“Ladies and Gentlemen, before the party begins I ask that you direct your attention to the center of the room!” Brandon announced happily to the small group of people in the large, cleared room. There was a clear, tube-shaped object big enough to fit a person hooked to a large computer monitor projected to the back wall set in the middle of the open space.

  “I’d like to call this project of mine, ‘Clarissa’, named after my dear, sweet wife. Like many of us here, she understood that in hard work, power prospered, and I’ll have you know she was a very hard worker.” His smile then faded. He then cleared his throat. “Yet despite all that effort, her life would be taken one day in what they claim to be a ‘random’ act of violence. It was the first time in my life I’ve felt truly powerless.” His voice trailed, “How Gus and I miss you, dear.”

  He paused, taking off his glasses and wiping his eyes with his handkerchief. “Regardless, her death made me realize that everything we think we know; hard work, wealth, status, it’s all an illusion, completely meaningless without power—true power that is. Only true power can grant one total control, and total control gives one true power. This, especially, includes Talent.”

  The room was still silent. Some people gave false sentimental nods at his story while the rest seemed bored, some even looking up at the clock. A few bodyguards glanced at each other.

  Brandon returned his glasses to his face. “What if I were to tell you that there’s power beyond that of an ordinary Talent? Now what if I was to tell you the purpose of this—my Clarissa is to produce just that?”

  An audible ‘hmm’ could be heard from the now puzzled crowd. Brandon smirked. He had them.

  “As we know, while anyone can technically ‘manifest’ their own Talents to the fullest, very few go any further by manifesting it to its truest form.”

  “Truest?” Someone from the crowd asked, “What’s the difference?”

  “Think of it. Throughout our history, whether it’s martial arts, sports, even painting, there’s always been a disparity between the ‘best’ and the ‘greatest’. Why do you think that is? Simple science teaches us that it comes down to ‘genetics’ and even ‘luck’, ugh! Can you believe it? They have no proper answer when the truth is so simple. It’s Talent.”

  The room was silent again but this time, observing. Brandon grinned. This was his chance.

  “These ‘greatest’ of all time have done the impossible by manifesting their Talents beyond their fullest potential, bringing out their true faculty and power. But as we know that can take time, even the base manifestation process can take years. In fact, some people spend their whole lives trying to achieve it, even passing on without experiencing such bliss! Well, I say to that, no more! One step inside and anyone can stand at the top of the food chain!”

  The crowd erupted into a roar of questions while many scribbled into their notepads and on their phones, oohing and ahhing at the complex readings on the wall monitor while others gazed at the tube that sat in the middle of the room, wires running from it to the wall. Suddenly, a gurgled voice stood out amongst the rest. The room fell silent, the space clearing around the voice. A heavy-set man in his fifties wearing a brown and white striped suit a few sizes small for him rubbed his balding head, popping a lit cigar into his mouth.

  “Mr. Amesworth, while this sounds grand on paper I must ask, even if your little contraption works how will it benefit those of us who already stand at the top?” he asked.

  A thin older woman with her graying brown hair tied back pipped up, “I agree with Mr. Aberson. Not only this could invoke much of the working class to pull away from the opportunities we so kindly have given them. Many of us don’t even know the full extent of this so-called ‘true manifestation’ for all we know this could be a waste of time!”

  “Miss Evergreen’s right!” another voice rang out, “How’s this actually supposed to help the country if we don’t even know if it works?!”

  As the voices of admiration quickly turned to ire. However, Brandon simply chuckled, sipping his glass of water and cleared his throat. He pointed to Anastasia at the back of the room.

  “My fellow colleagues, do you know who this is?” The room immediately turned their gaze to the scowl faced woman with her hands clasped behind her back staring dead at Brandon. She shook her head, hoping he wouldn’t do what she thought he would.

  “This right here is one of the country’s finest, a Red Collar! I’m sure many of us understand the importance of that status. Loyal and submissive, an agent of the government—and a Red Collar at that—who HAS achieved true manifestation and soon, you can too!” he beamed as Anastasia fought a groan welling in the back of her throat. This man was embarrassing.

  Brandon smiled as he dimmed the lights with a remote. The machine hummed and a black light beamed from its center, covering everyone in the room. A diagram of the human body then appeared on the wall monitor.

  “Now what is this little contraption?” Mr. Aberson asked.

  “Just a prototype of another something else I’ve been cooking up. Now allow me to show you the old way of Talent Manifestation.” Brandon gestured to a human figure. It was clear of color. Empty within the body. “Direct your attention here to this stagnant body. This is us normal people and the clarity you’re seeing is a lack of Inner-gi. As we know Inner-gi is the fusion of the body’s adrenaline and so-called ‘Spirit’. Once that process is done, we get what is called a Talent user, or, ‘Talented’.”

  He paused as a small blue glow appeared in the center of the body. “What you are seeing here is one who’s discovered what they’re adept at and trains to fully manifest their said skill. This is what we call ‘Talent’. So, as they continue to get better, the body fills with the corresponding color until it’s fully manifested. A process that takes…oh, roughly seven to ten years, give or take. However, even then it’s not enough!”

  “Sorry to interject,” someone from the audience asked, “but why blue?”

  “The body’s Inner-gi is reflective of the Talent’s color. Blue is for Material types usually. The other colors, say red, is the more valuable Bodily Talent and Gold is the extraordinary Spiritual.” Brandon answered. “That and it matches many of our Blue Collared workers, seeing it’s all they have to work with. But don’t worry I’ll switch to red, it’s nicer to look at anyways.”

  The crowd laughed. Anastasia held her breath.

  “Lastly,” Brandon continued, “is true manifestation.” The now red aura’s size around the human figure increased greatly as its color darkened. “The color’s darkened tone correlates to its increased potency; in layman’s terms, a Talent with unbelievable power. This is what someone at the top looks like, a presence that can fill an entire room at the cost of years and years of even more manifestation. It’s no wonder these Government Collars are the reason for the peaceful times we have now.”

  He smiled, clicking the machine off. “So, as we see while the benefits are great, it is a lengthy, tedious process with a simple solution, my machine. Now, we can regulate it so certain individuals are allowed to use this device and by doing so, create an even higher want for jobs by using it as ‘promotion’ of sorts.”

  Now the once skeptical crowd clapped, even a few cheers rang out. Brandon could see Mr. Aberson and Miss Evergreen clapping in agreement. He couldn’t help but rub his hands together in excitement.

  “As I close, I want you to take a look at those around you, and then, to my Red Collar. The black light emitting from my ‘little contraption’ can identify who has what based on the color that you see on you.”

  Everyone immediately scrambled about, looking at their hands and bodies. Majority of the room was a clear mass while a few bodyguards showed a minor blue from their bodies. Brandon confidently scanned the room ready to hear appraise.

  Then his heart sank.

  Anastasia stood there, a strong light blue aura emitting from her body—not even enough to fill the room. He saw her eyes fill with raw anger.

  He quickly turned off the black light, but it was too late. Laughter erupted from all over the room. Voices once full of praise now jeered and mocked the display.

  “Ha! I told you it didn’t exist!” a man said.

  “This is the ‘the country’s finest’ Amesworth was so very much intrigued with?!” a high-pitched voice squeaked.

  “I guess we’ll never know the true extent of this so-called—what was it—true manifestation, oh ho ho!” Mrs. Evergreen sneered.

  “Hey, wasn’t it someone’s birthday or something?” a shrill voice laughed.

  Anastasia went for the door from the corner of Brandon’s eye as Mr. Aberson slapped his hand on the man’s shoulder.

  “Cheer up, Brandon!” he chuckled, almost choking on his cigar. “At least we know who still stands at the top, though I can’t say it’ll be you much longer at this rate!”

  Brandon angrily shook off the laughing man and followed the woman. Before she could grab the handle Brandon snatched her by the wrist.

  “HEY! What in the world was that!?” Brandon demanded as Anastasia turned her glared face to him. “I thought you were a Red Collar, Miss Roosa! You people are REQUIRED to be the best of the best! Oh, and now you not only embarrassed me, but—”

  Anastasia grabbed the gray-haired man’s lips with her fingers and forced him to his knees so she could speak quietly in his ear.

  “Put me on display again, Mr. Amesworth, I will kill you.”

  The room’s laughter came to a halt at the sudden escalation. The woman snatched her fingers away and Brandon fell to his backside, grasping for them. He could feel his pants wetting with urine as his mouth went bone dry. He suddenly found himself trembling, so much so he didn’t notice the door open in front of him.

  “Dad?”

  Brandon’s face went pale to the voice. He turned slowly, seeing Gus standing at the open door staring at the two. Brandon quickly scrambled to his feet.

  “Get inside the tube son. I’ll be there in a moment!”

  “I just want to know if Xole—”

  “NOW!!” Brandon shrieked as Gus quickly stumbled into the room, heading for the tube. Brandon then snapped his attention to Anastasia, who stepped outside the room.

  “Don’t make empty promises, Miss Roosa!” Brandon made sure to roll the ‘r’ as much as possible. “Don’t forget who you’re working for!”

  He slammed the door in her face and turned to the audience again. There was an uneasy silence that seemed louder than the laughing prior. Brandon wanted to curse; the Red Collared woman for making a fool of him, the people for not taking him seriously, and his son for being born with Talent, talent that should’ve been his.

  “Dad!” Gus exclaimed snapping him out of his thoughts. “Where’s Xole? There’s something I need to tell him before we start—”

  “Son, do you trust me?” Brandon asked his shocked son. His father’s hair was messy, his suit was stained wet and face red. He’s never seen him like this. Tt made him angry. In that moment, his needs mattered less than his father’s wants.

  “You know I always will, dad.” Gus said. He stepped into the tank and gave him a thumbs up. “Let’s show Empire City why Amesworth is number one!”

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  Brandon beamed, “That’s my boy!” and shut the door. Lights flashed on, and a loud ‘WOOSH’ could be heard as the machine came to life.

  “Spiritual Talents,” Brandon said, flicking every switch on the monitor, “are the one exception to true manifestation. Once it emerges, it is already truly manifested. Now watch as my son goes from a normal individual, to the one at the top!”

  ‘And soon, it will be me.’ Brandon grinned, thinking to himself. The machine whinnied, growing louder.

  Gus was taken back at first. The blaring noise filled his ears, rattling his brain, air shot upwards into his nose. He tried to gaze upwards at the overhead light with the overpowering brightness nearly blinding him. The only space he had was about a foot between him and the glass, separating him from the excited crowd. But he didn’t care, his dad needed him. Then, his head began to feel light.

  “Ugh!” he touched his nose, feeling blood trickle from it. He had to squint now, his vision growing hazy. He shook his head, only to make things worse, stumbling back and catching the walls to stop from falling. He didn’t feel right. He began to breathe harder.

  “His Talent is emerging!” Brandon said to the wooed crowed. “Now all’s left is true manifestation!”

  Gus’s eyes started to water, and his nose began to run. Liquid from his body was leaving at such a rapid rate. It was as if someone turned a sink faucet on. He clutched his face and tried to hold his breath. It was almost over.

  “Ah, YES! He’s done it!” Brandon shouted happily as the human figure displayed on the monitor had gone from a clear aura to a goldish. The crowd started to applaud.

  “D-d-dad…it’s over…r-right?” Gus asked, watching Brandon happily type on the monitor, “C-can I…c-come out n-n-now?”

  Gus looked at his father only to see the shine of his glasses instead of his eyes as his father spoke. “Now, who’s ready to see Spiritual Talent get extracted?”

  The crowd cheered even louder as the machine screamed, lights blared, sound rang everywhere, worst of all Gus’s body felt as if he was in a blender. He cried out, dropping to his knees and clutching his head, then his stomach, constantly swapping back and forth. His body began to itch all over, outside and in. He started smacking himself to control the itching and rolled all over the wet floor, coughing up heaps of blood. He crawled to his knees, putting his hands to the glass, face wet with mucus and tears.

  “…help…” he moaned weakly. Before him was the pleased crowd, observing him, like an animal. Most of the security was stagnant as well. The Red Collared woman wasn’t even in sight. Gus rolled to his back, gagging, unable to stop his body from jolting sporadically. “…someone…please…”

  “Sir!!” Ester shouted, running to Brandon, He pointed at the machine. “What the hell is this? You’re hurting your son, you hear me?! He’s going to die!”

  Brandon didn’t even seem to blink. Ester growled and went for the machine, but Brandon grabbed the man’s broad shoulder.

  “You will do NO SUCH THING, Ester!’ Brandon snarled, “I am so, SO close to making my dream a reality! All I need is the Spiritual Talent and then—then I can stand at the top with them!”

  Ester was perplexed. “With who, WHO SIR!? Better yet, is it really worth the life of your own son?!”

  Brandon stepped back, adjusting his tie and glasses. “Try anything, Ester, and I’ll have your daughter killed. Perhaps I’ll frame you if you try and patronize me again!”

  Ester stared in awe. Was this the same man he’s known for over a decade? The same man who saved him, Sam, and Mitch from poverty? Did he ever really know him?

  Brandon turned his attention back to the monitors a percentage on the human body read:

  97% FINAL CALIBRATION IN PROGRESS

  “Yes, now to wrap things up!”

  Gus gasped a few last pitiful breaths. His eyes rolled to the back of his head…

  …then, without warning, the machine turned off.

  “NOOOOOOOO!!!” Brandon screamed as the crowd went into uproar. Confused voices sprang out.

  “SHUT UP!” he shouted, “EVERYBODY SHUT UP, WHAT HAPPENED?!!”

  “I wrapped it up,” a voice said from behind the tube.

  The room turned its gaze to the voice. Xole stepped out, phone in his hand. He looked at the machine and saw Gus slumped at the side, catching him out of the corner of his eye.

  “Xole...is…that—?”

  “I’m gonna get you out,” Xole told him reassuringly, “Just sit tight!”

  Brandon tried, “Anasta—!!”

  It was too late. Xole’s phone had activated its Taser mode, sending three-hundred thousand volts to the machine and monitor, both exploding in a blinding array of sparks. Glass blasted outward at the crowd, who shrieked and stamped for the door in a panic. Brandon was knocked off his feet, dazed as he saw Xole making off with Gus amongst the chaos. On the other side of the room, the door opened, and Anastasia stepped in.

  “This better be important.”

  “Anastasia…” he said weakly. He pointed to Xole and Gus. “Stop those two, by any means necessary.”

  “The room’s very crowded, sir—”

  “I said by any means necessary.”

  Out of the corner of Xole’s eye he saw what could only be described as a satanic grin slit across the woman’s face. In a flash Mrs. Evergreen and Mr. Aberson’s throats were slashed open, bursting into a spray of blood that followed the woman as she ran by each guest. They screamed, running for any other exits to no avail. The woman moved in a bloody blur of death, bringing it to each and every person she came into contact with.

  “G-GUS WE GOTTA MOVE NOW!!” Xole shouted, dragging Gus out the door, arm slung over his shoulder. As he took one step out his knees instantly quivered, his body freezing with fear. He looked over his shoulder and saw Anastasia descending towards them, hand stretched out revealing her purple razor-sharp nails dripped with blood inches from the two. He shut his eyes as a sickening noise of flesh being torn filled his ears.

  ‘SPLURT!’

  He opened his eyes to his shock to see Ester standing there, knees bent, and arms splayed shielding the two…with Anastasia’s forearm through his stomach.

  “Ester!” Gus cried weakly.

  “GO!” Ester coughed. He grabbed on to her arm as she began to pull free, “HURRY!”

  Xole exploded from the door with Gus, running down the walkway as fast as possible.

  Anastasia gave Ester a glare. “Insolent Blue Collar. Now I have to chase them.”

  The bloodied security guard chuckled. “Chase them? HA! Gonna have to get through m—”

  ‘Slurch!’

  His words were cut short along with his throat. Anastasia walked past him, flicking the blood of her nails. The large man groaned, falling to the floor to a heap. Her last words barely reached his ears.

  “Easier done than said.”

  “Gus, directions?!” Xole panicked.

  “L-left” He directed.

  Xole immediately swung left, bringing them to the main hallway, which was now dimly lit. The two ran as fast as they could towards the elevator, hearing thudding and running towards them. Xole smashed the button over and over again.

  “C’mon, C’MON!” he shouted franticly.

  “The power…” Gus’s voice was weak. “Dad’s machine… must’ve cut it.”

  Xole kicked the door out of frustration as he could hear the steps grow closer in what seemed like an enclosing hallway. He trembled. He wanted to run and hide Gus somewhere safe. It took all he had to grit his teeth and take the handle of the nearest door.

  “That’s…security…”

  “Nice!” Xole cheered, breaking inside the dimly lit room and shaking the back of the first chair he saw. “HELP US, PLEASE—”

  He cut himself off abruptly, noticing blood spilling from the back of the chair. Both their mouths fell open, appalled as the guard by Xole fell to the ground, his throat slashed and bloodied. Glancing around the rest of the room they could see a trail of bodies continuing into the darkness. The clicking sound of high heels grew heavier.

  “D-dad’s…private security!” Gus gasped.

  Xole swallowed hard, backing out of the room and back to the end of the hall. Ten feet to the right of the elevator was the logo of a staircase.

  “We’re going down then!” he said, dragging Gus into the box shaped stair room. A dark shadow was cast below, impossible to see what was downwards. Meanwhile, above them, the lights were on, and their path was visibly clear.

  “We’re going up then!” Xole corrected himself, doing his best to carry his friend, arm slung over his shoulder. Unfortunately, the more athletic boy proved to be too heavy for someone as thin as Xole to carry without stopping every few steps to catch his breath.

  Gus realized this, dropping to his feet he slung against the wall pointing up a level above them.

  “Up there!” he cried, struggling to stay conscious. “There’s a panic room…near my dad’s office. We can…call for—”

  “Say no more, I’ve got this!” Xole said quickly. Mustering all of his might, he took Gus on his back. Immediately he could feel his knees buckle but he ignored the pain. Taking a deep breath, he bolted, running up the steps two at a time until he crashed into the door face first. At the same time, he heard the door they’d exited from below open, high heels clicking against the floor. Xole slammed the door shut behind them and fell against the wall, his chest felt like it was going to explode. Gus pressed his hand on the wall next to the door, a scanner where his hand was appeared under it, turning red and making a clicking noise. The text ‘LOCKED DOWN’ displayed. He dropped next to his friend on the floor.

  “Didn’t know…” Xole panted, “You could do that…”

  “Biometric…scanner,” Gus panted back. “Mom’s…idea.”

  Xole glanced up, seeing a line of what looked like endless doors before them. Sighing, he climbed to his feet, palms on his knees. He grimaced, forcing a smile, “Its right over there.” he said, “We’re so close…”

  “Why…?” Gus’s hoarse voice hit Xole like a fist. Now that they’d stopped, he could hear the immense pain in his friend’s voice. He felt a lump in his throat.

  “Why…did you come back…Xole?” Gus asked. He looked down, “I messed up…so…so bad…yet you…came back.”

  “Gus, we need to go, now!”

  “You were right…Xole…about everything.” Gus’s words choked through sobs. It was the first time Xole’s ever seen him cry. “I just wanted…to make my father…proud…show him my worth…I should’ve been…stronger…better—”

  “Gus, it’s okay,” Xole sat next to his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, you hear me? People’s expectations suck. You think the world of someone until they deem you…worthless.” He paused to sigh before looking to his friend and smiling again. “So who gives a damn what they think? In fact, forget about what they think! Buy all the hamsters you want, go crazy! Cause I care about you and that’s all that matters, the rest we ‘take it in stride’, remember?”

  Gus looked at Xole, and he could clearly see the redness in his eyes as well as visible lines on his face as well as his cheeks sunken in from the machine. Still, he forced a smile of his own.

  “Got a comeback for everything…don’t you. Actually…where is…the little guy?”

  “Xole grinned back, reaching in his pocket, and further into a brown paper bag, producing the small creature and tucking it safely inside Gus’s chest pocket. “Made sure to nab him before I got you, now where’s that office?”

  “Third door…to the right,” Gus panted, crawling to his feet.

  Slinging Gus’s arm over his shoulder again, Xole made his way to right and kicked the door open running into a large board room. To their horror, everyone sat dead in their chairs, bleeding from their necks and faces. At the end of the table a chair turned around. Anastasia sat there calmly, hands neatly folded over each other.

  “Give it up, children.” She spoke to them so casually, as if they were on a playground. “Come, Gus, your father needs you.”

  “Screw you, you—you female dog!” Xole yelled, mustering words he never thought he’d say.

  “Eh…delivery sucked.” Gus gave a weak smile. “Still…I’m so proud of you”

  Anastasia sighed, getting up from the chair, slowly walking towards the two.

  ‘Gus, you gotta run. I’ll hold her off!” Xole stood in front of his friend and slightly bent his knees, putting his hands in front of him, protecting his face and vitals.

  “God damn it, Xole,” he heard Gus say as he charged the woman. He threw a wild punch at her—which to his surprise—made contact with her long coat.

  “HA!” Xole exclaimed as he grabbed the front and yanked her to the floor. He leaped into the air and started stomping repeatedly as hard as he could, gritting his teeth before finishing with a kick.

  He panted hard, “In…you’re…face! Literally!” he stood up only to be greeted with an aerial axe kick on the top of his head. His face slammed into the floor so hard he bounced back up. She caught him by the throat and smashed her fist into his face from left to right over and over again. Xole could feel himself beginning to lose conciseness. She dropped him to his feet before immediately spinning on her leg, shooting her foot into his face, sending him across the room, crashing into the ceiling before falling through the table.

  Anastasia watched for a few moments before letting out another sigh, this time of relief. She made her way back to Gus and reached for him as he tried to crawl away.

  ‘An intriguing machine,’ she thought to herself grabbing him, ‘To forcefully bring out one’s potential. I wonder…’

  “Leave…him…ALONE!”

  She turned her gaze back at Xole. The boy on his feet yet again, bloody and battered, was shaking uncontrollably.

  “Gack…ha!” he forced a laugh, coughing blood. “This…is NOTHING! Even my babysitter hits…WAY harder than you!”

  She could tell he was terrified. Still, she had a job to complete. Dropping Gus and flicking her nails, she made her way back to the other boy.

  ‘One swipe’ she could see the regret in his face as she approached him. ‘a swift death out of mercy for this stupid child.’

  Gus cursed himself, it was all his fault. He regretted ever dragging Xole into this. But most of all he regretted his own uselessness.

  “Work…dammit! Stupid…stupid…useless Talent!” he spat, reaching out to the woman. “Stop it…! Stop dammit! Hold…STILL!!!”

  Xole closed his eyes as the woman struck him. He always saw news reports of violent murders, though usually in rough neighborhoods and projects. Never once he thought he’d end up like them. What an idiot he’d been.

  However, nothing happened.

  He opened his eyes to see the woman’s nails inches from his throat. She seemed just as surprised as him. Behind her, he saw Gus lying on his stomach, quivering left arm outstretched. He grinned to himself as his shaking slowed, along with his breath.

  “I…guess I…had…your back…this…time.” he croaked before his face fell to the floor.

  “GUS!” Xole exclaimed, running to him, ignoring the woman’s frantic shrieking to escape the hold she was stuck in. He turned him over as he could see the color leave Gus’s eyes.

  “Get…out…of…here…Xole.” he touched his chest with one shaking finger “It’s…all…on…you…” his head finally drooped back slowly, and his fingers dragged off his chest. His breathing subsided.

  Gus was dead.

  “…”

  Xole fell back against the wall, horrified at what he was looking at. He quickly shook his head, thinking as hard as he could. He clutched his aching head. He felt dizzy, his vision blurred but there were no tears. His chest was tight, struggling for a gasp of air. He knew he had to have been in some kind of nightmare, though was confused as to why it wasn’t over yet. Then he shouted. Yelled at the top of his lungs, angry at Mr. Amesworth, Yesfir, the security, his parents, himself, and the whole world for what happened. Then he realized if this ‘Spiritual Talent’ was real, perhaps it could restore his friend back. The sacrifices weren’t a concern of him. Finally, he forced himself took look back at Gus again.

  He was still dead.

  “…”

  Throughout the entire day, the multitude of emotions he’s experienced was completely irrelevant to how he was feeling now.

  “What’s going on here?!!” Brandon bellowed running into the room. He stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes went to Gus.

  “Oh no…”

  Xole, pressing himself against the wall, made his way to the large windows. He slid his way across not thinking about where he was going or the angry shouting behind him. Suddenly, a bullet whizzed passed him, shattering the glass pressed against him, bringing in a rush of cool city air. Xole turned to see the hit-woman standing there, gun in hand, breathing angrily. Her hair had become slightly unkempt. Realizing this she straightened it back with one hand while keeping her weapon focusing on him. Her next words were needless to his ears.

  “End of the line, kid.”