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Chapter 9: Pain Transfer and Subway Mayhem
Evening draped the Los Angeles streets in an ambiguous golden glow from the rising neon signs. Mason Cooper leaned against the convenience store's flickering signpost, his fingers unconsciously tracing the ghostly feel of spent, crumpled bills in his pocket. The $22,480.50 on his phone screen seemed unreal, but the icy clarity of the System's rules yanked him back to a harsh reality.
The rules were clear now, but the path remained absurd—rip stockings, snap fingers. It felt like a prankster's initiation, testing his nerve, his shame threshold, and his skill at engineering "accidents" with pinpoint accuracy in a crowd.
His gaze swept across the human tide pouring from the mall entrance like a high-precision scanner. Women in power suits, pleated skirts, and form-fitting dresses hurried past, a fluid part of the evening's scenery. Mason needed the "perfect" target: not too intimidating to avoid major trouble, not too alert to risk failure, and preferably… pleasant to look at, to make this hellish task somewhat bearable. The cocktail of tension, shame, and a sliver of secret anticipation dried his throat.
Too tall, aura too strong, looks like trouble…
With a boyfriend, no, too risky…
Wearing pants, skip…
Hmm? The beige trench coat, nice legs, but walking too fast…
His internal monologue chattered like a finicky casting director. Finally, his focus zeroed in on a figure emerging from a yellow cab.
She looked to be in her mid-twenties, fresh from work or heading to a date. An emerald green velvet slip dress hugged her curves, the fabric catching the light. The hem ended just above her knees, showcasing legs sheathed in sheer, nearly transparent black stockings. They were like a second skin, making the lines of her legs appear smooth and full, glowing softly in the fading light. Slender stilettos made her hips sway with a natural, unconscious allure. Chestnut hair, slightly wavy, fell over her shoulders. Her makeup was precise, and she was absorbed in her phone, a faint smile on her lips.
Her…Mason's heart skipped a beat. She carried an air of youthful sophistication mixed with a touch of languidness, didn't seem the type to scream bloody murder, and was sufficiently distracted—an ideal mark. He took a steadying breath, pushed down the churning mix of guilt and excitement, and melted into the pedestrian flow, trailing her like a ghost.
His plan hinged on the dimly lit, descending staircase into the subway station. A natural bottleneck where crowds slowed and compressed—perfect for creating bodily contact and an "accident."
He kept a discreet distance, close enough to catch her perfume—citrus and faint musk—and glimpse the social media app flashing on her screen. She seemed engrossed in a chat, fingers flying, utterly unaware of the "hunter" behind her.
At the top of the stairs, the crowd bunched up predictably. Mason seized the moment, speeding up as if in a hurry, squeezing past her. Just as their bodies were about to align, his right foot "conveniently" caught the edge of a step. He let out a low gasp, his body tilting uncontrollably toward her!
His right hand shot out to regain balance. But at that awkward angle, his hand, with a downward, tearing force, slammed onto the back of her right thigh, perilously close to the curve of her buttock, through the sheer nylon! His fingertips clearly felt the slippery texture and the muscle tensing beneath.
Riiip—!
The sound of tearing fabric cut through the ambient noise.
"Ahhh—!" A startled scream. She whirled, her face a mask of shock, indignation, and disbelief. A sudden coolness on the back of her leg. A long, jagged tear in the stocking revealed pale skin, frayed edges curling pathetically. The sudden tug also sent one dress strap sliding off her shoulder, exposing smooth skin and a hint of collarbone. She looked disheveled, yet possessed a fragile beauty from the violation.
"What are you doing?! You creep!!" Her voice trembled as she frantically covered the hole and yanked the strap up, cheeks flushed with anger and shame.
Mason righted himself instantly, his face a masterpiece of flustered panic. "I'm so sorry! Really, miss! I tripped! These stairs… look, they're uneven!" He gestured wildly at the ground, eyes brimming with sincere remorse—the perfect clumsy oaf. His gaze flickered over her heaving chest and exposed skin, heart hammering, but he forced his focus back on the act.
She glanced suspiciously where he pointed, then at the gathering stares. Anger lingered, but seeing his ordinary clothes and genuine panic, her fury seemed redirected at her own discomposure. She stamped a stilettoed foot. "Watch it! Are you blind?! These were brand new! Ruined!" She tugged at her skirt, annoyance evident.
"I'll pay! I'll pay!" Mason fumbled with his wallet, pulling out two twenty-dollar bills, practically shoving them at her. "Is this enough? I'm really sorry!"
She looked at the cash, then at his mortified expression. Snatching the bills with a resigned glare, she hissed, "Fine! Just watch your step!" She adjusted her dress, shot him a final scathing look, and hurried down the stairs, vanishing into the flow.
A weight lifted. Step one, complete without major incident. The fleeting contact and her angry, yet strangely alluring, state of disarray were etched in his mind.
He quickly ducked behind a massive support column, heart pounding. He raised his slightly trembling right hand, thumb and middle finger pressed together.
Snap!
A crisp sound, firm against the rumble of an approaching train.
An intangible connection snapped into place. Cold information flooded his mind:
[Ability Acquisition Successful]
[Pain Transfer]
Type: Active Trigger
Effect: You can transfer any physical pain you are currently experiencing to another individual you can clearly perceive. Intensity and location are identical.
Uses: 3/3
Duration: 23:59:59
[Activation requires a finger snap.]
Pain Transfer?!Mason was stunned. More direct, yet more bizarre than the "fakes" ability.
Before he could process it, screams erupted from the platform!
"Robbery! Stop him!"
Mason's heart clenched. He rushed toward the chaos. The girl in the green dress was sitting on the ground, pointing at a sprinting figure in a baseball cap. Her luxury handbag was gone!
The thief was fast, nearing the exit. In that split second, Mason locked on and snapped his fingers!
Snap!
Transfer the pain from the old injury!
Familiar, sharp agony erupted between his shoulder blades! Simultaneously, the fleeing robber cried out as if struck by an invisible sledgehammer in the back. "Agh—my back!!" He pitched forward, crashing to the ground, the handbag flying from his grasp. He curled up, clawing at his back, howling in agony, utterly incapacitated.
Security and passengers swarmed the helpless thief.
The girl in green stared, shaken, then her gaze snapped to the direction of the fall. Her eyes landed on Mason, standing nearby, the only person whose movement had been toward the thief and who had just made a decisive gesture.
More importantly, as the thief screamed and fell, she clearly saw Mason's brow furrow in pain, his body giving a subtle, synchronized flinch. The eerie synchronicity linked the events instantly in her mind.
Who else could it have been?
Relief and profound confusion warred within her. Ignoring the coolness on her leg, she quickly walked over to Mason, her chest heaving, eyes wide with incredulous gratitude and curiosity.
"Was that… you? What did you do?" Her voice held a tremor, her gaze searching his face.
Mason, enduring the burning pain in his shoulder blade, looked at her pretty face, a mix of shock and gratitude. He couldn't tell the truth. He forced a weary, relieved smile. "Just… coincidence. Looked like a cramp, maybe an old injury… He's caught, that's what matters." He unconsciously rubbed his shoulder.
Seeing this, the confusion in her eyes shifted to a bright "I understand" look. She filled in the blanks with heroic, if inexplicable, intervention.
"Thank you! Really!" Her emotions overflowed. In her excitement, she stepped forward and hugged him—brief but solid.
For a moment, Mason felt two soft, resilient mounds press against his chest. Her warm cheek brushed his neck, her scent enveloping him. The hug, charged with mature feminine charm, left him momentarily stiff.
She released him, a blush on her cheeks, but she smiled confidently, her eyes bright and intense. "I'm Lily. I owe you! That 'coincidence' was awfully timely!" She retrieved her bag from a guard and pulled out an elegantly designed business card, pressing it into his hand. Her fingertips brushed his palm, a slightly ticklish sensation.
"This is me," Lily said, her voice lowering with a hint of barely perceptible suggestiveness. "It's chaos today. Another time… I'll thank you properly. Drinks are on me." Her gaze held appreciation and a mysterious "you-know-what-I-mean" smile.
Mason held the still-warm, scented card, looking into her expressive eyes, speechless.
Lily gave him a radiant smile, glanced at the apprehended thief, adjusted her slipped strap, and her hand unconsciously touched the torn stocking. She shot him a meaningful look, then turned and merged into the boarding crowd, her steps slightly unsteady but trying to maintain elegance.
Mason stood alone, clutching the card, his shoulder seeming to retain the lingering sensation of the hug and the fading pain. Her perfume lingered in the air. Her suggestive glance and words replayed in his mind.
A seemingly unlucky "accident," a forced "act of heroism," had concluded in a tantalizing and imagination-provoking way. The first use of [Pain Transfer] had yielded an unforeseen "reward."
Night deepened. The train roared away. Mason carefully pocketed the card, feeling the new possibilities and the more complex tests of humanity this ability would inevitably bring. Something had quietly, irrevocably changed.