Velli

Room 624. I step through the cracked door. Cheap air freshener attacks my nostrils and tongue. No, no, that’s expensive cologne, and it’s a great smell. No, it’s that cheap body spray stuff. I sniff again. The smell changes.

Only one man occupies the room, and he sits at a desk to the left of the two beds. The only light in the room is low, coming from a desk lamp. The lamp’s shade is almost too powerful for it. The light doesn’t reach me, only covering half the room. A portrait hangs on the wall of Division. “The Greatest Hero Who Ever Lived” is written beneath it. A window sits to the far right, facing a brick wall marked with moonlight.

Only one man occupies the room, and he sits at a desk to the left of the two beds—

Wait. I’ve already seen him. Prometheus.

The man spins in his swivel chair to face me and snaps his fingers in my direction but says nothing.

It’s hard to focus on a quavering blur when everything else is stagnant. The blurs stand out, but my eyes can’t take the pressure. I assume he wears a suit. No, there’s his chest.

You’re an idiot. Why would he be naked?

That’s his shirt, then, maybe. All the colors he’s wearing smash together and travel up and down his body like cars on a highway. He doesn’t have super speed. I know people with super speed, and their rapid movements are twitchy. Everything he does is smooth. His body itself looks like he’s doing little things—stroking his chin, writing a quick note on a notepad, chewing a toothpick—but I’m positive none of that is happening.

He’s about to rise. No, he’s leaning back, cool and casual. He whistles at me, beckoning me closer. Without making noise? Now he’s in the chair, leaning forward, legs spread and hands clutched together in a Godfatheresque pose.

I speak just so I can think of something else besides him. “I’ve come to request a service from you.”

“Okay…” His voice is a test of familiarity. Slow, creamy shifts from memorable to unrecognizable right when I think I identify it. “So you want powers, why?”

“I’m tired of losing. And I’m tired of losing people I love.”

“Losing at what?”

“Life.”

“Why does that matter?”

“It does.” It does something to the soul. We all know that—quiet, cold loneliness, rejections everywhere, walls closing us in down every alleyway, dead friends, my mother’s life hanging on the thin thread of my wallet. Every human alive knows that does something to the soul. I won’t justify myself to him.

I toss the bag full of money on the floor, unzip it, and say it—the words I know he wants to hear. “Name your price.”

His movement slows. He looks at me with a blank expression and doesn’t give the money a glance. “You don’t have enough.”

“I’ll get you double,” I tell him. Silence simmers. My opportunity is slipping away. I increase my offer to get a grip on it. “Triple,” I lie. I could never afford that.

He waves his hand, dismissing me.

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“I’ll give you anything.”

“That’s good. That’s really good. Desperation is important.” He laughs like he has phlegm stuck in his throat.

I smile politely. He hasn’t kicked me out yet. There’s hope.

He takes his time, this time, laughing clearer and in a different pitch. It’s hyena-like. “So, you think powers will make you happy?”

“Happy?” Happy? “That’s for people born with powers.”

A judgmental pause lingers in the room—a turkey he’s let cook overnight, and he’s making sure it’s ready to be devoured. He leans forward and licks his lips. “Come closer, Velli.”

I don’t want to know how he knows my name. I take four slow, conscious steps toward him.

“Closer,” he says.

I get close enough that his cool breath grazes my face.

“Your gun’s slipping out, Velli.”

My eyes drop to it. He slaps his hand on my chest. It’s burning hot. I witness every molecule of water from my skin evaporate into thin smoke. I expect fire to come from his hand. It can’t. It’s liquid. A liquid hodgepodge of colors no different from a child’s finger painting.

“What would you do for powers, again, Velli?”

He keeps calling me by my name. How does he know my name? “Anything.”

“That’s what everyone who’s ever had a bad day says.” He presses on my chest. “I want you to bet your life on it.”

I don’t respond. I won’t let him see I’m disturbed or afraid. I can feel it. I’m getting closer to my goal, and for that, I’ll do anything. I push myself further into him. The force he unleashes peels away the brown hue of my skin, turning it to a deathly, dull gray.

“How much of yourself are you willing to sacrifice to get powers—”

“Everything.” I cut him off and stare him down eye to eye. Nothing else matters. I have nothing without powers.

“That’s cute, but the devil’s in the details, Velli. The devil’s in the details.” He laughs. “Listen closely, Velli. Lie to me, and you’ll end up like…” He says a name I don’t know in a language I don’t know. Message received.

I open my mouth to say something clever, and a grunt comes out instead.

“Now that we’re clear on that…” he mocks. “This mission isn’t for good boys, Velli. You’ll come back changed. You understand? You’ll sacrifice yourself, Velli.”

He knows that I’m disturbed by him knowing my name. Every time he says it, it’s a mocking tone, each syllable extended.

“You will hate yourself, Velli. Everything about you that lets you smile a little when you take a look in the mirror will burn. The part that your mother is proud of, vanished, Velli. And worst of all, only you and I will know why. Are you still interested, Velli?”

I give him a courteous five-second reflection. I already know my answer. “Yes.”

“What part of other people are you willing to sacrifice?”

“I don’t… grr… What do you mean?” It’s getting harder to breathe. Wasted effort pumps from my lungs to my mouth.

“Could you kill an innocent man or woman? Or worse than that? Could you gain the trust of a good man, treat him like he’s your brother, then make him give up his life for your gain?”

“Yes.”

Liar. If you had any conviction, you wouldn’t even be in this spot.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

“And as that guilt settles in, will you do it again?”

I scream. It hurts too much. “Yesssss!”

“Then, I have a mission for you,” Prometheus concludes. “Sacrifice at least three people to Tiamat, the mother of gods from myth, on the Isle of Tselem. You may bring two types, and they must be three of a kind. You cannot mix the types. The first you must take willingly, Velli. Make them love you. Make a cult. Trick a sucker. Oh, and the power. The more they love you, the more powerful you’ll become. The second option must be at least three official legends of Division’s Hand. That means they must have killed more than a hundred people with their own hands. The more power these legends have, the more power you’ll have. They must be powerful, fear inducing, and responsible for one hundred deaths. You need to give her at least three, but bring more because, trust me, some will die along the journey on the island. And listen because this part is the most important. If you fail me, if you accept and do not deliver, I promise I’ll kill you. Do you accept the mission?”

“Tiamat and Prometheus? You two part of a club? Hahaha.” The joke’s not even funny, but I’m hooting and hollering while he burns me alive.

I can do it now. I can have it all. I know how to win. The pain’s getting worse, but so’s the pleasure. Each breath is as shocking as jumping into a pool of ice.

“You scared, boy?” he asks without a hint of pity.

“No, just excited. I accept, Prometheus.”

His hand leaps off my chest. My skin color returns, triumphant. I’m different now, like coming down a mountain.

“Interesting. To answer your query, yes, you could say that Tiamat and I are in a club. Not the one you think.” He’s smiling—or frowning. His teeth flash with every word in the last sentence.

“Thank you for your offer.” I reach out my hand.

Wait. Wait. Wait. What did I agree to?