The red was blinding.

So he slithered back into the darkness with a famished full stomach, stripping away from the course of justice that broke into his filthy bubble.

It was invasive. Impolite, even.

He lived in secluded misfortune, no matter how many others scraping past rock bottom like him cluttered the streets. Aliens would sweep in occasionally, chuck peppery pennies and nothing burger virtues at them like they were strays that couldn’t fill up their spacious homes. Because after they did a deed, the aliens would leave empty-handed with full pockets and a home to go to.

The repetitive process took time.

But they were still poor—nothing changed.

They’d take the coins, spend them on trash, and then live back in the trash.

They’d take the charity, become elevated by random patrons holding a halo over their heads, and then fall back into the dumps.

They’d take the food, eat it, and then stay hungry.

Soon enough, the baseless offerings melted as quickly as they arrived and turned to dust. Then—like a furnace—the smoldering heat turned the trash into glass, which dug into the man’s body and tail the more he rammed into walls and floors in his scurry. All this trash that bit back at him and scorched his lungs just for trying to breathe told him nothing new but kept reminding him of something that flashed into his head the more his feet ached.

Life is unfair—

I hate this—

I’ve lost hope—

Life is unfair—

I lost my family—

I didn’t get to say bye—

Life is unfair!

Some of those words weren’t his own. They were more innate, echoes from somewhere within him that bounced off the walls and wanted to break out. It added unnecessary confusion to his mushed mind, but the new weight was minimal; the words weren’t too far off from what he wanted to scream to the sky right there and then.

But he couldn’t, or else he’d reveal his position. His privacy never mattered.

With every corner, homeless mobs fought each other.

With every corner, more well-off civilians fought each other.

With every corner, police fought off these people.

With every corner, he came into the picture. And all eyes made him feel like a celebrity before their hands clawed for his chest. They wanted his heart, a bleeding one full of light that they drew to like moths to a flame. But they didn’t see that; they saw a prize. And that transaction never went both ways.

However, with the growing annoyances in his head, he was at his limit. Especially with a price on his head decided by people he didn’t even know, his biggest enemy was time.

Am I gonna make it?

I didn’t make it—

Let me die—

The pain—

Am I gonna die?

I don’t wanna do this anymore—

I hate life—

Leave me alone!

He broke his limits.

Then he ate them; no one left spared.

The food would fight back, wriggle, or run. However, he was always faster. He got stronger. He got weaker. He got better. He got worse.

Anything he assimilated always stabbed him with double-edged swords. He reigned over his opposition, but nothing could stop all the information that crashed into his brain like a tsunami. New horrific adornments ripped out of his skin, adorning him in edges and excess skin. His hand gurgled. More voices gurgled. His stomach gurgled; it didn’t want to be at full capacity. He didn’t want to be at full capacity as well.

So he wouldn’t allow it. Because although he gained weight in every inch of his mind and body, he was lighter. The tatters from his torn clothes meshed with the filth on the ground—pieces that mean nothing to him anymore.

He can be naked in this new skin. It was as if he had become taller, firmer, and richer.

All because, in his flickering eyesight, there were no consequences.

He screamed.

Whether it was because of the throbbing in his mind, chest, or palms that drove him to that tipping point didn’t matter. He let out something that hadn’t had the chance to boil and steam, which had now been released and warmed him up to an alien concept he imbued into his feet.

Freedom.

----------------------------------------

Gideon took off, Hilario and two other SDD officers on his tail. So—to his dismay and safety—he had to pace and slow himself to a haggard jog. He’d probably open a few wounds if he were reckless.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“That scream was loud as hell!” The officer gulped down a shaky breath. “Is it really the Berserker?”

“I’d hope so!”

“Eh!”

Gideon and Hilario answered at the same time again, but their argument had to wait. Though, routinely, the captain once again claimed the wheel of the situation—he led the charge in the crumbling district.

“It could may as well be it, but don’t get your hopes—”

He paused, heaving and gritting his teeth as he ran. He was jogging faster by accident. So he slowed down.

Calm down.

“You ok, cap?” The other lower officer asked.

Calm down.

“Of course… of… of course—yeah, hmm.” The captain tutted. “Just…don’t get too hopeful, ‘kay? We’re battered, and it feels like every person here is going apesh—”

He was going faster again. Did they notice? Was Hilario judging him silently? He paced himself again.

Calm down. Calm. Down.

They tried to stay silent, but the world around them was loud. The collision of any form of the supernatural and cement shook the entire downtown district, beating their hearts for them. Shouts and occasional gunfire would arise alongside the mountains of smoke shooting from the earth. The rising sirens tolled the burst of resistance against them, magnifying this from a simple police case to a war.

Gideon wished for all of it to shut up.

Tune them out.

He couldn’t.

Tune it out.

He strained his eyes.

Tune it out.

It was futile, but he looked onward—focused only on going forward.

The other officers are handling any ruffians.

His speed spiked. He slowed.

Calm down—we cleared a decent path.

He eyed around. Some residents of the district hid behind charred tents.

The non-hostile few that are here will hopefully be evacu—

His speed spiked. He slowed.

Focus on yourself now.

The footsteps and dry breaths behind him felt distant. He slowed.

Focus on the squad’s mission.

He focused on the darkness lying ahead, barely illuminated by the sky. But whatever lay ahead was still unknown, regardless of how much light shone on it.

Did the scream come from outside?

Cracking buildings on the side led his eyes astray.

Or from inside one of the buildings?

Nothingness on the other side led his eyes astray.

Stop being distracted. The officers will scout the buildings, too.

He looked ahead.

You can die.

He kept forward.

Be scared of that.

He kept forward.

Remove distractions.

He kept forward.

Move.

Forward.

Keep straight.

Forward.

Focus.

Forward.

Focus.

Forward.

Focus.

Forward.

A turn is coming. We may have to take it. Visualize the running field.

The blank scenery transformed in front of him, blinking on and off like a light. White chalk bending on artificial greenery, his breathing being the only rhythm in the world, his one arm tugging the responsibility of balance—the perfect simulation.

His perfect realm.

Perfect. Now, focus.

He ran.

Regulate your breathing.

He ran.

Be afraid of that turn—you can fall.

He ran.

So focus.

He leapt.

Focus.

He erupted.

Focus!

No distractions, no sound—he couldn’t be broken now.

Focus!

A raindrop.

One hulking figure crashed down into his focus.

Focus—shi—

“Gid—Watch out!”

A tornado.

The figure spun, the bulk of a crocodile tail swinging at full tilt towards his churning stomach.

Gideon stumbled back, the simulation shattering before him. Then—manipulating his fall—he drew a sharp breath and repelled himself backwards, rolling onto the ground. The wind from the tail swing stung his face as he attempted to stabilize himself to kneel.

“Fack!”

He tried to tend to his aching stub.

A thunderclap.

The beast swamped his view after his heart managed to catch a beat. Darkness swallowed him in another heartbeat.

The only light he could see was the one in the monster’s chest, flashing before his eyes.

He screamed.

Then, the darkness spat him out. A devastating force powered by a grainy grunt tore over his head, launching the deformed mess through the air before it skidded on the pavement and stopped near a building’s plastered corner.

“Gideon, you good, ma—Shoot it if it gets up!”

A shadow of a raised hand fell out of view. The other two officers hesitantly agreed. Their guns clicked, jumpstarting Gideon to life.

He forgot to breathe. He forgot to pump his blood. He forgot to react.

But when he began doing these things, he couldn’t stop. His body shook.

“Gid!”

Hilario pulled him out of his slump on the ground, retracting his nails to handle his superior. There was urgency in every movement as the leuietneant’s strained eyes stared out to the jittering body inches away from where they stood.

Gideon resurfaced, feeling the tightness in Hilario’s grip.

“Thank—” He coughed, speaking quicker than he could wheeze. “Thanks, Hilario—”

“You’re… uh… man—you’re welcome—you feeling good?”

Gideon’s throat ached. Everything did.

“I… I almost died—forget about it—k—kill him now—now! He’s gonna get up!”

“Yes, cap!”

One of the officers fired, drawing a strangled scream from the beast as the bullet engraved itself in its writhing shoulder.

“Don’t stop! This is the opportunity, dammit—”

“Right!”

Another bullet. The shoulder again. Scream.

Another bullet. The upper back. Shriek.

Another bullet. Miss. Howl.

The squadron shuddered as the beast came to a rest, shaking weakly like a fish out of water as it lay in pooling blood.

“I—Is it ov—”

“Shoot again.”

The soldier’s pistol shivered in his hands, Gideon’s eyes analyzing the way both of the officers’ faces contorted, even when one of them hadn’t even fired the pistol. He turned to Hilario, the man looking at the air which hung beyond the bloody mess.

Gideon grasped his breathing and slowed it. He spat phlegm on the ground, emptying the gnawing feeling in his throat.

“Alive or dead doesn’t matter!” He talked over the hectic background crying and explosions as if to tame the storm. “We just need the body—and I get that it’s a bit daunting—completely get that.”

He paused, allowing himself to soak in his own words and breathe. He couldn’t elaborate further; he forgot what he wanted to say.

So he moved on.

“It’s all good, man.” He shrugged away from Hilario’s grip, the latter’s attention flipping back to the scene. Gideon smiled an uncertain one that lacked a glow. “‘Grats on being right. Happy that we got this chance to hopefully finish this job today—alright, enough stall, let’s—”

Tsunami.

Blood splattered in all directions, washing over them violently.

It was almost like a wave in the first second, a small gesture that stirred them.

A calm before the storm.

But the storm came as their shouts meshed together with the grinding of scales and the rapid peeling of skin. But not once were there screeches from the downtrodden.

The guns dropped. Gideon’s jaw followed.

Of course… Of ‘effin course…

All that lay in a red pool of skin and hair was a crocodile, everything intact aside from its naturality.

What kind of logi—no… ‘eff me—

“Run!”

They made a mad, slippery dash.

That heart… That piece of shi’ allows for too much freedom!

In a thunderclap, the crocodile took to the ashy skies above them, roaring and wielding an untamed light in its maw.

Then, all of them saw the light.