Zach awoke to the faint sound of creaking in the hallway outside the apartment. At first he didn’t register what it was, but he soon allowed himself a chance to relax. The tenements were old, and creaking wasn’t uncommon. Which was difficult for Zach, who often found himself awake and alert to the possibility of trouble. Usually there wasn’t, and he figured that this case was probably no different.

Still, he found he couldn’t completely erase the nagging thought in the back of his mind that maybe, just maybe, there was trouble outside. He rose cautiously and approached the front door, careful not to hit any obstacles on the way. He didn’t want to make any noise and possibly alert anyone who might be out there.

When he reached the door to the tenement hallway, he slowly placed his ear against the door. He thought he could just slightly hear something going on outside, but he wasn’t certain. What he thought he heard could easily just be a rat scurrying along the hallway and not be anything serious at all.

That didn’t stop the feeling that Zach had in his gut that something was wrong, so he grasped the door handle firmly and wrenched the door open. It wasn’t a subtle approach, but Zach didn’t really see the point in gently opening the door if someone was actually waiting outside. That would only give anyone there more time to react. Instead, Zach stepped confidently across the threshold and out into the hallway, colliding straight into a man standing right in front of the door.

He was about a head shorter than Zach, so he was decently tall, with a worn leather jacket and a pair of cheap sunglasses over his face, which was covered in tattoos.

“Who are you?” Zach asked, looking quickly to the left and right as he talked. It looked as though he was flanked by two more people, each similarly dressed and tattooed as the first man.

The man didn’t respond, instead reaching for a pocket of his jacket. Before he could complete that action, he found his hand suddenly caught in Zach’s powerful grip. There was a crunching sound as Zach ever so slightly squeezed, making the man cry out in pain.

“I asked you a question.” Zach stated coldly, but the man didn’t respond with anything more than an agonized squeal. His friends, on the other hand, both reached for the pockets of their own jackets, both of them drawing pistols and leveling them at Zach.

Before either of them could pull the trigger, Zach jerked his arm, flinging the unfortunate man into the one on his right. They both splatted against the wall like a melon blasted from a cannon. Not that Zach paid much attention to the rather colorful display, as he was too busy wrenching the gun of the last man and forcing it upwards. It went off before Zach squeezed again, crushing the device like a tin can in his hand.

The bullet thudded into Zach’s shoulder, causing him to reel back as the one who shot it bolted down the hallway. He was fast, but Zach’s strength made him faster. He easily caught up with him, grasping the flighty hitman by the back of his shirt and forcing him to the ground.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?!” Zach shouted, pressing down on top of him. He let out a strangled cry in response as he flailed about on the ground. He couldn’t breathe with Zach’s not inconsiderable weight pressing down on top of him.

It took a moment for Zach to realize this, and he got off the man; hauling him up as he did so. He shoved the man against the wall, careful not to break anything, and glared into the man’s eyes that were wide with horror.

He was young and scrawny, barely an adult. His face was pockmarked with a variety of scars, and he was dressed in loose, ill-fitting clothes. He struggled for a moment against Zach’s grip, but it didn’t take long before he realized the futility of such a task; leaving him to quail piteously in front of the irate giant.

“Are you going to cooperate with me, or am I going to have to break every bone in your body one-by-one?” Zach’s voice was low and menacing, as one hand clutched the man’s collar and the other grasped his shoulder in a vice-like grip.

“W-what do you want to know?” The man stuttered piteously.

“Exactly what I asked you before I was so rudely assaulted by you and your friends. Who are you and what do you want?” Zach replied menacingly.

“W-were nobody. Just some street thugs, that’s all.”

“Most street thugs don’t have the gall to just break into people’s homes unannounced. That’s how people get themselves killed. And nobody cares if a thug like you gets killed. After all, they get killed all the time.” He gestured at the bodies around him as he said that as though emphasizing his point. “So, why’d you even try? Are you just an idiot, or did someone put you up to it?”

The man pressed his narrow lips together and shook his head vigorously. Fear still filled his eyes, but now they were widened as though there was something he feared even more keeping him from responding.

Zach just grinned, and the man’s eyes grew even wider when his fist sank into the wall beside his head. It crunched as it landed, a spider web of cracks spreading from the point of impact.

“Answer me, or it’s your head.” Zach replied calmly.

“We’re here for the girl.” The man jabbered out rapidly. “The one without powers; the one that’s normal.”

Zach looked stunned.

“Emily?” He asked, worry and confusion creeping into his voice. “Why would you want her?”

The man shook his head again, but shrieked in pain while a snapping and tearing sound told him of the bloody stump where his left pinky had been. He hadn’t even seen Zach do it, it was so fast. One moment his hand had been on his shoulder, and then his finger was gone.

“Answer the question.” Zach demanded, with a menacing glower.

“Y-you can tear off my limbs all you want, it won’t matter.” The man stuttered. “I-I can’t tell you. They’ll kill me.”

“And you think I won’t?” Zach retorted, firmly grasping the man’s shoulder once again. “Answer me or your arm’s next. I’ll let you bleed out here in the hall as a warning for the next guys.”

The man pressed his lips tightly together, refusing to respond. Seeing this, Zach squeezed down on the man’s shoulder and wrenched. He screamed in agony as bone shattered and sinew popped. There was a wet spray of blood as the arm was torn from its socket, the man falling to his knees as Zach dropped him.

“You shouldn’t have tested me.” Zach said evenly, turning casually back toward the door to his apartment. He opened it slowly, stepping through as though it was just a normal evening and not as though he’d just been attacked right outside his home.

He was surprised when he entered the living room of his apartment, and a light suddenly flicked on. There, seated nonchalantly on the couch, was Emily, her arms crossed and a look of stern disapproval on her face. She glanced angrily at her watch.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” She asked, a hint of anger in her voice. “Some civilized people are trying to sleep.”

Zach cracked a smile.

“But you’re not one of those civilized people I guess.” He chuckled. “What woke you up?”

Emily sighed. “I’m not sure. It was either the gunshot in the hallway, the crash that happened right outside my room, or you yelling at the top of your lungs in the hall.”

Zach smiled sheepishly. “Sorry about that. I guess I’ll have to be a little quieter next time.”

“Yeah, you better.” Emily paused for a moment, suddenly adopting a serious expression. “So, what exactly happened?”

It was Zach’s turn to sigh this time. “I’ll tell you later. Go grab your things. We need to get out of here.”

Emily’s frown deepened. “We’re leaving?”

Assaults and attempted break-ins weren’t uncommon in the slums. There was always someone trying to steal or kill someone, whether for money, drugs, or a dozen other reasons. They’d been a victim of it more than once, and never before had they bothered to leave afterwards. There was no point. Everywhere in the city was just a different flavor of the same, and escaping the city was virtually impossible without money. It was huge, several days across by foot, and cars were a rare commodity only the wealthiest could afford. A mere slum rat wouldn’t dare try to appropriate one. The city guards were always keen to exact harsh punishments on the lowest members of society. Only the right amount of money in the right hands could enable someone who wasn’t politically privileged to leave easily.

Seeing as they had neither money nor political privilege, they were stuck. Still, the city’s size wasn’t just a detriment. Someone could easily vanish in the streets if they knew what they were doing. And Zach always knew what he was doing.

“It’s that bad, huh?” She asked him, and he grimly nodded.

Without saying another word, she went to her room and began stuffing her things into her backpack. She couldn’t fit much, so she only put what she deemed to be her most valuable possessions. She hastily grabbed a few pairs of clothes and a small wad of cash she’d saved up. She paused for a moment, hesitating over a small picture that laid on a table beside her bed. It was a picture of a tall thin man with dark hair, his hand wrapped around the narrow waist of a beautiful woman standing next to him. She felt a pang in her heart as she stared at the picture of her long lost parents. She missed them so much and couldn’t resist feeling that maybe things would be better if she still had them.

Still, the past couldn’t be changed, and she stuffed the picture into her backpack with the rest of her things. She searched her room quickly for anything else she might need, but she was cut short by a shouting sound out in the hallway. Bolting out of her room and through the living room, she made it just in time to see a man dashing down the hallway clutching a bloody stump in his hand.

“No!” Zach shouted angrily, smashing his hand into a nearby wall. “I should’ve known there was a reason he didn’t care.”

“What do you mean?” Emily asked, not knowing what he meant.

“I ripped his arm off. He should be dead. But of course, he’s a lizard. Just my luck, of course they would send a regenerator.”

“Go, finish grabbing your stuff. We need to get out of here.” Zach ordered, an exceptionally grim look plastered on his face. “I hate to say it, but I don’t think this is over. Not even close.”