Chapter 28 : Drowning In Work
The target called himself Burnout.
Real name: Marcus Rivera. Twenty-eight years old. Fire projection—nothing spectacular, but enough to intimidate the street-level dealers who owed him money. He ran a mid-tier operation in the Glades, using his powers to enforce collection schedules and eliminate competition.
I found him in thirty-six hours.
Normal surveillance would have taken longer. Proper operational security demanded patience, pattern analysis, careful approach planning. The kind of methodical work that had kept me invisible through five previous extractions.
I didn't have the patience for methodical anymore.
[TARGET CONFIRMED: "BURNOUT"] [ABILITY: FIRE PROJECTION — D-TIER] [EXTRACTION COMPLEXITY: MODERATE]
The system's assessment was clinical. Objective. Everything I wasn't feeling.
Burnout operated out of a converted garage in the industrial district—the kind of location that screamed criminal enterprise to anyone paying attention. His crew rotated through in predictable shifts, leaving windows of vulnerability that proper planning would have exploited carefully.
I exploited them aggressively instead.
The attack happened at 2 AM on day one hundred twelve. Burnout was alone, counting the day's take, completely unprepared for the shadow that emerged from his wall.
He reacted on instinct—fire blooming from his palms, filling the garage with heat and light. The flames should have stopped me. Should have at least slowed me down.
I phased through them.
The fire passed through my intangible form without effect, the heat registering as distant warmth rather than damage. Burnout's eyes widened with terror as I materialized inside his guard, enhanced strength driving him backward into the concrete wall.
"What—what the hell are you?"
I didn't answer. Didn't need to.
My hand pressed flat against his chest, and the extraction began.
The fire around us guttered and died as his power drained away. Burnout screamed—the same scream I'd heard from every target, the agony of having something essential torn from their cellular structure. Forty seconds of burning contact while his flames became mine.
[EXTRACTION COMPLETE — 55%] [POWER ACQUIRED: FIRE PROJECTION (MINOR)] [SYNC RATE: 5%]
I released him and stepped back. Burnout collapsed against the wall, unconscious, depowered, alive but diminished.
Previous extractions had ended with anonymous tips. Crime scenes cleaned. Evidence managed to avoid pattern recognition.
Tonight, I just walked away.
The fire projection integrated poorly.
New powers always started with low sync rates, but this one felt particularly unstable. Heat flickered at the edge of my awareness, responding to emotional fluctuations I couldn't entirely control. Twice in the first day, I nearly ignited my kitchen while reaching for the coffee pot.
[SYNC RATE: 7%] [WARNING: EMOTIONAL INSTABILITY AFFECTS CONTROL]
The system's warning was accurate. My emotional state was compromising my ability to integrate powers. The careful discipline I'd built over months of practice was crumbling under the weight of things I couldn't stop feeling.
I trained anyway.
Hours in my apartment, cycling through activation and suppression, forcing the fire to respond to intention rather than emotion. The progress was slower than previous powers—what should have taken a day took three.
But progress happened. And progress was something to focus on.
Caitlin's silence filled the spaces between training sessions.
I checked my phone constantly—a habit I'd developed during happier times, when her texts had been a reliable source of warmth throughout my day. Now the screen stayed dark. No messages. No calls. Nothing to indicate she was thinking about me at all.
She's with Ronnie, I reminded myself. Reconnecting with the man she thought she'd lost. You told her to take her time.
The rational understanding didn't ease the hollow feeling in my chest.
Target two appeared on day one hundred fourteen.
"Mirage." Real name unknown. An illusionist who worked with a burglary crew, using visual manipulation to confuse security systems and create diversions. Lower profile than Burnout, cleaner operation, harder to track.
I tracked him in forty-eight hours.
The crew's next job was a jewelry store in the Diamond District—upscale target, professional approach, multiple exit routes. I identified their escape path through traffic camera analysis and positioned myself at the chokepoint.
Mirage separated from the group exactly as predicted.
He emerged from a service corridor expecting clear passage to the waiting vehicle. Instead, he found me blocking his path.
"Who—"
The taser interrupted his question. Both probes connected with center mass, fifty thousand volts overriding his concentration. The illusory disguise he'd been wearing flickered and dissolved, revealing a thin man in his thirties with terrified eyes.
I closed the distance before he could recover.
[EXTRACTION INITIATED] [TARGET: MINOR ILLUSIONIST]
The process was faster now. More efficient. My extraction technique had improved with practice, reducing the contact time from sixty seconds to forty-five. Mirage's power flowed into my system with less resistance than Burnout's fire had shown.
[EXTRACTION COMPLETE — 70%] [POWER ACQUIRED: ILLUSION (MINOR)] [SYNC RATE: 8%]
Seventy percent retention. My best extraction yet. The system registered approval through metrics I no longer cared about.
I left Mirage unconscious in the alley and disappeared into the night.
Seven powers now.
The collection had grown significantly in the past week—two new abilities added to my existing five. Fire projection and illusion joined strength, phasing, night vision, pain resistance, and electrical manipulation. Seven pieces of other people's lives, integrated into my cellular structure, waiting to be called upon.
[RANK UP AVAILABLE] [E-RANK → D-RANK] [CONFIRM ADVANCEMENT?]
I confirmed. The advancement washed through me like a wave of clarity—systems optimizing, capabilities expanding, the interface sharpening with new detail.
[RANK: D] [LEVEL: 28] [PP: 980] [NEW FEATURES UNLOCKED: FUSION PREPARATION]
D-rank. The first significant tier advancement since the tutorial. I should have felt accomplished. Should have celebrated the milestone I'd been working toward since my first extraction.
Instead, I felt nothing.
The apartment was quiet. Empty. The coffee maker still configured for two cups, though I'd been making singles for days. Caitlin's sweater still draped over the chair where she'd left it, carrying traces of perfume I couldn't bring myself to wash away.
I caught my reflection in the window and barely recognized myself.
Dark circles under my eyes—I hadn't slept more than four hours at a stretch since Ronnie's return. Cheekbones more prominent than they should be—eating had become functional rather than enjoyable. The careful grooming I'd maintained as part of my cover had slipped into stubble and uncombed hair.
Harrison Griffin's body wasn't handling emotional stress well.
Neither is whatever's left of the person inside it.
My phone sat on the counter, screen dark, silent. I picked it up, scrolled to Caitlin's contact, stared at the call button for ten minutes.
I didn't press it.
Day one hundred eighteen.
I was reviewing extraction reports—documenting the Burnout and Mirage operations for my own records—when the phone finally lit up.
Caitlin's name on the screen. A text message.
My heart stopped. Then raced. Then stopped again.
Can we talk? Tomorrow?
Five words. Simple question. Infinite implications.
She'd made her decision. Whatever that decision was, she was ready to share it. The suspended state I'd been existing in—not quite together, not quite apart—was about to resolve into something definitive.
I stared at the message for ten minutes, composing and deleting a dozen responses.
Finally, I typed a single word.
Yes.
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