"Party's over, Termite," I stated, my voice muffled by the black fabric of the neck gaiter.
Termite jolted violently on the stained sofa, his body spasming in a grotesque caricature of surprise. He struggled to focus on my masked form. "Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?"
"The door was unlocked," I lied smoothly. "You should be more careful with your… privacy."
Fear surged on his face, touched by familiar anxiety. This was the anxiety of a man perpetually on the run from his debts. "Are you… are you from Vought?" he stammered, his voice tinged with a desperate plea. "Listen, I was gonna pay Stan, I swear. I just need a little more time, a couple more jobs, a big score, and I'll have his money. Just tell him I'm good for it!"
"Relax," I said. "I'm not here for the money. I'm from Vought's Human Resources department."
I took a slow step forward. From a concealed pocket in my cargo pants, I retrieved a small pouch of dark leather.
"Vought is developing a new drug," I continued, weaving my intricate deception. "Something to give our… assets an extra edge. We're running preliminary field tests with a select group of former associates, individuals with unique talents who might benefit from a new kind of boost. Mr. Stan thought of you, Termite. He felt you were positioned to offer valuable insights."
His lips parted slightly. "A new drug?" he breathed, words imbued with awe. "What kind of kick does it have? Is it like Compound V, but… faster? More intense?"
"This is a new lineup of performance enhancers," I reiterated. I carefully opened the pouch to reveal a small quantity of fine powder within. "It's a new formulation. It enhances sensory perception, reaction times, and mental acuity. Participate in this preliminary test, provide us with your honest feedback on the effects, and Mr. Stan has authorized me to wipe your outstanding debt clean."
His eyes grew wide, darting between my masked face and the pouch of powder. "You're serious?" he croaked, his voice trembling with a fragile hope. "No catch? No hidden clauses? Just… take the drug and my debt's gone?"
"The catch," I replied, a subtle smirk hidden beneath the mask, "is that we need your honest feedback on the effects. Your subjective experience is vital to our research."
I pushed the pouch closer to him. The scent of the powder permeated the air, a faint metallic tang cutting through the stench of marijuana and alcohol.
He leaned forward, his body trembling with feverish anticipation. He took a deep sniff of the powder. His eyes closed for a moment, savoring the experience. "Whoa," he breathed out. His eyes snapped open. "That's… that's potent. I can feel the tingle already, right in my sinuses. A good tingle, you know?"
He looked up at me, a childlike grin spreading across his grimy face. "It smells clean, not like that cheap filler and street junk. This is the real deal."
He was correct. It was impeccably clean. It was a custom formulated neurotoxin, designed for rapid absorption through mucous membranes. It is mixed with inert powder to mimic the appearance and texture of a narcotic. Every element was calibrated for devastating effect.
A wheezing laugh escaped him. "Well, for a start, my fingers feel… fuzzy," he slurred, holding up his right hand. His movements were clumsy. He stared at it in bewildered wonder, his index finger twitching involuntarily. "Like they're buzzing, a little static charge. And the room's starting to spin a little. A good spin, you know? The fun kind."
"This is good stuff," he mumbled. "Really good. Tell Stan… tell Stan he's got a winner here, a real goldmine." He made a clumsy attempt to get up from the couch. He stumbled, catching himself on the coffee table, sending empty beer cans rattling to the floor. "Whoa. Head rush," he muttered, trying to laugh it off.
He looked at his hands again, rotating them slowly. He frowned. "Funny thing, though… I can't really feel my hands anymore. It's like they're not even mine."
"That's the onset," I stated, my voice devoid of any emotion. "The peripheral nervous system is a surprisingly efficient conduit for absorption."
"What… what was in that?" he stammered, his voice choked with fear.
His bloodshot eyes locked onto mine. I watched as his body started to sway, losing its balance. He tried to take a step toward me in a desperate attempt to escape, but his legs gave out. He collapsed to his knees and ended up a broken figure on the filthy carpet.
"Feedback," I said, my voice chilling with the pronouncement of his fate. "Phase one is systemic motor-neuron paralysis. It should be reaching your respiratory system in about ninety seconds. You wanted to know the kick? That's the kick."
His eyes widened with terror. A desperate sound tried to escape from his mouth. His diaphragm had ceased to respond to his frantic commands. Each contraction was a futile struggle against the inevitable. His face turned deep purple and veins bulged in his neck as oxygen starved his brain.
"You're a loose end, Termite," I stated, the words a cold epitaph.
I drew the 'Spectre' from its concealed holster. The pistol seemed unnaturally quiet in the claustrophobic room. He stared up at the barrel of the gun and begged for a mercy he could no longer articulate. His body convulsed in involuntary spasms as his brain screamed for oxygen.
I pulled the trigger.
The sound was barely louder than Termite's own choked gasps. A precise hole appeared in the center of his forehead. His face hit the filthy floor with a soft thud. The residual air in his lungs exhaled in a final puff.
A blue screen materialized directly in my vision. Its digital light contrasted the grim tableau on the floor.
[Supe Neutralized. Plundering Power: Size Alteration (Tier 4)]
[Choose Option: Retain Power or Convert to 500 XP?]
I considered the choice. Size Alteration. It had its uses. Infiltration, espionage, escaping detection in impossible situations. Its weakness in a direct fight was obvious. Shrinking would not make me bulletproof, and growing would only make me a larger target. As a tool for an operative thriving in shadows, it was invaluable.
'Retain,' I replied.
A strange sensation washed over my body for a split second. It felt as if every cell in my body was being mapped. Then each cell received a new instruction. It was a sensation of silent metamorphosis.
[Power 'Size Alteration (Tier 4)' successfully integrated. Host can now alter physical size at will. Current range: 0.5 inches to 12 feet.]
[Note: Total mass is conserved. When reduced to minimum size, mass is compacted and remains dormant unless force is deliberately applied. Density becomes extreme only at the point of exertion. When expanded to maximum size resulting in low density.]
The System's logic was clear. My mass would remain dormant while shrunken, making me weightless to the touch. But upon impact, that mass would concentrate into a single point. It was basic physics: the smaller the surface area, the more devastating the pressure. I could become a living bullet.
I pushed the thought aside. Before I explore this power further, I need to clean up the crime scene.
I located the entry wound, a clean hole in the back wall where the bullet had exited Termite's head. I dug the flattened round out of the plaster. Its deformation was a testament to the projectile's force. I stored it in a secure compartment in my inventory.
I found Termite's own stash of drugs, a crumpled plastic bag of cheap cocaine, and placed it prominently on the coffee table. I took the empty whiskey bottle and positioned it loosely near his lifeless hand, as if he had dropped it in his final moments.
As for gunshot wounds? Vought's clean-up crews would undoubtedly arrive long before any official coroner had a chance to thoroughly examine the body. They would classify it as a self-inflicted wound. It was an embarrassing death, an inconvenience that Vought and the NYPD would be happy to sweep under the rug.
I performed a final sweep of the apartment. Every surface I might have touched had been protected by my gloves. The looped security footage downstairs would continue its silent replay of an empty lobby.
I slipped out of the apartment, locking the door behind me with a soft click. I descended the four flights of stairs and emerged from the building, melting back into the anonymous shadows of forgotten corners.
I reached the black sedan, its dark form a sentinel beneath the overpass. I slid into the driver's seat. The faint smell of grime and decay quickly replaced the clean scent of leather. I pulled off the neck gaiter and the gloves, folding them and storing them away in my inventory.
I drove calmly back towards the glittering heart of Manhattan, back to my penthouse in the sky, where the city lights sparkled, oblivious to the quiet violence that had just transpired beneath its vast sprawl.