Abel left the base, his steps heavy, as if each one required an incredible effort. The air around him was thick, saturated with the smell of soot, chemicals, and decay. The streets of Zaun, as always, were shrouded in fog, mingling with the toxic fumes rising from the sewers. The lights of neon signs flickered in the distance, their glow barely piercing the dense veil of smoke and mist.
Abel walked, trying to stay away from people, but his figure still attracted the attention of those whose interests included knowing what was happening in the city. From time to time, he caught the glances of passersby. The stares of gang members were especially intense. Their eyes were filled with confusion, as if they couldn't comprehend how such a child could, in a single night, wipe out an entire gang belonging to a not-so-unknown chem-baron.
Apparently, news of his "feat" had spread quickly. Now he was no longer just an outcast but a living legend, one that even those who once considered themselves invincible seemed to fear. The whispers that followed him were full of rumors and speculation. "That's him," "The monster," "Randel's killer." Abel tried not to pay attention, but every glance, every whisper, pierced his mind like a needle, exacerbated by the chemicals still slowly evaporating from his body.
As he walked, trying to find a place to settle, he was stopped several times in deserted alleys. People clearly connected to other chem-barons persistently offered him "work." Their words were sweet as poison, but Abel knew that behind them lay only the desire to use him. He didn't want to kill indiscriminately, but the Shimmer still raging in his body ignited a fury at seemingly every action they took—a fury he could barely contain. Each encounter ended the same way—with a growing number of crimson flowers sprouting from their blood. Abel looked at these flowers, feeling something tighten inside him.
Eventually, he found himself at the very ditch where it all began. The toxic water still filled the pit, its surface glistening faintly in the dim light. Abel stopped, staring at it. Memories flooded over him like a wave. He saw himself sitting in that ditch, lonely, exhausted, clutching the last shreds of hope. Back then, he had sworn to himself that he would find a way out, that he would gain enough strength to change his life. But now he understood it had all been an illusion.
"Never again," he whispered, looking at the puddle. This wasn't just a physical refusal—it was a symbolic break from the past that still dragged him down.
After casting one last glance at the ditch full of toxic waste, he left with unspoken disappointment. Now, however, he moved across the rooftops of tightly packed buildings. It was not only faster but also safer—less chance of attracting attention.
The rooftops of Zaun were made for him. Thanks to his enhanced strength and agility, he could maneuver between them so freely that it didn't even disturb the birds nesting on the buildings. They didn't seem to notice him as he flew past at high speed. Up here, high above the ground, he felt free, if only briefly. From above, the city seemed bleak and hopeless. The ruined buildings contrasted with their inhabited counterparts, and between them snaked narrow streets filled with people struggling to survive. All of this, combined with the alchemical lights, made the overcrowded streets of Zaun surprisingly alive. From here, he could even see another unfortunate soul being dragged into an alley.
After half an hour of fruitless searching, Abel still hadn't found anything remotely resembling a hotel. He was so tired he could have collapsed into a deep sleep on the spot, and the Shimmer, still being expelled from his body, caused mild dizziness. He stopped at the edge of a roof, leaning over the ledge of one of the buildings, and scanned the streets below.
It was then that he noticed the gang member out of the corner of his eye. The man stood in an alley, leaning against a wall, looking around as if waiting for something. Abel didn't recognize him at first—it was one of those who had once belonged to Randel's gang. Now he wore a new uniform. The gang member looked tense, his eyes darting from side to side, and his hand involuntarily reaching for the weapon hidden under his jacket.
Abel didn't think long. He jumped from the roof, landing in front of the gang member with almost artistic grace. His movement was so fast and silent that the man didn't even realize what had happened. Abel kicked him, sending him deeper into the alley he had been watching.
The gang member, confused, tried to get up, but upon seeing Abel, he froze. Abel stood at the entrance to the alley, his small figure casting a long shadow that enveloped the gang member like that of a giant. Abel's red eyes, glowing behind the lenses of his gas mask, stared at him with icy indifference. There was no malice, no hatred—just emptiness, which was more terrifying than anything else.
The gang member wanted to scream. His lips trembled, and his eyes were filled with a fear he couldn't hide. He remembered the stories from the previous night, how Abel had wiped out the entire base, leaving behind only piles of corpses and crimson flowers growing from their blood. He wanted to scream, to call for help, but all that came out of his throat was a silent cry. His eyes filled with tears, and his body went limp, as if all strength had left him. He passed out before he could utter a word.
Abel, looking at the soiled body, tightened his gas mask and sighed wearily, sitting down on an overflowing trash bin next to the unconscious gang member. He rested his elbows on his knees, lowered his head, and froze, lost in thought. The past and present intertwined in his mind, painting a bleak picture. He was a monster. A living myth, feared by all. And yet, despite it all, he felt an emptiness inside that neither the fear of others nor the power he had gained could fill.
Time dragged on slowly. Ten minutes, fifteen, twenty… After half an hour, Abel grew bored. His gaze fell on a dirty puddle in the corner of the alley, and an unexpected idea came to him. He leaned over, scooped up a handful of mud, and began carelessly smearing it on the gang member's face. At first, it was just random lines, but soon his imagination took over, and he diligently painted a crooked parody of war paint.
But that wasn't enough. After a glance at the gang member, Abel sighed, shrugged, and began stripping him of his clothes. Jacket, shirt, pants—everything went into the trash bin he had just been sitting on. He finished just as the gang member stirred. His eyelids fluttered, then snapped open, filled with terror, as if he had just woken from a nightmare. He jerked but froze when his eyes met Abel's.
"Who... what... you..." he stammered in a trembling voice, still processing his situation.
"Listen, I got a bit tired waiting for you," Abel said, his voice calm but laced with exhaustion. "Just tell me where I can find a decent hotel."
The gang member, still not fully grasping what was happening, muttered:
"Third line, second block, sixth house."
Abel nodded, said nothing, and disappeared from view. The gang member, still lying in the mud, began to relax, but a moment later, his heart jumped. Abel returned.
"And where is the third line?" he asked, as if nothing had happened.
The gang member, struggling to gather his thoughts, explained the route again, avoiding eye contact. Abel listened carefully, nodded again, and turned to leave. But after a few steps, he stopped and turned back.
"Can you give me money for the hotel?" he asked, his tone so casual it sounded almost absurd.
The gang member, still unable to believe what was happening, mumbled:
"It's in my clothes."
Abel leisurely stepped over to the trash bin, pulling out the gang member's now less-than-fresh-smelling clothes. He quickly found the inner pocket and took out all the savings. The gang member watched, unable to move. Abel counted the money, pocketed it, and before leaving, said:
"Thanks."
The gang member remained lying in the mud, stunned by what had just happened. His gaze darted between the trash bin, Abel, and his own naked, trembling limbs.
Abel was already walking away, clutching the money in his hand. It wasn't much, but it should be enough for a night at a hotel.
Abel reached an old two-story building that looked like it might collapse under its own weight at any moment. From the outside, it appeared abandoned: cracked walls, peeling paint, and broken shutters gave the impression that no one had lived there for years. However, when he stepped inside, he was met with an unexpected sight. Though the interior didn't scream of wealth, the place was surprisingly clean. The wooden floors creaked underfoot but were well-maintained, and the furniture, though old, was in good condition.
Behind the counter, where a reception desk should have been, sat two men. They were playing cards, occasionally exchanging sharp insults, but there was no malice in their voices—just friendly banter. Hearing footsteps, they looked up at the newcomer, exchanged glances, and seemed to understand something without words.
Abel stopped in front of the counter, trying to appear friendly:
"I'd like to stay here. How much will it cost?"
The man, slightly embarrassed, looked at his partner. The other gave a barely perceptible nod, and the first turned back to Abel.
"Sorry, kid, but…"
"Listen," Abel interrupted, letting exhaustion seep into his voice, "I just need a place to stay. Nothing more, nothing less. If you know who I am, you know what I'm capable of. And I'm not planning to turn this place into a damn botanical garden."
The men exchanged glances again, and Abel was starting to think they had some form of telepathy between them. Finally, the second one spoke:
"Alright, kid, we get it. You can stay. No charge, but your presence attracts… attention. Just make sure the people living here stay alive… if possible. We still need tenants."
The last sentence sounded uncertain, as if the man himself wasn't sure whether he was joking or being serious. He tossed Abel a set of keys:
"Your room's on the second floor, at the end of the hall."
Not wanting to waste any more time, Abel headed to his room. As he climbed the stairs, his enhanced hearing picked up the whispers of the two men:
"Is that him? The one from the rumors?"
Abel didn't react. He'd grown too accustomed to such conversations on his way here.
The room was small and modest, but it was clean. A bed with neatly made sheets, an old wardrobe, a table, and a chair, with a mirror hanging by the entrance. It all looked… homely. Though, what did "home" even mean to him anymore?
Hesitantly approaching the mirror, he froze.
In the reflection, a child of about seven stared back at him, with messy white hair reaching down to his waist. He wore a protective suit, torn and stained with dried blood, several sizes too large for him. His face was hidden behind a gas mask, from which two faint, ominous glows peered out, giving the impression that something inhuman was watching.
Abel ran his hand over the glass, remembering a time when his hair had been black, like his mother's. Taking a deep breath, he slowly removed the gas mask, wanting to see his face again. The reflection showed a handsome boy with deep, burning red eyes that couldn't be mistaken for those of a living person. It was as if their owner had long since died. The bags under his eyes were beginning to take on a sickly purple hue, and his expression… It was empty. Staring at the reflection, Abel couldn't find himself in it.
As he studied himself, the air in the room began to change. Thick, toxic mist slowly filled the space, seeping from his mouth, swirling and writhing like a living thing. Abel quickly pulled the gas mask back on, suppressing a wave of anxiety. He hoped he wouldn't kill anyone.
Stepping away from the mirror, Abel lay down, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep, but memories began to flood his mind again. He saw himself—not as he was now, but as he had once been. An ordinary person who just wanted to survive. But now he was different. A monster? A killer? Or just a victim of circumstances? He didn't know, and now, he didn't care. The once-vivid emotions that had kept him awake and made his heart race now felt like a lingering indifference.
Outside, the wind howled, and in the distance, the lights of neon signs flickered. After one last glance at the mirror in the corner of the room, Abel closed his eyes again, and his already exhausted mind sank into the long-awaited void, where there was no Zaun, no world waiting for him, and no self.