The fire started in the laboratory.

It spread fast. Chemicals that were never meant to meet fire had found it anyway.

The reaction made the flames grow stronger, feeding on every surface they reached. Heat built up in seconds, turning the air thick.

One barrel ruptured near the ventilation duct, and the heat that followed turned the whole underground space into a furnace.

Francis walked out through the main entrance as the first section of the roof caved in.

He did not run. He just moved at a steady pace, leaving the sound of collapsing structure behind him.

Seconds later, the pressure gave way.

BOOM!

Fire burst outward in a wide wave, breaking across everything it reached.

Orange light stretched across the lot, throwing long shadows across the gravel.

He stopped about a hundred meters out and looked back at the scene, admiring his work.

The storage building. The quarters where the workers slept. The main structure where the bikers drank and laughed only hours before.

All of it was in flames, and no one left alive to put it out.

It was almost perfect.

’That bastard got away.’

That was the only issue that bothered him.

It had nothing to do with the people ruined by the drugs. They meant nothing to him.

This came from somewhere else. An obsession tied to his past. If it stayed unresolved, it would begin to twist his thoughts and make him more violent.

He turned away from the fire and changed into a plain dark jacket, black pants, and rider boots.

Once he was ready, he walked toward the motorcycle he had fancied earlier. His hand slid along its side before he mounted it.

The throttle sat firm under his grip.

Vrrr—vrrr—VRR!

The engine coughed, then came alive as he kicked the starter down and revved the throttle.

It was a good thing vehicles in this world were similar to the ones he knew before. It let him use them with little to no practice.

When the engine warmed up, he shifted into first gear and rode away.

The wind hit his face as the bike picked up speed. It was cold, but it felt good.

After a fifteen minutes, flashing lights appeared in the distance.

Two fire trucks came from the opposite direction, sirens cutting through the night. They moved fast, heading toward the blaze he left behind.

He watched them pass without slowing down.

.

.

.

In a dark alley, a group of homeless people had gathered.

Food and drinks were scattered everywhere, and they were obviously having a good time.

Devin was grinning widely. He sat on an overturned crate with a bottle in one hand and a half-eaten skewer in the other.

Four of his closest companions were around him, basking in the same privilege he had.

Good food, decent alcohol, and money still left in his pocket—it was the kind of night that made him feel untouchable.

"You should have seen his face," Devin burst into laughing. "He just sat there drinking the coffee like a grateful little puppy."

The others laughed. One of them slapped his knee.

"The stupid ones are always the easiest," a thin man with hollow cheeks said, reaching for another bottle.

"Exactly." Devin pointed at him. "The Wolf Clan paid well for this one too. Not so young but healthy looking. They’ll get good use out of him."

He raised his bottle toward the others. "To the easiest money I’ve made all month."

"CHEERS!"

They clinked what they were holding together and drank freely, enjoying themselves without restraint.

The alley was quiet beyond their small circle.

Somewhere further down, a stray cat moved through the shadows, minding its own business.

Then its fur suddenly stood on end. It froze for a split second before bolting away in panic, disappearing into the dark.

Devin was mid-sentence when a voice broke there little celebration.

"Oh, you seem to be having fun."

His laughter stopped mid-breath. He turned slowly, and a part of him already knew who it was.

Francis stepped out of the darkness.

Devin stood up, backing against the wall behind him. "You. Why are you here.".

"Didn’t you tell me to come to you during my darkest hours?" Francis said with a smile that never reached his eyes.

"I’m in a very bad mood right now, so I came looking for a friend to talk about my problems. Am I interrupting something?"

"No... no, of course not," Devin shook his head, thinking his connection as a "Spotter" for the Wolf Clan had not been revealed.

"Do you want a drink? I also have food here. Come eat with us," he said, forcing a smile that came out stiff.

Francis glanced at the bottle, then at the other homeless people.

"I have something much better than alcohol."

Slowly, he raised his hand, holding a bag white powder.

Everyone immediately knew what it was—but what kept them silent were the faint traces of blood smeared across it.

"Don’t be shy. Go on, take some," Francis gestured. "I’m sure you all like your fix, right?"

After hearing no response, he moved closer.

The nearest was a thin guy. His eyes were wide, and his body shook from either the cold or drug withdrawal.

"You want this?"

"Yes... yes... I want it,"

"Sure. Let me help you," Francis forced the victim’s mouth open, poured in the white powder until it spilled over, then snapped it shut.

He tried to scream, but his jaw was locked in place.

Before long, his body began to shake violently. Foam gathered at his lips, and he collapsed to the ground.

"Don’t worry. There’s enough for everyone to enjoy," He grabbed another person by the hair.

"This is premium stuff, so make sure not to waste it,"

The second target struggled more, but Francis was to strong. Within seconds, the same violent convulsions began.

"RUN!"

"FUCK!"

"He’s insane."

The others did not wait for their turn. They scattered like flies, breaking in every direction.