberty reversal. "That's... that's a crime, Sydney. Manpower... we don't... allow..."

"Manpower doesn't allow what? Getting your ass handed to you by a girl in a cardigan?" Sydney mocked, her eyes flashing with a cold, jagged light. She reached for her baton, which was still gripped in her hand, and tapped the cold metal tip against his chin. "You were doing recon, weren't you? Felix sent the gorilla to peek through the bushes because he’s too much of a pussy to come himself. Pathetic."

Garrett tried to sit up, his massive arms twitching as if he wanted to grab her, but the movement sent a fresh spike of agony through his groin. He collapsed back with a sharp, wheezing hiss, his hands flying back to his crotch. He looked like he wanted to cry, his "Alpha" mask completely shattered.

"I'm gonna... I'm gonna end you," he whispered, though there was zero heat in it. He looked like a puppy that had just been kicked into a mailbox. "I'm gonna... tell Felix you distract me”

"Oh, you're gonna tell on me? You gonna go cry to your bro?" Sydney laughed, a jagged, unhinged sound that echoed off the limestone. "Go ahead. Tell him how the 'Big G' got dropped by a 'petite' Goddess. Tell him how you spent the night whimpering in the dirt because your 'mighty testicles' couldn't handle a piece of telescopic steel. I’m sure Jonah will be real proud of his little soldier."

She shifted her weight to get a better grip, and Garrett let out another strangled whimper. Despite the fact that they were enemies, the physical closeness was intense. Her thighs were pressed into his, and she could feel the raw heat radiating off his massive frame. He was a monster, a prick, and a literal kidnapper-in-training, but for a split second, she saw the fear in his eyes. He wasn't a "Conqueror" right now. He was just a boy who’d been broken by a reality check.

Garrett stared at her, his breathing shallow and ragged. "Joshua... is coming back," he panted, his ego trying to claw its way out of the wreckage. "He's gonna have... Hardening. You won't be able to... break him. He's gonna... make you all... submit. You'll be... on your knees... where you belong."

"Submit this," Sydney said, and she drove the handle of the baton into his solar plexus—not enough to kill him, but enough to make him wheeze. "We have an army now, Garrett. Fifty girls who know exactly where your kill-switch is."

She finally managed to roll off him, her heels hitting the rocky ledge with a crunch. She was shaky, her ribs felt like they’d been put through a woodchipper, and her favorite cardigan was officially a rag, but the adrenaline was keeping her upright. She looked down at Garrett, who was still curled in a fetal position on the stone, clutching his ruined package as if he were trying to keep his future from leaking out.

"Stay here and think about your life choices," Sydney spat, wiping a smear of his blood off her cheek

She turned and started to scramble back up the slope, her breath coming in jagged gasps. She needed to get back to Mentari and Teyona. She needed to tell them the recon had started. The boys weren't just bringing pranks—they were bringing a war, and the first scout was already lying broken in the dirt.

Sydney stared up at the sheer limestone wall, her breathing coming in ragged, shallow hitches. Fifteen feet of vertical, slick-ass rock stood between her and the ledge. In her current state—ribs feeling like they’d been through a blender and wearing three-inch stiletto heels—she might as well have been trying to climb to the moon. She let out a jagged sigh, the cold air biting at her lungs.

Garrett was finally starting to groan his way back to a standing position, his massive frame trembling. He was still instinctively clutching his groin, his face a mottled mask of red and grey. "It’s the middle of the night, you can’t see shit, and you deadass think you’re climbing that in those heels?" he rasped, his voice still a weird, high-pitched version of its former self. "We’re stuck here, you stupid bitch. My bike is a half-mile away. We’re in the dark and we’re stuck."

"What did you just call me?" Sydney snapped, turning around so fast she almost wiped out on the loose gravel. Her eyes were blazing.

"Stupid. Bitch." Garrett leaned down, bringing his massive, blood-streaked face inches from hers. He smelled like iron and rain. "You broke the cliff, Sydney. You turned a recon mission into a literal landslide. Now look at us."

"I swear I’m gonna—" Sydney reached for her baton again, her knuckles white, but Garrett was faster this time. His massive hand shot out and clamped around her wrist like a biological handcuff.

"Stop. Just stop for five fucking seconds," Garrett growled. "We’re stuck on a ledge for God knows how long. No food. I don't see any water. It’s February and the temperature is dropping. We better think of a way to work together or we’re both gonna be frozen meat by sunrise."

Sydney tried to yank her arm back, but it was like trying to pull away from a mountain. "Work together with you? Are you actually crazy? I’m not forming a team with a chauvinist brute who thinks kidnapping girls is a personality trait!"

"What the hell is a chauvinist... shit, why are you using big words now?" Garrett shook his head, looking frustrated. "Just... be a good girl for once and let the man think of how we get out of this. I’ve got the muscle. I can hoist you up if I can find a grip."

"Ooh, 'let the man think.' That’s rich." Sydney’s voice was pure venom. "You’re twice my size but you’ve got the IQ of a lukewarm bowl of oatmeal, Garrett. I’m not letting my life depend on a sick fuck like you who thinks having a dick makes him a natural-born leader. You’re just a bully in a black polo."

"YOU ARE GETTING ON MY FUCKING NERVES!" Garrett roared, his voice echoing off the limestone.

Sydney didn't flinch. She poked him hard in the chest, right over his heart. "NO! YOU! ARE GETTING ON MY NERVES!"

Right then, the sky decided to join the party. A cold, heavy rain started to dump on them without warning—the kind of freezing February downpour that soaks you to the bone in seconds. The rocks turned into a slip-and-slide instantly. Sydney saw a small, dark opening in the rock face—a crawlspace cave—and tried to rush for it, but her heel caught on a wet stone.

"Ah!" She felt herself falling forward, her hands reaching out for the jagged rock.

Before she could hit the dirt, a pair of massive, heavy arms caught her. Garrett didn't even hesitate; he scooped her petite body up against his chest like she weighed nothing. He hauled her into the small cave, his boots thudding against the stone until they were out of the downpour.

He dropped her onto the dry patch of dirt at the back of the crawlspace with a heavy thud.

"I don't need your help!" Sydney hissed, scrambling back and hugging her knees to her chest. Her cardigan was soaked through, clinging to her skin.

"Well, you deadass did!" Garrett barked, wiping rain and blood from his eyes. He sat down opposite her, his massive frame taking up nearly the entire space. "Why are you so fucking stubborn? This wasn't the plan. Just let me be THE MAN and run things so we can get out safely. Or I can just leave you here to turn into a Cheerio-flavored popsicle. Your choice."

"BECAUSE THAT’S THE WHOLE PROBLEM!" Sydney screamed, the frustration finally boiling over. "You think being a man is actually something that makes you better than us! It’s just a fucking hose-like organ and two dangling, weak-ass nuts, Garrett! Having a dick doesn't make you smarter, it doesn't make you kinder, and it sure as hell doesn't make you better than me!"

"SHUT UP!" Garrett yelled back, but he looked less angry and more confused.

Sydney’s eyes filled with hot, angry tears she couldn't stop. "I always hear that. 'Be a good girl and men will love you.' But what did men ever do for me, Garrett? In high school, they just objectified me. They called me 'sweet things' while my entire worth was tied to how my ass looked in a skirt. If a woman is ugly, men like you don't even acknowledge our existence. If we’re pretty, we’re just a body for you to use. Women can never win in your world, and I don't expect a stupid moron like you to ever understand that."

She was crying now, her body shaking with a mix of rage and the creeping chill. "I had to unlearn all that shit so hard. I had to fight to be more than a trophy. And now? I’m supposed to depend on a man who’s attacked my sisters? A guy who thinks my only value is submission? Having a dick doesn't make you a hero, Garrett. It just makes you a dude with a biological kill-switch I’ve already flipped once tonight."

Garrett shifted, looking incredibly uncomfortable. He reached out a hand, then pulled it back. "C’mon... don’t cry. I deadass hate it when girls cry. It makes me feel... I don't know. Just stop. You’re a fucking Cheerio, a Goddess. Be strong or whatever."

"That’s just men's stupidity—thinking crying means you're weak," Sydney choked out, her teeth starting to chatter. Her skin was turning a pale, ghostly blue. Her body started to shake with violent, uncontrollable tremors.

"Shit," Garrett muttered, noticing the way her breath was hitching. "You’re... what’s the word... hypo-something?"

"Hypothermic," Sydney whispered, her jaw locked.

Garrett looked at her, then at the rain pouring outside their little cave. He knew he couldn't leave her like this. He let out a long sigh and started unbuttoning his black polo shirt, his massive chest muscles rippling in the dim light.

"Just hug me," Garrett said, his voice dropping the "Alpha" act for the first time. He pulled the shirt off, exposing his broad, scarred torso. "I can share my body heat. It’s the only way you’re gonna stop shaking."

"What? Eww, no way. Get away from me," Sydney stammered, even as her body betrayed her by leaning toward the warmth.

"Do it or you die, Sydney." Garrett didn't give her a choice. He reached over and pulled her small, shivering body against his bare chest, wrapping his massive arms around her.

Sydney froze for a second, her face pressed against his warm skin. She could hear the heavy, steady thrum of his heart. He was like a furnace. Despite everything—the hate, the war, the baton to the balls—she felt the warmth beginning to seep back into her bones. She hated how much she needed it. She hated that he was the only thing keeping the dark at bay.

Garrett just held her, his chin resting on the top of her blonde head, staring out at the rain with a look that was finally, quietly, human.

 

The rain hammered the limestone outside like a thousand tiny fists, but inside the crawlspace, the sound was just a steady, muffled roar that made the world feel like it was only five feet wide. Garrett sat with his back against the rough, cold wall, his massive shirtless frame taking up nearly all the space. His arms were wrapped around Sydney, pulling her in close

 

Sydney didn't fight him. She pressed her cheek against his bare chest, her skin meeting his furnace-hot heat. His heartbeat was a loud, rhythmic thud under her ear, steady and heavy. She could feel every ridge of muscle, every jagged scar on his torso. Tonight, the sheer size of him wasn't a threat; it was just a giant radiator keeping her alive. Warmth began to seep back into her bones, chasing away the violent shivers. She deadass hated how good it felt. She hated that her traitor body was relaxing against the same guy who’d tried to stomp her head into the dirt two hours ago.

Garrett was awkward as hell. He stared straight ahead at the curtain of rain, his jaw locked tight, trying not to move an inch. In his head, he was probably playing out some main character moment from an "enemies-to-lovers" movie—the big, broken guy and the fiery girl forced together by fate. But this wasn't a movie, and the girl in his arms had literally just tried to castrate him.

They didn't talk for a long time. Just the sound of the rain and their breathing. Then Sydney shifted, her leg brushing against something hard and unmistakable.

“EW! YOU DEADASS HAVE AN ERECTION!”

Whack. She slapped his dick through the heavy denim—hard, open-palmed, like she was swatting a giant mosquito.

“SYDNEY! FUCK! STOP!” Garrett yelped, his voice hitting that high-pitched, broken squeak again. He winced, his face turning a deep, embarrassed red in the shadows. “It’s biology, you crazy bitch! I can’t help it! My body is just reacting because you’re... you know... right there! Don’t slap it, it already feels like it’s in a vice!”

His erection was straining painfully against the jeans, thick and impossible to hide. Sydney huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, but she didn't pull away from the warmth. She looked up at him—really looked—her eyes narrowed but filled with a weird curiosity.

“Honestly? If you weren’t such a toxic, brainwashed misogynist... I’d actually think you’re a hot guy,” she said, her voice blunt.

Garrett blinked, looking stunned. “I mean... I think you’re hot too,” he muttered, sounding almost defensive. “You’re so small. Like... pocket-sized. It’s actually kind of cute when you’re not trying to kill me.”

Sydney let out a sharp, surprised laugh. “This ‘pocket-sized’ girl has repeatedly handed you your ass, G-Man. Don’t forget it.”

For a second, they both shared a small, reluctant smile. The tension was still there, but the "war" felt miles away.

“Why do you believe in Joshua so much?” Sydney asked, her voice softening just a fraction. “The guy is a literal psychopath.”

Garrett shrugged, careful not to jostle her. “He just wants the best for us. It’s your fault—women’s fault—for making men feel like they’re less. Joshua has a vision. Jonah wants power by force and hierarchy, but Josh? He’s about the brotherhood. He makes us feel like we have a purpose again. He’s gonna beat Mentari because he has to.”

“It’s not our job to make you feel like a man, Garrett,” Sydney corrected, her voice firm but tired.

“Whatever. But Joshua... he changed our lives. He believes in us. He makes us want to be better,” Garrett said quietly. Then he looked down at her. “And why do you believe in Mentari?”

“Because she’s angry,” Sydney said after a beat. “Change doesn't come from being ‘nice.’ It comes from that raw, burning drive. She loves us—really loves us—and she’s shown me that I can be exactly who I am. I can like fashion, I can be pretty, and I can still be an independent woman who doesn't need to submit to some frat boy’s ego. Feminism isn't just one thing, Garrett. It’s about having the choice.”

For the first time, the slogans were gone. They weren't shouting scripts at each other; they were just talking.

“Let’s just rest,” Garrett muttered, his eyes heavy. “Hope the weather clears so we can climb out.”

Sydney didn't argue. She curled tighter against his chest, closing her eyes. Garrett stared out at the rain, his arms still locked around her, feeling a mix of confusion and a weird, protective warmth he didn't have a name for. They slept like that—enemies, total opposites, but warm.

Pre-Dawn – The Ledge

“GARRETT!”

The voice boomed down from the top of the cliff, echoing off the wet limestone. Garrett jolted awake, Sydney still tucked against him. He blinked, disoriented, then gently shifted her off so he could stand.

“IT’S MORNING! SYDNEY—HELP’S HERE!”

Sydney stirred, groggy and rubbing her eyes. “Yes! Oh god, finally...”

They stumbled out of the crawlspace into the grey, misty dawn. The rain had stopped, leaving the world slick and glistening. At the top of the cliff stood Felix, Matt, and Brian. Brian was holding a high-tech pneumatic rope-thrower, his expression as clinical as ever.

“How the hell did you know I was here?” Garrett shouted up, his voice hoarse.

Brian held up his phone, showing a glowing red dot. “I put a tracker in your jeans pocket before you left. Felix told me you’d probably find a way to get stuck.”

Garrett’s face flushed red. “YOU DEADASS DIDN’T TRUST ME?!”

Felix smirked down at him, his eyes cold and arrogant. “Well... you were stuck there all night. I wasn't wrong, was I? You’re the least skillful, G. It’s just facts.”

Brian activated the rope-thrower. Thwip. The grappling line shot upward, hooking perfectly onto a sturdy tree root.

“Just leave that bitch down there,” Felix called out casually, his voice dripping with malice. “We’re starting the attack. Richard, Alex, Gavi—the whole crew is ready. Let nature take out one of the Goddesses. It’ll save us the trouble.”

Garrett looked down at Sydney. She was staring up at the ropes, then back at him. For a second—just a second—something flickered in his eyes. It wasn't just "YoungPower" loyalty anymore. It was doubt.

Gemini said

Garrett’s hand tightened on the rope until his knuckles went white. He looked down at Sydney—small, soaked, and looking like a feral cat—and for a split second, the warmth of the cave almost made him go soft. But then he looked up at Felix’s cold, judgmental face, and the "brotherhood" brainwashing snapped back into place.

“Sorry, Sydney!” he barked, his voice cracking with a mix of guilt and adrenaline. “I can’t let you ruin the plan! I’m YoungPower first and always!” He shoved her back, his massive hand hitting her shoulder and sending her skidding across the wet rock.

He grabbed the rope with both hands, his muscles bulging. “Brian—pull it! Get me out of here!”

But Sydney wasn't about to be left in the dirt. She didn't scream; she sprinted. She leaped forward just as the rope went taut, wrapping both arms around Garrett’s waist like a tactical vice. Before he could kick her off, her hand shot downward, her fingers clamping onto his still-traumatized balls through the denim. She squeezed with every ounce of rage she had left.

“IF YOU LET GO, I’M TAKING YOUR NUTS WITH ME!”

“ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Garrett’s scream echoed off the limestone like a siren. It was high, broken, and completely devoid of "Alpha" energy. His knees buckled, his eyes watered instantly, and his face twisted into that same pathetic, wide-mouthed agony he’d been wearing all night. Brian, oblivious or just heartless, hit the winch. Garrett tried to pry her off, but Sydney was locked on like a pitbull. The rope yanked them both upward in a chaotic, screaming tangle of limbs and wet denim.

They crested the ledge together, a messy heap of violence. Sydney hit the ground first, rolling free with the grace of a gymnast. Garrett landed on his knees, clutching his crotch and gasping for air like a fish out of water.

Sydney didn't wait to check his vitals. She scrambled up, shot one last, burning glare at Garrett—“YOU’RE GONNA PAY FOR THAT, YOU GORILLA!”—and bolted toward the path, disappearing into the trees before Felix could even raise his mace.

Brian tossed a clean black polo and fresh jeans at Garrett’s head. “Put these on. You look like shit and you smell like a wet dog.”

Felix didn't even look at the girl running away. He was staring at the cave entrance above. “C’mon. Move. We’ve got an empire to reclaim.”

Garrett pulled the shirt over his head, wincing as the fabric brushed his bruised chest. He looked toward the trees where Sydney had vanished, a weird, unreadable look in his eyes—part hate, part something else—then he fell in line behind Felix without a word.

Up on the ledge, the Galentine’s party was deadass a vibe.

The space was a explosion of rose-gold balloons and shimmering fairy lights. A portable speaker was thumping out Lizzo and Megan Thee Stallion, the bass vibrating through the blankets spread across the rock. It was a sea of "Girls in Love"—not with men, but with the freedom of not having to deal with them. Girls were dancing barefoot, wildflower crowns tangled in their hair, passing around heart-shaped plastic cups filled with sparkling cider and mocktails.

Svetlana was the life of the party, standing proudly beside her "Flower Cannon"—a modified paintball gun she’d rigged to fire soft, biodegradable petals. She pulled the trigger, and a burst of pink and white rained down like scented confetti.

“Ratioed by nature!” Svetlana cheered as the girls squealed and spun under the floral shower.

Ana and Teyona were standing under the falling petals, the world around them blurring into the background. Teyona’s hand was resting on the small of Ana’s back, her face soft in a way it never was at the gym. Ana pulled her in for a slow, unhurried kiss—the kind of kiss that said this is ours.

Mentari sat on a blanket nearby, watching them with a small, satisfied smile. But as the music transitioned into a high-energy Beyoncé track, she felt a sudden, sharp coldness wash over her. It was her Observation Spirit—a gut feeling that felt like a bucket of ice water being dumped down her spine.

“GIRLS!” Mentari shouted, leaping to her feet. The smile was gone, replaced by a lethal focus. “SOMETHING’S COMING! SHUT IT DOWN!”

Teyona laughed, mid-swirl with Ana. “What? You’re psychic now, M?”

But then the ground started to vibrate. It wasn't the bass from the speaker. It was the rhythmic, heavy thud of hundreds of boots stomping in unison. It sounded like a heartbeat. It sounded like war.

“MAKE MEN GREAT AGAIN! MAKE MEN GREAT AGAIN!”

The chant rolled over the ledge like thunder. From the tree line below, the army emerged. It wasn't just a few frat boys; it was a goddamn legion.

Felix Baker led the charge, his spiked mace resting on his shoulder, his face set in a cold, arrogant smile. Behind him was the core: Matt with his crossbow, Brian cradling a chemical shooter, and Garrett—shirtless under an open jacket, holding a heavy axe, his eyes dark and conflicted.

Then came the "Allies." Richard Gibson, the mayor’s kid; Danny Griffin, the trust-fund prick; Pablo Gavi, the soccer captain; and Alex Sampson, the influencer looking for a "content" win. Over a hundred YoungPower recruits in black and denim followed them, armed with baseball bats, tire irons, and chains.

The chant grew louder, a wall of masculine sound intended to crush the girls' spirits before a single punch was thrown. Mentari’s blood ran cold.

Suddenly, Sydney burst from the trees on the far side of the ledge. She looked like a wreck—her hair was a bird's nest, her cardigan was shredded, and she was covered in dirt and blood.

“FELIX IS HERE! THEY’RE COMING TO RUIN EVERYTHING!” she screamed, her voice raw.

Mentari rushed to her, catching her in a fierce hug. “What the hell happened to you?”

“NO TIME!” Sydney gasped, pulling away. She bolted for the supply tent, yanking her bag open and pulling out the Earth Goddess tactical gear.

Mentari and Teyona didn't hesitate. They tore into their own bags, the "Girls in Love" aesthetic vanishing in seconds as they suited up. Mentari in the Heaven Goddess white-and-gold; Teyona in the Hell Goddess black-and-red.

Teyona stepped to the front, her telescopic baton snapping out with a lethal click. “GIRLS—GRAB THE GEAR! TRAINING POSITION! NOW!”

The fifty sorority girls—the ones who had been practicing their "ball-buster" kicks for weeks—dropped their drinks and grabbed their batons. They didn't run. They stood their ground.

Mentari walked to the very edge of the ledge, her eyes locking onto Felix as he reached the base.

“Joshua isn’t here,” Mentari whispered to Teyona. “Felix is trying to make a name for himself. This is going to be a bloodbath.”

Felix stopped ten feet away, looking up at the three Goddesses with that same, punchable smirk. He raised his spiked mace high into the air.

“VALENTINE’S IS CANCELED, BITCHES!” Felix roared. “CHARGE!”

The black-and-blue wave hit the ledge like a tsunami.