At 21:00 on Saturday, Detective Ilmar emerged from the dumpster, his senses still somewhat clouded. He hadn't been in his right mind when he entered, and he wasn't fully there yet. Initially dreading the hours he would spend inside, he found the experience surprisingly tolerable amidst the filth. The necessity of hiding to evade capture altered his perspective, triggering something primal within him.

"I must reach Diego and Kareli as swiftly as possible!" he growled as he emerged from the dumpster, resembling a predatory beast emerging from its lair.

As he stretched, he felt a surge of rejuvenation. His mustache wild and clothes, already grimy, clung to him even tighter, revealing more of his worn figure. With each flex of his muscles, Detective Ilmar sensed a newfound strength, perhaps even a heightening of his stature, reminiscent of his youth when he courted Aisha.

His fingers clenched, raking across his furrowed brow. Thoughts of his late wife inevitably summoned memories of their daughter and the horrific manner of their deaths, etched permanently into his consciousness, reigniting his feral resolve.

'Maintain control!' It was a constant battle to restrain himself. 'You struck a deal with the devil! I cannot allow myself to be consumed by the madness of what resides within me... not before-' He straightened, his voice a low hiss. "I exact vengeance upon them."

Stepping out of the backstreet, Detective Ilmar proceeded cautiously. His newfound heightened senses, honed by the recent transformation, allowed him to perceive the street with acute clarity.

"Five individuals..." he discerned, waiting until they had all passed beyond the confines of the backstreet before emerging from the shadows.

'This is Duggless street,' he realized. 'The 98th precinct is a forty-minute drive. Whether I'm fleeing further or attempting to return is inconsequential. I cannot go back. My primary objective is locating Diego and Kareli. I must get to them, fast, in case the agents from the Homeland Office of Special Cases are searching for me and have compiled a list of potential hideouts."

At 23:27, Detective Ilmar slipped into a shirt that had been two sizes too big just a day ago, salvaged from a heap of trash on his way to what locals referred to as the "Steel Neck Neighborhood".

While the name evoked a rough image, the reality was a bit different. Despite its low-income status, many families had ascended to the middle class in recent years. The renovation of the youth center had also led to a notable decrease in juvenile crime rates.

However, the neighborhood was not without its blemish – the notorious "Blood Plate" gang held sway, primarily centered in Steel Neck. Detective Ilmar wrinkled his nose in distaste as he detected the familiar stench lingering in the air. The late hour was prime time for the Blood Plates' activities. Avoiding encounters with groups of four or five members, often accompanied by aspiring youths seeking entry into the gang, was as challenging as scratching one's own backside.

His gaze shifted to a cluster of roughly eight individuals congregated on a nearby porch, unmistakably engaged in activities far louder and more disruptive than smoking cigarettes. Detective Ilmar's irritation simmered at the sight.

Nevertheless, he crossed the street. 'You're not here for the riffraff. And this anger…' It wasn't characteristic of him, yet dwelling on the unwelcome changes to his demeanor only served to exacerbate his agitation.

Fortunately, his appearance didn't attract undue attention from the group, allowing him to proceed relatively unnoticed. 'No signs of surveillance,' he noted, scanning a five-hundred-meter radius around the house that now loomed before him, finding no indication of watchers.

Approaching the front door, Detective Ilmar pounded on it forcefully. "Who the hell dares to knock like this at this hour!" A female voice erupted, accompanied by heavy footsteps descending the stairs.

A woman in her late forties flung the door open, ready to unleash her displeasure upon the unwelcome visitor, but whatever words she had prepared caught in her throat. "You are…" she faltered.

Detective Ilmar pushed past her, crossing the threshold and inadvertently causing the woman to stumble. "Stand up," he growled, his tone commanding.

"Stay still!" a voice commanded from the top of the stairway. A man in his thirties, clad only partially, leveled an M-16 at Detective Ilmar. "Hold on a moment... Honey, get out of the way and flick on the entrance light."

Detective Ilmar remained motionless as the woman hurried to comply, illuminating the scene.

"Detective Ilmar Lois from the 98th Precinct! What brings you here?" the man inquired.

"Didn't you kill your wife and daughter?" the woman interjected, covering herself with her robe. Her statement carrying more accusation than inquiry.

Detective Ilmar felt a surge of rage at the mention of his family. He fixed his gaze on the M-16, not eager to test his resilience against a bullet. That apprehension served as a tether for his emotions.

With a determined air, he closed the door behind him.

"Diego and Kareli Sarrara," he grumbled. "You've heard about me through your networks, and it seems... your intel confirms mine. You shouldn't have sent that text message," he added, his eyes shifting from the M-16 to Kareli, who retrieved a gun from a nearby drawer and hastily closed a messaging app on her smartphone, tucked into her robe.

Without waiting for a response or showing concern for the weapons, Detective Ilmar lunged at Kareli. The formidable woman managed to fire off a single errant shot before an inexplicable force lifted her and forcefully deposited her onto the ground.

The exertion left Detective Ilmar winded, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, and foam beginning to form at the corners of his mouth.

"D-Don't... mention my wife and daughter! Avoid unnecessary actions, or I'll do something we'll all regret!" he stuttered, his voice strained with barely contained fury.

Diego descended the stairs, brandishing the M-16 but hesitant to fire and risk hitting Kareli. "This is obviously not an official visit, Detective-"

"No!" Detective Ilmar snapped, his tone sharp. "No," he lamented, the turmoil evident in his voice. "A man who commits murder cannot claim the mantle of law. And 'Lois'..." He directed his gaze down at Kareli. "Is the name of a weak man. Taeun... call me Taeun Aldhiyaab!"

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"Okay, Taeun Aldhiyaab," Diego complied, noting the unsettling shift in Detective Ilmar's demeanor. "Why are you here?"

Stepping away from Kareli, Taeun Aldhiyaab allowed her to retreat, clutching the gun but lacking the courage to wield it again.

"Money, identity, and transportation," he stated bluntly.

"De- Taeun Aldhiyaab, I won't play games with you. You're well aware of my line of work, so you understand I don't operate a charity, especially not for former cops like yourself. Your kind have cost me business and incurred expenses I could do without. Given your evident bad day, I'll extend some fairness to you... arrange the cash, and I'll facilitate your-"

"Not playing games? Do I strike you as someone in the mood for games?!" Taeun Aldhiyaab's muscles coiled with tension. He reached for the small cabinet, from which Kareli had retrieved the gun. It would have been a trifling weight even for a child. Yet, to crush the wooden structure as if it were paper was a testament to his strength.

"I believe..." Taeun Aldhiyaab pondered aloud. "I can do this to human bones," he remarked, shifting his gaze to Diego, devoid of temper but rather detached.

"Diego, this man is unstable. Shoot him!" Kareli's voice echoed from the living room.

Diego aimed the M-16. "That's not how a cop behaves. Moreover, you're trespassing. Either turn back and return with the money, or one way or another, I'll escort you out – either with or without a hole in your head. The choice is yours."

"What am I supposed to do...?" Taeun Aldhiyaab rubbed his temple, grappling with the dilemma. "Guns... bullets... they cannot hinder me if I am to eliminate them..." To achieve his goal, he needed a power that emanated from within, not reliant on external tools.

'Power,' he grimaced, feeling the strain in his back. A foul odor filled his lungs, and foam gathered at the corners of his lips.

"Damn it!" Diego cursed, pulling the trigger.

The bullets streaked with impossible speed, too swift to track, let alone evade. Taeun Aldhiyaab absorbed the impact of two while deftly sidestepping the others, disregarding the pain and his worsening condition. In an instant, he stood before Diego, the M-16 slipping from his trembling grasp in sheer terror.

Taeun Aldhiyaab's hand closed around Diego's neck, the other nearly enveloping his entire head. Kareli rushed in from the living room, just in time to witness Taeun Aldhiyaab's transformation – a grotesque contortion of his once-human form. Now, he loomed as a hulking figure with a sickly skin tone, inhumanly wide eyes, and a protruding jaw."M-M-Monster!" Kareli screamed, while Diego remained frozen in shock.

Outside the two-story house, a gathering of two dozen armed men assembled, their presence signaling an escalation of the situation.

Taeun Aldhiyaab's awareness flickered as he sensed the large group gathering outside, his mind drifting between states of consciousness. The scent of them brought forth a comparison to a pack of...

"Wolves!" The word escaped his lips like a whisper carried on the smog. Below him, Diego began to convulse within his grasp. "No... humans..." Taeun Aldhiyaab clarified, regaining his clarity and releasing the other man.

Diego collapsed, coughing violently. Taeun Aldhiyaab retreated, returning to his normal size. His new shirt, though stretched and torn, was far from the ragged state of his former clothes.

Ignoring Kareli, he made his way to the living room and settled onto a sofa just as the main door burst open, unleashing a chaotic clamor. Members of the Blood Plate gang flooded in, escorting Diego into the room with multiple firearms trained on Taeun Aldhiyaab.

Black-red, viscous blood oozed from the two bullet holes in Taeun Aldhiyaab's chest, a surreal testament to his inexplicable resilience.

"What the hell are you?!" Diego struggled to breathe and stand on his own, gesturing for the gang members to encircle the sofa.

"Money, identity, and transport. Provide them to me, and you'll never have to encounter whatever I am ever again," declared Taeun Aldhiyaab, his tone resolute.

Diego frowned, grappling with the weight of the proposition. "I thought you were a businessman. Would you prefer to escalate into an all-out confrontation?" Taeun Aldhiyaab's tone carried a hint of warning.

"No cop, retired, fired, or otherwise, has the right to waltz into my home and issue demands. You've piqued my curiosity about what substance courses through your veins," retorted Diego, his gaze steady and probing.

"Speak up, Diego, we'll blow his head off!" The gang leader, among the eldest present – late twenties, perhaps early thirties – held a shotgun mere meters from Taeun Aldhiyaab's head.

'If I resort to using this power again, I'll lose control,' mused Taeun Aldhiyaab, briefly tempted to snatch the shotgun and pull the trigger. However, the thought ebbed away, leaving him feeling drained and weakened. He had yet to fully grasp the intricacies of the devil's gift.

"The team at the 98th precinct has long suspected that the Blood Plates are under your employ, serving as a mere facade for a larger operation where you play a significant role," Taeun Aldhiyaab continued evenly.

"You think I'm oblivious to that?" Diego scoffed.

"No, you're merely suspicious. Your informant failed to relay that detail to you. Now it's confirmed. Consider it my payment for everything I've requested. This is my final offer," Taeun Aldhiyaab concluded, his voice firm.

"No. These are your final words. Shoot him!" Diego's command pierced the tense atmosphere, a stark declaration of intent.

'A... Unfortunate,' Taeun Aldhiyaab thought, closing his eyes as everything faded to blankness.

Four minutes elapsed.

Dismembered bodies littered the dimly lit living room. Of the two dozen Blood Plates, only a handful remained barely alive, unable to comprehend the carnage that had unfolded.

Those with even the slightest strength to move tremulously glanced toward the corner outside the living room where the grim monstrosity had vanished, leaving behind a trail of blood and a cloud of corrosive smog.

In the kitchen, leaning against the back door, Diego's back glistened with cold sweat. His entire body writhed in feverish agony, the skin of his bare torso blistering from an unseen force. He endured excruciating pain, though none of it was inflicted by the hand of the proven monster that now staggered on all fours.

"Alright! Alright!" Diego's voice was hoarse, strained by suffering. "I'll comply... money, identity, and transport," he conceded, his words a desperate plea for reprieve.

The humanoid creature, Taeun Aldhiyaab, remained silent as he loomed large, towering like the mightiest of wrestlers. A cascade of dark mane cascaded from the crown of his head down to his lower back. His massive facial features bore no expression, while countless holes across his body oozed black-red blood, serving as gruesome reminders of the violence that had transpired.

"Please, stop! I have everything right here!" Diego pleaded, desperation tinging his voice.

Taeun Aldhiyaab's approach was deliberate, his movements sluggish. His injuries pushed the limits of his "devilish" powers. Every few seconds, his towering form diminished, reverting to his original size, relinquishing both his strength and the damage he had sustained.

Stopping mere centimeters from Diego's face, Taeun Aldhiyaab's countenance shifted back to its normal state, emerging from the abyss of blankness.

"Glad," he uttered softly, as his body resumed its regular, albeit more muscular, form – a consequence of the deal struck. With a weary sigh, Taeun Aldhiyaab retreated and collapsed onto the ground. "We've come to an understanding."

…

"Say that again?!"

"Superpowers, in exchange for my soul..."

Hours earlier.

At 13:25 on Saturday, in Michael's room at the Mir household, Eric listened intently as Michael recounted the events of the past few days.

"Super strength and bullet-blocking abilities?" Chris's incredulity hung heavy in the air, despite the disarray in the apartment. The notion of the supernatural, as described by Michael and reluctantly acknowledged by his father, seemed preposterous to him.

"Strength, speed, heightened perception, all plausible, to some extent. But I'm not entirely certain about bullet-blocking," Michael admitted cautiously.

"Show me!" Eric's insistence was unwavering. "Bend my keys!" he demanded, brandishing them before Michael.

"Eric, listen," Michael hesitated, concerned about Eric's reaction should he comply. "I shared everything because your family got involved, not to turn into a sideshow..."

"Don't, Michael! Just don't!" Eric interrupted, his tone urgent. "You haven't seen how terrified my mom and sister are. Imagine their reaction when they see my dad! I'm not interested in your story or the state of your apartment. I want concrete proof that my friend isn't driving the people around him crazy!"

Eric's words had barely left his lips when he felt a sudden tug at his hand. His car keys were ripped from his grasp by an invisible force, contorting them into twisted scrap metal before his very eyes.

"There, satisfied?" Michael's voice held a note of resignation, understanding the gravity of the situation.