I was woken up from my restless sleep by a splash of cold water to the face.
I shot upright, coughing and sputtering, barely registering the sharp sting from my shoulder. Instinct kicked in, and I raised my hands in a guard stance.
"Relax, ninja boy," Marcus said dryly, standing over me with an empty cup in hand. "You're in my house, not the dojo."
My muscles unclenched, and I slumped back against the couch, wincing as my shoulder flared with pain.
"I don't usually ask what you're up to after you finish your shifts," Marcus said, folding his arms. "Ain't my business. Didn't ask when you started gettin' all jacked overnight either." He pointed at my torn black hoodie, the scratches along my arms, and the half-healed gash on my shoulder. "But when you're passed out on my couch, bleeding and dressed like some kinda budget ninja? That's my business."
"I'm fine," I muttered, touching the cut on my shoulder. My fingers came away with a faint smear of blood.
"Oh yeah?" Marcus arched an eyebrow. "Looks like you fought a lawnmower and lost." He dropped into the chair across from me. "So... you wanna tell me what's goin' on, or do I have to drag it out of you?"
I sighed and rubbed my eyes. "It's... complicated."
"I got time."
I took a breath. "It's about Kick."
Marcus's expression darkened. "That junk's been wrecking M-Town for months. Bad stuff."
"Yeah," I nodded. "Well, I was working around how it comes into town and from where and then I found one of their stash houses last nights. Big shipment. I torched the whole thing."
"You what?" Marcus barked. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
"Burned it down," I repeated. "Their supply, the building, everything. Gone."
"You think you did something smart?" His voice was low, and there was no mistaking the frustration behind it.
"I stopped a bad thing!" I shot back. "That drug is killing people. It's screwing up mutants even worse than the stuff Jazz pushes. Someone had to do something!"
"And you figured you're the guy to fix it?" Marcus's face twisted with disbelief. "What, you think you're the new Spider-Man?"
"I'm not trying to be Spider-Man," I muttered. "I'm just trying to stop this from getting worse."
"Yeah?" Marcus's voice rose. "Well, lemme tell you what happens when people in M-Town try to play hero."
He leaned back in his chair, eyes hard and distant.
"There was this kid," he started. "Name was Danny — little guy, mutant power let him blend into shadows. Thought he could run around and stop dealers, scare off thugs. He lasted two weeks before they found him face-down in an alley."
"Then there was Marcy," Marcus continued. "She could make her skin like steel. Thought that made her bulletproof. Turns out that doesn't mean squat when you're outnumbered six-to-one. They dragged her body out of the river."
He exhaled slowly. "And Lenny... poor dumb Lenny. He had telekinesis — nothing crazy, just enough to toss some trash cans around. Thought he could fight back. They jumped him right outside his apartment. Broke his hands first — then his ribs. He died coughing up blood on his own doorstep."
His eyes locked onto mine. "You think you're different from them?"
I swallowed hard. "I've... I've got powers. I know how to fight."
"That's what they thought too."
His words hung heavy in the air.
"You burned down one building," Marcus said. "But tomorrow? They'll have another one. The drugs'll keep coming, the dealers'll keep dealing, and the same people who profit off M-Town's misery? They'll just adapt. You're not fixing anything — you're just makin' yourself a target."
"I can't just... do nothing," I said quietly. "I can't just watch this place rot."
"Then stop thinking like a wrecking ball," Marcus shot back. "You wanna change things? Fix what's broken. The schools, the housing, the hospitals — that's what's killin' this place. Not just the drugs."
I didn't have an answer for that.
Marcus sighed and stood up. "I know you're tryin' to help," he muttered. "But this ain't like those stories where you punch the bad guy and everything's better. This place's been drowning for years. If you wanna make a difference, you gotta think long-term."
He walked toward the kitchen, muttering over his shoulder, "Clean yourself up. Then you're helpin' me with the busted generator out back. You wanna be useful? Start by fixin' somethin' that stays fixed."
I sat there for a while, staring at the faint bloodstain on my sleeve. Marcus wasn't wrong — this place was drowning. And burning down one stash house wasn't going to save it.
But it was a start.
Random's POV
Pain gnawed at me, sharp and relentless. Healing was never pleasant, but this... this was worse than usual. My arm — the one I'd cut off — was still regrowing, a pale, twisted mess of tendons and sinew writhing like worms beneath my skin.My arm — still regrowing — twisted itself back into shape like knotted ropes being pulled too tight. Each nerve screamed as flesh knitted together, pale and warped like melted wax.
I slumped in the alley, back pressed against cold brick.. My breath came in ragged gasps, each one tasting like iron. Blood — my own — still clung to my lips. I spat on the ground, the crimson splatter darkening the asphalt. My body ached from the beating, but the deeper pain wasn't from the fight — it was the voice that haunted me. The one I knew was coming.
I clenched my half-formed fist. He could've killed me. Should've, probably. Instead, he let me live — and worse, he torched the damn warehouse. Everything I was supposed to protect.
"Gonna be a problem..." I muttered.
Then my comlink device buzzed.
My heart jumped in my chest.
For a second, I just stared at it. Maybe if I didn't answer... maybe if I ran...
No.
I knew better. I remembered the screams from Neverland — the mutants who didn't make it. The ones who thought they could run. The ones who thought there was still a way out.
I clenched my teeth and tapped the device.
Click.
"You're late."
The voice wasn't angry. No, this was worse. Calm. Cold. The kind of calm that promised bad things were about to happen.
"I... I had a situation," I said, my voice shaky. "Warehouse got hit."
"I know."
Of course he knew. They always knew.
"I tried to stop him," I blurted out. "Guy's some kinda mutant — stronger than most I've seen. And fast. Real fast."
"Describe him."
I swallowed hard. "Young guy. Maybe early twenties. Black hair, dark skin. Had an accent fron somewhere." I paused. "Strong too — real strong. First, he was moving like some kinda street brawler, but then... then he switched it up."
"Switched?"
Silence. A long, suffocating pause.
"Yeah," I muttered, wiping blood from my mouth. "Flames — black ones. Hotter than hell, like they were eating the air itself. He had this scythe too, made of the same fire. Cut right through my arm like it was butter. Never seen anything like it."
Then the laughter started — low, dry, and full of contempt.
"You're telling me... a kid... some rookie playing dress-up... wiped the floor with you?"
"I wasn't ready," I snapped. "He came outta nowhere—"
"You FAILED."
The words cracked like a whip.
"You think I wanted to fail?" I shot back. My voice was louder than I intended, but I didn't care. "You think I wanted to get wrecked out there?"
"I think you're weak."
I froze.
"You're a coward, Marshal. Always have been. That's why you're still breathing. Because you're just smart enough to do what you're told."
My hand clenched into a trembling fist.
"You don't know what it was like..." I muttered. "You weren't there..."
"I know exactly what it was like. I got the report from my man on the ground"
The memories surged forward — memories I tried to bury. Neverland. The cold steel floors. The mutants lined up in rows, forced to kneel, blindfolded, trembling. The ones who begged. The ones who didn't get the chance.
I still remembered the smell — like burnt hair and copper.
They'd strapped me down next to Johnny — my oldest friend. We'd grown up together in albany, ran the streets as kids. Johnny was the tough one. He always fought back. They shot him in the head while I watched. Didn't even hesitate.
Then they opened my skull and planted their little gift — a bomb. Small enough to stay hidden, powerful enough to blow my head off if I stepped out of line.
"And remember," the voice had whispered back then, "if you mess up... if you fail... we'll make sure your friends still in here pay for it."
Johnny was gone... but the others — the ones they didn't kill — they were still there. Still trapped in that hell.
"Since you can't handle this," the voice cut in again, cold and sharp, "I'm sending someone who can. You're backup now — if I even need you at all."
"No, wait..." I started. "I can fix this. I can track the kid down. I'll make it right."
"You've already done enough. Don't screw this up any more than you already have."
The line went dead.
I sat there, shivering despite the heat radiating from my half-healed body.
Backup.
That wasn't mercy. That was a death sentence. They didn't keep you alive out of kindness — they kept you alive until they didn't need you anymore.
My fingers dug into the cracked asphalt beneath me.
I should've been stronger...
I could've fought back back then. Could've stopped Johnny from lashing out. Maybe if I'd done something... anything...
But I didn't. I let them break me.
Now? Now I was their dog — snapping and biting at anyone they pointed me toward — and I hated myself for it.
I didn't want this. I never wanted this. But if it meant keeping the people I still cared about alive...
I got to my feet, my half-regrown arm twitching weakly. My legs ached, but I forced myself to move. I punched the wall hard enough to split the brick. My knuckles screamed in pain, but I didn't care.
I hate this.
I hate every living second of it.
AJ's Pov
It had been two days since the warehouse went up in smoke. Two days since I stumbled back to Marcus's place, barely holding myself together. The burns, bruises, and cuts had mostly faded thanks to my enhanced healing, but the ache in my bones still lingered.
I hadn't been back on the streets much since. I told myself I was taking a breather — just long enough to let things settle — but the truth was, I needed time to think.
Because I knew what I'd done hadn't just hurt Sublime's supply chain. It shook the whole ecosystem of Mutant Town.
The rumors were everywhere.
People whispered about the "warehouse fire with black flames" — some claiming it was the X-Men fighting off some mutant gang, others saying the Avengers had dropped by in secret. A few even swore they saw some demon stalking the streets afterward.
And then there were the ones who claimed they saw me — a shadow in black, sprinting across rooftops as the flames danced behind me.
I wasn't worried about being outed. Mutant Town rumors were a dime a dozen — by next week, I'd be forgotten in favor of some wild theory about Sentinels or aliens. No, what worried me was the fallout.
I spent the morning walking the streets, drifting from corner to corner, blending into the background. Listening. Watching.
The effects were... chaotic.
The Kick shortage had hit hard. The addicts — the ones too deep into it to function without another hit — were spiraling. I'd seen a guy scream at his own reflection until his throat bled, then start clawing at his face like he was trying to tear off a mask.
Another poor soul wandered barefoot down the middle of the street, glassy-eyed and mumbling nonsense about "the voices getting louder." No one dared approach her — not even the local toughs. She didn't even seem here anymore.
But the gangs? They weren't taking it well either.
Without Kick, they were falling back on the usual stuff — weed, coke, meth — but their customers weren't satisfied. Kick addicts didn't just want a fix — they wanted power, the rush of their abilities pushed to the max. Normal drugs couldn't give them that.
I'd overheard two dealers fighting in an alley earlier — shouting about how their clients were ditching them, picking fights, or just straight-up attacking them. The local gangs — the ones that once had a tight grip on the streets — were bleeding power fast.
Fights were breaking out in public, old grudges boiling over now that some of the big players were looking vulnerable. M-Town's already chaotic streets were turning worse.
And that wasn't even the worst part.
I was walking around looking for jazz when my power stirred.
I felt the familiar pressure so I pulled the trigger and heard the sound of dice rolling.
18-18- Black Knife Set – Armor set used by the Black Knife Assassins, forged to make no sound. Traces of power yet remain in its concealing veil, which muffles the sound of footsteps and makes the wearer very stealthy. Since the roll is high the armor is reinforced to withstand a lot of damage and can self-repair, the armor is stored in a subspace and can be equipped anytime.
I felt the power give me the black knife set from elden ring.
This was a great addition to my arsenal and I can also use it as my costume for my future outings in the night since it makes me super stealthy and since it is stored in subspace I can equip it anytime.
________________________________________________________________________
I found Jazz near the old bodega, sitting on the curb and smoking a cigarette. He looked... uneasy. Not his usual laid-back self.
"Been hearing things," he muttered as I sat beside him.
"What kind of things?"
He flicked the cigarette away, the ember glowing faintly in the grime-covered street.
"People are gettin'... jumpy." He tapped his temple. "Some of those Kick junkies — they're off. Not just strung out — paranoid. Talkin' like someone's watchin' 'em. Some of 'em have gone missing, too."
"Missing?"
He nodded grimly. "Ain't the cops, and it ain't the gangs either. They're just... gone. Like they walked off the earth."
This was bad — probably some kind of retaliation from Sublime or one of his goons. But right now, I couldn't focus on that. There were too many fires to put out, and I needed answers before things got worse.
I turned back to Jazz, pushing the thought aside for now.
"Look," I said, "Do you know anyone in town with some kind of intelligence power? Or maybe someone with psychometry?"
"Psycho-what now?" Jazz gave me a look like I'd just started speaking Greek.
"Psychometry," I repeated. "You know, when someone can touch an object and know its history — where it's been, who handled it, stuff like that."
Jazz snorted. "Man, I know a guy who can eat asphalt, a guy who's got caterpillar legs, a dude who glows like a damn firefly whenever he's near girls... oh, and someone who can turn water into wine — the last one might've been Jesus, but you get the gist." He shrugged. "I don't know anyone who can do what you're askin'."
"You sure?" I pressed. "Come on, Jazz — you know everyone in this town."
He scratched the back of his head. "Look... maybe someone like that's out there, but it's not like people go around advertising what they can do. Most folks here? They lay low. Everyone's got something weird going on, except my blue ass."
That wasn't surprising. The people here kept their abilities under wraps unless they could profit from them — or unless they were desperate.
"Fine," I said. "Then what about someone good with puzzles? Or math?"
Jazz's face lit up a little. "Yeah... yeah, I know someone like that. Why?"
"I got something that needs decoding," I said, keeping things vague. "I can't tell you what it is, just... trust me on this one. I need someone smart, someone who can crack codes. Can you introduce me?"
Jazz gave me a long look, his face hard to read. Then he shook his head and chuckled dryly.
"Look, man... you don't need to ask like that," he said. "If you need something in M-Town, I'm your guy. No favors, no deals — none of that. You saved my life, bro. If anything, I still owe you."
I nodded, grateful but still uneasy. "I appreciate it, Jazz. Really."
He just waved it off.
We were on our way to meet the guy.
Jazz had been unusually quiet the whole way. For someone who normally couldn't go five minutes without cracking a joke or rambling about something wild, the silence felt... off.
"You good?" I asked, breaking the tension.
"Yeah," Jazz muttered, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "Just... thinkin'."
He suddenly stopped walking and turned to face me, his expression hard to read.
"Look... I know it was you," he said.
I blinked. "What?"
"The warehouse," Jazz said, his voice low. "The one that went up in smoke the other night. Black flames, some shadowy guy in black running off afterward... That was you."
I stiffened. "What makes you think that?"
Jazz snorted. "C'mon, man. Everyone's sayin' some superhero torched it. I didn't believe it at first... but then you start askin' around about puzzle guys and mind-readers like you're chasin' somethin'. And now?" He shook his head. "Now I know it was you."
I sighed. "Alright... yeah, it was me."
Jazz's face broke into a smug grin. "Ha! Gotcha!"
I frowned. "Wait... you didn't actually know?"
"Not till you just said you did!" Jazz burst out laughing, pointing at me like I'd just fallen for the dumbest prank in the world. "Man, you are terrible at this whole 'secret vigilante' thing!"
I groaned, rubbing my temples. "You've got to be kidding me..."
Jazz's smile faded fast. "But for real, man... what the hell are you doing?"
"Cleaning house," I said flatly. "That warehouse? It was packed with Kick — you know, that drug that's been frying people's brains all over town."
Jazz's face hardened. "Man... you've got a good thing goin' with Marcus and the shop. Why are you out here stirring up trouble? Just keep your head down and work. Why you tryin' to be a hero, bro?"
"I'm not trying to be a hero," I shot back. "I'm trying to fix things so people here can live decent lives — without drugs, without gangs breathing down their necks, without people thinking M-Town's a lost cause. And once I'm done with this Kick mess..." I jabbed a finger at him. "I'm making you quit selling that coke and weed too."
Jazz's eyes widened. "Man, I don't wanna sell that stuff! I wanted to be a rapper, you know that! But things here are rough, and people need money just to survive. You think you can fix all that? Man... what can you even do?"
I flicked my wrist, and with a whisper of heat, a black flame danced above my palm.
"...I can do this," I said with a smirk.
"Whoa!" Jazz took a step back, eyes wide. "You didn't use that when you saved me!"
"Didn't need it then," I said casually, closing my fist to snuff the flame out.
Jazz shook his head. "Whatever, man. Look... you can't take all this on by yourself. Even the X-Men run in squads."
"Chill out," I said, giving his shoulder a pat. "We'll figure it out later. For now, let's just get to your guy's place."
Jazz grumbled something under his breath, but he kept walking. I didn't need to hear what he said to know he thought I was in way over my head.
Honestly... maybe I was.
___________________________________________________________________________
Jazz led me through the creaking hallways of the rundown apartment complex. The carpet was threadbare, the air stale, and somewhere down the corridor, a TV was blaring an old sitcom laugh track on loop.
"You sure this guy's reliable?" I asked.
Jazz shrugged. "Reliable's a strong word. Accurate, yeah. Brilliant too. But..." He paused, then added, "He's... weird."
"Weird how?"
"You'll see."
Jazz knocked on the door in that same odd rhythm — three sharp knocks, one pause, two more taps.
"Why are you knocking like that?" I asked.
"Because if you just knock normally, Morse thinks you're a Skrull."
I blinked. "…Fair."
The door creaked open, revealing a man who looked like he hadn't slept in three days. His tangled, wiry hair stuck out in every direction, his shirt was inside out, and his wild, bloodshot eyes flicked between me and Jazz like he was scanning us for hidden weapons.
"Morse," Jazz greeted him, "I got someone who needs your brain."
Morse squinted at me. "You got the stink of the shadow cabal on you," he muttered.
"…What?"
"The shadow cabal! The ones who run the postal service! Don't act like you don't know!" He jabbed a finger at me, eyes narrowing. "Their carrier pigeons still run New York's underground intel network. Every lamppost? A surveillance node. Every crosswalk? A frequency jammer. Every—"
"Man," Jazz cut in, "we've been here ten seconds and you're already on about the pigeons?"
Morse turned back to Jazz with the kind of exasperation you reserve for someone who's just said the sky is green. "You're ignorant, Jazz. The pigeons know everything. They're spies — Skrull spies. Y'think it's a coincidence they're everywhere?"
Jazz shot me a look that said See what I mean?.
I just stood there trying not to laugh.
"Look," I said, holding up the USB, "I need this decrypted. Can you help?"
Morse snatched the USB like it was a winning lottery ticket. "Maybe." He turned it over in his fingers. "Unless this is one of those SHIELD mind-worms. Could be a trap. Might be a Trojan. Or an Ultron code egg..."
"It's not," I said firmly.
Morse squinted at me again. "That's exactly what a mind-worm carrier would say."
"Just plug it in, man," Jazz groaned.
"What will I get in return ?" Morse asked
I took out a wad of dollars and threw it at him.
Morse sighed dramatically, muttered something about 'brainwashed civilians', then shuffled back into his apartment.
His place looked like a conspiracy theorist's fever dream — maps of New York with red strings connecting random points, stacks of newspapers marking "disappearances," and an entire corkboard labeled "WHO REALLY KILLED JFK?" Spoiler alert: It was not Oswald.
"Oh boy," Jazz muttered, stepping carefully between piles of papers. "Don't touch anything unless you wanna know who's a lizard person."
Morse shoved aside a half-eaten can of beans to make room for his laptop. As he plugged in the USB, he started muttering again.
"Y'know, the Baxter Building's technically a time bomb, right?" he said, eyes fixed on the screen. "Built on unstable extradimensional ley lines. Reed Richards knows it — that's why he keeps calling Galactus. He's trying to time the explosion with a cosmic pulse to rewrite reality."
Jazz groaned. "Dude..."
"Laugh all you want!" Morse shot back. "But when the sky turns purple and the moon starts singing, don't come cryin' to me!"
I coughed to hide my chuckle. "So... how long will this take?"
"Depends," Morse muttered, fingers flying across the keyboard. "If this is Hydra code, I'll crack it in ten minutes. If it's Shi'ar encryption, gimme an hour. If it's Kree… well…" He trailed off, grimacing. "I hate Kree math."
While Morse typed away, I turned to Jazz.
"So... what's this guy's story?" I asked.
Jazz sighed. "His name's Morris Tanner. He used to be CIA — real big shot analyst guy. But when his mutation kicked in, he quit."
"Wait, he's a mutant?"
"Yeah... a real freaky one." Jazz lowered his voice. "He can, uh... grow stuff."
"Grow stuff?"
"Extra body parts," Jazz explained. "Heads, arms, eyes... whatever. I've seen him grow two extra heads to crack code faster than a computer. Guy's smart as hell, but…" Jazz gestured to the chaos around us, "...well, this is what happens when you never turn it off."
"Why doesn't he just grow muscles or something?"
"Oh, he can," Jazz said. "I saw him bench press a car once — dude's a beast when he bulks up. But he says 'brains over brawn.' Doesn't wanna waste his 'enhancements' on somethin' dumb like punching people."
I glanced back at Morse, who had grown two more heads on his shoulder now muttering about sentient clouds that were secretly weaponized weather spirits. "Yeah... I think his brain's got enough juice as is."
"Ha! Gotcha, you slippery bastard!" Morse shouted.
We both turned as he smacked his laptop screen triumphantly.
"Is it cracked?" I asked.
"Yep," Morse grinned. "It's not Kree, not Hydra — it's some sort of government agency code, probably Canadian from the looks of it. Probably from the same department as their weapon plus program."
I stiffened.
"Wait... you know that name?" Morse asked, suddenly suspicious.
"Just keep talking," I muttered.
Morse pulled up a map with several red-marked locations. "Looks like you already smoked one of 'em," he said, pointing at the warehouse I'd torched. "But there's more —four hubs in total, spread across the city. One's down by the docks. Another's hiding under a bar in the Meatpacking District.The last one's just marked as 'The Factory' — no clue what's goin' on there and it's location isn't mentioned in the cypher."
"Are these kick production and distribution facilities?" He asked with almost a glee.
"What if they are?" I reply
"Then if you want, I can do any future work related to it for free"
"Why?" is all ask
"Those drugs have been bugging for long but I don't have the patience to do any ground work so you are doing me a favour by taking care of them"
"Who says I am gonna take care of them" I ask
"Kid I got three heads and I can make three more, safe to say I can think a lot in a short time so do me a favour and keep the bullshitting to minimum, you and I both know why you wanted that data deciphered, so best of luck in whatever you are about to do" He said in a serious tone while making his head's merge back into his skin.
"That's all I need," I said, reaching for the USB.
Morse slapped my hand away. "That's my work," he huffed. "You don't even say 'thank you'?"
I paused, then sighed. "...Thanks."
"Damn right," Morse muttered.
"Seriously though," Jazz chimed in. "You really gotta chill with this pigeon stuff, man."
"You'll see," Morse warned, wagging a finger at him. "When the pigeons start speaking, I'll be the one laughin'."
"Yeah, sure," Jazz muttered as we left.
"Next time you're takin' me to someone normal." I spoke.
"Buddy," He replied, "you're in for a long ride."
Soon we part ways and I start heading back to Marcus's shop.
When I feel the pressure of my power and I let it release and soon hear the sound of dice rolling.
16-16-Final Fantasy- Ring of Renewal-grants boosts to regeneration, endurance, Mental fortitude and grants protection against draining conditions in exchange of stamina. Since the roll is high the ring becomes a bound item and can only be worm by AJ and those he approves of. This regeneration helps him recover quickly from minor wounds, severe injuries still take time to mend, and prolonged use can gradually drain his stamina if overexerted.
A black ring with flowery patterns and a clear and sharp green diamond materialises on my index finger and I feel its effects immediately.
My magic and endurance are feeling like they have received a boost and apparently this can only be used by me or my allies, this also boosts my regeneration in exchange for draining my stamina, feels like a fair deal.
I was still checking out my ring when I suddenly heard a sound of explosion go off.
BOOM!
The sound hit me like a punch to the chest — sharp, loud, and unmistakable. I froze for half a second, then bolted toward the source.
Smoke was already curling into the sky, dark and thick, rising from a few streets over. The streets ahead were chaotic — people running, shouting, stumbling over each other to get away. I pushed past the crowd, weaving through bodies until I reached the burning building.
It wasn't just the fire that stopped me in my tracks.
People were sprawled out across the pavement — some writhing in pain, some unconscious, some… worse.
Mutations had run wild.
A man staggered by me, his arms bulging with swollen, tumorous growths that pulsed like living tumors. Another guy — his skin cracked and bone spines jutted out from his back — was dragging himself away with bloody hands. I spotted a woman whose hair had twisted into writhing tendrils, snapping wildly at anyone who got too close.
The smell was worse — burnt flesh mixed with something sour and chemical.
I grabbed the first person I could — a man stumbling along with ragged breath and panic in his eyes.
"What happened?" I demanded.
He coughed hard, clutching his chest. "Since... since the Kick dried up... folks were restless... then... an hour ago... some guys in armor showed up... dropped off crates... the dealers started passin' it out..."
I felt my stomach knot.
"And then?"
"Then one guy... he took a hit... and just blew up, man! Like... boom! Just pieces everywhere!" He winced at the memory, shivering. "Then people started mutating all crazy... some... some just dropped. Like their hearts couldn't take it..."
His voice dropped lower. "It was... different. Like... tainted."
Corrupted Kick. Sublime's handiwork. I should've seen this coming.
I let the man go, and he stumbled away with the rest of the crowd.
I scanned the burning building — there were still people nearby, too dazed or too sick to move.
I stumbled back; my breathing ragged. My vision blurred for a second before I steadied myself.
Around me, people were still suffering — writhing on the pavement, groaning in pain. I knelt beside a young kid, no older than ten, his veins dark and bulging under his skin. He was barely conscious, his breathing shallow.
I couldn't do anything for him.
Not yet.
I stood up, jaw clenched.
This is on me. I had torched the warehouse — cut off the supply. I knew Sublime wouldn't just take that lying down, but I hadn't expected this. I thought I'd bought time — a break in the chaos. Instead, he'd pushed back even harder, and now these people were paying the price.
No more half-measures...
I had to do more than burn down warehouses — I had to stop this at the source.
I turned on my heel and started walking away from the wreckage.
I wasn't sure how yet, but one thing was certain — Sublime had just started a war, and I wasn't about to let him win.