The stars in the sky hadn't been visible in years. The bright blue glow of Downtown Philadelphia was the only light needed to eradicate the darkness of night. What was the point of looking up into the night sky to wish upon a star when you had hundreds of holographic billboards hovering along the city streets promising your wishes would come true? That everything wrong with you could be instantly cured with a few meds or therapy sessions or even a memory wipe?

Well even in 2045, even after nearly thirty years of life-changing advancements in technology and science, there's always something to remind you that Heaven and Earth are two completely different places. That the closest thing a man creates to perfection will always have that flawed human influence. And eventually someone will have to acknowledge the cracks in the foundation.

Those were the thoughts filling the head of one particular man as he wandered the desolate streets of the outer city. This neighborhood was nothing like Downtown Philadelphia. The brightest lights one could find outside of the citizens' homes were the dim orange streetlights. Downtown would've had hundreds of holographic screens letting people know they mattered in the world and that their conditions were not their fault. Hardly anyone was traversing along the sidewalk with this stranger. And the biggest difference was that there were no SanityScans to watch over the neighborhoods and alert Psychwatch of a person's less-than-appropriate thoughts.

In other words, this man was in the perfect place for a crime.

Right down the alley between two dilapidated brick buildings, a little gathering of people were huddled around a fire. It was no surprise what they were doing. Arms or drug deal, it was always one of those two. The man made his way to them, still reassured his backup would be there any second.

"Glad to see y'all made it here alive," one man said as he rummaged through a duffle bag. "Now, what was it you guys were in the mood for?"

His clients didn't say a word, instead remaining still in the orange glow of the flames. It took him a few seconds, but it finally clicked.

"Got it," he said with a snap of his fingers. He pulled out a small box of a dozen glowing blue vials. On the edge of each vial was a small spout where the narcotic would exit, like an inhaler. Most people referred to these special inhalers as Blue Caterpillars. "This is what you're really here for."

All of the scumbags cackled in celebration. They were in the presence of a dozen tubes of Wonderland Mist, also known as 'Gasm Gas or Nympho depending on the area. Just one puff of that sky blue spray would bring all of your wet dreams to life. Erotic hallucinations, heightened libido, and enhanced sensitivity, even a sneeze could make you cream yourself. It's not much of a surprise something so psychologically enrapturing would be illegal.

"Hand it over," the leader ordered.

"Pay up first," the dealer replied, taking out his eWallet. "Then you can do whatever the hell you want with it. Just keep your damn clothes on."

The leader rolled his eyes as he pulled out his own eWallet. The two of them held their devices between them and waited patiently as two hundred and forty dollars transferred over to the dealer's funds. Then the leader took the box and grabbed an inhaler before passing it on to his buddies.

"Pleasure doing business," the dealer said with a grin.

"Yeah, whatever," the leader replied, glancing down at the Blue Caterpillar. "Now get the hell out of here. I'll call you when I need you."

"Hey," one girl in the group chimed in. "Who's that?"

The group stared out toward the edge of the alley, watching as the stranger approached them. The alley light casted a creepy orange glow on his tuxedo and a plastic white mask wrapped all around his head, exposing only his messy brown hair. His eyes were marked with red Xs like a dead cartoon character and a devilish grin was permanently plastered on the mask. He strolled down the alley as if it were a peaceful walk in the park, carefully adjusting his gloves.

"Who are you supposed to be, Michael Myers?" the leader chuckled.

"I've made lots of mistakes in the past," the masked man replied in a raspy voice. "If I've hurt people, I'd rather they remember this lifeless facade instead of the poor shmuck hiding behind it."

"Hey, don't get too comfortable around us. I didn't say you could start dumping your life story on us."

"My past should mean nothing to you. On the contrary, I've come here to talk about the future." The masked man took a few glances at the Blue Caterpillars and the dealer's eWallet. "Would you people consider yourself successful in your current positions?"

"The hell are you talking about?" the leader replied.

"I'm saying you have all these things to keep yourself entertained for a moment or two, but what's the point? You're gonna go back for more once you're done."

"What's your problem? You suicidal or something? Get lost. We're not doctor-cops if that's what you're hoping for."

"I don't need Psychwatch," the masked man replied. "All I need are your guns, your money, and your manpower. Just need some allies, I guess you could say."

"Shut the hell up," the leader interrupted as he pulled out his gun.

The masked man raised his hands. "Typical," he said. "Everyone always hesitates to pull the trigger. So many problems could be prevented if you don't hesitate."

"I'm not afraid to shoot. Just not looking forward to cleaning up the mess."

The masked man slowly lowered his hands and approached the leader, still sporting a nonchalant attitude even as a gun was trained on him. He quietly chuckled to himself as he stood in front of that gun without a care in the world.

"Why are you laughing?" the leader asked.

"Because, buddy," the masked man replied as he slowly placed his hand on the other man's shoulder, "I can sense the reluctance. You don't like to get your hands dirty. Somehow, despite wasting your bucks on narcotics to heighten your libido, I can still tell you value life."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I already told you, good sir. You hesitate. You give unimportant things value. You're no risk-taker."

The leader lowered his gun. "What is it you need exactly?" he asked.

"I need your money and weaponry. I just don't need..." the masked man paused to unsheathe a dagger from his suit. "You."

A van crept out of the corner of the alley, catching the attention of the gang leader. Despite the fact the masked man was right in front of him, he still didn't notice the dagger plunging between his ribs. The only thing more painful than the blade digging in was the blade ripping back out. And the masked man kept stabbing him over and over again until he collapsed to the pavement, splattering the street with blood.

"What the fuck!" the dealer shouted as he gazed at his butchered former colleague.

All of a sudden, another figure emerged from the shadows and crashed down on the dealer's back. He could feel a dagger ripping through his neck over and over again, and he was being yanked toward his truck that was parked in the corner of the alley. His attacker leaped off his back and grabbed his hair. He couldn't do anything as his attacker repeatedly slammed his head over and over again into the truck window. The glass was smeared darker red after every hit, but the young attacker continued hammering the dealer's head against the window until a dent was left in his skull. The attacker let go of the dead dealer's head and let him slump to the street motionlessly.

"Shit!" another crook exclaimed as he pulled out a shotgun. He prepared to aim it at the masked man but was cut short by another attacker, one the same size and speed of the young man responsible for the dealer's death, as she slammed a machete down on his wrist. She quickly yanked it out and ran the crook through, plunging the blade through his stomach.

"Big mistake, sir," she giggled, her hands gripped tightly on the blade's handle.

Now with his wrist bloody and lacerated, he couldn't hold his gun any longer. The masked man approached him and snatched the gun out of his hands. He then shoved it into the crook's mouth and pulled the trigger, the shot like a crackle of thunder. The crook's lifeless body crumpled to the floor with only a few chunks of his skull left behind.

"Who are you?!" a female crook asked, backed up against the wall with a knife in her hand. She could only watch in horror as the rest of her colleagues bolted off into the darkness of night.

"Who am I?" the masked man asked back. "I'm multiple people. I've got multiple names. Multiple motives. Multiple methods of ending lives."

The van from earlier opened up, and a group of five other masked individuals stampeded out of the vehicle as if their lives depended on it. Three of them carried blunt objects, but the other two held knives. Their masks were lazier versions of this Multi Man before them, instead looking more like rags with holes for the eyes and crudely painted Xs that looked like they were done with spray paint.

"But I can help you!" the female crook exclaimed.

"I'm afraid I've changed my mind," the Multi Man replied.

The female machete-wielding attacker slammed her blade into the final crook's cranium, and she toppled to the pavement with a new laceration in her head. The attacker slid her knife back in her holster and started rummaging through the dead woman's pockets, snatching her eWallet and a handgun hidden in her back pocket.

"You read my mind, dear," the Multi Man said as he playfully smoothed his hand through her hair. He yanked his dagger out of a dead thug's back and placed it back in his suit pocket.

"What are we doing here?" one of the other masked men asked. "You seemed to have everything handled."

"You're right," the Multi Man replied. "I didn't need any of your help uncovering the treasure. I just need your help loading it onto the boat. Why don't you follow this young lady's example and take anything that looks useful? Weapons, eWallets, as long as it will support us on our mission."

The attacker with the small knives glanced at the Blue Caterpillars the dealer dropped on the floor. "Whitey," the Multi Man declared, "leave those alone."

"Not even a whiff?" Whitey asked. One could see his red irises through the holes in his crudely-made mask.

"Absolutely not. They've got fingerprints all over them. So don't get involved." This Multi Man figure then turned to the other young attacker, the girl wielding the machete. "Crimson, rinse the blood off your weapon."

"Don't be silly, Mister," Crimson replied as she playfully twirled her blade around. "There aren't any SanityScans out here. And it's not like Psychwatch would care about a couple of dead junkies."

"Of course not. They'll care more about the origin of this situation, which leads back to us."

"I thought that was what you wanted, sir," another masked youth replied, neither Whitey nor Crimson. He wore a hood over his head and carried a crowbar, and his face was hidden by a crude mask imitating that of the Multi Man. "You said them discovering us would set off that metaphorical spark you're always talking about."

"Exactly, Dawson. But we need the proper timing before we set off this spark. You people need to remember it only takes one spark to set this whole world on fire."