The alley buzzed with tension as Jack faced off against Lamplighter, the former Supe towering over him with his flaming staff casting flickering shadows on the walls. The heat of the fire singed the air, its oppressive warmth pressing down on Jack like a heavy hand.
Lamplighter smirked, his confidence evident.
"You're just a kid with stolen toys," he said, twirling his staff. "Vought's toys. And I'm here to take them back."
Jack's blood boiled, but not with fear—something else stirred within him. A growing heat, a restless energy, demanding release.
"Come and try," Jack growled, gripping the rusted pipe he'd found nearby.
The fight erupted without a preamble. Lamplighter swung his staff with brutal precision, flames arcing through the air. Jack's reflexes kicked in, his body twisting unnaturally to dodge the attack. He swung the pipe, narrowly missing Lamplighter, who countered with a burst of fire.
Jack felt the heat lick his skin, but instead of retreating, he pressed forward, his movements unnervingly fluid. His body seemed to anticipate every strike, every feint. A sharp grin spread across his face as he realized his reflexes were far beyond normal.
"What's wrong?" Jack sneered, his voice low and guttural. "Not used to someone fighting back?"
But with each strike he landed, something darker awakened in him. His heart raced as blood spilled from a cut on Lamplighter's arm, the sight of crimson triggering an almost animalistic hunger. Jack's strikes grew wilder, more brutal, each blow fueled by a primal rage.
Lamplighter staggered back, his smirk replaced by a scowl. "What the hell are you?" he spat, blocking Jack's relentless assault.
Jack didn't answer—couldn't. His mind was a haze of instinct and bloodlust, his focus solely on the fight. He ducked under a swing of Lamplighter's staff, his movements impossibly quick, and delivered a devastating uppercut that sent the Supe reeling.
But the ferocity came at a cost. Lamplighter recovered quickly, his flames growing hotter, wilder. He ignited a wall of fire around them, trapping Jack in a burning circle.
"You're good, kid," Lamplighter said, panting. "But you're still just a rookie."
Jack's berserker rage began to fade as the heat closed in, his body tiring. Lamplighter saw the hesitation and capitalized, slamming his staff into Jack's side and sending him sprawling.
He saw himself in a sterile lab, adjusting equations on a chalkboard with the meticulousness of a scientist. He felt the thrill of discovery and the crushing weight of failure. He was not just a warrior but a scholar, a thinker.
The contrast between the bloodied, berserker-like fighter and the measured intellectual was too much to bear. His body faltered, trembling as the two identities clashed within him.
Lamplighter saw his chance and seized it. He lifted his staff from the ground and ignited it with a triumphant roar.
Before Lamplighter could land a killing blow, the air around them shimmered. A shadowy figure emerged, their presence commanding yet unassuming. It was the observer, stepping in for the first time.
With a flick of their wrist, the flames around Lamplighter fizzled out, leaving the man gaping in disbelief.
"Enough," the shrouded figure said, their voice calm yet firm. "This is not your fight anymore. You've served your purpose. Leave."
Jack collapsed to his knees, clutching his head as the flood of memories rendered him immobile. The shrouded figure knelt beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"It's too soon for you to carry all of this," he murmured, almost sympathetically. "But you'll need to learn to balance it. Otherwise, you'll tear yourself apart."
Lamplighter, still smoldering with rage, tried to protest "Vought's Orders...", but figure silenced him with a glance.
Reluctantly, Lamplighter retreated into the shadows, leaving Jack and teh person alone.
As Jack's mind began to stabilize, his surroundings grew eerily silent. The acrid scent of scorched earth mixed with the lingering sting of sweat and blood. He tried to rise, but his limbs felt like lead, his thoughts spiraling between the violent instincts of a mercenary and the measured reasoning of someone else.
A faint, almost imperceptible sound reached his ears—soft footsteps crunching on gravel. He looked up to see a shrouded figure emerging from the darkness, their form indistinct, cloaked in shadow as if the night itself wrapped around them.
"You've already made waves, Jack," the figure spoke, their voice distorted, carrying an unnatural echo that sent shivers down his spine. "And ripples like yours attract dangerous eyes."
Jack's lips parted to respond, but his throat was dry, his mind still reeling from the influx of memories.
"Who are you?" he managed to rasp, his voice barely audible.
The figure tilted their head, as if amused. "You can call me what you like. A guardian, a well wisher, or simply... a watcher. But my role isn't what matters now. What does is the game you've found yourself in."
Jack pushed himself to his knees, his body trembling under the weight of his fragmented psyche. "Game?"
The figure moved closer, their steps deliberate and unnervingly soundless. "Yes. A game played by a man who thinks of himself as a god."
Jack struggled to focus, his mind clawing for clarity. "Who's 'he'?"
The figure's shroud seemed to ripple, revealing the faintest glimmer of glowing red eyes beneath the darkness. "Serkan Demir," they said, the name slicing through the air like a blade. "A man who rewrites rules as easily as others breathe. He's already conquered this world in ways you can't yet comprehend. He doesn't just control power, Jack—he molds it, bends it, and wields it like a sculptor with clay."
Jack felt a chill crawl up his spine. "What does he want from me?"
The figure crouched, their voice dropping to a whisper that was somehow even more menacing. "He doesn't want you... anymore, Jack. He wants you gone. Erased. Because like the others, you weren't meant to exist. And he doesn't tolerate anomalies."
Jack's fists clenched a flicker of anger piercing through the haze. "Then why not come for me himself?"
The figure chuckled softly, their voice carrying an unsettling calm. "Why be a tyrant when you can create an idea so powerful it rules for you? A truly great idea doesn't need a dictator—it enforces itself." Their tone turned colder, devoid of humor. "As for why he hasn't come for you himself, that's not his style. He doesn't get his hands dirty. He lets others do the work. And by the time you see the pieces moving, it'll already be too late."
Jack forced himself to his feet, wobbling but defiant. "If he thinks I'm just a pawn, he's in for a surprise."
The figure straightened, their form once again blending into the surrounding shadows. "Good," they said, their tone unreadable. "Keep that fire. You'll need it. But remember, pawns can't win games alone. They need allies, and a purpose. Find yours before he finds you."
"Are you the one who called me after I... " Jack asked.
The figure retreated dissolving into the darkness as if they had never been there. He stood alone, the silence pressing down on him like a heavy weight.
The alley fell into stillness, the tension dissipating like smoke. Jack remained rooted in place, his mind swirling with the implications of what had just happened. The shrouded figure's warning lingered in the air, an ominous echo he couldn't shake.
His knees buckled, and he slumped against the grimy wall, staring at the faint scorch marks left behind by Lamplighter's fire. He tried to piece together the fragments of his memories, his newfound abilities, and the strange, shadowy ally—or perhaps manipulator—who had intervened.
For the first time, Jack felt the weight of his situation fully pressing down on him. It wasn't just survival anymore. It wasn't just about running or fighting.
It was about understanding who he was—and why he existed at all.
As he sat there, his body aching and his mind heavy, Jack's thoughts drifted to the fleeting glimpses of his other life. The orderly precision of a lab, the quiet joy of discovery, the burden of failure—it all felt foreign and yet deeply personal. How could he reconcile these two versions of himself?
The cold, ruthless fighter who had relished the chaos of battle versus the meticulous, analytical mind of a scientist. They were opposites, contradictions, yet they were both him.
Or were they?
Jack pushed himself to his feet, his body protesting every movement. His reflection in a shattered window caught his eye—bloodied, battered, and staring back with an intensity that almost felt alien. The glow in his arm had faded, but he could still feel its presence, a dormant power waiting to resurface.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. The shrouded figure's words echoed in his mind: "Find your purpose before he finds you."
Jack's jaw tightened. He didn't have all the answers yet, but one thing was clear—he wouldn't let himself be a pawn. If Serkan Demir wanted him erased, then Jack would make damn sure he became a thorn too sharp to ignore.
As Jack limped out of the alley, the faint glow of neon signs casting eerie reflections on the wet pavement, he felt a strange sense of clarity. His memories, his abilities, his very existence—they were a puzzle, one he would have to solve piece by piece.
But he wasn't just running anymore. He was hunting for answers.
And somewhere in the darkness, Serkan Demir would be waiting.