I look at myself in the bathroom mirror. The person staring back has bloodshot eyes and skin so pale he looks already dead.
"Let's do this," I say to my reflection. "But this time, I set the terms."
I can't let Anima run blind. If he kills the wrong person, we'll lose Sofía's trail forever. I need information, not corpses.
I pull out the black notebook. I tear out a page. With a red pen I write the instructions in clear, capital letters. It's not a request; it's a missile's flight plan.
OBJECTIVE: FIND SOFÍA (THE GIRL WITH THE BACKPACK).
METHOD: TRACK AND OBTAIN A LOCATION.
ABSOLUTE RULE: DO NOT KILL. WE NEED SOMEONE WHO CAN TALK.
P.S.: IF YOU BREAK THE RULE, NEXT TIME I'LL JUMP OFF A BRIDGE.
I fold the note and tuck it into my jacket pocket. I put on a cap and leave the apartment. Night has already fallen over the city and the air smells of rain and gasoline.
I walk toward the lower district, near the docks. It's a place the police rarely enter at night, where bars have no signs and shadows carry knives. If the poachers were part of a network, their partners or buyers should move through here.
I stop in a dark alley, behind a dumpster. My heart races. Fear is a cold knot in my stomach. I'm about to willingly unleash the rabid dog.
"It's for Sofía," I whisper, closing my eyes. "It's for the girl."
I take the paper and hold it in my right hand.
"Take control, Anima. I summon you."
The sensation is instant. As if the ground disappears beneath my feet. I fall backward into absolute darkness and my consciousness goes out like a candle in a hurricane.
---
[PERSPECTIVE — ANIMA]
Hahahahaha.
I open my eyes. The first breath of air is delicious. It tastes of damp, garbage, and best of all, distant fear.
"Ah, Eduur… how predictable you are," I murmur, stretching my arms. I feel stiffness in the shoulders. This kid needs to exercise more if he wants his body to keep up with me.
I look at my right hand. There's a crumpled piece of paper.
I read it under the flickering light of a distant streetlamp.
"ABSOLUTE RULE: DO NOT KILL… P.S.: IF YOU BREAK THE RULE, NEXT TIME I'LL JUMP OFF A BRIDGE."
I let out a laugh that echoes through the alley. A stray cat bolts at the sound.
"How sweet. Threatening to break the toy if I don't play nice. Fine, 'partner.' Today I'll be… surgical."
I close my eyes and breathe deep. I'm not looking for oxygen; I'm hunting the trail.
The scent of the dead poachers is gone, but malicious intent leaves a trace. It's like a strand of black smoke that only I can see. It smells of sulfur and dirty money.
"There you are."
The trail comes from the east. From the old warehouses.
"Let's pay a visit."
I visualize the destination. I fold reality. The atmospheric pressure crushes me for a millisecond.
Pop!
I appear on the roof of a red-brick building five blocks away. From here the smell is stronger. It comes from a bar with boarded windows called "El Ancla."
At the door, two goons smoke. They have bulges under their jackets. Weapons.
"Good. Eduur said 'interrogate.' "
I jump from the roof. I use gravity—falling three floors. Just before I hit the ground I invoke a dream-cushion. The pavement softens like a cloud for a second under my boots, then hardens again. I land without a sound.
I walk toward the goons.
"Good evening, gentlemen," I say with a charming smile.
They turn, surprised. Hands go to their waists.
"Get lost, junkie," one growls.
"I'm looking for information. About a girl. And a pink backpack."
The change in their faces is imperceptible to a human, but to me it's a neon sign. Pupils dilate. Heart rates spike. They know something.
"Kill him," the other says.
They draw their guns. Slow. Pathetically slow.
"Eduur said no killing…" I sigh, dodging the first shot with a sidestep. "How boring."
I vanish.
I reappear between them. I grab their heads and slam them together with inhuman force.
Crack!
They hit the ground, unconscious. Not dead. Just… with permanent headaches.
I enter the bar. Smoke and cheap music fill the place. There are poker tables and people who don't want to be seen.
Everyone turns when I walk in.
"I'm looking for the boss," I announce, raising my voice. "And if he doesn't show in three seconds, I'll start breaking bones in alphabetical order."
Silence.
Then chaos.
Four men leap from a table and pull knives and chains.
"To him!"
"Let's play."
I close my eyes for a moment. I visualize my arsenal.
No pistols. No swords. Something that hurts, but doesn't kill.
I thrust my hand into the air, tearing the fabric of reality.
I pull out a black metal baseball bat wrapped in dream-barbed wire that glows with violet light.
"Batter up."
I charge them. It's a dance.
The first tries to stab me. I break his wrist with the bat. The scream is music.
The second swings a chain. I teleport to his back and deliver a hard blow to the knee. The kneecap explodes. He falls howling.
The other two hesitate.
"Who's next?" I ask, spinning the bat.
"Enough!"
A door at the back opens. A fat, bald man in a white suit stained with grease steps out. He carries a sawed-off shotgun.
"Who the hell are you?" the fat man bellows.
"Your worst nightmare or your best friend, depends on how fast you talk. Where's the girl with the pink backpack? The hunters who handed her over can't speak anymore."
The fat man pales. He fires.
Boom!
I teleport right in front of him, grab the barrel of the shotgun and deflect it toward the ceiling.
I headbutt his nose. Blood spurts. I grab him by the throat and lift him off the ground with one hand, slamming him against the wall.
"You have ten seconds before my 'partner' wakes up. And believe me, he's the good cop. I'm the one who's going to rip your fingers off one by one."
"I don't know anything! We're just middlemen!" he screams, kicking.
I squeeze his throat.
"Five seconds."
"The Slaughterhouse! The old northern slaughterhouse! They took her there this morning! I swear!"
"Who?"
"The Syndicate! They're traffickers! We just sell them 'merchandise'!"
I smile.
"Thank you."
I let go. He drops to the floor, coughing.
"Tell your friends the Devil paid a visit."
I turn. My body starts to grow heavy. Energy drains. Eduur's stamina is pathetic.
"Shit… I'm fading."
I stumble out of the bar. I have a location. "The Slaughterhouse." But if I pass out now, Eduur won't remember it.
I need to make it clear.
I search my pockets. No paper. I dropped it during the fight.
I look at my left hand. I see a shard of broken glass on the ground.
"This is going to hurt you, Eduur. But it's for your own good."
I grab the glass. The world blurs.
---
[PERSPECTIVE — EDUUR]
"Ahhh!"
Pain snaps me out of unconsciousness like a slap.
A sharp, stabbing burn in the palm of my left hand.
I open my eyes. I'm sprawled in an alley between garbage bags. It's raining. I'm soaked and my body feels like I was run over by a truck. My jaw hurts, the knuckles on my right hand are swollen, and there's blood on my shirt.
But the real pain is in my left hand.
I lift it to the streetlight, trembling.
Blood drips down my wrist, mingling with the rain.
There are cuts. Deep cuts, made with malice, forming uneven letters in my flesh.
I read, horrified:
NORTH SLAUGHTERHOUSE.
THE SYNDICATE.
"My God…" I whisper, nauseous.
Anima carved the address into my skin so I wouldn't forget it.
I push myself up, dizzy, and lean against the brick wall.
I have the location. North Slaughterhouse. I know where it is. It's an abandoned complex on the outskirts, a place no one goes.
But there's more.
I put my hand into my right pocket looking for my phone to check the time. My fingers touch something cold and metallic. Something that wasn't there before.
I pull it out slowly.
It's a gold badge. Heavy. With an eagle engraved on it.
A police badge.
But it's not just any badge. It's stained with dried blood and has a name engraved: Sgt. R. Méndez.
My blood runs cold.
Why do I have this?
Did Anima attack a cop? Did he kill a cop?
No… the note said "Syndicate."
I look at the badge again. There's a bullet hole in the center.
Then I understand. This badge isn't a trophy taken from one of Anima's victims.
It's a trophy Anima ripped from the criminals.
The Syndicate has cops on their payroll. Or they killed one.
The sound of sirens begins nearby. Very near. Someone must have called about the bar fight.
I hide the badge and press my injured hand to stop the bleeding.
I have a location. I have an enemy far bigger than a few poachers. And I have the local police possibly corrupt—or dead.
I look north, where the city's darkness grows thicker.
"Hold on, Sofía," I whisper, grinding my teeth against the pain. "I'm coming."
I pull my hood up and melt into the rain, limping toward the wolf's mouth.