Soul Hunter

by Drew Briney

  Sample: Slice

  1

  Tzun quickly rounded the corner, discretely dropping the wallet he’d just lifted from an inattentive merchant and nimbly feathering his fingers through a thick set of freshly printed bills. That should be enough for an entire week … or more, he congratulated himself. That, of course, would depend on which numbers were written on the bills and how wisely he used them – but these details were of little consequence. This was a game of survival. Then again, in tough times, it seemed like everything was about survival.

  Short and somewhat scrawny, Tzun had some difficulty in quickly making it to his destination without drawing attention to himself by running. A brisk walk was all he could discretely afford. Two more buildings and he could pass through the alleyway to Mariner’s Market Street where he would quickly disappear in a crowd. Dressed in beggarly clothes, eyes would naturally divert themselves away from the gaunt, young, half asian rather than retrace his visage for a second glance. From there, he would only be a few blocks from his modest apartment where he lived with his mother and extended family. This morning’s prize would be well received.

  But fate couldn’t bear to smother Tzun in blankets of kindness for too long.

  Before he turned the next corner into the alleyway, muffled screams covered by scuffling and hushed chuckling teased the air. Blasted fate! He didn’t need any trouble – but it was coming nonetheless. Primordial instincts from deep within screamed to his consciousness that something wasn’t right – beyond the apparent crime, something felt out of place – but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

  Four young men who clearly devoted more time building muscles rather than character gathered around some dainty brunette, a young girl who almost looked too innocent to have set foot in this neighborhood. Bloody bricks! Tzun silently cursed, considering this new dynamic and quickly absorbing every new detail of this ever-changing pathway. The dumpster was farther away from the west wall than normal. A hubcap lay at an angle, leaning next to that same wall. A small box of screws lay spilled near the feet of two of the larger boys – one of whom was holding the girl; two stacked boxes of junk appeared undisturbed since he had seen them there earlier that morning; the antique chair that had been next to the dumpster now sported a broken leg and the upholstery was looser near the top of the leg stump. Other than these few details, the alleyway looked precisely the same as it had a few hours earlier.

  Behind Tzun, footsteps approached but slowed; hesitant, they either stopped or became silent. Above those feet, a hand brushed aside an over-length jacket and placed a recently discarded wallet into a back pocket.

  If he played his cards well, Tzun estimated that he could divert his eyes to the left, walk along the other side of the alleyway, and then freely pass by unharmed – the thugs would leave him alone. He posed no threat to their fun and they would presume verbal threats would keep him from reporting anything to the police. Then, the distraction would be over. To them, Tzun would be nothing more than a lanky sixteen year old beggar, unworthy of their attention.

  But he was Uzzit so he couldn’t in good conscience do nothing.

  Shoving the stash of money deeper into his pocket and underneath a fold designed to hide prize lifts from family members when necessary, Tzun stopped walking, stood as erect and intimidating as his thin five-foot-nine frame could muster, slowly raised his head, and ordered the thugs to release the girl in the most threatening voice he could muster. Despite his best efforts, the inevitable unwelcomed response came as expected: they chortled and then laughed openly.

  It always went down like this.

  Carefully observing the spilled screws and the lone hubcap, Tzun focused his thoughts on the weather, creating a quick gust of wind to cover his Uzzit magic. As he knelt down to pick up a chunk of junk metal from the ground next to his feet, he sent the hubcap shooting into the lead thug’s ankle, a volley of dust into the eyes of another boy, and the box of screws into the neck and face of another. For the boy holding the girl, Tzun sent a vivid hallucination that acid had splattered all over his body; fierce burning sensations turned to panic as the thug watched his own skin melting away. When his grip loosened from shock, the girl shook herself loose and bolted. Tzun threw the chunk of metal at her captor just long enough to give her the head start she needed. Although the metal hit its target, Tzun’s efforts might as well have come from an eight year old girl unaccustomed to throwing balls – it didn’t do much anything. For that matter, none of the attacks caused any significant damage – even the screws did little more than scratch the thug’s face – but they did create the distraction needed to save the girl. Now it was his turn.

  Quicker than anyone expected, Tzun was darting behind the dumpster, hoping to make his own escape. But from his limited perspective, he failed to notice one changed detail down the alleyway: entirely hidden in the shadows, two large antique batteries were resting against the wall on the other side of the dumpster. Tripping over them, Tzun stumbled heavily and just long enough to keep him from moving around the couch he knew would be resting by the wall on that same side. One stumble led to another until Tzun found himself face down and ungracefully sprawled over the ground. A moment later, vicious kicks repeatedly pounded his side and at least two blows connected with his head, leaving his ears ringing and his vision cloudy.

  That wasn’t quite how he planned things.

  He thought he heard a whistle but wasn’t sure. And then, that familiar feeling returned: something wasn’t quite right.

  Four sets of footsteps hurriedly ran down the alley away from Mariner’s Market Street while another softer set methodically plodded towards Tzun. Propping himself up on one elbow, Tzun strained to open his eye to see what new trouble might be coming his direction only to discover that his eye was throbbing and that he couldn’t see much of anything just yet. He reached up to touch it and winced at the pain. Somewhere, in the midst of that scuffle, he’d received a blow to his eye that he hadn’t immediately noticed – but he certainly felt it now. Turning his head further, he opened his other eye to find a rough looking but clean cut fellow reaching his hand out to lift him up.

  From boots to a hat that covered any hair that wasn’t freshly buzzed, leather trappings of every sort decorated the newcomer. If he wasn’t nearly bald, you couldn’t tell so long as that hat was on. And as he softly smiled, he held one eye slightly squinted – as if it had to squint because of an unpleasantly large scar that reached from the middle of his bottom eyelid and through his hairline where it passed over a piece of missing ear – neatly sliced off in a fairly straight line. Further markings on this man’s face betrayed some serious time on the streets. He looked downright rugged.

  “That’s quite a talent you have,” he offered as he helped Tzun back to his feet.

  Still dizzy and trying to keep his body from visibly trembling, Tzun struggled to retain his footing for a moment before responding. “Talent?” he feigned in ignorance.

  “You’re Uzzit aren’t you kid?” The rough tone of voice left Tzun uncertain whether or not a question had been asked.

  “The wind …” he began.

  “Don’t feed me that bull,” the street warrior interrupted with an overly confident air. “I know Uzzit when I see it.” His rigid gaze carefully scanned over Tzun who still looked more than a little dazed and worse for the wear, a boy who barely belongs on the streets, a boy who was lucky enough to have made it this far. And looks weren’t deceiving. If Tzun hadn’t been Uzzit, he would have been dead months ago – and he was acutely aware of this fact.

  “How would you like to really grow in your powers?”

  So that was it.

  It had all been a set up. It made sense now. Girls that looked that innocent knew better than to walk this area alone. Women who frequented these parts of town looked much rougher for the wear than that girl. And the muscle-bound boys were chosen to exaggerate the mismatch. This had all been an effort to poach new Uzzit flesh – which meant the rumors were
true. There really were drug dealing opportunists out there peddling their wares to this new generation of special kids.

  “You have Slice?” Tzun tentatively queried.

  “You’ve heard of it?”

  “Who hasn’t?”

  “Answer my question first,” the drug dealer ordered. “How would you like to double your powers?”

  “Who wouldn’t?” Brown, half Asian eyes blankly stared back at the older man.

  “It comes with a price you know?” His worn face looked more hardened now as he looked down at this new, potential client.

  “Yeah, I know,” Tzun responded emotionless. Bricks! he swore to himself, rubbing his eye. It really hurt. “So what are the terms – and who’s gonna teach me?”

  “Today’s price is whatever is in your pockets. Tomorrow’s price is negotiable – and I’m your teacher.” Then, with overt pretentiousness, the man pushed one finger forward and drew it downwards as if writing on the wall. As he did so, a bend and then a tear appeared at the top edge of the dumpster and continued until his finger stopped moving. The sound was deafening and gave Tzun another reason to hold onto his head. It seemed his eye injury was quickly becoming a headache.

  “That must make you Max,” Tzun responded, still holding his hands over his ears even though it was too late for them to do any good. He said nothing to indicate he was impressed but his good eye emphatically told that story. Max was legendary on the streets but no one ever got to meet him … When Tzun’s instincts told him something wasn’t as it seemed, they weren’t kidding …

  “Alright kid, what’s in your pockets?”

  The question left Tzun a little frustrated. On the one hand, this would be worth every bill he had lifted earlier that morning. On the other hand, he believed it unwise to play his cards openly. Convincingly feigning stiffness in his right arm, he dug his hand deep into his right pocket and deftly pulled three bills out of the hidden pocket, reclosed it, and produced them for inspection – all without causing the slightest suspicion that he was holding something back. To their common surprise, all three bills were large ones.

  Crap! Tzun silently groaned with disappointment. I should have pulled bills from the other end of the fold … “I just got a lucky lift,” he explained. “I don’t usually have that much,” he added as he opened his pockets to show they were empty. The secret fold remained hidden.

  “No problem kid,” Max assured him, eyeing the cash with feigned indifference. “I won’t expect that much every day. So you know the rules right? After three weeks, whatever Slice does to you becomes permanent. You miss a day, you have to start over and you might lose some of what you had before. And no cops right? Buying Slice is illegal; using it is illegal; making it is illegal. You get caught, you’re going to the slammer for longer than I’ll be around and the instant you get caught, old Max here will have zero memory of who you are or what you may have done. This is dangerous business kid. Got it? You still in?” Like most guys in the business, it never really seemed like Max was asking a question. It seemed more like he was saying: this is a done deal but if I have to do more fast talking to make this happen, I’ll keep my mouth moving until you give in from exhaustion. Inevitably, the result would be the same.

  Tzun feigned indecision for a moment, giving himself time to think over the consequences of what he was doing here. There really was no question though – he just needed to double check his resolve. What boy – especially a scrawny teenager worn from regular beatings – wouldn’t take a three week ride to becoming a near superhero? Who doesn’t want to be thrown away from their current life and into something bigger, better, happier? Who doesn’t want more control over what is going on around them? For a thin teenage boy struggling to find his next meal, there really was no viable alternative – at least, Tzun didn’t see any.

  “Yeah, I’m in,” he answered with cold determination.

  “Aaaallright!” Max chuckled in response, stashing Tzun’s prize cash into one pocket while reaching into another inside jacket pocket – all the while, a big smile spreading over his teeth. “Here’s your package. This is enough for two days but I expect you to be here again tomorrow. You keep the extra dose just in case something bad happens some day and one of us is late to our meeting. Every day, we meet right here at this same time. Got it?”

  “Got it.” Tzun reached for the metallic brown liquid as he carefully noted the time on Max’s watch. Tzun, of course, wasn’t wearing one.

  The young boy shuffled nervously as he slowly placed the vial in his right pocket and considered what he was doing. He felt better when Max tipped his hat, nodded, and walked away in the same direction as the other thugs had gone. It passingly occurred to Tzun that Max may have ordered the beating he had just received – but he was too naïve to seriously consider such a thing so the thought promptly dissipated. Besides, there were more important things to consider: if Tzun could hone his pickpocketing skills, he would quickly rise to the top of the food chain in three short weeks. If not … well … he wasn’t going to think about that. He was already scrounging about the lowest levels of society – how much worse could it get?

  He swirled the bottle and watched the liquid shimmer and change shapes as two separate hues emerged among the cloudy swirls. When he held the bottle still, the liquid quickly settled into a more uniform consistency. As he pondered over the opportunities Slice might present to him, Tzun began walking down the alley with an uncharacteristic spring to his step and then checked it; beggars couldn’t appear too happy – that would blow his cover. Modifying his gait, he considered various rumors he heard about Slice: it only worked on Uzzit. If it didn’t kill normal people, they wished it had. But for people like Tzun, it unleashed access to those inner workings of the brain that scientists had been attempting to tap for decades.

  If research in this field hadn’t been heavily regulated and ultimately banned by nearly every industrialized country, Uzzit advancements would have been the global norm. American Uzzits were subjected of federal government regulations and inefficient bureaucracy, which led many of them to congregate in the Puget Sound area where government oversight and corruption allowed a quiet underground to steadily grow. Numbers of Uzzit were unknown. Uzzit births were unknown; undetectable without expensive testing, parents of Uzzit children were often unaware of their children’s abilities for several years – but very few kept it secret as long as Tzun. His weak powers offered an element of surprise that he frequently needed to escape trouble but they did little to attract attention.

  In the states, Uzzit enhancement drugs were controversial and experimental. On the black market, experimental versions of Slice could be purchased but resources were low and word had it that Max personally delivered every shipment of Slice, beating down every sign of potential competition. He never accepted solicitations and he always handpicked his clients. That made for stiff competition, high prices, and enduring loyalty that couldn’t be bought in any other way. By some stroke of luck, Tzun was rising through that system. Life would never be the same.

  His fingers instinctively wrapped around the cool vial, smothering it with tenacious attention. Passingly, Tzun considered that he didn’t know how to divide the vial into two equal proportions – or perhaps that didn’t matter. He could start out with a smaller portion this evening – surely that wouldn’t matter for the first day? Not thinking about it, Tzun wiped some sweat off his brow and bumped his swollen eye. As he winced, he considered that he could use his misfortune to his advantage.

  Feigning a slight limp that increased as he moved along, he found a small opening on the boardwalk where many people were passing by, gingerly sat down, and began to beg for money. Deliberately rubbing his temples to temper the pain, he tilted his head to accentuate the injury to passersby. Fickle fortune returned as his companion for a few hours when his success became difficult to hide – his pockets were subtly bulging with money. Each time he received cash, he slipped larger bills into his hidden pocket and left sma
ller bills in the regular pocket. He happily considered that he probably had enough money for a few day’s worth of Slice by the time he went home for supper.

  “Hey,” a soft voice called Tzun to look up. His bad eye nearly swollen shut, Tzun awkwardly turned his head to look upon the most beautiful face he had ever seen. In her twenties, dressed like she didn’t belong in the area, and conspicuously attached to some burly fellow Tzun ignored, the young woman looked perfect in every way – except for the severely deformed and mangled hand that she used to pass on a substantial wad of bills to the young beggar. “Better times are coming,” she encouraged with a sultry voice that left Tzun melting … and then flushing in shame as she strolled away to purchase local wares.

  Daily – if not more frequently – Tzun recycled rationales to justify his lifestyle. Uneducated, somewhat fatherless, and stuck in a crime infested town, he only did what familial obligations required: he begged and stole so his family could eat. But he refused to think of himself as a thief; at least, he periodically pontificated, it isn’t wrong to be a thief as long as you have good reasons to steal. The fact that countless others used this same reasoning fortified his feelings of justification in what he did but something deeply embedded in his subconscious nagged at him to reconsider his life’s path - so he regularly chanted this mantra to keep himself steady on the course he was following. And while he often lifted enough money to take care of his family, it never seemed quite enough and occasionally, extra money was needed to bail someone out of jail. Retracing his thoughts, Tzun watched his most recent benefactor as she meandered farther away from him. People with enough money can buy stuff to regrow hands like that, he considered. But she gave money to Tzun instead. Of course he felt ashamed – who wouldn’t? Another stranger discretely gave Tzun a small offering as he passed by while Tzun drooped his head further, nearly pinning it between his knees.