Jack be nimble, Jack be quick

She sits across from you. She’s in her mid-twenties. Maybe thirties even. You fold one leg over the other and cross your fingers on your lap. You look at her over the rim of your glasses.

“Ms. Anderson, can you tell me what brings you here today?” You ask. You notice how she fidgets. Oh. She’s so precious.

“I’m back on antidepressants, and I just feel really, really empty,” She tells you. You nod. Sympathetic.

Jack jumped over a candlestick

“Can you try and describe that further, maybe try and interpret it in your own way?” You offer. She nods. She fidgets again.

“I don’t really know to be honest. It’s like…”

“There’s no point?” You suggest with a sly smile. She nods quickly and your heart seems to quicken. She looks relieved almost.

“Yeah,” She breathes. You nod.

“Have you ever considered taking your own life?”

Jack jumped high, Jack jumped low

She shakes her head, looking down at her hands.

“I don’t know if I could do it,” She admits. You nod.

“I understand,” You say. “There are numerous incidents each year. Overdoses, slit wrists, hangings, even shootings.” You notice how her lip twitches. She nods. “Most in cases where the individual feels empty.” She looks up. Her eyes are glassed. She nods.

“Is something wrong, Ms. Anderson,” You ask.

“You didn’t refer to them as victims.”

Jack jumped over, and burned his toe

“Is that how you would refer to someone who got what they wanted?” You propose. You see the flicker in her eyes. This is what you want. You mask a smile. “Ms. Anderson?” You prompt. She nods.

“Yes,” She murmurs, her eyes meeting yours. They don’t appear sad anymore. They look hopeful. “Thank you.”

Jack be slick, Jack be prose

You’re notified the next morning. Ms. Anderson had hung herself. Found by her roommate only hours after.

You put on your mask, you nod, say you wish you could have done more for her.

But you add another tally to your list. Another dead, another to go.

Jack they’ll find you, six feet below.

The first thing to hit me was the smell.

A mixture between the putrid stench of human body odor and the pungent smell of rotting flesh, it crawled its way inside my nostrils and made itself comfortable.

Recoiling in disgust, the pain crashed into my body like a tidal wave. Icy hot daggers shot through my side, and behind my tightly closed eyelids, tiny explosions of red fury were sparking into my head.

A scream ripped itself out of my raw throat, echoing hollowly off the walls. Forcing my eyes open, I squinted as my surroundings came into focus. I was in a dark and dingy room, dirt on the ground and moss covering the moist concrete walls. It was completely empty save for two rickety wooden chairs. The first I was roughly bound to with an abrasive rope; the second held an unfamiliar man, who was watching me intently, perched on the edge of his chair.

Steepling his fingers, he looked me up and down, then cleared his throat and spoke.

“Hello, Calder.”

“How...how do you know my name?” I rasped, every breath feeling more and more like shards of glass forcing its way into my lungs.

“I know everything, Calder.” He dragged his gaze up from my feet to meet my eyes, which were starting to close by themselves. “I know who you are. I know where you came from. I know what you want.”

I attempted to reach into the back of my brain to remember what had happened, but with a jolt, I realized I was grasping at clouds, the memories slipping through my fingertips. Everything I had ever remembered was gone, abducted straight out of my head. I wasn’t sure I would have even remembered my own name if the man hadn’t used it first.

The man. I lifted my head to stare back into his piercing blue gaze, as he whispered, “I know you’re hurting. I can help you, Calder.”

He gestured to my torso. Looking down, I realized that I was shirtless, with nothing but a bloody, gaping wound stretched across my side. My vision blurred and doubled, and as I raised a weak, shackled hand to press against my ribs, the darkness pressed in, suffocating.

.........................................................................................................................................

I woke to the sensation of movement.

No longer in a chair, I struggled to recognize my surroundings. I moved my feet gingerly as to avoid the pain I knew would come with it, and I realized that they were touching nothing; I was hanging in the air.

I came to realize that around my wrists were clasped rusted metal cuffs; I was dangling from them alone. The entire weight of my body was forced upon my upper arms and shoulders, and I gritted my teeth to keep from screaming as the bindings bit deeply into the already raw flesh of my wrists.

Lifting my head from where it was slumped against my chest, I noticed that I was in a new room with tiled, low cut ceilings. Dim light filtered in through a barred window at the top of the opposite wall, dust highlighted in the faint yellow glow that it cast onto the floor. This room had clearly not been used in some time; why was I in here?

A sound thumping from the other side of the room brought back my attention, as a door that I had not previously noticed began to open with an ominous creak. Two figures stepped out of the brightly lit doorway; I recognized one. He was the man with the blue eyes who had previously spoken to me; the other was a short, balding man wearing a darkly stained lab coat, his poorly hidden nametag identifying him as Doctor Crow.

Two pairs of eyes were trained on my face, as the first man held up his hands. “We’re here to help, Calder,” he enunciated. “We just need to ask you a few questions. Are you alright with that?”

I thought over this in my head. What could be the harm in them asking questions I couldn’t remember the answers to?

I grunted an uneasy yes, as my mouth couldn’t seem to do any more than that.

“Alright, Calder.” The man spoke with a quick nod of his head to the doctor, who took a large gulp of air and began speaking so rapidly my aching head couldn’t process his words.

The first man must have noted the pained confusion on my face, because he stuck out his hand and stopped the doctor. “Speak slower, Crow. He can’t keep up with you; he’s likely very concussed.”

Concussion. I knew this word, I thought, and I was fairly sure it wasn’t a good thing. Was that why my head felt like a miniature stampede was running around inside of it? I couldn’t remember.

Crow sighed and began again, speaking slowly so my brain could process each and every word. “Do you remembered the events that occurred in Prague?”

I considered this carefully, coming to the conclusion that I had no idea what Prague was or what had happened there. I shook my head and instantly thought the better of it when a knife of red hot pain skewered through my eyes.

Crow began to speak again, but the other man cut him off with a whispered hiss, watching me intently as I shook with pain and fury. After a solid minute of struggling, he gave Crow the go-ahead to ask the next question. “Do you recall a certain... conflict of interest between us and yourself?”

I had no idea who the “us” he was speaking of was, but I began to get the feeling that they didn’t like me. From the way they treated me, I’d say that they were evil, and maybe I was trying to stop them. Maybe I was a hero. I liked the sound of that.

I met the doctor’s eyes with my own and whispered a breathy “no”.

The doctor sighed. “Do you even know who you are?” He asked finally, impatiently. His arms crossed, he waited for my weakly uttered answer.

“No.”

Both men exchanged a long and dubious look, before the first brought his gaze back to me, nodding.

“Good.”

.........................................................................................................................................

The next few days passed in a haze of pain and torture and blood. Lots of blood.

The metallic scent lingered in the air, making bile rise up in the back of my throat with each breath I took. Worse was the knowledge that it was mine, and I was growing weaker than I thought was possible from its loss. 

I couldn’t keep going like this. I had to do something, anything; but what could I do in this state? 

I was hanging from the manacles, my aching body pressed heavily against the wall, contemplating escape or possibly suicide when the door opened, right on schedule. Blue Eyes entered with a cruel smile on his lopsided face, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. I waited for him to cross the room to grab the whip, the knife, or possibly the acid, all of which I had gotten acquainted recently. But he did none of those things. Instead, he strode toward me, a mild stagger in his step. The look on his face alone sent chills down my spine. Whatever he had planned, it was far worse than what he had previously done. 

He stopped right in front of me and held up a key. “You want out?”

I stared blankly, knowing it was a trap, but in truth, there was nothing more I wanted then to escape from the chains that bound me. 

In the end I decided upon a weak nod; there wasn’t much more that I could do. 

He met my gaze, and in return, he dropped the key on the ground with a  small ringing noise. He beckoned down at it. “Get it.”

I made an involuntary noise of anger; let a puff of air out of my nose. It was impossible. I closed my eyes and let my head drop to my chest; it wasn’t worth the pain. 

But the pain came anyway, in the form of an explosion of red-hot fury against my face. I snapped my weary eyes open to see the man, hand raised and looking furious.

“I said, GET IT.” He drew out the last two words as if I were an incompetent  child. A fresh wave of fury coursed through my being; I wanted nothing more than to tear a hole in his heart. He knew this, and he was waiting for me to give up, to break. 

Gritting my teeth, I forced out the hardest word I had likely ever spoken.  “No.”

He brought his knee up into my stomach, sharply smashing into the bottom of my ribs. “YES.”

“No...” I muttered through the tears that formed in my eyes. “I won’t.”

“But you will.” I blinked away the water to see that he had procured a small knife out of nowhere, and it was against my neck, right on the jugular. I could feel a thin line of blood bubbling up; but it was the least of my worries. I swallowed thickly, knowing that I had no choice.”

Closing my eyes and waiting for the pressure against my throat to lessen, I whispered, “I can’t.”

“What?” He demanded, having clearly heard me, but wanting me to admit defeat. 

“I can’t,” I proclaimed louder, my faint voice crying in protest. Blue Eyes pulled the knife away, but not before he dug it in slightly deeper; prompting a small whimper on my end. 

“You’re right.” He said this with a triumphant look on his smug face, one eyebrow hoisted above the other. “You’re worthless and broken. You should have given up a long time ago. But instead you had to go and mess our plans up. Don’t worry, I have my reasons for keeping you alive, and they’re far worse than anything so far.”

In one swift move, he dug the toe of his boot underneath the key ad flipped it up into his hand. He reached up and unlocked the manacles, leaving me to fall to the ground on my knees and hold my body in agony. He took one look back at me before he shut the door and said simply, “Poor soul.”The next few days passed in a haze of pain and torture and blood. Lots of blood.The metallic scent lingered in the air, making bile rise up in the back of my throat with each breath I took. Worse was the knowledge that it was mine, and I was growing weaker than I thought was possible from its loss. I couldn’t keep going like this. I had to do something, anything; but what could I do in this state? I was hanging from the manacles, my aching body pressed heavily against the wall, contemplating escape or possibly suicide when the door opened, right on schedule. Blue Eyes entered with a cruel smile on his lopsided face, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. I waited for him to cross the room to grab the whip, the knife, or possibly the acid, all of which I had gotten acquainted recently. But he did none of those things. Instead, he strode toward me, a mild stagger in his step. The look on his face alone sent chills down my spine. Whatever he had planned, it was far worse than what he had previously done. He stopped right in front of me and held up a key. “You want out?”I stared blankly, knowing it was a trap, but in truth, there was nothing more I wanted then to escape from the chains that bound me. In the end I decided upon a weak nod; there wasn’t much more that I could do. He met my gaze, and in return, he dropped the key on the ground with a  small ringing noise. He beckoned down at it. “Get it.”I made an involuntary noise of anger; let a puff of air out of my nose. It was impossible. I closed my eyes and let my head drop to my chest; it wasn’t worth the pain. But the pain came anyway, in the form of an explosion of red-hot fury against my face. I snapped my weary eyes open to see the man, hand raised and looking furious.“I said, GET IT.” He drew out the last two words as if I were an incompetent  child. A fresh wave of fury coursed through my being; I wanted nothing more than to tear a hole in his heart. He knew this, and he was waiting for me to give up, to break. Gritting my teeth, I forced out the hardest word I had likely ever spoken.  “No.”He brought his knee up into my stomach, sharply smashing into the bottom of my ribs. “YES.”“No...” I muttered through the tears that formed in my eyes. “I won’t.”“But you will.” I blinked away the water to see that he had procured a small knife out of nowhere, and it was against my neck, right on the jugular. I could feel a thin line of blood bubbling up; but it was the least of my worries. I swallowed thickly, knowing that I had no choice.”Closing my eyes and waiting for the pressure against my throat to lessen, I whispered, “I can’t.”“What?” He demanded, having clearly heard me, but wanting me to admit defeat. “I can’t,” I proclaimed louder, my faint voice crying in protest. Blue Eyes pulled the knife away, but not before he dug it in slightly deeper; prompting a small whimper on my end. “You’re right.” He said this with a triumphant look on his smug face, one eyebrow hoisted above the other. “You’re worthless and broken. You should have given up a long time ago. But instead you had to go and mess our plans up. Don’t worry, I have my reasons for keeping you alive, and they’re far worse than anything so far.”In one swift move, he dug the toe of his boot underneath the key ad flipped it up into his hand. He reached up and unlocked the manacles, leaving me to fall to the ground on my knees and hold my body in agony. He took one look back at me before he shut the door and said simply, “poor soul.”

.........................................................................................................................................

I couldn’t take it any longer. My body was shutting down, my heart growing fainter with each subsequent thumping beat. I knew that if I didn’t find a way out soon, I was going to die, so through the haze of pain that constantly surrounded me, I devised a plan. Eventually Blue Eyes re-entered my room, but after how long I cannot say. He scoffed as he saw my prone form limp on the floor, struggling to fill my sorry lungs with even a small bit of air. I was in a much worse state than i had been the last time he saw me, and he knew it. Swearing, he crossed the room to me in two swift strides. He grabbed my by my wrists and hauled me roughly to my feet. “Damnit, boy! I said I needed you alive. Don’t die on me, I’m not done yet.”Setting me down in the chair, he slapped me across the face with his calloused palm. I felt my face fall to the side before I was grabbed by the jaw, my head forced roughly up to stare him in the eyes. But I couldn’t; they weren’t focusing, no matter how hard I tried. I was sick, and dying, and harmless; or so he thought. I watched him scan my face for any response, and when he got none, his posture relaxed. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for me to take advantage of the opportunity. My arm shot out almost involuntarily, grabbing the man by his throat as I stood up and out of the chair on my shaking legs. While I held him at bay with one hand, the other snaked around the wrist to where I had watched him so carefully stow his gun after he was done beating me with it. Pulling it out of the waistband and pressing it against his temple, I declared my victory. “Sit down.”He sat abruptly in the chair in which I had been so violently bound. Fitting, I thought. I circled him, made my way back to the door, while keeping the gun trained on his forehead the whole time. When I could feel the smooth metal of the cracked door behind my back, I said to no one in particular, “Should I kill him?”The man swallowed thickly, but otherwise didn’t look too concerned. I swiveled my eyes to his. “I should,” I mused. “But it would be too quick, and I want to enjoy playing with you the same way you did me. So if you stay here like a good prisoner, I might just be back to grant you a painful death.”I spun, albeit wobbly, on the ball of my foot and strode out the door, switching the lock with a sound click behind me. 

.........................................................................................................................................

The bright fluorescent light of the hallway was hell on my sensory-deprived eyes, but I could barely make out that I was in a hallway with low steel ceilings and doors identical to the one I had just exited lining the walls. I hesitated for a moment, the continued my prowl through the building, sweet revenge in the air. I could smell it, the thick and sickly smell of blood and death. I relished in it as I glided down the hall, looking for the people who had so badly hurt me. I almost couldn’t feel my wounds anymore from the adrenaline, but I knew they were there, and I’d make sure their creators were sufficiently punished.As I turned the corner, I came across my first enemy. The name tag pinned to her chest, much like Crow’s before, identified her as Senator Chanson. Somewhere at the back of my mind, these words made sense, but I pushed them back. This was an enemy; anyone who would let an innocent child undergo torture was obviously evil. I saw her before she did, and I lifted the gun in my hand and pointed it point-blank at her skull. “Hold still.”She barely had time to put her hands up before the gun screamed and she did too, and there was blood, so much blood, and a broken body upon the floor. I felt a pull at the back of my heart, but I ignored it, and as I stepped over the once-woman and the growing puddle of blood on the floor, I thought derisively, “she got what she deserved.”After that, I don’t remember much. I was functioning in a red haze of anger and pain. The gun shouted, and people were crying out, but they were unarmed cowards, and therefore no match for me. I strode powerfully over the corpses strewn all over the cold ground, throughout the building, until I was satisfied that there were no survivors. None except one. I followed the trail of bloody footprints back to the room at the end of the hall, to the room that started it all. The room where my enemy was currently huddled in the corner, shaking and pleading for his life.I gazed upon him without pity, without even resentment. A sense of calm had fallen over me. I had righted almost all the wrongs against me. There was one left, and then I could wash my hands of this nonsense. I raised my gun, my hand steady. Pressing the cold steel to his temple, I stared him in his piercing blue eyes. “There will be no mercy this time,” I stated in a clear voice. “Oh, but there will be,” he whispered. “There will be. This mission is complete.”That was the last thing I heard before my body shut down and everything went dark. 

.........................................................................................................................................

The blue eyed man, Dmitri Casanova, stood up slowly, towering over the still form on the floor. He reached down and grabbed the gun, then he shot the boy on the floor above the hip without batting an eye. He then raised the gun, swiveling it towards his own thigh, and pulled the trigger. He cried out weakly in pain, and dropped to the floor, but not before pressing his mouth to the band around his wrist. Panting hard, he whispered into the microphone, “The anarchist killer Calder-20119 has escaped. I tried to stop him, but he was too strong. He killed everyone in the Pentagon. Everyone. I was the last one. I managed to get my hands on the gun, but he shot me first. He’s currently unconscious and wounded. Please, if you get this, I’m requesting backup. I need help. I..... need.....” He covered the band with his hand, cutting off all communications with the press of a button. He smiled. His work was nearly done. Soon they would move on to the United Nations, and then? Nothing could stop him. 

.........................................................................................................................................

Mission Report: Dmitri Casanova

Top Secret: If Found, Destroy.

Calder-20119 has completed the mission as of 08/19/2026. We successfully tricked him into believing that he was a hero once again. This caused him to kill the governmental officials unprovoked, believing that they were his enemy. They are eliminated, and no one is any wiser. Our spies have pushed for him to be transported to a high security prison near the United Nations, where we will have planted people to aid him in his escape. Soon the United Nations will be overthrown, and along with the help of Mikaila-19200 and Serin-37992, among the many others around the world, our organization can truly rule the world. 

.........................................................................................................................................

I woke to the smell of vomit and rotting flesh. Forcing my eyes open, I realized that I was in a dark, dusty room. A cell, perhaps? This situation seemed all too familiar, but I couldn’t place why. I suddenly came to the realization that there was another person in the room. A tall man stood in the corner, dark hair matted and piercing blue eyes staring into my soul. He opened his mouth to speak, corners of his cheeks curling in amusement. “Hello, Calder.”

Beethoven’s tenth symphony rang through the choir hall. It was undiscovered. Hidden by the lapping waves of history. Nine glorious symphonies were praised for almost two centuries while the tenth one waited, in a birch box, written in careful calligraphy.

The pianist stroked the keys of her instructment with the same gentle love born of soulmates. Her lips silently moved, mouthing the notes’ letters as she continued.

Then, the symphony was over. The last note echoed through the concert hall with a lasting promise that this symphony was too beautiful to be forgotten. The pianist relaxed her fingers. She took in a shaky breath and stared up at the dome ceiling. She was too beautiful to be forgotten.

Gradually, one after another, the audience stood up, each fiercely clapping out their newfound love of her music. Of her talents. Roses. Water lilies. Tulips. Flowers of every kind were tossed on stage as the praise poured on. The pianist slowly stood, bowed, then exited stage left. The praise continued long after she left.

Backstage, the pianist began to pack up her sheet music, delicately folding the ancient, original parchment. “Linda.” The music director called out.

She didn’t bother to face him. “That was amazing.” He praised. “You simply must come back soon.”

“We’ll see.” She replied with just a hint of a smirk. “But, call me Sonia Rivers. Linda is a just a stage name.”

A bald faced lie. Linda was the name of the pianist who was supposed to play here that night. Sonia was the pianist who actually played.

This is good. The pianist thought to herself. He didn’t seem to realize that she wasn’t the pianist who was supposed to play tonight. Not bad for her first live performance.

“Oh, but where did you get that symphony from? It was simply breath-taking.”

“That’s because I was the one who was playing.” She winked and headed out.

Word quickly spread of Sonia’s performance. Calls from famous concert halls all over the country began to beg for her to play. Sonia was careful to handle them properly. Only expecting the most prestigious positions. Make them want it even more.

Each time she performed it was Beethoven’s tenth symphony. Everyone loved it.

We have never heard anything like it, they said.

The notes are clear and defined, they said.

It’s a harmony I will never forget, they said.

After every show, Sonia would smile. A smile only for herself and the secrets she kept. The secrets about Beethoven’s tenth symphony.

I was practically hypnotized by the song, they said.

Fame and fortune were practicing handed to her; she took them eagerly. Not a month ago she struggled to get a single gig. Who knew all she had to do was pose as an already established pianist?

Late one night, Sonia was practically the tenth symphony when she stopped playing in the middle of it. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Don’t be entranced.” She told herself. “Keep a level head.”

Hearing the symphony so many times was starting to take a toll on her. “Don’t be entranced.” She breathed.

You see, there was a secret about Beethoven’s tenth symphony. The reason why it was locked in a birch box and hidden for almost two centuries. It has a strange affect on all who listened to it. They would be hypnotized, entranced by it. They would love it and nothing more in this world.

And thus, they would love Sonia.

And coming from a street urchin that no one cared about, no one gave a damn about, that’s all the pianist cared about. No matter what it did to the unfortunate listener.

Bright lights danced across her eyelids, illuminating the hazy clouds to a warm orange. Everything hurt; pain raced through muscle and bone and the gnarled sinew holding her broken body together. As Erica began to wake from whatever bout of unconsciousness she had just experienced, external sensory stimulus lay siege to her body, fighting with the inner pain across the synapses of her mind.

"We can't do that. I'm a doctor, I vowed to do no harm."

Erica didn't recognize the voice. She attempted to open her eyes, breaking the crust that had sealed them shut.

"Leonard, she's waking. We can't sedate her, she'll probably die. If what you said is true, if this woman can somehow transform her body into a brain wave and take control of another human being, pain is the only safe way for us to contain her."

"No. This is wildly unethical. You're FBI."

FBI. Leonard Crow. It had taken Erica a moment to recognize these familiar terms, but it jump-started her memory. She was on the run, hounded by a rookie FBI agent: Crow.

"We don't have a choice, Dr. Jackson. This woman is a walking atom bomb."

Erica recognized the voice of the redheaded FBI agent.

"She can possess anybody. ANYBODY! You, me, one of the Joint Chiefs, hell the President. Dr. Wallace, you're sure?"

The streaks of white light that had dominated Erica's vision began to recede into smaller orbs with smudges of peach and blue encroaching upon them. Erica still couldn't see any of the people surrounding her with clarity.

"Dr. Lin, you've been quiet."

Head-like shapes began to take form from the swirl of color Erica was seeing. So far she could only make out three people surrounding her.

"We're in a parking garage, about to intentionally cause harm to a woman likely bleeding internally. Dr. Jackson is right, this is wildly unethical. But I saw it. I believe you, Leonard, about her ability. I don't like it, but what other option do we have? We'll make sure the damage is superficial."

Finally able to detect four distinct blobs of people standing over her, Erica tried to push herself up from whatever surface she had been lying on.

"We need to do it now."

Hands pressed against Erica's cold skin at Crow's orders. The pressure jostled her injuries as they grabbed and pulled at her wrists and ankles. A yelp of pain escaped Erica's mouth.

"Do it, Dr. Wallace."

A syringe pierced through Erica's delicate skin on her left arm, fractions of an inch above her elbow. The needle itself caused her no bother, yet the liquid payload it delivered seared inside her veins. Erica cried out in agony, contorting and shaking her body under the restraints of the doctors' hands.

"I've got cuffs."

Erica's vision had steadily sharpened; she could now see the bespectacled faces of her torturers. She identified the one wincing at her every strained moan as Dr. Jackson. She continued to writhe underneath their firm grip until she saw Crow return with several sets of silver handcuffs.

Erica's voice quickly became hoarse from overuse and thirst. Her eyes darted back and forth between the physicians like a caged animal. She could feel the interference from the pain, the electrical signals traveling between her brain, extremities, even her own organs. She felt feral, unable to think, unable to feel the minds of the men standing so close, so within her grasp.

Erica drifted in and out of consciousness as the pain swirled inside of her. After untold time spent under the doctors' unflinching gadgets, Erica found herself laying on her belly with a large needle impaling her spine. She stared to the side, belt level of one of the doctors, dead inside, emotionless. She had become numb to the physical pain, yet still succumbed to the traffic jam of activity clogging her mind.

"Spinal fluid extracted."

As the doctors rolled Erica onto her back, a moment of clarity emerged. Perception regained its feeling as she was better able to process sensory information. An alarm sounded, dictating the beat of her heart.

"Another injection, Wallace."

Erica's heart was racing when she heard Crow bark the order. As she turned her head to look at him, the sweet, metallic taste of another person began to hum in her mind, building up to a deafening roar.

Erica seized the brief moment she had and pulled herself into Crow's mind. With her pain now being split between two nervous systems, murderous machinations were free to float about her unburdened mind. She glared at the scientists through Crow's eyes, watching as they processed the now-empty table. At the edge of her vision, Erica saw a tray of instruments. She reached for a scalpel and threw it into the air behind the doctors.

Erica retracted herself from Crow and emerged behind the doctors as the scalpel was arriving. Reaching to grab the instrument, the scalpel sliced into Erica's hand as she caught it. Erica lifted her knee and kicked Dr. Lin in the back, sending him sprawling over the table.

The other doctors shrieked at Erica's reappearance and one turned to run. Erica quickly pulled herself into the runner's mind and reemerged in front of the doctor. With a quick jab, Erica's scalpel smoothly punctured the doctor's neck. As she removed the weapon, blood splattered everywhere, a ruby fountain of mayhem covering Erica, the doctor, and the rough concrete of the parking garage.

Dr. Lin had arched his neck and lay on the table agape, speechless. Erica deliberately shuffled back to the table, scalpel tightly gripped, and swung the short blade at the doctor's left eye. The blade sliced through eyelid and grazed the eyeball, leaving an unnoticeable blemish on Lin's eye. He screamed in pain until Erica plunged the scalpel into his spine, cutting the agony short with a quick yelp. Dr. Lin's head hang limp off the edge of the table.

Turning to the final doctor, Erica left the scalpel in Lin's back. Her head tilted slightly as she gauged the two men still standing. The last doctor began to back away with slow, careful steps.

Erica sidestepped the table and reached out a bloodied hand, grabbing at the white lab coat. She pulled the doctor in and cocked back her free hand. In one smooth motion, Erica brought her fist down upon the doctors cheek and knelt to the floor as he collapsed from the blow. Erica swung one leg over the doctor, straddling him, and continued to pound on his face, smashing his nose. The sickening crack of a cheek bone breaking was only interrupted by the clicking of the safety mechanism on a gun.

Erica spun, smacking the gun out of Crow's hands. She stood up as Crow began to backpedal and reached for the scalpel still buried in Dr. Lin's back. Bringing the weapon up for a strike, Erica paused; the chaos in her head had begun to subside. She saw horror distorting Crow's face and looked around the garage floor at the blood and destruction she had caused. Her face softened as she processed her actions. The scalpel dropped from her hand and the clanging of metal on concrete echoed throughout the structure. With her eyes still intensely locked with Crow's, Erica began to back away, realizing that Crow was the only brain wave left she could detect.

Erica grimaced as she struggled to open the door to the parking garage. The adrenaline of two bodies had worn off and left her weak. As she slipped through the door, she looked back once more at Crow and the three doctors that lay dead, and then disappeared into the night.

Their ruff hands grab on to my arms, and they start swinging me by my wrists.

I try to hold in my whine, but it pushes through my lips anyways as I hit the brick wall that is our school.

One of the boys slaps me acrost my face as the two boys on either side swing me towards him.

"You know better," one wispered into my ear.

Then, came the cops.

"Thanks, boys," said one as he grabbed me to take me into the back of the car.

"There was no need to be so violent," a female officer muttered, stairing at my bruises, already forming from the boys' brutal strenght.

A small girl stepped around her four older brothers, a small black track-phone in her hand.

"It was scarry," she wispered, looking down at her phone. "It's a good thing my brothers found her, really. She would have gotten away if someonesofter had found her."

With the flames flickering in his, all he could think of was the despair these people were suffering. Letting out a shaky breath, he rushed straight into the heart of the flames. Forcing people out of their homes, collecting children from the local orphanage, and taking them down to the ice-cold river. Hoping the water would sooth their burns, to supply water for the children that needed a moment to take a drink and calm down, or to have them feel safe away from the flames.

“Rikon,” A small voice called.

“Yes,” he replied patiently.

“Thank you,” the child said, voice threatening to break out into sobs.

The man crouched down to eye level, caressing the child’s face comforting. Rikon herded the child into a hug, petting the child’s dirt crusted hair. The child tugged at his shirt, sobbing into his shoulder, he just stood there holding the sobbing creature.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” Rikon whispered affectionately. He picked up the child, making sure his face stayed nestled in his shoulder. Petting the messy hair of the child, he paused. A loose hold on the child’s head and shoulders. It would be so easy to snap their neck.

He stood there unmoving for the longest while before a muffled.

“Are you okay,” escaped the kid’s mouth.

“Of course, in matter of fact. You should take a quick nap, I’ll make sure nothing happens to you,” Rikon replied. He continued with the petting; the child took their sweet time nodding off. But when they did, Rikon shifted them onto his hip, supporting them with a single arm.

He snapped his fingers, the villagers turned to each other blood lust clear in their eyes. He stood afar watching as the once peaceful town tore each other apart bit by bit. A wide smile plastered on his face. The screeches of pain, the blood of the fallen, and the roars of victory were music to Rikon’s ears. This continued until there was one bloodied body left, it took sight of him. Rikon’s once joyous smile turned into a frown. Watching at the person sprinted over. Rikon growled, he held out his hand, palm upwards. He clenched his fingers to his palm, blood of the fallen shooting off the ground and through the villager running at him.

And down the villager went. Falling at Rikon’s feet, he wasn’t impressed in the slightest. Turning his back to the burnt and bloody town, he left with the only living being left, a child.