The Cost of Connection

  The motel room smelled of cheap lemon cleaner and old cigarettes. It wasn't a palace, but for a college student currently bleeding from a stab wound, it was a sanctuary.

  Elias sat on the edge of the bed, his shirt off. The wound on his shoulder was ugly—a deep, jagged puncture where Kane’s knife had gone in.

  "Hold still," the Stranger said softly.

  The Stranger didn't use a needle and thread. He simply hovered his hand over the wound. A soft, grey light pulsed from his palm.

  Elias grit his teeth. "It stings."

  "Healing always does," the Stranger replied. "Only the injury is sudden. The recovery is work."

  Slowly, the skin began to knit together. It wasn't magic in the way Elias expected—it didn't vanish instantly. It sped up the natural process, forcing days of healing into minutes. It left Elias exhausted, shivering as his body burned calories to fuel the repair.

  "Why did it hurt me?" Elias asked, wiping sweat from his forehead. "When I used the Tether... when I pushed the guilt into him... I felt it too."

  The Stranger lowered his hand. The wound was closed, leaving a fresh pink scar.

  "Because you are a Bridge," the Stranger said, sitting in the worn armchair. "A bridge must bear the weight of what crosses it. If you want to force a man to feel his own humanity, you must be willing to share it."

  Elias touched the scar. "So, every time I fight him... every time I use this power... I take damage?"

  "Yes," the Stranger said. "That is the difference between us and Him."

  "The Consultant?"

  "The Consultant offers freedom from consequence," the Stranger said, his eyes darkening. "He offers a world where you can cut your hand and feel nothing. I offer a world where the cut hurts, so you learn not to hold the knife."

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The Reset

  Across the city, in the penthouse suite, there was no healing. There was only desperate, clawing panic.

  Kane was in the bathroom, retching into the sink. He had been scrubbing his hands for twenty minutes, but he couldn't get the blood off.

  There was no physical blood. It was a phantom sensation—the sticky, warm feeling of the lives he had taken. Elias’s "Tether" had shattered his immunity for only a few seconds, but the cracks were spreading.

  "Get it out!" Kane screamed at the mirror. He smashed his fist into the glass. "Get it out of my head!"

  He saw the face of the union leader. He saw the face of the politician. He felt their fear. He felt their mothers crying.

  "Kane."

  The voice was soft, smooth, and utterly devoid of warmth.

  Kane spun around. The Consultant was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, holding a glass of water. He looked at the shattered mirror and the trembling assassin with a look of mild disappointment.

  "You are leaking," The Consultant observed.

  "He touched me," Kane gasped, sliding down the wall to the floor. "The Proxy... he touched me and he... he put them inside me. I can feel them all. Make it stop. Please, make it stop."

  The Consultant stepped over the broken glass. He crouched down in his pristine Italian suit, not caring about the wet floor.

  "Pain is a fascinating mechanic," The Consultant said, examining Kane’s dilated pupils. "The Landlord designed it as a teaching tool. A biological alarm system."

  He reached out and placed a manicured hand on Kane’s sweating forehead.

  "But I find alarm systems terribly distracting."

  "Help me," Kane whimpered.

  "Do you wish to learn from this failure, Kane?" The Consultant asked. "Do you wish to keep this pain and grow from it?"

  "No!" Kane shouted. "I want it gone!"

  "Very well," The Consultant smiled. "We shall skip the lesson."

  Ability Activated: [The Severance]

  The Consultant’s hand glowed with a cold, blue light. It sank into Kane’s skull.

  He didn't heal the trauma. He didn't process the guilt. He located the memories of the last hour—the fear, the empathy, the regret—and he simply hit Delete.

  Kane’s eyes rolled back. His body went rigid, then slack.

  A moment later, Kane blinked. He took a deep breath. He stood up. The shaking was gone. The sweat was gone. The terror was gone.

  He looked at his hands. They were steady. He looked at the shattered mirror. He felt nothing.

  "Better?" The Consultant asked, standing up and dusting off his knees.

  "Much," Kane said. His voice was flat again. The shark was back. "I... I had a headache. It's gone now."

  "Good," The Consultant said. He turned to leave the bathroom. "The Proxy is dangerous, Kane. He is infecting you with conscience. Next time, do not let him touch you. Shoot him from a mile away."

  Kane picked up a shard of glass and inspected his reflection. "Understood," Kane said. "Next time, I won't play with my food."

  Coming Up: Now that both sides have regrouped, the "Proxy War" is going to go public. The Consultant isn't going to stay in the shadows much longer.