Peacock looked at his hands. The skin had turned into dark obsidian-like stone, hard but flexible. Its purple veins glowed in the darkness of the ship’s insides. The others had left, eager to obey the Collector. He had stayed behind, still grappling with his hands of stone. A distant feeling of wrongness kept him there, a soft whisper telling him this wasn’t right. He opened and closed his fist. They were weapons: not just parts of his body but tools, meant to hurt and kill. Peacock didn’t feel scared about it. He had killed before. With these hands, he’d do it again, albeit it far more bloody. ‘6-258. Please start your current mission. The others are already out there.’ He looked up. The Collector had appeared before him. He wanted to explain to her how he felt, but he didn’t get the chance. Two guards entered the hold with a girl in their midst. ‘Peacock!’ She started to cry and her guards struggled to keep her with them. Peacock recognized the sound of his own name but he didn’t know the girl. No, wait! For a brief moment, the whisper within him became a fully-fledged scream. An internal echo from his past reached out to him. I know her! She’s.. She.. ‘6-258. I’ll only repeat myself once. Go out and carry out the mission you’ve been given. It is crucial to our goal. And you..’ The Collector turned toward the girl. ‘Don’t worry about your friend. You’ll join the ranks soon enough.’ Her voice had silenced the scream within him. 6-258 had a mission. He stood up, passed the guards without looking at the girl, and left the holds.

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Tower City’s underworld populace decreased noticeably during that night. 6-258 and his fellow Enhanced ganged up on every homeless person, every street thug and every lost wanderer they could find. All were led towards the ship, into the hands of the Collector. In some cases, the Merchant King’s private guard stepped in. Not to protect the city’s citizens but to stop the chaos. Chaos, after all, was bad for business. They didn’t stand a chance. It took only a few seconds for 6-258 to get used to his new hands. At the end of the night the obsidian surface was dirty with blood and skin. The sound of skulls being crushed served as an addicting refrain. Peacock was gone. 6-258 was born.