Chapter 1: Devil’s Rest

The first time James heard the voices, he believed he was going insane.

This class is so-

Did I bomb that-

Damn she’ got a nice-

It was a deluge of noise that drove any attempts to solve for x from his mind. He grimaced, wincing, staring at the backs of his fellow student's heads, who were apparently oblivious to the din pounding at his skull. He couldn’t think, he pulled off his glasses, clutching his head as the searing pain broke him from his shock. Squeezing his eyes shut, the noise stopped, but the migraine lingered.

“Do you need to visit the nurse, James?

But not soon enough to prevent him from being sent to the nurse's office.

He had considered saying something about the voices when the nurse had come in, and a voice had resurged, echoing the nurse's words before she had said them, but not just that side thoughts about what was for lunch and she would able to finish her show, and that this brat was probably faking it.

He had been left to lay down quietly with a tab of headache medicine and the unsettling realization that perhaps things would never be the same again.

After all, Pandora, one of the worst villains in history, if not the worst, had been able to hear people’s thoughts, or so it was said.

It scared him. He wasn’t a villain.

He was just some orphan kid whose parents didn’t want him. He had a crappy apartment paid for by the state now that he was eighteen as part of a transitional program to get kids like him ready for the workforce or some garbage after he had left the group home.

It was fine, though. Everything was fine. Who cared if he was hearing thoughts? Not him.

Thankfully, his math class was at the end of the day, so he didn’t miss much. That probably meant that someone would be looking for him. More specifically, one Franklin Rose.

“Hey, James! Looking good, man,” James turned from the bed he was lying on, putting on his glasses to see perhaps his only friend in the whole world, Franklin Rose, or simply Franky, walk in through the nurse's office door. He had tan skin, dark hair, and black eyes that always seemed to sparkle with joy whenever he was talking. He was fit in a way that spoke of constant physical activity and belied the fact that both his parents were great cooks, not surprising given they owned a restaurant.

He was also, simply put, a good guy, not to mention incredibly popular with girls.

A stark contrast to James’s pale appearance. Dirty blonde hair fell into hazel eyes that were more green than brown most days. Large black glasses frames blocked out the space around his eyes as he peered out into the world lazily. He was thin but had built a little bit of muscle thanks to Franky practically forcing him into workouts together as Franky said he needed a boxing partner.

He wasn’t popular like Franky, but for some reason, the other boy seemed to have adopted him ever since they had met freshman year. Franky’s friends were his friends, or at least sort of. Quietly, James thought he was simply tolerated.

James responded in kind, “Fuck off, dude.”

Franky chucked, and James swore he could see humor vibrating off his friend; how he knew it was humor was another thing entirely.

Another sentence streamed through his mind.

Glad he’s okay.

James winced and looked away, avoiding Franky’s face and staring at a point over Franky’s shoulder.

“Hope you’re over whatever got you down, man, we could still really use your help tonight.”

Franky’s parents sometimes needed help with their restaurant, such as running tables. James thought they were simply looking for an excuse to give him a little extra money because they knew his situation, but he wasn’t really in a position to complain.

“Yeah, I’m good; I’m over whatever that was,” he gave a half smile, lying easily through his teeth.

They took the metro to Franky’s place down near the boardwalk where you could see the ocean, waves lapping calmly against the sea walls and the piers.

The day did get slightly better as James worked in the hustle and bustle of the restaurant. Angelo’s was a classic Italian fair, some of the best you could find in Devil’s Rest, and even, James thought, probably some of the best on the East Coast, not that, of course, that he had ever left the city. He moved in and out of the back kitchen as he brought plates and drinks out. As long as he didn’t focus on people too hard, he couldn’t hear their thoughts.

Or maybe just his psychotic delusions at least were mitigated.

He really hoped this wouldn’t mean attempting to see a psychiatrist.

Still, as he was waiting tables that night, every so often, he would slip up and focus too hard on the people he was serving. One of the couples at a table was cheating on each other he discovered. They laughed and flirted with each other, but the distance was clear in their minds along with equal portions of fear of the other finding out.

James privately wondered why they didn’t just break up.

A group of businessmen was putting on a show as they discussed and internally envied each other's most recent conquests, financial and otherwise. Those thoughts had been incredibly unpleasant as images James really didn’t want to see flashed through his mind.

At least the couple tipped well; the businessman left no tip and a decent-sized mess.

After a while, though, the noise faded to the background of his mind from looking at other people. He wondered if perhaps the psychosis was fading.

Or he was entering the next stage.

He didn’t have time to go crazy. He still needed to go to college.

He wasn’t on his game, and he knew that. He was distracted, and it was only long practice that kept him moving and getting the orders out.

Perhaps that was why when the night was over, and he had collected his pay, he hadn’t said no when Franky asked for a conversation. A very familiar conversation. One they had multiple times and one that filled James with equal parts adrenaline and dread.

“I wouldn’t be asking again if I didn’t need you, James,” Franky said as they stood out behind Angelo’s restaurant.

It was the same conversation that he had been having with Franky for several months now, really since the start of December. Franky was in a bad spot.

Well, bad spot was probably understating it.

His younger sister was sick, and while insurance was paying a lot, it wasn’t enough. James had already heard the discussion secondhand from Franky; his parents were considering selling the restaurant. The place that had been their pride and joy for two decades.

“I know Franky,” James said, looking into the blueback night lit by the surrounding lights of the city, nervously, he fiddled with his glasses, manipulating the black frames around in his hands, his sense of touch felt distorted for some reason.

They had walked out back away from Franky’s parents, who were in the midst of a quiet discussion. As far as they knew, Franky was going to drive him home before Franky went off to spend the night with some friends. It was nothing they hadn’t done before.

“Look, man, it’s the last time I’ll need you I swear.”

We’re already in too deep to stop now.

James looked away, hesitating. They had already stolen several shipments. What was one more?

Something, though, didn’t feel right about tonight, and it was more than the psychosis talking.

“We stop after this, all right,” James said, looking seriously at Franky, “We’ve already pushed our luck pretty far.”

Franky nodded seriously, “This is the last time for either of us, I swear.”

James nodded, despite his better judgment, he responded with one word, “Okay.”

“Thanks, man, you don’t know how much this means to me. I’ll make the calls.”

Thirty minutes later, Franky took him to a nice-looking car parked in one of the nearby underground garages. They each took a seat, and Franky tapped the start button, and the engine roared to life. The drive through the city had been slow, stop and go as was typical of traffic in the city but he and Franky hadn’t much to talk about.

Devil’s Rest was lit up in the night, the buildings glimmering in the evening blue-black, but James didn’t have much of a thought to give to them. The night cityscape was filled with tall buildings that dwindled in size as they reached their destination, one of the warehouse districts.

They had stopped at an out-of-the-way parking lot, which already had three other cars and a massive truck in it, along with a small group of people. He and Franky exited, walking up to the group lit dimly by a nearby streetlight.

“It’s little Franky!” crowed one of the men, “What you got for us today, kid?”

Better be worth our time kid. A thought followed.

“Doolittle!” replied Franky cheerily, “My man, I got the perfect thing and we have plenty of hands. A shipment hit the port recently that could do with a little redistribution.”

“Shipment?” One of the other men said, “Shipment of what?”

Better not be drugs. The Grim’s have been on a tear recently with them.

“Adder Corp has a new stock of chips shipped in,” Franky shrugged easily, “Simple job. We’ve already paid off security. We just need to drive in with our truck. Do a little loading. Easy payday.”

James thought it sounded too simple. The other ‘jobs’ had been much more small-time: taking shipments before they were unloaded to stores and stealing electronics and jewelry. This sounded like something more.

Where had Franky even heard about a job like this?

Yet none of the thoughts he heard from the other men seemed to indicate any suspicion, so what did he know?

James frowned shaking himself a bit. He needed to focus. He couldn’t lose his future before it had even begun and he couldn’t let Franky’s family suffer, not after everything.

They piled into the back of a large truck labeled with a bold red font ‘Adder,’ and one of the guys grabbed the wheel at the front. The back was empty except for some straps on the ceiling to hold on to. They all stood in the back quietly, and he didn’t need his weirdly twitching brain to pick up the nerves on Franky.

Just one more run. That’ll clear the debt and what I owe them,

That last thought had been with particular emphasis and worried him more than anything else. Franky didn’t act the slightest bit differently, but whatever was happening with his brain thought differently.

James closed his eyes, sick of the intruding thoughts of everyone around him, or at least sick of the psychosis that wouldn’t seem to shut up.

His hand clutched against the wall, pushing against it lightly in agitation before he heard a creak. James stopped staring at the metal that was visibly indented with his handprint.

Slowly, James traced his fingers over the metal, feeling the indentation. Even as he did so, he became aware of a new sensation seemingly at the end of his skin. It felt… energetic —a force of something that roiled at his newfound mental awareness spreading over his body.

…Whatever this was might not be entirely in his head, or perhaps he was now hallucinating visually as well.

He didn’t have time to worry about that, though. The truck rolled to a stop, and some minutes later, the door was unlocked, and a brightly lit warehouse district was exposed to them. They piled out and walked into one of the buildings after rolling the door open.

Franky directed them to a pile of crates which the group began to pick up to load into the truck. He and Franky grabbed a crate and lifted it. Franky huffed at the weight, but James felt nothing as he lifted. This was easy. Too easy.

‘Focus, James,’ he thought to himself; whatever weird thing was happening, he could handle it.

What he wouldn’t be able to handle was if they got caught and put away. The cops weren’t even the worst bit of this whole thing, not even including the Grim Pack. There were enough independent heroes and small organizations that would hurt them badly if they were found. Yeah, they were just stealing from some company, but he didn’t have a great deal of faith that the Heroes wouldn’t go for a violent distribution of justice.

Not to mention the life-altering consequence of being caught for theft.

Crate after crate made its way into the truck, and slowly, James' heart was getting filled with some hope that nothing bad would happen. That his gut instinct had been wrong. Yes, they were committing a crime, but the Heroes probably had bigger stuff to worry about than some parts getting lifted.

It was just some parts.

The last crate was packed away, and everyone piled back into the truck.

“Remember, guys,” Franky said, “It’s not over till we drop it off. Stay quiet; there's no need to alert anyone.”

The truck rumbled to a start and began to drive forward. It was cramped in the back with the crates, but it wasn’t too bad. The drive this time was a decent bit longer. It was with some relief that James felt the truck come to a stop. The back door was slid open, and the flimsy ramp was extended as everyone filed out.

They were at the back lot of a warehouse faintly lit by tall posts with a couple of guys dressed in nondescript blue working uniforms and a lead guy dressed in a somewhat drab suit looking very out of place.

Franky stepped out of the vehicle and walked up to the guy in the suit, “Uh hey, uh sir, we got the stuff.”

The man in the suit inclined his head, looking at Franky, “I expected nothing less. Once it’s unloaded, you and yours will be paid. Let’s move quickly, Mr. Albano.”

For your sake, I hope you have everything.

The unloading process was faster than James would have thought, but pretty soon, all the crates were unloaded. The men in working uniforms were checking over each crate muttering to each other as each part was accounted for.

One of the men walked up to the man in the suit and whispered something into his ear; the man nodded and then turned to Franky.

“Seems you brought everything. Here’s your payment.”

Another man brought a case forward and handed it to Franky, who accepted it. James could see the racing thoughts in Franky’s head. Happiness, worry, relief. A confusing mix enough that James glanced away.

That was a mistake.

A loud crack echoed in the air, and James watched Franky collapse to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

Franky?

Further cracks echoed, and more people went down. James felt something hot hit his chest directly where his heart should be and then flatten against it. The force knocked James over, surprised, dropping to the ground.

Franky. Franky had been shot. Maybe he was okay, maybe it wasn’t fatal.

In seconds, the entire area was littered with the dead. James looked at the bodies, too shocked to think for a moment. Even as he stared at them, his brain remained quiet. He couldn’t hear anything from them.

Did that mean they were dead?

James heard a thud against the concrete, and in the dim lighting provided by the faded lights of the lampposts, he saw a single figure walking across the concrete dressed in a form-fitting bodysuit that hugged her curves. She had a rifle shouldered and looked about the bodies.

Not my cleanest work. Still dead is dead. This should be enough to settle my debt. Desperate move to go up against the Boss.

She pulled out a device, hit a couple of buttons, and held it up against her ear, “It’s done. You can send clean up whenever. My part here is over.”

She ended the call and then walked away before shooting out something from her arm, which hit one of the tall nearby warehouses and pulled her away in a flash, zipping her body upward into the night sky.

What the hell? The words repeated in James' head before he realized clean up meant that someone else was coming, which meant that he wasn’t safe.

He felt around his chest as he picked up what had once been a bullet and was now a flattened slug.

Slowly, he got to his feet, wildly glancing around before his eyes landed on the case. His stomach turned as he considered what to do before he shoved everything down. He walked over and glanced down at what remained of Franky’s face.

“Franky?” he whispered, but there was no response; desperately, he felt around on his friend’s neck for a pulse, but there was nothing.

His friend's face was decimated, and he was barely even recognizable. He shoved down the urge to puke.

“I’m sorry,” James whispered before he picked up the case and then took off in a run, pounding the pavement of the empty streets faster than he thought he was capable of.

He had grown up in Devil’s Rest, so it didn’t take him long to get oriented. He was in the industrial area of Devil’s Rest, so he needed to get to the trams and take the northbound one to where he lived. The briefcase was thankfully rather nondescript, which helped as he boarded the late-night trains to get back to his apartment.

Any moment, he expected to be attacked. To have that woman come back and finish him.

Somehow, he made it back to his apartment unmolested.

He opened his door and slid in numbly, flipping on the switch, revealing the desolately empty apartment before going to his bedroom. He looked at the case, noticing something red and sticky he didn’t want to think about on it.

James attempted to open the case, but it didn’t budge, and he noticed the combination lock on it.

“Shit.”

He ran his hands over the case lid, and as he did so, he felt something strange. Not on his fingers but just past them. As if he could sense some mechanism just beyond the case's lid. In his mind, he could see an image of a lock, a mechanism of metal intermeshed, though slightly a part, not quite together.

He pushed it into place, the mechanism slid together, and the case opened.

There were stacks of cash in the case. All $100’s. This was more money than he had ever seen in his life. It was meant for six people, and now he was the only one with it.

James tossed the case on the floor and then sat heavily on his bed.

Pressing his palms against his forehead, he tried to keep it together. What had happened? Franky was dead. In fact, everyone he had worked with was dead.

This was so fucked. If whatever had happened to him hadn’t happened, he would be dead as well.

And something had happened to him. He pressed a hand to his chest where the now flattened bullet had hit him.

But right now, he didn’t care about that. Somebody had shot Franky. Just… shot him. Then left as if it meant nothing. It’s not like he was perfect, but at worst, Franky was just a petty thief. They had been doing wrong, no question, but nothing violent; they didn’t even have any weapons.

His eyes were burning as he lied on his bed staring blankly at the ceiling. Nothing felt real. He didn’t feel real. Maybe this was a dream and he just needed to wake up. He closed his eyes in the dark, focusing hard; he wasn’t here; this wasn’t real.

Abruptly, he found himself standing in an empty, swirling light blue mist. It coiled and turned around him, and as it touched him, he felt the flashes of emotion he didn’t want to feel and the scenes of tonight he didn’t want to see.

Go away, James thought, and surprisingly enough, the mist swirled away. The feelings he couldn’t handle disappeared; the mist tried to push back, but he held it at bay. He couldn’t handle it right now; he needed it contained. An obsidian-colored statute formed around the blue mist. It was Franky, not as he had last seen him but whole, unharmed, sitting down on the backstep of his parent's restaurant and smiling that easy smile.

He sat down on the light blue mist, taking deep breaths. The situation finally seemed to sink in, but in a way, he could interpret it rationally.

There were three big things;

He was not hallucinating these powers, or if he was, then the rest of reality was abiding by the hallucinations. He had survived getting shot with no issue, the voices when he looked at people were too accurate.

He now had a briefcase of money; he had no idea how much, and he had no idea if somebody would be looking for it once they figured out it was gone. He would have to do something with it.

Franky was dead.

He sat in the misty expanse for who knew how long. It was something akin to sleep after a while. His mind drifted between things, and occasionally, a statute would form, representing the thoughts. It would be a person or an item but they expanded outward around him beginning to form themselves up like a still life of Devils Rest. Sometimes, it wasn’t a statute; sometimes, it was a building, like when his school had formed or the rest of Franky’s parents' restaurant.

Each seemed to ease the flow of memories in his head and pushed against the mist around him.

He probably would have stayed there longer but loud music broke through the fog that sounded vaguely like his alarm.

He woke up with a gasp, feeling like he had just surfaced in an ocean. He looked wildly around, and his eyes landed on the still-open briefcase. The briefcase that contained more money than he had ever seen in his life.

Would someone come looking for it? The woman who had killed everyone didn’t seem particularly concerned, but who knew?

James stripped out of his clothing and jumped in the shower. He scrubbed hard, and whenever he scrubbed too hard, he felt that energy in him. Pushing back preventing what probably would have been an injury.

He completed his morning rituals in minutes before storming out of the bathroom and putting on new clothes. He unloaded the briefcase, first counting how much was in a bill stack and then piling the money haphazardly out of it. Quickly counting, he was shocked to realize just how much he had.

$120,000. Right there. This was more than tuition for the next year accounting for the fact that he only was supposed to have gotten $20,000 of it. This was serious; no wonder Franky had been pushing him to do this.

Not that it was really worth it. Franky was still dead.

He grimaced as his eyes burned and he pulled off his glasses to rub the pain away.

He should give some of it to Franky’s family. In fact, most of it should go to his family. They needed it.

James sorted the money back, placing $40,000 of it in his desk drawer alongside the cash from the other jobs he had done with Franky that had a lock and a false bottom. It wasn’t much protection but he could deal with that later.

He tossed the rest of the cash back into the case and closed it.

Any time today, he was sure Franky’s family would be discovering the fact that Franky had been found dead. When Franky was found dead, he would be asked questions, questions that he didn’t know if he could answer. Telling them Franky had gotten shot after stealing some electronic parts seemed a poor way to portray the memory of his friend.

Furthermore, that would implicate him at the scene of the crime, which he couldn’t do. He would need to pretend he had gone home before everything had happened.

It was gutless. It was spineless.

It was logical.

Still, before then, he needed to somehow get $80,000 dollars to Franky’s family without them being the wiser.

Walking around with a case of cash was absolutely nerve-wracking. Any moment, he expected to be accosted by the police at best and at worse for the women from the other night to come back and blow his head off.

Still, with it located in his backpack, no one was the wiser as he walked the streets of Devil’s Rest.

The warm and slightly muggy air wrapped around him like a cloak, and the sun cheerfully shined down. It was honestly an excellent day, and just from looking at the people around him, James felt the general lackadaisical attitude the day inspired.

It was something that he didn’t share.

He felt numb, and he didn’t know why. It didn’t make sense. He didn’t feel anything as he walked the streets. Last night, he had been breaking down. Now… Nothing.

The strange state he had spent the night in came to mind. Had he done something to himself? Was that even possible?

Still, in a numb state, he finished his journey to Angelo’s, and staring at the building, he realized he wasn’t sure he could walk in, at least through the front entrance.

He turned and walked around to the back and slid in his spare key, walking quietly up to the top portion of the building where the family lived. No one was thankfully there, and with slow steps, he walked to Franky's room and opened the door.

It was a nice bedroom, if a little small. There was a comfortable bed, posters of the local football team, and even a game station tucked away in a corner.

He walked to the bed and set the bag down on top of it.

James glanced around the room. Everything here reminded him of Franky, yet it was all so distant. He knew Franky had died, literally last night but right now he wouldn’t have been surprised if he entered the room asking James what we wanted from the kitchen.

“James?” James spun around and found himself face-to-face with an older-looking man whose stomach had ballooned outward and whose hairline had slightly receded and greyed, with crow's feet around his eyes. It was Franky’s dad, George. He was the man who had let James work here for years now, ever since he had befriended Franky. Just some months ago, the man even hosted a small birthday party for him.

James looked George in the eyes.

James’s is here? That’s good. Maybe he knows where Franklin is? I swear that boy is always getting into trouble.

James’s throat tightened as he looked at George. “Hey, Mr. Rose. Just dropping off a package that Franky left with me.”

“Oh?” George cocked his head, looking slightly confused, “That’s good? Do you know where he is? I think his phone must be on silent because he isn’t answering any of our phone calls.”

“No, I don’t have any idea, Mr. Rose,” James said quietly, “He just asked me to deliver this. I think it’s from that extra work he’s been taking on.” He said, looking George in the eye and for a moment George seemed to distort slightly behind the lenses of his glasses.

Oh, the extra work. So it’s for them.

“Right,” George swallowed uncomfortably, “Well, I guess I can handle it from here.”

“Okay,” James handed the briefcase over, and George took it, looking uncomfortable to even be touching it, “Thanks, Mr. Rose; see ya around.”

James walked out of the room and then the building entirely. He still felt so numb. He was a coward who couldn’t even tell his best friend's dad that he was dead. James looked back at Angelo’s and knew that if it was up to him, he would never go back here again.

He walked away, passing through the streets of the eastern part of Devil’s Rest. He didn’t really have anywhere to go. Normally, he’d spend his day with Franky; it’s not like he had any other friends.

He eventually found himself in one of the city parks as people relaxed on the weekend, and he settled his carcass down on a bench, staring into space. Every so often, when someone passed through his vision, he would get snippets of what he had accepted were their thoughts.

It’s a nice day, but does it-

I totally am going to bomb this exam I need-

Did he have to cheat on me with-

James looked down at the ground, massaging his head. He needed to just breathe. Any time now, if it hadn’t happened already, Franky and everyone else were going to be discovered.

Wait, hadn’t that woman said that someone would be sending ‘clean up?’

It hadn’t really actually reached him at the time, but something horrible struck him. What if they just got rid of everyone’s bodies? What if Franky's parents never found out what happened to him?

He shot to his feet and began to hurriedly walk to the nearest train station. Every second felt like ten. He swiped, using a tram card he bought with some cash to head south. Fifteen long minutes passed till he was on the northeastern side of town near the port.

He emerged from the ground and turned sharply heading to where he remembered the warehouse being. He made a quick pace and arrived near the warehouse. Not too close but enough to see the parking lot where they had been last night.

There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not the cop cars and police lines he expected, not even any dark stains from where the people there had lost their lives.

It was just an empty parking lot.

-

School, when it came around the next Monday, was deathly quiet. People whispered amongst each other in his class, and James didn’t need the ability to read minds to know that everyone knew that Franky had been found missing. The class had just been about to start before a police officer had walked with a greying mustache and a plain suit.

How did James know he was a police officer? His mind had instantly given it away.

I hate details like this.

“Excuse me, is it possible for me to talk to a James King?” the man asked the teacher.

The class all turned to him, and James stood up and nodded, “Uh yeah,” James said.

The officer nodded, and James followed him out and down the hallway to an office where a familiar person sat, his caseworker, John Gaffery, looking rather grave as he wiped down his forehead from sweat from his handkerchief.

The officer closed the door and took a seat, gesturing for James to do so as well.

James did so.

“Son, my name is Officer Rogers,” the officer began. “I’m here to ask you some questions; you’re, of course, entitled not to answer, but if you could tell us anything, we would be grateful.”

“Uh, right,” James nodded, “What questions do you have?”

This was going to be difficult.

“I’ve been told you are good friends with a Franklin Rose,” the officer said, “Is this correct.”

“Yeah,” James responded, “He’s pretty much my best friend. I work at his parent's restaurant sometimes.”

Officer Rogers nodded, “You apparently were working at the Rose’s restaurant this past Friday?”

“Yes, that’s right.” James nodded.

“Where did you go after work?” Officer Rogers asked.

“I went home,” James shrugged, “Well, Franky drove me home, but that’s about it.”

“Did Mr. Rose say anything to you during that drive? An indication that he wasn’t going to be driving home immediately after?”

“Uh, no, sir,” James shook his head, willing Officer Rogers to believe him as he looked him in the eyes, “Has something happened to Franky?”

It’s a damn shame.

Officer Rogers sighed and nodded, looking tired, “As of this morning, we’ve been officially looking for him. His parents told us that he said he was going to be gone for the weekend at some friend's place, but he wasn’t specific. He didn’t return today, and you were the last person we knew who saw him.”

He had to be surprised. James pulled on the emotions he had suppressed in the statute, and he felt a flood of nerves and fear roll through him.

“I didn’t know! Do you think he’s okay?” James asked.

Officer Rogers gave him a smile, “We’re doing everything in our power to find him.”

The Boss is going to make sure they never find any of those bodies.

James’s face froze in the worried expression as he stared at Officer Rogers. This man was in on Franky’s murder. His palms closed, and in a last desperate attempt, he shut all the emotions in him down, sinking the feelings back into the statute.

“Well, that’s comforting,” James gave Officer Rogers a pained smile that portrayed the version of James that was concerned for his friend and had no idea what happened to them.

“If you need anything or hear anything, you can contact me at this number,” Officer Rogers handed him a card, which James pocketed numbly.

It was that version of James who walked through the school for the rest of the day. He was the teen worried about his missing friend. That was all he was. That was how he had to be.

It was only when he entered his apartment and sank into his bed that he felt comfortable connecting with the statute again, and the full experience of everything swept through him. The bedpost frame he had casually rested his hand against was instantly crushed into a metal clump, giving easily beneath his fingers, the metal warping around his grip. James took deep, steadying breaths.

Someone had taken Franky’s body. Taken it and hid it. That same someone apparently had at least one police officer who could have investigated Franky’s disappearance and would purposely turn up nothing.

Anger wasn’t quite the feeling James was feeling. It was more than that but he couldn’t handle that emotion right now. He pushed it into Franky’s statute and it faded and his mind was clear again.

The logic ran through his head. Whoever the ‘Boss” was, they knew that they had killed Franky. They were covering up Franky’s murder. What about Franky’s family?

The train to the nearest station to Angelo’s was incredibly slow. It was like an age had passed before he stepped back out onto the crowded evening streets. He walked hurriedly towards Angelo’s.

From the outside, everything looked fine. People moved in and out of the restaurant in a natural flow, eating. He stepped around the back and caught a glimpse of George sauteing something in a pan.

-were you doing Franklin? James drops off a case of cash. Police telling us you’ve gone missing. I told you working for them was a bad idea. Well I’ll just have to-

He disappeared from view as he walked further back into the kitchen, cutting off the thoughts.

James groaned; he walked further down the alley, trying to catch sight of George again.

Finally, he caught the man working on balancing trays on his arms.

-it. Just have to call that nice detective and tell him everything. They’ll help.

NO.

George froze standing stock still for a moment.

I shouldn’t. That could get Franklin in more trouble. I’ll just give him some time. He probably just has to finish getting something done. The cash is more than enough to clear the debt and what we owe them.

Please come home soon, son.

George stepped out of the room, and James fell back against the wall, feeling oddly tired. What had he done? He had just reacted to George’s thoughts and pushed…

James walked home with yet another thought going through his mind. Whatever had happened to him he needed to get a handle on it. As soon as possible.

-

School continued. James hadn’t gone back to Angelo’s, and he hadn’t heard anything about Franky.

Winding down as school was, the only thing left to do was worry about exams. Exams that James hadn’t been worried about before now were nothing, considering whenever a teacher taught, he got the literal impression of what exactly he needed to do. Furthermore, in the strange space, his mind now seemed to be those exact methods and thoughts were stored.

People didn’t even mention Franky anymore, more caught up talking about the most recent grudge match between Helltaker, a local hero who had pyrokinetic abilities, and some robot creature that had apparently tried to steal something from a museum. The only reason people even talked about that was because Helltaker was a member of the Grim Pack and was considered attractive, with dark hair and a stern appearance. All this made a genuine heartthrob.

Despite the fact that the boy wore a mask which made James question how attractive he could really be.

To the outside observer, James was as quiet and reticent as always. Perhaps a bit more so, but that made sense, given that his friend had gone missing. He even still wore the same glasses frames despite the fact that within several days of the incident, his vision had somehow corrected itself as if he needed more proof that something was happening to his body.

He had popped out the glass lenses and replaced them with unaltered lenses without skipping a beat. He needed to portray the same image that everything was still visibly the same about him.

It was the image he needed.

He had been visiting various martial arts studios. He only ever paid for one session at any of them saying that he just wanted to get a feeling for what was happening.

It was a lie.

He would casually glance around at the occupants in the midst of fighting and quickly get a run down through their thoughts of the martial arts they were practicing. Such thoughts always seemed to be near the surface of their minds when they were fighting. He had created an obelisk in his mindscape where he crammed all this information into testing the techniques against each other.

James would then practice technique against technique in his head in what he thought of as his mind realm as he gradually filtered the effectiveness of the techniques against each other. James King had never been able to fight before, but in the few spars he had against some students, his amalgamation of martial techniques had formed a solid base for him and he hadn’t lost a single match.

It was hard to lose when your opponent told you everything they were going to do before they did it.

Of course, he knew these spars weren’t representative as they weren’t against people with actual abilities, and thus, he restrained his own usage as best he could. He was able to avoid using the actual energy within him, but this didn’t stop the constant baseline flow through him. Still, he had learned to restrain it enough on purchased punching bags in his apartment, though the first punch that had gone through a test bag he had purchased hadn’t given him much hope.

His body was continually strengthening, which he could tell just by the development of visible muscle, though he wasn’t actually working out. As the month passed, his body had become more and more developed, especially as he became more physically active. Thus, he chose baggier clothes and tried to keep his head down.

He wasn’t sure why he was doing any of this.

What did he want? Revenge? Justice? To be safe alone? Even he wasn’t sure yet.

A part of him wanted justice for his friend, yet it was tempered by caution. There was something big here. He didn’t even know where to start with it.

Despite the fact he had learned to fight, at least well enough now that at least technique-wise the recreational centers he had visited weren’t a challenge to him, he wasn’t interested in the Hero or Villain business. He just wanted Franky to rest in peace. His family was taken care of, but his murderer was still out there.

A part of him wanted revenge for Franky, but that part was stuck and sealed in his mind, only to be brought out when he needed it. He needed control over this… well, awakening was what he called it. That and it gave him something to do now that he had nothing else.

He had done some reading about superpowers a subject he had never really cared to research. Humans did awaken to powers every so often, which supposedly related to genetics. There wasn’t something specific genetically, to be clear; it was usually a multifactorial thing, and often enough, one of a person’s parents would have the genes as well.

Which didn’t help James, who was an orphan who never knew his parents. There was also the possibility of aliens as well but James thought that genetics made more sense as he thought something else would have indicated more strongly to being an alien, like some metal spaceship or device. Actually, he didn’t really know, he guessed he could be an alien.,

He cut the idea of magic straight out.

Magic, he was sure from what he had read and watched, required studying and education, along with natural talent, or at least that was what the sorcerers and sorceresses who operated as heroes seemed to indicate. Even if someone had innate talent, they should have to study.

An experiment was also right out as he was sure he would have noticed an experiment occurring that changed him.

Though now James thought about it even listing all those didn’t really encompass all the ways people got powers.

Still, he had read about the rapid onset of abilities being a thing with genetic powers, so that seemed the most likely.

Which left him where he was now, staring across the street, sitting casually outside a train terminal, fiddling with his phone as if he was actually doing something while watching a nondescript car pull up into parking outside a bank.

Why was he here?

He had happened across a group of criminals apprehended by the police several blocks up. Not as unusual as one might think in Devil’s Rest, which had also been helped by the fact that he was looking for such an occurrence.

On the surface, he was sitting on a bench, seemingly scrolling through his phone without a care in the world.

He peered out over the tops of his glasses frames.

From looking at the criminals as they were being arrested, he had unwillingly glanced through their thoughts and found a dark figure in them, beating the daylights out of them while they had attempted a drug deal. Also in their thoughts was another group of criminals they knew who were performing a nearby bank robbery.

The car that the second group had chosen was as generic as hell; he thought wryly to himself, a big black van that was about as inconspicuous as dressing themselves in spandex and declaring their beef with one of the Grim Pack.

Though they had chosen their spot well, as the other passing citizens didn’t seem to be paying much attention to it. He didn’t think he would have paid attention to it if he wasn’t looking for them in the first place.

Also, he could read the thoughts of the person in the driver's seat.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck-

They were a panicked mess, praying a Grim Pack member wouldn’t happen by. James thought they were worried about the wrong group. Or specifically person.

There was another sect of heroes to be worried about besides those gifted with abilities. Those with the intelligence and resources to be dangerous without them.

As his eyes ran over a particularly dark shadow in the fading daylight, he felt the presence. It was his only indication that someone was there and it was by chance than anything else that he had spotted the shadow. The mind of this person was unnaturally still. He would never have spotted them using his eyesight, but apparently, his mind-reading couldn’t be fooled so easily.

Not really a wonder because this person was Knight Walker. A hero who, by some accounts, supposedly made do with tech and intelligence as she beat down criminals. Though, that didn’t stop the rumors that there was something supernatural about her. She was part of a bigger group, it was rumored, called the Sentinels, notable in part because of the fact, by those same accounts, she was a regular human.

Though it didn’t seem like the criminals thought of her that way.

James King watched as Knight Walker dropped down a single shadow against the dark sky, almost entirely invisible as the criminals attempted to run out of the bank. He felt what seemed to be almost an instinctual trigger in her body as she launched a kick that knocked one of the running thieves out cold.

The next two were brought down similarly as she lashed out with a right fist and then a kick.

As Knight Walker made the moves, James focused, allowing the techniques flowing through her mind to sift into his own embedding into his obelisk, he traced each technique as far as it would go, attempting to get a knowledge base as large as possible.

Her capabilities in hand-to-hand combat were far greater than any other person he had seen so far. He had seen some of the limited security footage that had been caught of her on the internet before, but in a way, he didn’t think her actual movement truly demonstrated how incredibly Knight Walker fought.

Fighting like this was as natural to her as breathing, he could tell. Furthermore, he got flashes of analysis that went through her mind as she calculated what each move should be before she moved next.

James wondered if he could do an approximation of this with his own ability to read people's minds.

Like a chainsaw, Knight Walker moved between the thieves; whenever she hit, the thief went down in a single strike.

Almost as soon as it had begun, the thieves were dealt with, and Knight Walker stood among their beaten forms unflinching.

Then she looked up, and her eyes landed on James.

James had to suppress a flinch as his stomach dropped. Right, he should have expected Knight Walker to instantly see an untrained civilian such as himself. He hadn’t even been trying to hide.

A part of James said he should run for the hills, but he suppressed it instantly. Running would just make him look guilty. He hadn’t even done anything.

Well at least he hadn’t done anything right now. The theft from several weeks ago didn’t count.

So what should he do?

A teenager with baggy clothes but a decent build. Well-groomed, attractive.  Knight Walker’s thoughts entered his own mind.

James' thoughts screeched to a halt as he continued staring dumbly at Knight Walker. What was that?

He saw me. A lookout?

James didn’t make a single facial expression. He guessed the baggy clothes he was wearing weren’t doing the work he hoped they would.

A moment of consideration passed through his mind. Should he try to influence her thoughts like he had George’s? Then, it had been an accident, but he was pretty sure he could do so again.

Though that thought made him a little uncomfortable, he couldn’t help the mind reading but actually affecting other people's minds in a certain way…

It felt wrong. He had done it to George, but that had been by panic, accidental, really.

He was still looking at Knight Walker, who regarded him for a long instant before she turned and grappled away into the darkening sky without saying a word.

James stared into the darkness for a moment before he turned away, shrugging his baggy hoody closer to himself.

He turned all of his acting skills into looking completely normal.

After all, he had no idea if she was still watching.

He didn’t relax till he entered his apartment again. He figured, or at least hoped, that there would be no reason to follow a random teen home. Even a teen that had seen her fight.

James fell back into his bed and once more sunk into his consciousness. Looking at the Obelisk now, he could tell he had just accumulated more information from Knight Walker than he had from everyone else he had met.

With this, he was probably safe. He noted, though, that the information was incomplete for lack of a better term. He had only focused on the martial abilities of Knight Walker, and he realized that there were other skills he should have grabbed.

On the other hand, though, that probably would have required a deeper dive and possibly to construct another obelisk for the other skills. After all, it wasn’t as if people’s minds were simple repositories of information. It had to be drawn out as it had been with Knight Walker fighting.

He resigned himself to processing the information for the rest of the night as he turned it into a usable format with everything else he had collected.