Lug was starting to feel his head heat up, his senses dull, his muscles shake. He had hit his limit sooner than expected, and at the worst possible moment. He faced two armed men, dressed similarly to the man who had just been taken down. And Lug's psychic sight didn't deceive him. Their muscles, their bones, their posture. Everything indicated these men were physically as strong as the one Lug had just faced.
Lug saw his death there; there was no way to escape them. Yet, to his surprise, the man before him lowered his weapon. "We're sorry we arrived so late. We were chasing that man, but he got away," he said after holstering his weapon near his ribs. "But you're tough, aren’t you?" the other man laughed.
With his cerebral reinforcement subsiding due to intense pain, Lug's energy was dwindling. Still, he kept his leg muscles fortified, ready for a possible escape. He wasn't certain yet; he listened attentively to the two men who hadn't shown any hostility. Better still, they had killed his attacker.
Lug was in shock, not just from the pain and fatigue, but from witnessing a man's death right before his eyes. The memory, thanks to his heightened senses, was too vivid, almost nauseating. But he couldn't let his guard down.
"Who are you?" he asked, concealing his internal turmoil. The men exchanged glances before the shooter answered, "We can't tell you everything here, but let's just say we're part of a powerful organization. The man who attacked you was a foreign agent we unfortunately identified too late."
To regain his senses, Lug quickly asked another question: "And how do you know my name?" This time the other man spoke: "We've been observing you. We're looking for talent for our mission. You're one of our prospects. The guy found you by stealing one of our files about you." His voice was calm.
"And why did he attack me?" Lug persisted. "To weaken us. Killing you would have meant losing a potential ally," the shooter answered simply.
All of this made sense and Lug might have believed it... if he wasn't simultaneously observing the men's aura. Their auras revealed the truth. "The only truths are that they want to recruit me and they're part of a powerful organization. Everything else is lies," Lug thought, uneasy.
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Before Lug could ask another question, one of the men moved towards the body near the cemetery gate. Lug was caught off guard and prepared to defend himself. Noticing Lug's tension, the man reassured him: "Don't worry, I'm just going to retrieve the body. Then we'll leave." He was telling the truth. Lug shifted to keep both men in his field of vision.
While one of them went to collect the body, the other approached Lug, a card in hand. "We're leaving. Here, take this card; it has our number on it." He stayed a few feet from Lug and threw him the card.
"I know you're cautious, but to be completely honest, we're your only chance of survival," he added coldly.
"What do you mean?" asked Lug.
"The man who attacked you was the first but won't be the last. Your file was stolen and our enemies are looking to weaken us. They'll do everything to eliminate our prospects," he responded, hands beneath his bulletproof vest.
His aura indicated he was lying about the reasons for the danger surrounding Lug, but one thing was clear: Lug was genuinely in mortal danger. But Lug said nothing.
He watched the two men put the body in a plastic bag and then into the trunk of their car – a few yards away. They then got into the vehicle and drove off.
A moment later, they were gone.
Exhausted and unwell, Lug vomited on the ground. The shock of the fight, the witnessed violent death, the emergence of a new threat was overwhelming. His body grew heavier and painful as he released his muscle reinforcement. The severity of his situation slowly sank in. "I need to call Hannah," he thought. But first, he needed to get home and lie down before his pain immobilized him.
As he walked past the bloodstain on the sandy ground, he didn't see the ghost of the man who was killed. As he knew, ghosts often followed their bodies or haunted a place they cherished in life. "Ghosts of violent deaths aren't conversational. The trauma of their brutal end haunts them beyond death," he thought.
Once in bed, trembling uncontrollably, he mustered the strength to call Hannah. As soon as she answered, he said, "Hannah, something serious has happened. You need to come as soon as possible..." His words trailed off as he passed out, the phone slipping from his hand.
He was sleepless the night before from reaching all his goals. Now, just a few hours later, he was crushed by fear and uncertainty. Lug was reacquainted with an old enemy: the feeling of helplessness he thought he'd overcome.