When the sun has completely fallen, and it's late at night, I begin my preparations.

I'll eventually need to get a better mask to cover my face completely, and more inconspicuous clothing, but for now, I decide to wear all black clothing with a hood to cover my head, combined with a pair of sunglasses and a black medical mask to cover the lower part of my face.

Due to the perception granted by my sixth sense, I'm fine with being unable to see with my eyes.

With my preparation more or less complete, I leave my apartment. For now, I don't really have an exact plan of action. I'm pretty much just going to feel my way through the city with my sixth sense—and see what I discover.

I don't want to do anything close to my home, so I'll go to the Maglev terminal, and move to a different ward—probably one of the less monitored ones.

***

During a pitch black night—lit only by the street lights, an all black figure stalks his way through the streets, moving between alleys, remaining completely unseen by anyone.

The only sounds heard were those of footsteps echoing off of concrete walls, the occasional sound of cabins passing overhead, the faint hum of maglevs moving throughout the city, and the faint voices of people walking down the road below. The only thing that marked him out was his dark clothes, and the fact he didn't have any light sources—allowing him to remain almost entirely unseen by the human eye.

He moved quickly, making his way toward where he believed most of the crime in the city occurred, and then headed south along the main thoroughfares. He walked until he reached the edge of a park near the center of a more violent ward, and then continued forward.

Anywhere he went, cameras would suddenly have their video data corrupt—becoming nothing more than a distorted, glitched out, artifact ridden mess. Completely worthless as an investigative tool. And just as he was out of view, it would be as if a flip were switched—turning the camera's data back to its normal form.

After several blocks of silence, the figure suddenly paused.

***

"Oi, do we really need to just stand here all night?" A young man said, stepping out of the shadows beside a building. "There's gotta be somewhere better to spend our evening."

He's standing in a small group of about 5 men, all wearing casual, but ruffled attire, all of them are wearing masks and gloves. The predatory glint in all of their eyes is unmistakable. And although they all look casual, they all appear to be moving in a fairly coordinated manner.

One of them stepped forward, removing his mask.

"What do you think we're doing, kid," he asked. A large gruff looking man removes his mask to speak once he's out of view of the city's cameras. "We're waiting for a nice friend."

The rest of the thugs laughed, taking a moment to enjoy the joke.

"Make sure you all have the gags and restraints ready. Don't fuck this up. We've got a good chunk of cash riding on tonight's job."

Once again, they all began laughing among themselves.

The young man standing next to the big thug spoke up once they'd finished their laughter.

"Yeah, yeah...we all know how important this is. We get it, alright man?"

They both looked over at the young man, smiling slightly at him.

"You seem awfully confident for such a little guy... Remember, we're looking for some blonde haired science lady. Weapons tech or something, I don't fuckin know. She should be wearing some sort of ID lanyard. She's supposed to take this path home—as soon as she shows up, snatch and grab, and then get in the van." The leader of the group said, while eyeing him up and down.

"We can do what we want with her while we have her, but we needa keep her alive." One of the other members added, speaking softly to avoid being overheard. "She ain't worth shit dead. You hear us?"

"Yea, yea..." The young man replied, nodding slowly. "I understand."

The group started to walk away, leaving him behind.

"Come on, kid. Let's hurry things up."

The young man followed closely behind them, keeping silent and trying not to attract attention to himself.

All of the sudden, the whole group froze up for just a second—and seemed to just randomly stop walking.

Everyone in the group stopped, and all of them stood perfectly still. All of them felt a freezing chill crawl across their bodies, instantly causing them to break out in a cold sweat. It felt as if they were being watched by something—it almost felt like they could sense the reaper's scythe hanging above their head—before the feeling disappeared just as quickly as it appeared.

When that feeling finally disappears, all of them take a few seconds to take in their surroundings, but notice nothing out of the ordinary.

"Guess there's a cold wind tonight, right guys?" One of the men lets out a slight chuckle while attempting to lighten the mood, and reinvigorate the group's morale.

They start moving again.

A few seconds later, the young man finally caught back up to the group, joining them at the front of a nearby alleyway. There wasn't anything particularly special about this particular spot, it was just a narrow pathway running alongside a building, surrounded on either side by brick buildings.

"Alright, keep your eyes open." The leader said, pulling out metal restraints. "Get in position."

Each member of the gang lined up behind the leader, lying in wait. When he gave the signal, they would attack.

The young man silently crept forward, staying low to the ground, while approaching from the left-hand wall of the building. Once he was close enough, he pulled out a knife and held it tightly, gripping its hilt with both hands.

After only about 10 minutes, their apparent target arrived.

A beautiful tomboyish young woman with shoulder length shaggy blonde hair, and wearing some sort of laboratory ID card around her neck, was making her way home.

The moment she crossed in front of the shadowed alleyway, the trap was sprung. Without warning, the entire group sprung into action.

Their leader grabbed her arm before she had a chance to react, and forced her arm behind her back. The rest of the group grabbed hold of her in order to restrain her. The large man pressed a gag against her mouth, and attempted to secure it tight.

"Hey! What are you doing?! Get off me!!" The girl screamed, struggling violently.

The leader silenced her with a quick punch to the stomach, and wrapped his hand around her neck.

"Shut the hell up!" He growled.

As the rest of the group restrained her, the young man made his approach, making ready to place the knife against her throat.

"Who are you?!" The girl demanded, attempting to spit out the gag in her mouth. "You know, you've got some nerve coming after me like this! Who are you anyway?! What do you want with me?!"

But just as the young man made his approach, he stumbled. It was as if an invisible force knocked his feet right out from under him, sending him into an inescapable fall forwards. As he fell, it was as if his arm holding the knife was stuck in a vice grip.

His arm was wrenched forward against his will, and the knife dashed forward like a spear—plunging directly into the large man's back.

The leader let out a loud grunt of pain, and started falling to the ground. His hand released the girl's arm and neck as he writhed on the pavement, clutching at the knife lodged deep in his back.

As soon as the knife landed in the leader's back, the young man continued his fall towards the earth. His arm was still under the control of some unseen force. He tried his best to move his arm—make it respond to his will, but an instant before he landed on the ground, it was like his arm took on a mind of its own.

His arm is violently twisted in an impossible motion, almost tearing it apart—just before he hits the ground. He then lands directly on his arm, furthering the damage. His arm makes a sickening crunch as it's twisted, right before his body makes another thump on the pavement.

The young man looked down and saw his arm hanging limply by his side, blood flowing freely from the wound—and his vision fading in and out.

"AAHHH!" The young man starts screaming almost hysterically, accompanied by the pained grunts of his leader as he rolls on the ground, attempting to feel out how bad his wound is.

"Help!! Somebody help me!" The young man screamed.

"Holy Fuck!" One of the other thugs is stunned enough that he briefly relaxes his grip on the woman—she doesn't miss the opportunity. She tries to kick one of the men in the kneecap, trying to further dislodge their hold. Her kick was nothing impressive—certainly not enough to heavily injure a man.

But the second her foot connects, another sickening crack is heard—the sound of ligaments and possibly bones being torn. Almost as if his kneecap was pulled in an impossible direction by an invisible force. His knee collapses, and he's forced down to the ground.

In the blink of an eye, the three thugs are all on the ground, grabbing at their injuries in agony.

"NOOO!! NOOOOOO!" The young man screams in pain, helplessly rolling around the ground. "Please, somebody help me! Please, someone help me!"

The last two men with a hold on the woman continue their attempts at restraining her—almost entirely ignoring their companions. But it's too late—before they could even finish securing her, she slams her foot down on another man's foot.

"Uwah!" He lets go of her, his foot looks as if someone dropped a boulder on it—many of the bones in his foot are either cracked or crushed.

She manages to mostly break free, but the final man stares at his badly wounded friends—all he can hear is the profuse scream of his blood pumping in his ears.

"Bitch!" His anger overwhelms his rational, and he grabs a knife he had hidden in his waistband—making the decision to just finish her off after all their trouble. He lunges forward, readying himself to plunge the knife through her.

The woman knows that she has no way to defend herself. And realizes she's going to die.

And so, she turns her face away, and closes her eyes. Readying herself for what's to come.

"I don't want to die. Please, just make it quick." Is the only thought going through her mind.

The man plunges the knife forward with all his might, aiming directly for her heart. An instant before he makes contact—a brick seemingly gets dislodged from the roof above them.

It rockets straight down with an almost unbelievable speed. Slamming directly onto his hand holding the knife.

The force of the impact sends the man straight to the ground, completely incapable of remaining on his feet, and it sends the knife flying away from the woman's chest.

"AAAAHHHHHH!" The man screams in pain, clutching at his hand.

"Oh my god!" The woman barely manages to stutter out, as she begins scrambling back to her feet. She reaches down and picks up the knife, and immediately starts running away.

"Stop! Stop!" The man yells in agony, continuing to try and regain his senses. His efforts are nearly pointless by now. All four of his companions are completely incapacitated—totally incapable of making chase, most of them can't even move on their own.

He gets up and tries to throw his body towards the woman.

As soon as it looks like he may be able to make chase—the freezing feeling from earlier returns tenfold. His brain feels like its just been thrown into a freezing winter—he feels a slightly constricting feeling around his head and neck—as if the blood he desperately needs just can't move quickly enough; like it's being held back from reaching its destination.

His vision slowly starts going dark, and he loses consciousness.

The woman runs with all her might, trying to get as far away from the danger as she can. For some reason, just as she reaches the end of the block, multiple police vehicles arrive.

"E-eh? H-How?" She barely whispers. Did someone call them?

She takes a few steps back, and sees multiple pairs of cops approaching her.

"Ma'am please put the knife down, we were called here for a report of an attack. Are you alright?" One of the officers asks.

The young woman quickly puts the knife down

"T-Thank you so much! T-The men they're over there." She manages to barely yell out where the men are.

Knowing that she's finally saved—that she survived, the adrenaline pumping through her finally begins to subside, and she finally starts to calm down.

"S-Sir, I'm sorry, but... I think they're all badly injured? They really hurt themselves, I-I think they'll need medical attention!"

"Okay, okay. We'll check them out. You can wait here, I'm sure they'll be fine."

"Th-Thank you! So much. . ." Her eyes are wet with tears at the realization that she's actually survived the attack.

"You 4, go secure those bastards. What was this about anyway?" The officer asks, noticing the lab ID card around her neck.

"Umm, uhh... I work at the Anithrel Institute. Uhm, I was attacked by those men—I-I don't know why. It was probably a gang, I didn't recognize any of them."

"Looks like you're lucky then. How about you sit in my car and wait for us to bring these fools back to the station—or I guess the hospital first—sounds like you did a number on them."

"Y-Yes sir!" The young woman says, feeling impossibly relieved.

 

As the woman is allowed to sit in the car, and the thugs are loaded into an ambulance—nobody notices a figure standing on a rooftop around 100 meters from the attack. He stands perfectly still, although it's far out of sight, he appears to be observing the situation.

"Heh" He lets out a quiet laugh that's almost imperceptible. His mask and sunglasses obscure his face entirely. But beneath that mask, an incredibly ominous—borderline evil smirk adorns his face—an almost unbelievable contrast to his handsome, almost beautiful features.

And beneath his glasses, his usual cool blue eyes glow with an overwhelming crimson radiance. Within his crimson eyes—it looks as if a raging fire—a burning inferno gleams, dancing with a luminosity that foretells the destruction they could unleash.

"Heh, not bad. Not bad at all."

"They'll live—for now." The young teen's voice sounds almost entirely devoid of emotion—as if he's talking about nothing more than the weather.

"People like that, they don't deserve pity. Don't look at them with compassion, because they don't deserve it. They're beyond saving. They don't have what it takes to be human." There's nobody to hear his words, but it sounds as if he's trying to convince himself more than anything.

The boy has always viewed violent—disgusting acts against other humans as a totally uninvolved bystander. Completely disconnected from directly witnessing incredible acts of violence. Because he was so insulated from violence due to his privilege, he still viewed the people who committed such acts with a modicum of empathy.

But using his sixth sense, he's forced to see, and feel the girl be attacked, he can't help but realize that he was wrong. He's seen firsthand the kind of damage people like that could cause—and it's disturbing, terrifying, and fills him with disgust.

"Those that commit truly horrific crimes should not be allowed to due as they wish—under any circumstance. They should be punished—severely. They must pay for what they do."

There's a pause as the teenager thinks about what he said.

"Don't ever let anyone else suffer like that. If you see someone doing something bad to others—you have to stop them, even if you have to stand alone." His voice sounds like it's trying to forcibly build up his resolve.

Being forced to feel every trace of the violent acts with his sixth sense—has only furthered his resolve. Now he's certain he wants to become stronger, to protect people from such acts. He knows he has to stand up to people who commit terrible crimes like this, no matter how many of them get hurt in the process.

"That's right. You have to take action. Otherwise, things will keep getting worse."

After a small pause, he continues.

"I have to change this world. Someone needs to. Not just crime—the world's system that allows it is evil. I have to change it."

At first, he wanted to save the world—but now, he feels as though he has to. So long as the world is lead the same way it always has been—nothing will ever change. The hopes and dreams of humanity will continue to be destroyed underfoot so long as the status-quo remains.

"I won't allow people like that to control the world like they do. I can't. . ."

"But. . . People like that are only part of the problem, the countries and leaders of the world allow any type of violence to be committed so long as they're able to hold onto their power. I don't know how to change humanity itself—" His already quiet whispers slowly fades into nothing. Finally faced with just how arduous his ambition truly is to carry out—how difficult it will be to change not just the world's leadership, but humanity itself.

He silently walks away, leaving behind the scene of the crime—with the only thing left being a spiderweb of cracks in the ground where he was standing, appearing as if a massive force was exerted on the floor.