Well, well. The voice from the last time I had nightmare fuel came back. Awesome. I sighed like someone who just remembered they left pizza rolls in the oven for two hours. Every time I drink that damn juice, it's like I chug an edible laced with symbolism and unresolved trauma. Cute.
"Ah. There you are," Genos said like he was offering me a used coupon for a failing car wash.
"So, uh... we got kidnapped by the sexy MD and now we're here again," I mumbled.
"Yes, yes," he nodded, like he was planning to open a dry cleaner that overcharged and lost your socks. "We have time now... to negotiate our deal."
Right. Last time we talked, he said something about influencing my life decisions and world domination. Totally healthy friendship.
"So you still wanna take over the world?" I asked.
He laughed. Like really laughed. Like evil TED Talk level.
"No, no," he said, leaning in all mysterious. "You misunderstand me, me."
Sure. That cleared it up.
"I want to throw the world into chaos. Anarchy. The world was never meant to be caged — lawns trimmed, mouths shut. No. The world's a playground. Playgrounds are wild. They scream. They bleed. They bite."
Cool, spoken like a guy who never had recess duty.
"I don't want to rule it. I want to wake it up. Tear down the fake. Let the liars lie, the killers kill, the sheep tremble and run. Three kinds of people in this world: winners, losers, sheep."
"And lemme guess," I said, "you think you're a winner."
"The winners break rules, laugh while the world burns. Losers cry when the rules chew them up. And the sheep? They just follow whatever voice is loudest."
I blinked. "That sounds like a manifesto from someone banned off most social media."
He grinned. "I'm not here to fix the world. I'm here to reveal it. Strip it to bone. Let the truth crawl out screaming."
"And in that world?"
"Everyone's finally free."
I stared. "Did you practice that in the mirror?"
"Yes," he said, completely deadpan. "Heard speeches win over the sheep."
I laughed. First genuine one in weeks. "You're such a dramatic bastard."
Then I frowned. "Okay but like... why me? I'm not scared to die. Living is a chore. But I'm not some edgy anarchist."
"Exactly. You don't care. That's perfect. Think of it like... an adventure."
I didn't answer. He grinned wider. "We'll talk again soon."
And then — blackout.
I woke up in a trashed room. Like, next-level wrecked. Like raccoons with trauma issues had a rave. Kink doctor? Dude had a hole in him. Big one. I didn't even have pulse powers, so like... what?
Door creaked open. Fenix walked in. Mr. Inconvenient waddled behind him like a passive-aggressive duck.
"Alright, update," Mr. Inconvenient said. "The juice they gave you made me so inconvenient everyone lost control of their powers. Place went full circus. Prison break happening as we speak."
He adjusted his tie like he hadn't just admitted he was a human hazard sign.
"You and Fenix requested I help until we're out," he added. "After that, peace out forever."
Fenix stepped forward. "We need one more person. A girl."
"Ooooh," I smirked. "Did someone fall in love while I was unconscious?"
"No," he snapped. "She's ten."
I blinked. "Wow. Uh. Bold. Hope the FBI isn't listening."
He glared. "She's important."
Mr. Inconvenient nodded. "Apparently she touches stuff and it explodes."
"Okay," I said, already regretting my entire life path. "What's she look like?"
"No clue," Fenix said. "Boomy," Mr. Inconvenient added. "You'll know when stuff starts going boom."
"Wow. Such useful info. Truly."
Fork in the hallway split us. They went one way. I went the other — I needed my stuff.
Found a storage room with guards. Not the chill kind. The "we're trained in neck-snapping" kind.
I grabbed a chunk of wall rubble, whispering, "Please let me hit like I mean it."
Let's see how much damage one suicidal mess can do.
The guards didn't see me.
They saw me, but not me-me. One saw a pile of rubble. One saw a mop. The third saw a door that didn't exist.
I love illusions. They're the only lies I'm good at.
I stepped out from behind their fake little reality and whispered, "Boo."
First guard spun. Too late. I took a jagged piece of pipe from the floor and rammed it into his throat. Not stabbed jammed, like I was unclogging a garbage disposal.
He choked. His hands flew to his neck, gurgling. I twisted the pipe just to hear what sound his cartilage made when it gave up.
Second guard blinked and saw me everywhere. Dozens of me, surrounding him laughing, mocking, pointing.
"What the..?" he stuttered.
I appeared behind him, the real me and whispered, "Guess which one's real."
I cracked his skull against the wall. Once. Twice. He slumped, leaving a smear of red like a broken crayon.
Third one? He had a gun. Great. But I made him see a little girl. Crying. Screaming.
His face contorted. "What the hell...?"
He hesitated moral compass trying to reroute and I capitalized. I dropped the illusion as I sprinted, slid across the floor, grabbed his ankle, and yanked.
He fell like a sack of guilt.
I climbed onto his chest and bashed his temple with my elbow over and over and over.
Blood sprayed across my shirt. I didn't care.
"You hesitated," I spat between hits. "You saw a child and you hesitated maybe you're not totally useless after all."
His eyes rolled back.
I stood up, panting, dripping, twitching.
"Okay," I muttered, cracking my neck. "That was fun. Where the hell is my jacket?"
I grabbed one of their keycards, tossed a half-alive one into a supply room like dirty laundry, and opened the next door.
Smiled.
"Daddy's home."
I found my jacket hanging on a busted hook like a limp corpse. Purple. Velvet. Stained with blood that wasn't mine, probably idk. I slipped it on slowly, like a ritual. It felt like sliding back into sin.
I pulled my weird-ass coin from the inner pocket and flipped it. Silver, but wrong. Like it hated being metal. It twitched midair, spun like it wanted to bite someone, then slapped into my palm.
Heads.
That meant something. Or nothing. I hadn't decided yet.
The guns were next Chaos and Ecstasy. One for painting the walls red. The other for painting the soul black.
I holstered them both with a grin. They weren't just tools they were the only friends I hadn't made up in my head.
"Alright," I muttered. "I'm dressed. I'm armed. I'm mentally unstable. Let's go find the girl with boom-hands."
The hallway ahead flickered. My illusions were bleeding out of me —on purpose. Every few feet, I left versions of myself behind: laughing, twitching, pointing guns at shadows. I wanted anyone watching to think I was everywhere because maybe I was.
I heard a whimper.
Then BOOM shakalaka.
The wall to my left exploded inward. My coat caught fire. I laughed. The flames sputtered out. Thank god for flame-retardant fashion.
From the dust staggered a guard. His arm was missing. His eyes wide. And behind him, a little girl walked barefoot, her dress scorched, her expression hollow.
She looked up at me.
I flipped the coin.
Tails.
"Alright, kid," I said. "You're either the problem or the solution."
She blinked. "I'm hungry."
I tossed her a candy bar from a dead guy's pocket. "You explode people when you're low blood sugar?"
"Sometimes," she mumbled, chewing.
I liked her immediately.
From behind, I heard Mr. Inconvenient and Fenix running up.
"She found you?" Fenix shouted.
"Nah," I said, tossing the coin again. "She found herself. All I did was dress the part."
Mr. Inconvenient looked around at the carnage. "You're dripping blood."
"Not mine," I shrugged. "Probably."
The girl reached for my hand.
I hesitated.
Then let her take it.
Fenix looked worried.
I smiled.
"Let's go make things worse."