I was barely conscious, my vision a shifting haze through the fog of potent drugs. The room was an indistinguishable blur of shadow and light, the walls closing in with an oppressive weight. Sword arm guy had left, his footsteps echoing off into the distance, leaving me alone with a guard. The air was thick with a stench of blood and sweat, a mingling aroma of fear and cruelty. My wrists were tied tightly to the chair, the rough rope biting into my skin with every twitch. My heart pounded a heavy rhythm in my chest, a relentless drum beneath the constant, throbbing ache in my head.

Every move was an effort, every breath a struggle. My thoughts were a muddled mess, tangled up with the disorienting effects of the drugs. My body felt as though it were sinking into quicksand, heavy and sluggish. But amidst the chaos, a singular thought cut through the fog with brutal clarity: the girls. The ones I had come to save. The ones I had failed.

The guilt was a relentless tormentor, gnawing at my insides with a ceaseless, unforgiving hunger. I had come here to rescue them, to pull them out of a hell that they were trapped in. They were being trafficked, their futures destined for some grim fate in a foreign country. Their terror had been palpable, their eyes wide with desperation and despair. I had promised them freedom. I had sworn I would get them out.

But instead, I was captured. I was stuck here, while they were somewhere out there, possibly already on a plane. The crushing realization of my failure pressed down on me with unbearable weight. Every beat of my heart seemed to echo with the sound of their lost hopes. The drugs might have dulled my senses, but they couldn’t numb the intense, suffocating shame I felt.

Their faces haunted me, a constant, vivid reminder of my failure. I could still see their terrified eyes, hear their desperate cries for help. The weight of their loss was a crushing burden, one that no amount of physical pain could compare to. I was supposed to be their hero, their savior. Instead, I was just another broken promise, another failure. The beatings, the pain—they all seemed to echo the enormity of my guilt.

But amidst the haze of despair and the physical pain, there was a small, cool comfort—the marble in my pocket. They hadn’t searched me thoroughly. I still had it. I had to make this work. I had to do something, anything, to atone for my failure. But the drugs made everything feel so slow, so heavy. Every movement was a struggle.

The guard, a bulky figure with a grim expression, stood a few feet away. He was distracted, his attention focused on something outside the room. This was my chance. I had to seize it.

My fingers fumbled as I reached for the marbles. The ropes tied to my arms made it almost impossible to maneuver. I winced with each shift, the rough fibers cutting into my skin. I tried to ignore the pain and focus on the task at hand. I needed to use the marbles to make a difference, to create a chance for escape. I had only three left but that doesn’t matter right now I just need to take out this one guard for now, I’ll worry about the other later. I concentrated on the guard’s forehead, envisioning the marble swapping with the space there. I imagined him collapsing, my chance to get out, to redeem myself for failing the girls.

The familiar tingle of my ability surged through me, a brief flash of clarity amid the drug-induced haze. I released the marble, feeling the energy pulse as the space folded. But the drugs twisted my control, making the marble miss its mark. Instead of his forehead, it swapped with his cheek. The marble appeared in my hand, warm and sticky. In its place was a grotesque, jagged chunk of the guard’s cheek, complete with bits of teeth and tongue.

The guard’s scream was a raw, agonized cry, a sound that tore through the air with a brutal intensity. Blood gushed from the gaping wound, splattering across the walls and floor, staining me in a grotesque pattern of red. His agony was a horrific reminder of how everything had gone so wrong. The sight of his face, twisted in pain, only deepened my sense of failure.

The guards stormed in, their anger palpable and immediate. Their boots pounded the floor, each step a prelude to the brutal assault that followed. Their blows were merciless, a barrage of fists and feet that sent shockwaves of pain through my body. I tried to defend myself, but the drugs and my own guilt made every movement sluggish and uncoordinated. I was a puppet, helpless in their cruel hands.

The beating seemed to stretch into an eternity, a blur of pain and darkness. Time lost meaning. Each hit was a reminder of how I had failed the girls, how I was unable to protect them. The physical pain was nothing compared to the weight of my own failures. I could barely breathe, every gasp a struggle against the suffocating pain and despair.

Hours—or maybe days—passed in a fog of drug-induced unconsciousness. I was left alone with my torment, the ache of bruises and the relentless throb of my head. The weight of my guilt was unbearable, an all-consuming presence that overshadowed everything else. The drugs couldn’t numb the crushing reality of my failure, of knowing that I had let them down.

Then something shifted.

I felt rough hands lifting me, the grip firm and urgent, as though whoever was carrying me was in a desperate hurry. The commotion outside was a cacophony of shouts and screams, growing louder and more frantic. The guards seemed nervous, their voices rising in panic. I could sense their hesitation, the tension in the air. And then… silence. They had vanished.

I struggled to move, each attempt a Herculean effort against the drowsy fog and the ache of my injuries. The blindfold was tight, pressing painfully against my eyes. I stumbled forward, my legs feeling like they were encased in lead. The room was a maze of shadows and shapes, my sense of direction completely disoriented. All I could think about was escaping, finding a way to atone for my failures.

The door exploded open with a deafening crash.

The impact sent me sprawling to the floor, my body slamming against the concrete with a jarring thud. I gasped, my breath coming in ragged bursts. Through the blindfold, I could make out the silhouette of a figure in the doorway. Sword arm guy. His outline was dark and menacing, his presence radiating a twisted, almost feral satisfaction. Blood dripped from his grotesque weapon, and his eyes burned with a savage intensity.

I tried to crawl away, my back scraping painfully against the floor. Sword arm guy moved toward me slowly, deliberately. I could feel his presence closing in, a heavy, oppressive weight. I wasn’t going to make it. I couldn’t escape.

Then something happened.

A truck appeared out of nowhere, its headlights blazing with an almost supernatural intensity. It phased through the wall as if it were a ghost, its massive front end crashing into sword arm guy with a bone-shattering force. The noise was deafening, a cacophony of metal and concrete exploding into chaos. The truck crushed sword arm guy beneath its weight, the sound of bones snapping and twisted metal filling the air.

A chunk of debris hit me in the head.

Everything went black. My body went limp, the world around me dissolving into darkness. I felt arms lifting me with a firm and hurried grip. The hands were rough, moving with a sense of urgency that matched the chaos outside. I couldn’t see who it was, and the darkness pulled me further into unconsciousness.

When I woke, the world was in motion. I was in a car, the seat reclined all the way back. The engine roared beneath me, and the heavy bass of a familiar song thumped through the car’s speakers. “Balenciaga” by Lil Keed. My head pounded, a fierce ache that seemed to pulse with the beat of the music.

I blinked, trying to clear the fog from my vision. The dashboard lights were a blur, the car speeding through the night with an unrelenting velocity. I turned my head toward the driver’s seat.

There was no head. The body was visible, bobbing along to the rhythm of the music. The voice singing along was muffled but carried a familiar tone, though I couldn’t quite place it.

“What the hell…”

Before I could fully process what I was seeing, the windshield was filled with the blinding headlights of a massive truck, hurtling straight toward us. The collision was imminent, and the sheer speed made it seem inevitable.

We were going to crash. Head-on.

I couldn’t even scream. The world was spinning too fast, the terror and disbelief overwhelming.

But I did end up letting out a scream—a high-pitched, embarrassing shriek that would have made any toddler proud. My voice cracked so dramatically it turned into a banshee wail. As we hurtled straight toward the truck, panic seized me. But instead of crashing, something utterly bizarre happened: we went right through the truck as if it were a ghostly illusion.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion as we passed through the vehicle. The truck’s interior was laid bare before me. I first glimpsed the roaring engine, its massive pistons firing and moving with relentless precision, casting a mechanical ballet in the dim light. Then, as we glided forward, the scene shifted to the cabin. I saw the driver and passenger, completely oblivious to my ghostly intrusion.

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Inside the cabin, the scene was almost comical. Empty soda cans and crumpled chip packets lay scattered across the floor, mingling with crumbs and the occasional forgotten napkin. The passenger’s seat was a chaotic mess of detritus. And then, as if fate had a cruel sense of humor, my head was at the exact height of the passenger’s lap. For a split second, I was face-to-face with his—let’s just say—less-than-pleasant anatomy. His limp, hairy bits were in my direct line of sight before I swiftly moved past them. I caught a brief, unwelcome glimpse of the seat’s springs and then, thankfully, the back of the truck, which was nothing but a sandy mess. Moments later, the road was in view again.

Meanwhile, the headless man beside me was having the time of his life. His laughter echoed through the cab, even though he had no head. He was slapping his knee and making gasping noises, clearly finding my predicament incredibly amusing. His headless state only added to the surreal absurdity of the moment.

As the shock began to wear off, I shouted, “What the FUCK just happened?! Who are you? Oh my god, I saw that guy’s limp penis!” My words tumbled out in a jumbled mess as I tried to process the sheer absurdity of it all.

The headless man’s laughter grew louder. “I can’t breathe, oh my god!” he managed to say between fits of laughter. His face flickered into existence for just a brief moment. It looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it. My head was spinning, and I was still grappling with the effects of the sedatives.

I sank back into the low seat, my hands clutching my face as I tried to steady my breathing. The adrenaline was fading, and my mind slowly cleared, though the absurdity of the situation left me feeling utterly disoriented. I lay there, trying to wrap my head around what had just happened, my heart still racing from the bizarre encounter.

The headless man’s laughter eventually died down, and he spoke in a light tone, still clearly amused but trying to hide it. “Sorry bro, I didn’t realize you’d wake up at that moment. I was bored.” Since I couldn’t see his head, I couldn’t gauge his expression, but I was sure he was smiling.

I removed my hands from my face and adjusted the seat to a more comfortable position. As I settled in, I noticed the bandages on my head and a large plaster beneath one of my eyes. My hoodie was missing, and the car’s interior was surprisingly stylish. Pink and magenta lights lined the interior in a sleek, glowing strip, casting an ambient glow that made the car look both retro and high-tech. The vehicle, though old-fashioned in its exterior, was heavily modified and outfitted with cutting-edge technology. The gear shift revealed it was a Toyota, and the back of the car had a cage and a nitro tank.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” the headless man said.

“Yeah,” I replied, my eyes scanning the interior. Then the realization hit me like a freight train. “You motherfucker.”

The headless man’s voice took on a familiar tone, and his face appeared, revealing my “friend” from the Hawks, South Africa’s intelligence agency. “Oh, by my government name, even. Another thing I’ll let slide. Plus, I still haven’t heard you thank me yet.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for the save. Also, how long have you had abilities, and what the hell are they? It seems like you have multiple.”

“Nah, just one. It’s kind of hard to explain, but the best comparison I can come up with is Schrödinger’s cat—almost.”

“Oh, alright. I guess that makes sense, in a way. But it doesn’t really explain how we moved through that truck. Shouldn’t we have moved through the ground as well?”

“Oh, you mean when you had that guy’s balls in your face?” he responded, clearly trying to avoid my question. But since he saved me, I decided to let it go.

“Whatever, man. Where are we, anyway? This doesn’t look like East London.”

“We’re on our way to Port Elizabeth right now. Trying to get as far away as possible from that place I just rescued your reckless murderous ass from,” he said, his tone shifting when he mentioned “murderous,” clearly aware of the guards I’d killed.

“They were trafficking young girls,” I responded firmly, making it clear that those guys deserved what came to them.

“None of us have the right to take lives, especially not some amateur wannabe vigilante who thinks he can stop an entire human trafficking ring by taking down one measly shipment. I seriously regret giving you that info.”

“And what did you or your precious government agency accomplish, huh? You guys were just going to sit around and do nothing while those innocent girls were being trafficked!” I spat back.

“First of all, we’re not a government agency. Those corrupt fucks would have used us as their personal sword. They just provide the funding. Second, the only reason we were going to let that shipment happen was to gather more information about the whole operation. Unbeknownst to you, we had someone on the inside who was set to meet with someone much higher up a few days ago before you decided to play fucking hobo Batman. With that intel, we could have gotten a better understanding of their entire system, which would help us bring them down. But now that’s delayed because of you!” he said angrily as we swerved around a corner and onto an empty highway, heading towards Port Elizabeth.

“I…I didn’t know that.” I say, defeat and regret heavy in my voice. I look away from him and decide to watch the road pass by. A long few moments of pure silence pass before anyone says something. As we enter Port Elizabeth, I finally pipe up and say something.

“ So what’s the plan now? How are we gonna save them.” I finally ask, breaking the long silence.

“Well for starters, we need to get you patched up, then I have to liaison with the inside man to see what’s going on with them, since I broke you out today and see what to do from there, then I have to fill in some documentation about your arres...”he says calmly still driving.

“Woah, woah arrest? “ I asked cutting him off shocked from the nonchalant betrayal.

“Yes arrest, what the fuck did you think would happen after you murdered two people?” He says looking at me with a quizzical look, like I’m the crazy one who is arresting a friend.

I shrug, leaning back. “I…I don’t know man, they deserved it though, they were trafficking kids. Do you realize how fucked up that is, and no one else was willing to do anything besides me. Like even if I failed at least I cared enough to try and do something besides sit around and watch, and with a ability like mine I thought I could actually accomplish something.”

“Yeah I know, I know you meant well, but your method and execution was terrible, especially with an operation as finicky as taking out an entire Human Trafficking ring, because it’s not a simple situation of cutting off the head because it grows back even stronger, another more efficient and more permanent solution is required for something like this, simple death is not the only thing needed to stop a monster like that. These things take time and careful planning. We also care, fuck dude I’m fuming inside right now thinking about what horrors those poor kids are going through right now, but I can’t simply charge in there and fight, an actual plan needs to be made in order to bring the whole operation down, you understand?” His voice is calm now, but there's an edge of restraint, like he's holding back a torrent of anger.

As we pull up to a sleek hotel by the beachfront, the ocean reflecting off the glass windows, I glance around at the fancy cars in the parking lot. "Yeah... I understand," I mumble, the reality sinking in that my attempt to save the day may have screwed everything up.

He parks, and I let out a long breath. He eyes me for a moment, then asks, "Oh I meant to ask, how did you kill those guys? I couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing, it looked like marbles were drilled into their heads or they were shot out of something into their sculls but there weren’t any signs of impact damage at all, it seemed like the marbles kind of grew out of their skull or where always just there, neatly placed?"

I pause, suddenly remembering how normal my ability feels to me but how bizarre it must sound. "Oh, right. I can swap things—objects of the same mass. I can even swap myself with stuff. I swapped those marbles with part of the guards' skulls."

He gives me a long, hard stare, processing what I just said. "Wait... you teleported a marble into their skulls?" His voice is calm, not surprised, just... analyzing. "And your ability doesn’t prevent you from teleporting things into organic matter nor does it hurt you when you do that?"

"Nope." I shrug. "Why? Do you look worried all of a sudden?"

He raises an eyebrow, lips twitching into a small smile. "Not worried. Just... y'know, sitting next to a guy who could teleport shit into my skull at any second. Casual."

I smirk, but my mind drifts to the possibility of escape. I could teleport out of here. But... I don’t know this city, and I’m too messed up right now. Probably end up teleporting inside the wall of a building or something. I glance at him, sizing up my chances.

"Don’t even think about it," he says, eyes not leaving mine as he grabs something from the glove box. "You’ve already got a tracker inside you. Plus, I’ve got all your personal details—family and all. Run, and I’ll find you in a day, tops. Go off-grid, and, well... your family won’t be too thrilled with the consequences."

His tone is casual, but there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes. I freeze, heart pounding in my chest. He wouldn’t... would he? Fuck. Even if he’s bluffing, I’m not in a position to call it right now.

"Yeah, yeah, no worries," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "I’m not that stupid."

"Good." He grins. "Now let’s check in."

We both step out of the car, and my jaw almost drops when I finally get a good look at what we’ve been driving. A widebody Toyota AE-86, white with sharp black accents and a carbon fiber hood that looks like it could slice through air. The thing is a fucking work of art. Sleek. Aggressive. The yellow headlights glow softly, and the massive spoiler adds a touch of menace.

"Damn... she’s a beauty," I mutter, admiring the car.

He catches my look and laughs. "Yeah, looks better than you smell right now."

We head into the hotel lobby, a place far too fancy for someone in my state. After we check in, the room is ridiculous—multiple bedrooms, a lounge, the whole nine yards. I beeline for the shower and let the hot water wash away the grime and blood. When I step out, I wander into the lounge, hoping to scavenge some food.

That’s when I hear him on the phone, talking in hushed tones. I catch the words "working arrest" and "murderer." My stomach twists. He hangs up and turns to face me.

"Good news," he says, his tone flat. "We might be able to use someone with your... abilities. Which means you might get the chance to work off your time instead of rotting in prison."

I cross my arms. "Wait... what? Thought you weren’t government. How do you have that kind of power?"

"We don’t. But the people who fund us do. So yeah, in a way, we do now."

I stare at him for a long second. "So I’d be doing your dirty work to earn my freedom?"

He leans against the wall, arms crossed. "Nothing’s set in stone. You’ll have to prove yourself not only to the agency but to the funders. If the higher-ups like what they see, maybe you get to work off your sentence."

"Beats prison, I guess," I mumble, not fully convinced. But I’ll play along for now. Bide my time. Figure out how to escape once I’m back at full strength.

"Yeah, I wouldn’t get too comfy," he says, picking up the phone to order room service. "Trust me, this is the beginning of something much messier."