The elevator took forever. When it finally arrived, Mrs. Chen from 3B was inside, already dressed for work.
She smiled. "Morning, Billy."
"Morning, Mrs. Chen."
"Keeping out of trouble?"
Billy thought about the Castellano family. About flames and screaming. About nine years of nothing finally ending in fire.
"Trying to," he said.
She laughed. Pressed the button for the parking garage. Billy pressed the button for the ground floor.
They rode in silence. Mrs. Chen hummed something under her breath. Billy stared at the numbers counting down.
The elevator reached the ground floor. Billy stepped out.
"Have a good day at school!" Mrs. Chen called.
"You too. Work, I mean."
The doors closed.
Billy walked through the lobby—old tile, a desk where a security guard used to sit but didn't anymore, a mirror on the wall that he didn't look at.
Outside, the city was waking up. Traffic building. People rushing to work. Coffee shops opening. The bus stop was three blocks away.
Billy walked. Hands in his pockets. Head down. Anonymous teenager in a sea of anonymous people going about their anonymous lives.
Billy reached the bus stop. Five other people waited. He recognized two sophomores in Westfield jackets but didn't know their names. They didn't know his.
The bus arrived at 07:12. Two minutes late. Billy climbed on, swiped his card, and took his usual seat in the back.
The bus rumbled toward Westfield High. Billy closed his eyes and let the motion lull him into something like peace.
---
Westfield High looked the same as always. Three-story brick building, built sometime in the eighties, showing its age. Students flooded through the main entrance in their usual clusters—jocks by the trophy case, theater kids near the auditorium, the advanced placement students already heading to class.
Billy walked past them all. Ghost in the hallway.
His locker was on the second floor, number 247. He worked the combination—17-34-8—and pulled out his chemistry textbook. The locker was mostly empty. No photos, no decorations, just books and a jacket he never wore.
"Yo, Smoke!"
Billy turned. Derek Chen bounded up, all energy and grin. Mrs. Chen's son—dark brown hair, too much enthusiasm for a Monday morning. The one who always tried to talk to Billy despite getting nothing but indifference in return.
*I hate it when this guy calls me by my surname,* Billy thought.
*It's just because he thinks it's a nickname,* Eva replied.
"What's up, Derek," Billy said in a calm tone.
"Dude! Did you hear the news about last night's demon attack?" Derek launched into an explanation without waiting for an answer, words tumbling out fast. Something about the casino downtown, Liberty Case, a demon crashing through the entrance, three people injured before the Hunters arrived.
Billy had already seen it on the news that morning. Watched the footage while eating cereal.
While Derek talked, Billy focused inward.
*Mom, can you please use the influence skill on this guy so he can write my assignment?*
*No. I'm not going to. I told you to write it yesterday, but you didn't.*
*How could I? I was busy killing the bastard who had my parents murdered.*
*Okay, let's say Saturday you were killing Viper. But Sunday you were sleeping, playing games, and eating ramen all day. And worst of all, you didn't buy the cheeseburger.*
*Yes, I get it. But please, just this once. I promise I'll write my assignments. You don't want me getting in trouble with Mrs. Patterson.*
Silence. Then, reluctantly: *Fine. But this is the last time.*
"—and I just wish one day I could see a demon in action with my own two naked eyes!" Derek finished, practically vibrating with excitement.
Billy glanced around the hallway. Students talking, laughing, heading to class. No one paying attention to them.
He looked straight into Derek's eyes. Billy's eyes shifted—a subtle crimson glow that reflected in Derek's pupils.
"Derek," Billy said softly, his voice carrying a weight it normally didn't. "Write my chemistry assignment and bring it before second period starts."
Derek's expression went blank. The smile faded. His eyes glazed.
Billy handed him the chemistry notebook. Derek took it without a word.
The first bell rang. Billy turned and headed to his class before Derek could snap out of it.
---
First period was History with Mr. Kavendish. Billy sat in the back, staring at the window. The teacher droned about treaties and wars. Billy's notebook remained open but empty except for the date.
The bell rang. The other teacher moved second period.
Chemistry with Mrs. Patterson.
She entered the class a moment after the second bell—long black hair tied in a neat ponytail, glasses perched perfectly on her nose, white shirt crisp and professional. Even in her late thirties, she was stunning. Put-together. The kind of teacher who actually gave a damn whether students learned.
"Good morning, everyone. I hope you all completed the assignment."
Billy sat in his usual spot at the back, staring out the window.
Mrs. Patterson began collecting homework, walking desk by desk. Billy watched her approach, calculating. Derek should be here by now.
She reached his desk. "Assignment, Mr. Smoke?"
"Derek has it," Billy said flatly.
Her eyebrow raised. "Derek Chen has your assignment?"
"I forgot it. He's bringing it."
Mrs. Patterson's expression said she didn't believe him. She opened her mouth to respond—
The classroom door opened. Derek walked in, slightly out of breath, holding Billy's chemistry notebook.
"Ma'am, this is Billy's notebook. He forgot it this morning."
Derek handed it to her. Mrs. Patterson took it, opened it, scanned the pages. Her eyes flicked to Billy, then to Derek, then back to the homework. She knew. Billy could see it in her face—knew this wasn't Billy's handwriting, knew something was off.
But she just said, "Thank you, Derek. Please return to your class."
Derek nodded and left.
Mrs. Patterson set the notebook with the others and gave Billy a long look. That look. Disappointed but not surprised.
Then she started the lesson.
Billy went back to staring out the window.
---
Third period: English. Fourth period: Math. Teachers moved through like a ghost, Billy was present but not participating.
Lunch came. Billy didn't go to the cafeteria. Never did.
Fifth and sixth periods passed the same way. More classes, more teachers talking, more students taking notes while Billy stared at nothing.
At 15:30, the final bell rang.
Billy grabbed his backpack and walked out alone. That's how it was. He never liked the company of others. Maybe it was because he'd been bullied before. No—betrayed. Sometimes it was better to handle your own problems than rely on others who'd just make things worse.
Today he wasn't taking the public bus. He had time to kill.
Billy walked through the familiar streets of the city, hands in his pockets, going nowhere in particular.
Then he heard it. Noises coming from an alley.
"Man! That's what you get for messing with my friends!"
Billy glanced toward the sound. In the alley, four boys surrounded someone on the ground. Kicking. Pushing. Laughing.
"Man, he was the one who was wrong!"
"Learn to mind your own business!"
In the center: Derek Chen, on the ground, trying to protect his head with his arms.
"What's wrong, Chen? Where's that tough act now?"
Billy kept walking.
*Billy,* Eva said.
"Not my problem. It's not like people helped me when I was young."
He remembered it. When the police barely investigated his parents' murder. When the system moved on and forgot. When he realized that if you wanted something done, you did it yourself. He'd tracked down everyone involved, killed them one by one, climbed the chain until he found the Viper at the top.
*He helped you this morning,* Eva said.
"He didn't actually help. He doesn't even know he wrote my assignment."
*For God's sake, he's your neighbor. I gave you my influence skill. Now do as I say.*
Billy sighed. "Fine."
He turned around. Walked toward the group.
The sound of his footsteps made them stop. Four heads turned.
A boy with short black hair—Teez—stepped forward. "Hey, pale face. I think you're lost."
Billy didn't answer. Just kept walking.
"Yo, I'm talking to you!"
Billy stopped inches away from Teez. The boy was short—his head barely reached Billy's neck. Trying to be a leader despite having nothing to back it up.
Teez stared up at him, trying to look intimidating.
Billy looked back. Let the emptiness show. Let the gray nothing behind his eyes become visible for just a moment.
Teez's sneer faltered.
Billy let a tiny thread of hellfire leak into his stare. Nothing visible. Just a feeling. A pressure. The sense that something very bad would happen if this continued.
Influence. Sharper than what he'd used on Derek.
Teez's face paled. "Whatever, man. He's not worth it anyway. Let's go, boys."
"No way, Teez!" Another boy barked. "This guy just humiliated you. It's time for him to pay!"
The boy rushed at Billy with a wild punch, telegraphing it from a mile away.
Billy took one small step aside. The fist sailed past his ear. In the same motion, Billy drove his own fist into the boy's stomach—not hard enough to cause real damage, just enough to fold him.
The boy dropped, gasping.
Another student grabbed a steel pipe from near the dumpster and charged with a yell, swinging it in a wide arc.
Billy sidestepped. The pipe whistled past. He caught the boy's wrist, twisted, and delivered a short punch to the stomach.
The second boy fell.
Teez stood frozen, sweat beading on his forehead. Billy's influence held him—not physically, but mentally. A voice in his head saying *don't move*.
The fourth boy looked at his friends on the ground, looked at Teez's paralyzed face, looked at Billy's empty expression.
He ran.
Billy released Teez. "Help your friends get out of here."
Teez nodded quickly, helped the groaning boys to their feet, and practically dragged them away.
Billy turned, backpack still on his shoulder.
"Billy! Wait!" Derek called, pulling himself up.
Billy could see the bruises forming on Derek's face. Didn't care why he'd been getting beat up. There was always a reason. And knowing other people's problems usually meant sharing them.
"Thanks, man."
"Yeah, sure."
"Dude, you're amazing. Those guys barely touched you. Can you teach me—"
Derek's phone rang. He checked it. "Ah, Mom's calling. Hello? Yeah, Mom, I'll be right there." He hung up. "Sorry, gotta go quick. But seriously, I hope you'll teach me some of those moves!"
Derek jogged off in the opposite direction.
Billy stood in the alley alone. Then turned and kept walking.
---
He walked for twenty minutes, taking his time, cutting through the city. Eventually found himself near the school parking lot—mostly empty now, just a few cars belonging to teachers staying late.
Then he heard it. A sound that didn't belong.
Crying. Quiet. A child's voice.
Billy stopped. Looked around.
Behind a white van, partially hidden: a little girl. Maybe seven years old. Pink backpack. Tears streaming down her face.
And standing over her: something not human.
It wore the shape of a man—tall, thin, wrong proportions. Its skin was too pale, almost translucent. Its eyes were black from edge to edge. And when it smiled, its teeth were too sharp, too many.
A demon.
The girl backed against the van. "Please... I just want my mommy..."
The demon tilted its head at an unnatural angle. "Such sweet fear. Haven't tasted child-fear in weeks." Its voice was wet, layered, multiple tones speaking at once.
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