'That's him, right? The one Venessa spoke of,' he muttered under his breath, eyes locked on Michael as he bolted out of the 98th Precinct with Detective Ilmar and a horde of other precinct staff, having just set the damn place on fire.

'Interesting. His power's on, but damn, it's minuscule for a guy who bartered his soul with a Demonic Entity. If Venessa hadn't assured me he's useful, I'd think he's just another fool, too dumb to grasp what he gave away.'

From within The Gray, he tracked Michael as Detective Ilmar sent him home. The fire at the Crime Lab building was contained, and everyone inside was out, suffering at most from smoke inhalation. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for spooking the law-abiding folks.

'The corpses are gone, and nobody got hurt. That should keep them from stumbling over something they shouldn't.'

He trailed behind Michael, not making him the sole focus.

'Whatever power he's got, it's bouncing around in his body. What the hell is it? Too small to be a curse. Not a mutation, at least from what I can see without testing his blood. Possession or infection, maybe? What's this guy up to?'

Perplexed, he watched Michael pluck a leaf from a bush, deftly spinning it like a tiny fan blade, five centimeters above and between his fingers. He played with the leaf for fifteen seconds, finishing by drawing it to his palm and clenching it contently.

'That's it? No!' Realization struck him, understanding why Venessa's Sight caught a glimpse of Michael. 'If he traded his soul for something like this, and if he's managed to survive and even grow as he imagined, the Vaults of Hell might open just wide enough for me to sneak in and grab That…'

He halted, seriously studying Michael.

'For him to survive, though… I'll have to put my life on the line.' Not as bothersome as ensuring Michael stays alive. 'I've got to confirm if what he's got is really what I think. If it is, I'll do my best to help him survive until the bounty's lifted. After that, his struggles won't end. If he can adapt to this new world, I'll get him to assist me at the right time. It'll be beneficial for both. If not, I'll roll the dice when his soul gets collected and whatever's inside him is retrieved.'

Resuming his steady pursuit of Michael, his next step transitioned from The Gray to colors, from there to here, as if he'd always been in every field of vision he suddenly popped into.

...

13:15

'I should've had breakfast with Eric,' Michael thought, stomach growling with regret over the vending machine snacks at the precinct. "Excuse me," he said, bumping into someone beside him.

"For what?" a man's voice replied.

A hand grabbed Michael's shoulder, and his body turned automatically.

The man, shorter than Michael and Middle Eastern like Detective Ilmar, maybe a decade younger, exuded charisma a million times stronger.

"For trading your soul? Being responsible for the death of two young men? Possibly dragging everyone close to you into something that could lead to their death? Or is it just because you're weak, pathetic, and stupid for not embracing the blessing of a normal life until a comfy death at an old age? Which is it?"

"I…" Michael's voice quivered.

For a fleeting second, the man triggered memories of the night of his Demonic summoning and the presence of the Demon. But this man carried something far more powerful, a word dangling at the tip of his tongue.

'Authority!'

"I see," the man closed his eyes and opened them. "Come."

Michael's legs moved as if propelled, his mind hovering on the verge of freezing, instincts on high alert, doing nothing but obeying.

They walked for twenty minutes until the man stopped at a coffee shop. A hostess led him and the automaton-like Michael to a table. The man ordered for both when the waiter arrived, but Michael couldn't catch a word. His mind buzzed as the icy grip slowly released.

"Drink," said the man, handing a glass of water to Michael. On the table, he sketched something that quickly vanished. "Now we can talk freely."

Michael gulped down water like a man parched in the desert, every sip eroding the physical and mental stiffness. By the bottom of the second cup, his mind was clear, though his stomach still clamored for sustenance.

'That's right. Other folks could've struck deals for power through different channels. I messed up when I used The String on that leaf. Whether it's a coincidence or not, he was there, ready to spot me. Hold up! Did he just claim I had a hand in Mason and his buddy's death?'

"At least you're cautious. Better late than never, I suppose," the man reached his hand across the table. "David. Just David."

'Too late to second-guess now,' Michael figured, resigning himself to the situation, and shook the offered hand. "Michael Mir."

"First things first, I ain't here to hurt you, Michael, okay? If I wanted to, I could've offed you or something worse a long time ago since I hit this city."

"So, what's your game, then?"

Michael had a load of questions for the first person he'd met who seemed part of the "unordinary world." But he reined in his curiosity; safety first.

"I'll be straight with you, Michael. I get it, all this is new for you – powers, supernatural beings, the whole shebang. Your reaction tells me you haven't bumped into another human with some supernatural background. Let me drop this on you: every day, tons of people are getting the same wake-up call you did. And it ain't a small number doing it the same way. Most of 'em bite the dust in their fresh start. Those who do manage to get a grip on their situation end up in different leagues. But none are like you, the reason I had to drag my ass outta bed early just to find and deal with."

During David's spiel, the waiter rolled in with two plates of Spaghetti Bolognese, looking and smelling like a slice of heaven. Sadly, Michael's stomach was on a hunger strike.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"There we go," David twirled spaghetti on his fork and gleefully devoured a perfect bite. Mouth full, he mumbled, "Need a moment, or can I keep dropping truth bombs?"

'Settle down. Just settle down,' Michael coached himself in a mental pep talk. 'I'm not unique, which is cool. Or am I, like he claims? What about pinning Mason and his friend's death on me? What can I ask to make sure I can trust him? Right now, I can't think of anything except keep listening, so... so... calm down and nod,' and that's what he did.

"You should eat. It's not half bad," David pointed his fork at Michael's plate. "I'm picking up the tab." After another mouthful, he steered back to the main event. "Kid, I'm on the lookout for a way into a certain place. What you gotta do to help me with that is something you'll wanna know when you learn to protect your noggin from snooping. Instead, let's focus on what I can do for you, till the day you're in a position to return the favor. If you're cool with it, let's shake on it again," he extended his hand once more. "I'm being vague on purpose, Kid. You can turn down my offer. I'd leave you be in that case, but trust me, I'm the only one not gunning for your life."

'He doesn't seem like he's spinning a yarn. Maybe he's using his powers to mess with my head, like when he had me trailing him. If he's lying, refusing might push him to a more aggressive approach. And if he's telling the truth, it means there are others out there with powers or, who knows, maybe monsters, gunning for me. Going back home with these powered-up people on my tail could put mom, dad, and Dan in jeopardy. And I'm already somehow responsible for two people biting the dust!'

Obligingly, he shook David's hand again, only this time the guy didn't let go.

"Hush!" With a single word, he froze Michael again, his stature magnified a thousand-fold in the now frozen scene.

Meanwhile, in Michael's chest, The String went haywire, zigzagging left and right, up and down, as if It stumbled upon a natural enemy. It tried to crawl up to Michael's head, but every time It hit his neck, It rebounded like It hit an invisible wall.

"Venessa was right!"

Michael heard David exclaim as he released his hand, and everything seemed to return to a semblance of normal.

"I need to see the contract to be a hundred percent sure," David pondered. "Eat. We need to move to a private place for safety and convenience's sake. Your home will work."

"I don't live alone-"

"You don't strike me as the type who moved out from his parents' house. Relax, as long as you have a room all to yourself, what I'm planning won't raise any eyebrows. And while I'm around, nobody's gonna lay a finger on you or your family. It's a possibility you should be ready for."

"Is my family in danger because of me?! My mom could be at home. I can't just sit here and eat!" Michael snapped, visions of Mason's lifeless body replaced by the images of his parents and youngest brother.

"I was the first to pick up on the scent of your Demonic Transaction, and as a precaution, I wiped away the traces left at the scene. Others will have to use a more indirect approach to locate and identify you. By sundown, the first bounty hunters might make their move."

"I want to leave now," Michael stood up, keeping a vigilant eye on David, struggling to maintain composure. 'If he's lying, bringing him home could endanger Mom. But if he's telling the truth...'

The internal conflict churned his emotions, triggering the String, or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, Michael felt the slope that had nearly pushed him to madness the night before, with only the lingering imprint of David's overwhelming presence holding him back.

David set down his fork, emanating authority with a simple lean back and a locked gaze with Michael.

"An outburst will give away our location. The kind of Demonic power you traded your soul for tends to mess with the user's mind. It takes meditation and control of the Demonic power to resist it. Those aren't goals you can achieve right now. We'll head to your place after you build the resolve to follow my guidance blindly. That's not a choice. So, sit, pick up the cutlery, and eat."

Michael's breath oscillated between heavy and light in a rapid cycle. When David broke eye contact, Michael slumped back into his chair, shoulders hunched, hands gripping the table's rim, eyes fixed on the floor.

"I just wanted..." His lips moved, voice barely audible.

"We all do," David interjected. "For that, we take from those who give and those who are weak, Kid."

...

13:35

"The blood is masked by scents of those who came before us," she inhaled deeply from the pavement of The Gray, where Mason's blood had dried. Her wide nostrils acted as channels to the otherworldly. "No Demonic Presence. Someone covered it using Bristale Powder," she got back on her feet and glanced at his bloodied hands. "How many?"

She was tall, but he towered over her. Despite the height difference, he obediently answered her inquisitive demand. "Seventeen. All handled."

She grinned, revealing two rows of serrated teeth, matching his own. "They should know the Clan is here to claim the bounty. The House, too."

"They'll hand over the bounty and then scrap with us for him. Intel says there are four of them. Intercepting them in the city would be a disaster, no matter who catches him."

"If they throw down the gauntlet, we'll fight, whether in the city, The Gray, or anywhere else. I'll handle all four myself. You focus on him and the bounty," she left no room for argument.

"I promised our Lord to remind you once and follow your lead, whatever your choice is. Where to next?"

"Whoever scattered the Bristale Powder is forcing us into a dance with the local law enforcement. I have an idea for a tantalizing lure."

With a chuckle, she approached one of the two officers left to guard the crime scene, emerging behind him with lethal intent.

…

13:40

Detective Ilmar sprinted out of the 98th Precinct's showers, lower half shielded by a towel, soap still clinging to his body. He hurriedly changed clothes while the young officer who delivered the news awkwardly averted his gaze.

"Nobody saw a thing?" Detective Ilmar questioned, frantically running through scenarios in his mind. 'Was it Michael? Hardly a chance. The boy can't overpower two cops. The real culprit? First, the fire, now this... what the hell is going on today?!'

Minutes later, Detective Ilmar found himself in the presence of Sergeant Benev and Captain Galiger.

"Join us," Captain Galiger directed Detective Ilmar, striding past him.

In the Briefing Room, alongside twenty other officers, Captain Galiger stood at the podium. "Five minutes ago, we lost contact with Officers Hendrics and Belsamel. The two were protecting the Peiner St. crime scene. Officer Belsamel's call was abruptly cut. Officer Parks, whom he talked to at the time, heard a yell before the call was disconnected. She, and Officer Pitt, were on their way to the crime scene. They found traces of blood at the perimeter of the crime scene and no other sign of Officers Hendrics and Belsamel."

The room tightened with tension. Detective Ilmar absorbed every word, piecing together the unfolding details of Officers Hendrics and Belsamel's disappearance.

"Two of ours are presumed to be kidnapped, and the chance that this is connected to Nordoy and Julian's case and the Crime Lab's fire is high. Sergeant Benev," she turned to him.

"Captain," he replied.

"Officer Belsamel is a newlywed with a newborn baby girl. Officer Hendrics has four children and a husband waiting for him."

"I know what to do," Sergeant Benev asserted, emphasizing the responsibility not just to their missing comrades but to their families.

"Detective Ilmar, with me," she led them out of the Briefing Room, leaving Sergeant Benev to disseminate orders.

In Captain Galiger's office, she issued a firm command. "I want the suspect you released back in!"

"Yes, Captain," Detective Ilmar responded, still leaning toward Michael's innocence, careful not to undermine Captain Galiger with words that might suggest otherwise.

"Go back to the scene. Try to find something Parks and Pitt missed."

On his way out, she added a second instruction, to which he tacitly acknowledged.

'He's not answering,' Detective Ilmar tried to call Michael as he put his blue Suzuki Ciaz in Drive. 'He was heading home. He doesn't have a home number. He said his mother not working Fridays...'

His plan was to first examine the Peiner St. crime scene and then pick up Michael.

"Becca, I need the cellphone number of Michael Mir's mother, Mary Mir," he called into dispatch.

"With you in less than a minute," Becca responded.

"Mm?" Detective Ilmar's attention shifted to his private cellphone. His wife's picture appeared on the screen, calling. She was supposed to text him while at work and call only in case of an emergency.

"Sweety?" He answered, a feeling in the pit of his stomach, his intuition, consumed him with an unexplained sense of dread. "Aisha?"

"Honey…" At first, he felt relieved to hear her voice. Then, he took note of her tone and instantly turned his car a hard left, not waiting for her next, terrified words... "Please come home…"