But not everyone was paralyzed.
Elias and the Stranger stood in the city plaza. The Stranger was watching the people with a look of exhausted satisfaction.
"They are healing," the Stranger said. "The fever has broken."
"You did it," Elias said, feeling a rare moment of hope. "You actually changed them."
CRACK.
The sound was sharp, dry, and terrifyingly loud. It echoed off the skyscrapers like a whip crack.
Fifty yards away, a man in a business suit—a corrupt union leader who had been weeping on a bench just moments ago—suddenly jerked backward. His head snapped. A red mist sprayed onto the pavement. He collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.
The crowd screamed.
"What?" Elias gasped. "Who did that?"
The Stranger’s eyes went wide. For the first time since he had arrived, the Stranger looked... confused.
"I did not authorize this," the Stranger said. He looked up toward the rooftops.
The Shot
On top of the Aethelgard Tower, a thousand yards away, Kane racked the bolt of his sniper rifle. A smoking shell casing chimed as it hit the concrete.
"One down," Kane whispered. He adjusted his scope. He was aiming at a second target—a politician who was currently on his knees praying for forgiveness.
"No," the Stranger commanded.
The Stranger raised his hand toward the distant tower. The air around him shimmered with heat. He unleashed The Burden. He sent the full weight of the murder Kane had just committed rocketing back toward the assassin.
Elias waited for Kane to scream. He waited for the assassin to collapse in agony.
But nothing happened.
Through the binoculars, Elias saw Kane simply roll his neck, take a sip of water, and line up the next shot.
"He... he didn't feel it," Elias stammered. "Why didn't he feel it?"
The Stranger lowered his hand. He looked at his own palm, stunned. "It bounced off. There is a wall around his soul. A void."
CRACK.
The second shot fired. The politician in the plaza fell, a hole in his chest.
The crowd erupted into panic. They were stampeding, running from an invisible shooter.
"He is killing them!" Elias shouted. "Stop him! He's killing the people you just saved!"
"I cannot," the Stranger said, his voice hollow. "I cannot touch him. He has been severed from the fabric of creation."
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The Awakening
Elias looked at the Stranger—the being who had crushed a prison warden and humbled a CEO. He was powerless against a man who felt nothing.
Elias looked at the tower. He saw the glint of the scope.
"He's going to keep shooting," Elias realized. "As long as he feels nothing, he'll kill everyone."
Elias felt a cold, hard resolve settle in his stomach. It wasn't fear. It was anger.
"You can't touch him from here," Elias said. "But he's not a ghost. He's a man. And men can be hit."
Elias turned to the Stranger.
"If you can't stop him... give me the strength to do it."
The Stranger looked at Elias. He saw the fire in the young student's eyes. It wasn't the fire of a writer anymore. It was the fire of a witness who was tired of watching.
"You are flesh," the Stranger murmured. "You are the bridge."
The Stranger placed a hand on Elias’s chest.
"I cannot strike him from the heavens," the Stranger said, his voice echoing like thunder inside Elias’s skull. "So I will strike him through you."
The Upgrade
Pain exploded in Elias’s nerves. It felt like sticking a fork into a wall socket. His senses didn't just sharpen; they expanded.
He could hear the heartbeat of the woman running next to him—a frantic, drumming rhythm. He could feel the panic of the crowd like a cold wind on his skin.
And then, he looked up at the Aethelgard Tower.
He didn't see the sniper. He felt him. It was a cold, black void in the distance—a spot where the empathy of the world simply vanished. It felt like looking into the eyes of a shark.
"I can see him," Elias gasped, clutching his chest. The connection was overwhelming, but he stood his ground. "I can feel where he is aiming."
"Go," the Stranger commanded. "My reach is severed, but yours is not. You must be the wire that carries the current."
Elias ran. He didn't run like a writer anymore. He moved with a strange, fluid grace. He wasn't dodging people; he was feeling their intent to move and slipping through the gaps before they even created them.
The Tower
Kane was calm. He cycled the bolt of his rifle. Click-Clack. Target number three: A media mogul who was currently confessing his tax fraud on live stream.
Kane exhaled. He squeezed the trigger.
Boom.
The bullet flew true. But just as it was about to strike the mogul, a figure in an orange jumpsuit tackled the man to the ground. The bullet shattered the pavement where the mogul’s head had been a millisecond before.
Kane blinked. He looked through his scope. "Missed?" he whispered. "Impossible."
He looked at the man in the orange jumpsuit who had tackled the target. The man looked up. Through the high-powered lens, Kane saw Elias's eyes.
They weren't looking at the tower. They were looking at Kane.
"Consultant," Kane said into his earpiece. "I have a variable."
"The Witness," The Consultant’s voice came back, smooth and amused. "He is coming for you, Kane."
"He's climbing the fire escape," Kane noted, watching Elias sprint toward the building. "He's fast."
"He is a Proxy," The Consultant said. "The Landlord has given him a spark. Be careful, Kane. If he touches you... the immunity might fade."
Kane smiled. It was a cold, wolfish smile. He stood up and dismantled his rifle in three seconds, stowing it in his case. He pulled out a combat knife and his suppressed pistol.
"Let him come," Kane said. "I was getting bored of shooting crying men."
The Confrontation
Elias burst onto the roof. His chest was heaving, his heart hammering against his ribs. The wind whipped across the helipad.
Standing in the center of the roof was Kane. He looked like a model from a magazine cover—bespoke suit, polished shoes, gun held loosely at his side.
"You must be Elias," Kane said. His voice didn't carry any anger. It sounded like a customer service agent apologizing for a delay. "The Consultant told me about you. The man who loves to watch."
Elias stepped forward. He held his hands up. His palms were glowing with a faint, grey light—the residual energy of the Stranger.
"It stops now," Elias said. "No more killing."
Kane laughed. "Killing? I'm not killing them, Elias. I'm taking out the trash. Do you think a few tears will change these people? They are rot. And rot spreads."
Kane raised his pistol.
Elias’s "Combat Empathy" screamed in his mind. Intent: Raise arm. Target: Heart. Fire.
Elias moved before the gun even leveled. Phwt. The bullet whizzed past Elias’s ear.
Kane raised an eyebrow. "Reflexes? Interesting."
"I know what you're going to do," Elias said, stepping closer. "I can feel it."
"Feeling isn't the same as stopping," Kane replied. He holstered the gun and flipped the knife into a reverse grip.
"Come here, college boy," Kane beckoned with his free hand. "Let's see if you can fight as well as you can cry."
Status: Chapter 7 is Live. Next Up: Hand-to-Hand Combat.