(Four parts. 4000 words.)
One
Passan reluctantly opened his eyes, expecting the worse. He remembered entering the bar on Fourth Street but nothing after. That was never a good sign.
When the expected hangover didn’t arrive, Passan warily examined his surroundings. He had done quite well for himself, falling asleep on a stable bench with a roof over his head. Powerful air conditioning gusted down from a vent directly overhead. The sound of conversation and smell of coffee came a moment later.
Passan’s heart sunk. Not again…
Straightening his patched jacket, Passan sat up and sighed. He had done too well for himself. Although, to be fair, it had been quite some time since he had last spent a night in the station. Whether that could be attributed to his lack of regular income or the selective mercy of the officers he knew by name was anyone’s guess.
Passan waved down a familiar face and stepped toward the bars of the large cage. In a welcome surprise, his aching leg had decided to take a day off. He had sustained the injury a few weeks prior in an altercation with a large man known only as the Giant and been in constant pain ever since.
Perhaps there is something to sleeping inside the drunk tank after all.
“Locke, you going to let me out?” Passan asked the man. “It’s got to be past eight by now.”
The officer scratched his bald head. “The drinking is not why you’re here, Mr. Passan.”
“What do you mean?”
“Of course. You never remember anything,” Locke groaned, his dark eyes glancing to either side of the cramped hallway. He lowered his voice and explained, “Last night you were involved in an altercation. Witnesses say the man pushed you first, that you only acted in self-defense. There’s an ongoing investigation.”
Passan shrugged. It wasn’t his first bar brawl. Once his adversary learned he lived on the streets, he would realize there wasn’t much point in pursuing litigation. “Where’s the other guy? He pressing charges?”
“He’s dead.”
Eyes wide, Passan stumbled backward. A sudden onslaught of memories filled his oddly-clear mind. He remembered it all. The drugs. The drinks. The man. The fall.
Steadying himself against the iron bars, Passan exhaled. “It was self-defense,” he stated, somehow managing to keep his voice level. Despite the severity of the situation, he felt an unnatural, but welcome, sense of calm. For once, Passan knew exactly what he had to do. “Where’s my lawyer? Where’s Jordan?”
“On his way.”
*
An hour later, Passan sat across from his favored public defender. Jordan wore his traditional garb, a worn, three-piece black suit complete with a red tie. Since Passan had last seen him, the lawyer had adopted a pair of oversized glasses.
“There’s a camera in the northeastern corner of the bar,” Passan said as soon as the door shut. “The footage will exonerate me.”
While waiting for his lawyer’s arrival, Passan had remembered hundreds of details from the night before. His mind was clear for the first time in decades. He wondered what sort of drug he had taken and where he could find more.
Jordan raised his brow. “You’re right.” The attorney dropped a thick folder on the table and spread a stack of loose papers across the surface. “The deceased was William Hokinson. He left a trail of violent misdemeanors behind. Two hours before he picked a fight with you, his wife reported him for domestic abuse – third time in two weeks.”
“I see. Come to think of it, there was a trail of fresh scars on his left wrist. Looked like a cat had scratched him. I could almost smell her scent–”
“Hold up,” Jordan interjected. “Is that really you, Passan? Normally, when I arrive to bail you out of whatever trouble you’ve gotten yourself into, you can barely put two sentences together.” The attorney leaned across the table, examining Passan’s thick beard. “You’re less gray then you were three months ago. What’s going on with you?”
Passan hesitated. It wasn’t until that moment he considered whatever was happening inside his mind to be abnormal. He had already been buzzed before entering the bar. How had he remembered everything in such detail? What had made that night different than the hundreds of others that had come before?
His mind froze upon reaching the logical conclusion. There’s only one variable that changed, one thing I’ve never done before…
Passan scratched his dark hair and grinned sheepishly. “I’ve been looking for a job. Trying to make myself presentable again.”
“This incident isn’t going to help.” Shaking his head, Jordan closed the folder and stuffed it inside his bulging leather bag. “Cops are going to cut you loose for now. You got somewhere to go and clean up?” He pointed to Passan’s normally-injured leg. “Did you manage to get your street palace back from the Giant?”
“Not exactly,” Passan admitted, flexing his leg. Was its sudden return to form connected with his heightened memory … with the man he had killed? There was only one way to find out, and he had just been given the perfect excuse to investigate. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll think of something – always do.”
Jordan laughed. “You are rather resourceful when motivated. I’m sure things will turn around soon enough. Good to see you again, my friend.”
Passan forced a smile. The lawyer knew nothing of life on the streets of the city. If you want something to turn around, you have to take action…
Two
The heavy door cracked open at Passan’s knock. Smoke spilled into the dirty hallway of the apartment complex as Lucas hesitantly peered out, his eyes impossibly red. The dealer observed him for a long moment before ushering him inside.
“Passan, my brother,” Lucas exhaled as he kicked closed the door and hastily turned a vast assortment of locks into place. “Didn’t think I’d see you for another few days. You must have happened upon a wealthy benefactor.”
“Not exactly,” Passan replied, following the lanky dealer through the crowded room.
His heightened mind took in the apartment in vivid detail, spotlighting the mold spreading from the overflowing sink and the dozen poorly-patched bullet holes decorating the southern wall. The sweet-smelling haze quickly morphed to one of rot. In that instant, Passan knew Lucas’ wares would never be enough for him again.
His body craved something far more potent.
Lucas plopped down on an ancient sofa and retrieved a colorful glass pipe from the uneven table before him. “Just looking for a pick-me-up then? No worries. I got you.” He extended the grimy smoking device which Passan waved away.
“Actually, I’m looking for something else. Something to help me take back what’s mine.”
The dealer’s crimson eyes went wide. “Shit, Passan. You’re not thinking about taking on the Giant, are you? You remember what he did to your leg? You’re lucky to be alive.”
Passan nodded. “Hard to forget. I figure I’ve lulled him into a false sense of confidence by now. He won’t see me coming.”
Of course, it wasn’t just about reclaiming his home. The Giant was the perfect target to test his theory, to better understand what killing the man in the bar had done to his mind and body.
I need to figure out exactly what’s happened to me.
“And if you actually manage to chase him off … if you somehow kill him?” Lucas licked his lips nervously. “Rico ain’t going to like that. The Giant’s his man you know. If Rico found out the weapon came from me…”
The dealer trailed off, his bloodshot eyes studying Passan intently. “Something is different about you. The Passan I know would never pass up a free high.”
“Are you going to help me or not?” Passan asked flatly. Fortunately, he knew how to motivate the dealer. Lucas had never been a complex person. “I’ll pay you with whatever the Giant has stashed away. I’ve been watching him for weeks. A lot of people going in and out of the palace. He’ll either have a stash or cash. Both if we’re lucky.”
Lucas exhaled, thickening the sour smoke in the air. “And Rico?”
It was a weak response. Passan knew that he had him. “Nothing will come back on you. I’ll make sure of it.”
*
Passan watched the Giant enter the Fourth Street alley from across the poorly lit street. The bearish man carried a case of beer in one hand and was wholly oblivious to his surroundings. Pedestrians avoided him instinctively, crossing the street to avoid potential confrontation while eyeing his assortment of identifying tattoos with muted fear.
Taking a deep breath, Passan ventured forward. The gun Lucas had provided rested awkwardly inside the pocket of his worn coat. The dealer had assured him it was operational. Unfortunately, Passan knew nothing of guns, and his keen mind could not piece together the validity of Lucas’ claims without prior knowledge.
Adrenaline spiked Passan’s senses as he entered the familiar shadows of the alley. The Giant plodded onward with his arrogant gait, striding through standing puddles of water, avoiding the towering piles of trash without once glancing back. Passan remained a dozen paces behind, an alley-cat stalking its prey.
The Giant stopped at the entrance to the palace, freed the padlock and pulled open the heavy sewer gate. He disappeared into the tunnels beneath Fourth Street without bothering to lock the gate, every step bringing him closer to his last.
Passan readied his weapon and slipped inside his former home.
His heart remained steady as he trekked through the snaking tunnels. His mind had slowed considerably and now focused solely on the task at hand. There would be no fight, no time for his foe to react. One shot and the Giant would fall. One shot and–
Blinking, Passan found himself on the ground, heard his gun clatter away into the darkness. The sound of the Giant’s gruff laughter filled the dank air.
“Rico warned me you were coming,” the Giant boomed. Passan cringed as the large man pinned his chest to the stone with a heavy boot. “To be honest, I had almost forgotten about you.”
Passan sighed inwardly, allowing his eyes the chance to adjust to the flickering light of the palace’s central room. Damn you, Lucas. I should’ve known better…
“To believe you lived here for so long without anyone the wiser.” The Giant’s leaned over Passan’s prone body and flashed a crooked smile. “You should never have returned.”
Passan saw the Giant’s fist descend, a strike earmarked for his jaw. To his surprise, he found his body in motion. The Giant grunted as Passan narrowly avoided the blow and twisted free of the trunk-like leg suppressing him. Without hesitation, Passan rolled across the stone floor to where he knew the gun had fallen, picked up the sidearm and fired.
Nothing happened.
The Giant’s laughter was cut short as the gun collided with his hooked nose. Passan surged to his feet and followed with a vicious right hand. Roaring in pain, the Giant fell to a knee and shielded the left side of his face with a massive hand. In the dim light, Passan could see blood gushing from the man’s jaw.
When did I get so strong?
As the Giant made to stand, Passan struck again. This time, his foe fell flat on his back in defeat. The sound of his strained breathing filled the chamber.
“Won’t … live long. Rico coming … for you,” the Giant managed.
“Let him,” Passan said coldly. He brought his boot down on the man’s throat, then inhaled sharply as a delightful burst of energy raced through his veins.
Passan smiled. There was no longer any doubt.
Three
Mind buzzing from his latest hit, Passan found the Giant’s stash with little effort.
The overconfident thug had removed a smattering of bricks from a decaying wall and piled his prized wares in the dark space within. True to his ignorant nature, the Giant had done a poor job of setting the bricks back into place.
Everything here belongs to Rico, Passan reminded himself.
Passan knew little of Rico, only that the drug lord’s rise had been both swift and unparalleled. The palace had escaped notice for years due to a war between several rival gang factions. When Rico’s gang had emerged victorious, the drug lord had decided to use the conveniently-located lair as an important post for his growing empire.
Passan removed a pistol from the Giant’s hoard and examined it closely, discovering that he no longer needed light to see. Whatever power he had gained from the killing the two men had evidently heightened his every sense.
Turning back to the fallen thug, Passan smirked. Judging by the Giant’s words, there would be more killing to come. Remembering how easily he had overpowered the bearish man, Passan laughed to himself. I wonder how strong I can become…
In a matter of seconds, his mind cycled through hundreds of potential scenarios stemming from the dead man’s warning. Rico would most likely assume that the Giant had emerged victorious as the drug lord had no way to account for Passan’s … abilities. Still, there would be some sort of signal the Giant would use to relay his victory. If Passan couldn’t determine the nature of the signal, more of Rico’s men would soon arrive.
But … would that really be such a bad thing?
Blood had pooled around the corpse of the Giant, the smell of death soon to mix with the hundreds of unique scents that lingered within the grimy palace. Passan searched the dead man’s pockets but found nothing of interest. Cursing, he returned to the hole in the brick wall and sorted through its contents.
Passan sighed. Cash. Carefully-weighed bags of powder. Ammunition for the pistol he had previously claimed. Exactly what he had expected from a thug.
Surely the Giant was in direct communication with Rico. Passan examined the stone chamber once again, searching for something out of place. His keen eyes settled upon the case of beer the Giant had dropped near the entrance.
The paper case parted easily beneath his newly found strength, revealing a row of warm cans resting atop a vacuum-sealed bag of refined powder. A dark phone had been sandwiched between two of the beers. Passan flipped open the device and found five messages from an unknown number. Only the last one mattered:
Help is on the way.
Passan’s enhanced mind revved once again, taking in the contents of the messages, the layout of the chamber and the materials at hand. The logical solution presented itself quickly. Retrieving the Giant’s sidearm, he began to set his snare.
*
A half hour later, Passan heard a distant crash as the palace’s gate was forced open. His mind surmised the number of foes from their distinctive footsteps. Six in total. Four moving through the tunnels with purpose, two bringing up the rear.
Passan had arranged the palace’s central chamber to give his assailants pause. With his inhuman strength, he had moved the Giant from the floor to one of the room’s cushioned chairs and wiped the thug’s face of blood, making him just presentable enough to draw question. Crushed beer cans littered the ground around the dead man, another rested in his oversized hand.
Taking a deep breath, Passan studied the gun for a last time. It hadn’t taken long to learn how to use the weapon. While waiting, he had disassembled the flawed firearm provided by Lucas and digested its innerworkings with his burgeoning intellect.
The exercise confirmed that his mind had grown even more powerful. Where before a lack of prior knowledge had been a hindrance, now it hardly seemed to matter. Once he had taken the defective weapon down to his component parts, he understood why it had failed.
Rico’s thugs arrived moments later. They broke a somewhat coherent formation upon discovering the presumably-slumbering Giant, abandoning all semblance of organization to crowd around the dead man in a vain effort to wake him.
Passan didn’t hesitate. His laser-focused mind guided his arm, calculating distance and angle in the heartbeat between shots. The four men fell to the ground dead seconds apart, blood spilling from uniform head wounds.
Passan inhaled sharply as their energy arrived, dreaming where the fresh high would take him.
But something was wrong.
Fire entered his veins. Smog clouded his suddenly reeling mind. He fell to a knee in shock, every breath renewing his internal agony.
Too much at once, he realized as the pain began to ebb. Instinctively, Passan knew that he had very nearly ruined his vessel, the complex layer of cells that housed his ever-expanding mind. The perception of the thought struck him as odd.
Looking down at his unexpectedly muscular arms, Passan frowned. Am I even human anymore? Then, more disturbing. Why would I ever want to go back?
He rose from his crouch with grace, taking the first of the two remaining thugs with a single shot, grimacing as the power within him surged once again. However, it was nothing he couldn’t handle. His body had already learned to adapt.
The second man screamed as Passan’s next shot freed the weapon from his hand in a mess of blood. Discarding his gun, Passan flashed forward and drove the man to the ground with a measured blow.
“No need to beg,” he said. “I need you alive for now.”
Four
Passan probed the mind of the wounded thug for information on Rico’s operations. If possible, the terror within the man’s dark eyes seemed to grow with each passing breath. It had taken only a moment to break his will, to convince him to answer every question and report to Rico that the Giant still lived. Fear was a powerful motivator.
However, Passan dared not dismiss the possibility of deception. He had been tricked once before. No matter his mental prowess, certainty was elusive.
“Why spare me?” the man asked as Passan wrapped his ruined hand using medical supplies he had found on one of the fallen thugs.
“I already told you. I need you alive for now.”
The last remnants of color left the man’s face. “What are you going to do to Rico?”
Rico had clearly anticipated the Giant had been injured, perhaps mortally so. The inclusion of medical supplies demonstrated a certain level of intelligence form the drug lord. It was clear that he valued his soldiers … or at least those he couldn’t easily replace. That sort of thinking increased Rico’s potential value.
“I haven’t decided yet,” Passan admitted.
He had arranged the weapons of the dead thugs on one of the palace’s faded rugs. They had each carried the same firearm as the Giant, allowing Passan to consolidate their ammunition for efficiency purposes. He tucked the best of the pistols into the pocket of his patched jacket and effortlessly pulled the wounded man to his feet.
“Killing Rico will cause more problems that you think,” the thug explained as they navigated the tunnels leading back into the alley. “He has quotas to meet, suppliers that will not take kindly to an interruption to their business. Rico has made a lot of promises. If you kill him, people will come looking – the worst sort of people.”
Passan shrugged. It was unlikely that any sort of man could stop him now.
The thug went first through the palace gate and into the damp alley, squinting as dawn’s rays mugged his eyes. As he waited, Passan’s ears deciphered the dull chatter of those on the adjoining streets. Once satisfied that Rico had sent no one else, Passan joined the wounded man in the alley, then turned to bid the palace farewell.
He knew that he would never return.
*
As the thug led through the drowsy city, Passan saw his home with new clarity. The trash heaped in the streets. The sunken faces and downtrodden appearance of its residents. Haunted eyes which made every effort to avoid his own. It was a city that was one step away from death.
His mind sought a solution, simultaneously considering if the city deserved to be saved and if he could be the one to lead it into a brighter future. His stomach rumbled, disrupting his train of thought. Acknowledging his need for energy in the looming altercation, Passan ordered the thug to a halt outside a deserted café and stepped inside.
Moments later, he returned with a dozen fresh bagels. The wounded man’s eyes filled with hope as he watched Passan eat one after another in rapid succession. Passan gifted the man the last bagel, a small gesture for a life soon to be forfeit.
Passan followed the thug across the groggy intersection of Eighth Street and in to the city’s Western Quarter. He kept his eyes on their surroundings, searching for more of the drug lord’s men. In a welcome surprise, there were none to be found. The probability of a trap had significantly decreased since leaving the palace, meaning Rico would have no time to prepare his lair for invasion. Even if he did, Passan didn’t think it would help.
“There it is,” the thug said presently, pointing to a rundown warehouse with his good hand. Pedestrians gave the enormous building a wide berth. None entered despite the vibrant invitation displayed by its neon-fueled OPEN sign. “Rico takes his morning deliveries through the loading docks in the back. He prefers to inventory new arrivals himself.”
Passan studied the man’s face and found only truth. “And the front entrance?”
The man shrugged. “One or two men. Protective detail has relaxed since the end of war.”
“How many in total?”
“I don’t know, man. I’m just muscle.”
“And I’m just a junkie who got in a bar fight … well, I was anyway,” Passan mused. His voice had changed dramatically in the time since he had made his first kill. Even to his own ears, its deep tenor sounded unnerving. “What is your best estimate?”
“Twenty? Thirty? I told you that I don’t–”
The thug’s words caught in his throat. Passan crossed the intersection as the man fell to his knees, gasping for air that would never come. The hit had been an experiment, a purposeful strike used to gauge his increasing strength.
As Passan reached the stairs of the warehouse, the now-familiar rush of energy arrived.
Standing outside the padlocked door, Passan’s racing mind came to a halt. He had finally decided the drug lord’s fate. There would be use for a resourceful man like Rico in his remade utopia.
Passan’s gun flashed the instant the door opened. A man fell to the ground. Two more appeared from a connecting room. Both collapsed without a sound.
Passan stepped into the security room, extrapolating the layout of the warehouse through the half-dozen screens set before him. His body shook as the latest hit of power arrived. When the time came, he emerged to claim another trio of thugs, then retreated back into the small room to observe the response of the others within the warehouse and plan his next move.
Suddenly, his perception of reality shifted. Gone was the need to study the screens, to distinguish the sounds of the approaching men. He now understood exactly what paths they would use, where they would take their last breaths.
Turning his focus inward, Passan split his awareness. A part of his consciousness exited his body, questing ahead in search of the drug lord. The remaining part killed without thought. There was no chance for Rico’s men to harm him. They were no threat. Their only value rested in their lifeforce which brought Passan to heights he had never imagined.
The high was sweeter than any drug, purer than any dream. The will of the world bent around him, forming to his every expectation, responding to his every command. There was no need for anticipation or expectation. There was only what was and what was not.
As the killing reached its peak, Passan knew that he was no longer human. He had become something else. Something far greater. Something that had never been seen before. Passan was a force that could change the world for the better.
His fractured consciousness returned to his radiant body as he arrived at his destination. Dozens lay dead behind him, a stream of blood swiftly turning to a river. The warehouse was silent. The entire city, perhaps the entire world, held its breath. Everything had changed.
Passan stared at the man cowering before him. In the span of seconds, he understood Rico in his entirety. Humans were simple at their core.
He allowed the drug lord a question.
“What are you?” Rico asked breathlessly.
Passan merely grinned, turning to where he knew a mirror to be. However, the image that greeted him wasn’t what he had expected. A body burned beyond recognition; a shell covered in blackened skin.
As he studied himself, Passan realized what had occurred. He had pushed its vessel beyond its limits, dulling pain where he had believed he was overcoming it. His mind had reached its apex and the burden had become too much for his body to bear.
Accepting his mistake, Passan pulled the trigger.
It was time to find out what came next.