The underbelly of New Vida City ran deep and dark. Murderers and thieves were amongst its population, sure, but the most prolific black-market businessmen were the kidnappers. After the world found out that killing people could grant one their most enviable trait, governments and corporations began hoarding their talents, and criminals responded accordingly by trying to steal them for profit.

Cole Bennington was one of the more successful captors-for-hire. His current contract was for an escapee from the largest local kidnapping ring who had been harassing them for the past few weeks. Her antics had only been escalating the ring’s pursuit of her; after all, what kind of trait did she possess if she was this capable?

That line of thinking lead Cole’s newest employer, a competitor in the abduction business, to hire Cole to prevent anyone from capturing her. His payment: killing her. All under the condition that he'd work another two contracts for them in the near future, though only if he succeeded.

He had to admit, it was a weird 'prove thyself' type of setup, but not one he’d been willing to pass up with the price tags on the later contracts. If his employer was so desperate to get this done, then that meant they’d already tried their in-house talents. Their failure proved that this was an interesting predicament at worst, and a highly profitable predicament at best.

Cole watched through his scope as the girl rounded a corner. Even the information he'd been provided in the contract hadn't been enough to find her, leaving him pressing personal sources for her whereabouts. The same information estimated her trait to be either high-level survival or athleticism. Nothing less could have allowed her to live like this for so long.

That streak was about to end, however.

The firearms handling trait he'd gotten off of some punk long ago did its job. One squeeze of the trigger later and she dropped, dead and soon to be forgotten in a cold, dark alley. Cole unloaded his rifle and slipped it onto his back, texting a confirmation to the representative that he'd met. Time to go claim his first reward.

It was easy to kill, Cole thought as he scaled down the building he'd perched on. Much less easy to capture alive. The hardest thing to do was capture unharmed, but that usually wasn't requested.

He strolled up to the body. She was a pretty girl, probably in her early twenties, with auburn hair and dark eyes. He knelt down, resting a gloved hand over her heart. Cole felt something move behind his eyes. That signaled the start. It would take a minute, so he'd have to hurry out to avoid police attent—

A burning pain hit him. All of him. All at once. Cole yanked his hand back, but it was too late. The pain only intensified.

What is this? What's— what's happening?

Sober thoughts slipped through his grasp, and he struggled to stand. He had to get somewhere safe, and fast.

The next hour passed in a blur. Cole knew he dumped his rifle somewhere he could retrieve it later, not that he would remember where. He focused on the nearby hospital. He had to get there. He had to walk. He had to move.

Cole snapped awake. He was lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV. It was still nighttime.

He looked around. Standing at the foot of his bed was— it was the girl. The one he'd just killed. Wearing the same tattered clothes and everything.

They stared at each other for a moment.

"How is this possible?" Cole broke the silence.

"You claimed my trait," the girl replied. She remained expressionless, cold.

He scoffed. "I know that. Why are you showing up here? You're dead."

"That I am."

This doesn't make any sense. Ghosts didn't exist; he'd have been haunted long before now. So why her?

"Why you?" Cole echoed his thoughts idly.

The girl barked a laugh. "Indeed. Why me? That's a question I've been asking myself for weeks. Why me?" She leaned over the end of his bed, hands gripping the metal rail. "Why was I treated like cattle? Hunted like a dog? Killed, and for what? So you could add another shiny medal to your collection?" Her eyes smoldered with fury.

Cole decided to humor her. "That was a nice bonus. I did it for the money down the road."

She straightened, hands dropping back to her sides. "Yes. Of course you did." Her fingers slowly tightened into fists. "But it doesn't matter anymore. You've made a mistake."

"Oh, yeah? And what mistake is that?"

"Killing me." Her black eyes bored into his. "Do you even understand how I've lived on the run for so long? Did you think that I was punishing my captors simply for justice?" She laughed. "No. I hated them. Hated them so much it took over everything else, not that I had much left. And now I hate you."

Stolen story; please report.

Cole frowned. Whatever she was, she was crazy. "That ain't news to me, sweetheart."

She slammed her fists onto the railing, bending it, her face twisted into a snarl. "MY TRAIT ISN'T SOMETHING AS WEAK AS SURVIVAL OR LUCK," she screamed. "IT'S MY SPIRIT! MY REASON FOR LIVING, ALL THAT I AM! AND YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD TAKE IT FROM ME!" The air shimmered with heat as the room shook, lights flickering. Cole felt the scorching sensation returning. "I WILL MAKE YOU PAY FOR ALL THAT YOU AND YOUR KIND HAVE DONE TO ME, IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO!"

Cole snapped awake for real, this time in a cold sweat. He was lying in the same hospital room he saw in the dream.

Okay, so maybe he was crazy. He could clearly recall the girl's parting expression and words. That was not a fever dream, no matter how feverish he felt at the moment.

He needed answers. His employer would be the first place to start, since they contracted him to kill her in the first place, and he had to report back in anyway.

Cole waved away the nurses who tried to stop him from leaving. One harried exam later and he was discharged.

He first tried to find the rifle he'd dropped on the way to the hospital. No such luck. He moved on, hoping to grab a firearm from home before he went to the assigned rendezvous. Any decent criminal carried their own backup, as did the smarter lawful citizens.

The door to Cole's crappy little apartment creaked as he opened it. He flipped the lights on, greeted by the familiar sight of his favorite couch on Earth and a bunch of musty old carpet. Home sweet home.

Most of his weapons were stashed covertly in his closet, but Cole kept his best handgun in his nightstand. That and a couple clips of ammo would be enough to cover his ass if needed.

As he made his way to the door she appeared in the kitchenette, cold and stoic like nothing had happened. Cole froze as another wave of heat washed over him. He could stand, barely. Not even the physical hardiness trait he'd picked up a few months back helped him. Hallucinations, now?

"Not a hallucination."

Cole scowled. "Then tell me, miss mind-reader, what are you?"

"A visual representation of my presence in your mind." Her eyes remained locked on him.

"So a hallucination."

"No. I am very much real."

He shook his head. "Semantics. Do you know how I can get rid of you? I'm sure you have better things to be doing than annoying me."

Her brow lowered. "You can't."

They stared at each other for a bit longer.

Cole sighed and flopped onto the couch. He decided to wait this one out. He didn't need to go marching to his employer all weak-kneed and feverish.

A minute ticked by.

"You gonna leave? Or are you gonna stand there all night?"

A glare was her only response.

"Alright then. I'm gonna watch some TV."

"You're pathetic."

"Oh? How's that?"

Her whole body tensed. "You've taken so much from others, with so little thought. So little consequence. And then you act like this. You're pathetic."

"No need to repeat yourself, sweetheart."

She only grew more furious. "Scum like you deserve fates worse than death."

Cole could feel the fever receding. "I'm flattered you think I'm so special," he said, standing up.

"Not special. Sub-human."

He tossed one last glance at her. "Bad choice of words, there." The door slammed behind him.

Cole barely made it to the spot before the fever returned. Ugh, more of this. He slumped against the alley wall. It was too hard to move, almost too hard to think.

The girl stared down at him again. “This is what you get for all that you’ve done to people. What you’ve supported. Facilitated.”

Cole laughed weakly. "Who do you think buys kidnapped talents? It's the self-righteous folks, up in high towers, feeding their more talented pets while looking the other way."

“That doesn’t excuse your actions!”

“Like it or not, this is the world of we live in. A world humans created.” He mustered a pointed glare. “I’d’ve thought someone with your history would understand that.”

Footsteps slapped against wet pavement. Cole turned to see his mysterious employer approaching. Round glasses and a heavy coat made him seem only averagely suspicious, unassuming in the social circles he inhabited.

"Did you know what would happen?"

‘Jackson’ smiled politely, ignoring the question. "I believe that you deserve an explanation. Professional courtesy, and I must ensure that all loose ends are tied up anyways."

He knew. Cole asked the biggest question on his mind. “Why me? And why her?”

“Oh, you were hardly the only one. One of the better independents, I suppose, since you moved so quickly. The girl had to be eliminated because of her trait. You see, my higher-ups wouldn’t believe me when I told them she had a spirit trait. Too rare, they said. They were focused on how capable she was, how pretty, how fierce, and how they could draw more out of her. Never realizing that if she had half a head on her shoulders they’d have never seen her again after the first escape.”

Jackson frowned, contemplative. "And therein lies the problem. Unlike other traits, spirit traits are not fluid. They can shift, but they can't be undone, sometimes tormenting the talent as much as their killer. Though their benefits are equally overwhelming.”

Of course he’s from the ring. They’d never leak about a valuable escapee so soon, or let others encroach on their pursuit. Stupid stupid stupid. Cole huffed a sigh.

Jackson looked down on Cole. “You’re currently experiencing what would have lead to our destruction, had a high-brow client— which she would have undoubtedly gone to— gotten their hands on her.” He shrugged. “So she had to die.”

Cole couldn’t entirely accept that. "How did you know for sure? That she had a spirit trait?"

"Spirit traits only appear when a person's actions become inextricably tied with a single goal, and only in those with stronger personalities." Jackson shook his head. "When she started fighting the ring, and demonstrated as much as she did, I knew that the likelihood of her forming a spirit trait was too high to accept the associated risks. Especially since she proved to be so... vengeful."

"So you sent me to her."

"So I did."

Cole let his shoulders drop. The girl's voice was still echoing in his head, screaming in rage at Jackson. "What now? Do I just keel over dead?"

"No. Usually those afflicted with a spirit trait will commit suicide, or slowly waste away under the prolonged mental assault. That's why I'm here," said Jackson, pulling out a small handgun.

"Judge, jury, and executioner," Cole chuckled.

"I see it more as putting you out of your misery, while also having prevented the misery of others. Myself included."

Cole stared at him, expressionless. "Anita. Her name was Anita."

Jackson returned a sad smile. "I don't care."

He raised the gun.