The pounding of my heart filled my ears as I ran back home as fast as my legs would carry me.

While Leo had called me before like this, it was always never on the emergency phone. That phone was only for the most dire of situations or when I was in danger. If he wanted to place an order, he would have just called me or my uncle.

ADD was code for Adderall, which was code for meth. And not just any meth-pure, white crystals at the highest quality I could make them.

I reached home in record time, and took the stairs two at a time, bounded into my room and snatching up my black hoodie and the roll of black cloth I had stashed under my bed, along with a duffle bag.

I rushed down the stairs to find my Uncle waiting for me.

Fuck.

I had forgotten to be quiet, and my uncle had noticed me.

"Where are you going?" He spat out.

I fidgeted, afraid of what was coming next." Leo wants an order delivered."

"Why didn't he call me?"

"It's an emergency."

My uncle slowly staggered toward me. My legs started to give out in fear, and I wanted nothing more than to run. But I stood my ground, knowing that running would just make things worse.

I saw his slap coming from a mile away, but I didn't dodge it. Dodging it would mean he'd throw whatever was closest to him, and I didn't want to pick out glass shards out of my face.

I took it on the cheek and stumbled into the wall, pain exploding on the right side of my face.

"Ungrateful brat. I've fed and clothed you for ten years, and as soon as you turn a profit, you want to snub me? Emergency my ass! You just want to pocket the money for yourself!" Spittle flew from his mouth as he yelled, and I shrunk back.

I shook my head and took the phone out and handed it to him. My uncle didn't know about the phone, since I knew he would confiscate it if he saw it.

He took the phone from my hands and stared at the message for a while before slapping me again. I slid down the wall, holding back tears.

"So, that two-bit gangster gave you a phone, did he? Why did you hide this from me?"

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Blood filled my mouth, slurring my words.

"He told me not to show you."

My uncle kicked me in the nose, breaking it.

"So you respect of the word of some street punk more than you respect me?"

Another kick followed and landed on my chest.

"Look at me."

I slowly moved my head, but that wasn't fast enough for my Uncle. He took a hold of my head by my hair and dragged me up.

"You're going to follow everything I say now to the letter. You're going to go make this delivery, and you're going to ask your friend double the cash for making you work fast. Then you're going to give me everything. If I even find you took a penny for yourself, I'll skin you alive. Got it?"

I whimpered, and he let me go. He sauntered back to the couch and took another hit of something.

I slowly got up and wiped my bloody nose on my sleeve and made it to the front door.

I spat a wad of blood on the lawn as I passed it, and all the fear and anxiety I had ignored bubbled up into the forefront of my mind and replaced the happiness I had felt throughout the day.

■

My "lab" was one of the many abandoned warehouses on 4th street that was located near the dock. I trudged though the streets, trying to stop the flow of blood from my nose.

Ever since the tragedy of Burning Halloween, the south of the city was filled with abandoned warehouses black with burn marks. Most of the reconstruction money had gone to the north, and the poorest denizens of the south side were ignored, creating even more of a divide in the city and giving the gangs and druggies more places to congregate in.

I cut through a side street and entered the warehouse, slowly stepping around discarded needles and broken glass. I made my way to the far end of the warehouse and jumped over a collection of old crates into my workspace.

I uncovered a dusty tarp to reveal a collection of beakers and a digital scale. After cleaning the beakers with the bottle of nitric acid and washing them out with distilled water, I was ready to begin.

I imagined the atoms bonding and linking to each other, the carbons forming rings and linking with the hydrogen, and then a single nitrogen attached to the chain at the end. My power kicked in, slowly draining something away from me. I felt a slow wave of cold pass through my body from my heart and settle on the tips of my fingers.

The crystals formed and fell from my hands, sticking to my hands when they were small and dropping off when they got larger. After hearing several clinking sounds, I stopped a picked up the beaker and measured the amount in it with the scale.

The scale lit up with a number after I hit it a couple of times.98 grams. I added a bit more to round it off, and poured everything into a plastic bag.

I cracked my knuckles and held out my hand over another beaker. Only 1900 more grams to go.

■

After an hour of draining work, I was finally done. I slumped over a crate and tried to wipe the sweat off my brow.

I looked at my watch. 10:00 pm. I had two hours before the delivery. While I tried to recover my energy, I turned my thoughts toward the meth.

While meth sold well, the commercial batches were always of lower quality and higher quantity. Make the price too high and the quality too good, and people would buy less than usual, which was a problem.

Then it hit me. Meth was an amphetamine. They used in the second world war as a combat drug to make soldiers more alert, and it allowed people to go without sleep for days. It gave troops confidence and boosts to cognitive abilities.

The amount I made was too small and too pure to sell. But it was enough for a couple of metahumans and elite operatives to work around the clock and remain in fighting shape for several days for an extended, unrelenting assault.

The hollow points were preparing for war.