The God Power

The Beginning

KCN International Bank

December 21st, 1980

10:47 P.M.

The setting was as flawless as could be for a professional like Victor Calloway.

Nightfall—the flurry of snow blanketing the world outside—and the mostly empty building stood by its lonesome on the fringes of the city, each window darkening one by one as the twilight afternoon faded into evening.

He watched with patience from a distance until the proper time came to be, and then—he and his team jumped to action.

“Game on.”

He stormed the building with a rifle held high, mask covering his face and hair. His friend, Ty, had just powered off the building before the rest thundered in—and now, Victor led two others into the spacious darkened lobby, all of them masked and armed, the remaining two employees on the premises jolting up from behind their counters in alarm.

“You know where to go and you know what to do—hands above the counter,” Victor snarled in a deep, raspy growl, jutting his gun at the nearest employee just as the man began to lower his hand. “Now listen, and pay real close attention—because I don’t wanna get held up here any more than you wanna die. You understand me?”

The man nodded shakily, and Victor took a brisk step forward—sharp and penetrating eyes of blue glaring into the man from behind the mask.

“Safe,” Victor said in a much softer tone, still with a rasp. “Now.”

The man managed another nod before quickly shuffling off, leading Victor into the back.

As the two ventured off—Victor’s two companions, Leo and Manny, remained in the lobby, keeping the other late employee held firmly at gunpoint.

“Watch ’im,” Manny growled, smacking Leo once on the arm before breaking into a stride. “I’m gonna help him fill up the bags.”

“Okay, man,” Leo mumbled in response, his voice easeful and somewhat calm, the least grating of the three. “Just hurry up.”

Manny took the empty duffle bag off of Leo’s shoulder and headed off with it, following in his boss’s footsteps. He joined Victor many turns and hallways away from the lobby—and they arrived in a massive metal room filled with cash and other valuables, which Victor and Manny hurriedly began shoveling into their bags at once.

“Hey—whoa whoa—hey!” Victor whipped around and fired off a shot—the deafening bang making Manny jump. “Where d’you think you’re going, friend?!”

He’d let off a shot toward the door—where their hostage employee had just tried to flee.

The employee suddenly froze, his face draining of color as his mouth drifted agape, and he slowly held up his hands in surrender.

“Nooo… we’re not done here, little buddy,” Victor sneered, sauntering toward the man and tightly draping an arm around him, giving him a forceful shake. “And you’re gonna stay right here with us until we are. Hopefully you won’t have to be a meat shield, but hey—you keep making us take longer, and that scenario’s getting more and more likely by the second. I recommend you just chill out and wait for it to pass. Or you can die. Your choice.”

He planted a foot into the man’s back—practically launching him deeper into the safe room.

Just when Victor moved to resume his looting—the earpiece inside his mask sparked to life, and Ty began speaking into his ear.

“Ahh—Vic—we got a problem,” Ty told him. “Cops are swarming in.”

Victor skidded to an abrupt stop, clasping his earpiece. “What?”

“Cops,” Ty repeated urgently. “I don’t know how they got here so fast—but I’m ’round back already. Just come on!”

“Son of a bitch—you’re gonna end up running us off the road again if we end up in another damn chase,” Victor snarled, whirling around to Manny. “Hey—pick it up! Cops!”

Manny instantly seemed to kick into high gear; he filled his and Leo’s bags before topping off Victor’s own, then the two of them rushed out of the room at once, sprinting into the hallway.

Manny headed toward the back—and Victor rushed toward the opposite direction.

“What—Vic!” Manny skidded to a stop and whipped around. “Where’re you going?!”

“Getting Leo!” Victor hollered back without stopping.

“But we don’t have time—!”

“Just go!”

Victor vanished around the corner down the hall.

Manny swore under his breath, then resumed his pace toward the back exit.

Primed with adrenaline—Victor rounded all the turns and sped down all the halls before emerging in the front lobby again, his heart instantly plummeting into his stomach.

The echo of sirens was audible on the night air outside.

Victor grabbed Leo and escorted him toward the hall, shoving him onward and ordering him to run—just when gunfire exploded from behind.

Cops breached the building; muzzle flashes illuminated the scene as Victor staggered at the edge of the hallway, Leo racing down the hall and halting on a dime when he realized his boss was no longer following him.

“Go!” Victor ordered, not knowing why—but he swatted at Leo and motioned for him to run. “Tell Ty to just go!”

His side throbbed terribly—where a bullet had struck him—and he stood hunched against the wall of the hallway, though adrenaline kept him upright, and the cops were beginning to flood into the building somewhere behind him.

Leo gave him a conflicted look before running down the hall and disappearing from view.

Many things ambushed him at once; Victor felt no desire to stay behind, to fight and hold off the opposition or to die here on the floor of a bank, and everything inside him screamed for him to run away as well—to survive and get away with all their gained goods just as they’d all done many times before, all under the guise of his fantastic instincts and leadership.

But—it was different this time, and the fruits of his skills and the luck of his endeavors had all finally seemed to run out.

It all came to him at once, the finality of their last score, and the solidity of what came next—because Victor clenched his teeth, took in a bracing breath, and gave himself a powerful nod before spinning on his heel at once—and he unleashed fire on them all.

It rattled his skull, bombarded his eardrums, shook his body and his very thoughts as the gun kicked and convulsed with each shot—but he sprayed the room, glass shattering and metal sparking as many policemen fell to the ground or dove behind cover in a panic.

He knew—with every long second to pass and with every adrenalized blur of action whizzing by—this was it.

He stood on the very edge of the end, the final moment of his life—and he would certainly fall any moment now.

But—as the magazine emptied, and as the room fell deathly silent, he slowly lowered his rifle, and the shot to end his life never came to be.

The room was still; cops lay up and down the tiled floor, many of them having retreated back outside, and nobody stood to oppose him now.

Victor let out a faint, astonished breath, feeling luckier than he ever had before.

Then—he spun around and ran down the hall, grasping his burning side as he hurried away from the lobby at once.

Perhaps he still had a chance—if Ty and the others hadn’t left yet, if the van was still out back—he could make it—if his luck could just hold out—!

Victor exploded out the back double-doors—stumbling to a stop and glancing up and down the darkened alleyway, his rapid breaths escaping him in visible icy clouds on the freezing winter air.

He peeled off his mask, slinging out his sleek black hairs, then combed them to the side and glimpsed up and down the back alleyway again—still seeing no getaway van in sight.

“Well… fuck me for doing the right thing,” Victor groaned, wincing as his side gave another burning surge of pain.

“I was wondering how I would have this conversation with your little friends nearby,” a new, mysterious voice spoke from the darkness. “But… how convenient for me that this all worked out the way it did.”

Victor turned and whipped out his handgun—aiming at the source of the voice.

From the shadows deeper in the alley, a man stepped forward—a man of average height and build, wearing a simple black suit and a pair of glasses, his dark, graying hairs combed neatly and his slightly aged face harboring a strangely calm smile.

“I had a feeling… that with as many places as you’ve hit successfully lately, they’d actually be prepared for you this time,” the man told him ominously, taking another step closer, not seeming to mind that he stood at gunpoint. “And… I planned to offer you a better getaway than you had.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” Victor chided, glimpsing around anxiously and waiting for more cops to appear. “Real fucking charitable of you—but who the fuck are you?”

“Harold Manson. And… it’s a pleasure to meet such a legend of your profession, Mr. Calloway,” the man named Harold introduced. “Though I suspect we only have a small window of time to chat… so, I’ll make it fast. I’d like to offer you a perfect getaway from here… and, in exchange… you take on a job for me.”

Victor glared at him for a second, then huffed out a sigh. “Yeah, fine, okay—what? Hit another bank? Treasury? What?”

“Nooo… nothing like that,” Harold replied, his eerie smile seeming to grow. “You’re a legend in your field because you manage people so well. That’s what I need you to do. With those close to you, you use loyalty… and with strangers, you use fear. But, either way… you always make them all fall in line, and that’s what I need from you. The ability to make someone fall perfectly in line. Simple as that.”

Victor stared at him incredulously, feeling totally bewildered.

He couldn’t comprehend why anyone would wait for such an urgent moment to ask this favor—or why they’d seek out someone like Victor Calloway for a job that vaguely sounded like babysitting—but, as time was an issue, and as the sirens grew louder from a distance, he decided he’d simply ask all the questions later on.

“Yeah—whatever—fine,” Victor quickly agreed, lowering his gun. “Let’s go! I hear choppers for fuck’s sake!”

“Oh… that’s not the cops, Mr. Calloway.”

Harold grinned knowingly, upturning his head and gazing into the sky, just when the whipping sounds of propellers grew deafening—and when a helicopter suddenly appeared, emerging into eyeshot from the corner of the bank’s rooftop.

“That’s just your ride home.”

Victor gaped at him, glancing between him and the helicopter in baffled awe.

Then, Harold collected a small radio from his side, as it was sparking with a static noise.

“Ready to collect?” a voice asked from the radio.

“Yes. Only one,” Harold replied, holding the device to his face. “The others have gone.”

“Roger that.”

He stuffed the radio away—and then, a rope ladder unraveled from up high, flipping out and extending down the entire back of the bank building. It hung from the helicopter, swinging to and fro just between Harold and Victor.

Harold smirked, waving at the ladder and politely gesturing for him to climb aboard.

Victor hesitated, still ogling the man as if he’d never seen anything quite like him before. “How much money do you have?”

Harold let out a breathless little laugh. “I must confess… I do go a bit above and beyond the local government and the police department.”

Victor gave him a final once-over before grabbing onto the ladder.

He hooked his feet onto it and climbed up, his hands going numb in the blistering winter air, and he felt the weight of Harold tug on the ladder from down below moments after.

And as he ascended, and as he gained a fantastic view of the buildings all around—and the flashing red and blue afar—he felt as if he was dreaming, as if everything in his life had suddenly hit a drastic peak that he’d never come back from.

He couldn’t have known just how right he was.

Chapter 1

On The Run

In the year 1985—Victor drove his black DeLorean across hundreds of miles into the night.

Five years after being hired by Harold Manson—and after working in his mysterious underground facility—he’d finally chosen to leave, and it was certainly for good reason.

He drove on and on, distancing himself greatly from what remained of the place, the DeLorean cruising down isolated backroads, rarely ever passing another vehicle—and he’d been driving for so long, his head drooped, his stringy black bangs tenting over the left half of his face, forcing down yawns as his eyes attempted to close.

The longer he drove, the more his hands began to loosen around the steering wheel, his vision and consciousness both attempting to abandon him…

And the girl in his passenger seat—a young petite blonde—reached over and grabbed the steering wheel, calmly holding it steady while Victor nodded off to sleep.

The girl, Xari, used her free hand to swipe her hair from her eyes, short straight hair that almost had a faint orange shine in the dim illumination of the passing streetlights. Her eyes were an equal ocean blue to Victor’s, though considerably softer and kinder, and most assuredly more innocent than his.

Victor made a faint choking noise—then jumped in his seat. “Jesus—fuck!”

His hands clamped onto the wheel again, sitting firmly upright now and focusing intently on the darkened road ahead, his heart pounding. After a moment of forcing himself calm, he let out a long cloud of breath, turning and sparing her a glance.

“Okay. Okay…” Victor uttered. “I know you haven’t been outside in… I don’t know… your entire life, I guess… but there’re certain rules about driving, Xari. Rule number one being… don’t ever let the driver take a fucking nap.”

Xari blinked, raising her thin little brows at him. “You said you were tired…”

“Yeah, well… I’m also driving,” Victor replied with a sideways nod. “People who’re driving don’t get to sleep unless they wanna crash and die. Have you never been in a car before?”

Xari peered down at her lap, fidgeting with the sleeves of the red flannel jacket he’d bought for her hours ago. “I don’t remember…”

Victor glimpsed at her again, sighing and falling silent.

The girl was eighteen years old—though she looked even younger—and, for as long as he’d known her, she’d always been in that place, inside that institution where Harold and his employees kept her.

Xari could never seem to remember much about her earlier childhood, and in all his time managing her, Victor never really understood why—not until this week, when he entered the wrong room and saw it all clear as day. Harold had told him that the institution was a genetic experimentation facility, and that they were performing minor tests on willing participants. Victor never questioned it much—as he didn’t understand it, or care—but, as it turned out, they were doing far more than simple genetic tests in that place, and the patients turned out not to be so willing. Quite honestly, ever since first arriving at Harold’s facility, he knew for certain that it was beyond the realms of legality—and for five years, he didn’t care at all—but something seemed to change in him when he learned the full truth of the Institute.

Victor shook his head, removing the grave thoughts from his mind and running a hand down his face, blinking several times and swallowing yet another yawn.

Xari squinted at him. “You’re too tired to drive.”

He glanced at her, opening his mouth to argue, but he couldn’t find the words. Truly, he did feel too tired to carry on—but he also felt as if he simply couldn’t put enough miles between himself and the Institute, and he definitely didn’t want to stop before they reached their destination.

“We’re not far,” Victor informed. “We’re another sixty miles or so from the house…”

“But you’re gonna fall asleep again,” Xari replied.

Victor rested his head back against the seat, pausing and slowly coming to terms with this fact.

“Fine,” he exhaled. “We’ll find us a motel…”

Xari nodded and curled deeper into her seat, her eyes drifting shut as she leaned against the door.

As she rested—Victor drove on even more, and he continued down backroads until he finally spotted a single motel off to the left, one with a mostly empty parking lot and a lit-up sign reading MOTEL just at the edge of the street.

He pulled in and parked outside the main office, yawning and emerging from the car.

After marching inside and speaking briefly with the plump woman behind the counter, he obtained a key to his and Xari’s room, then drove over to it—room 13—and parked the DeLorean just across from the door.

The two of them marched inside—seeing that it was a simple two-bed room, a nightstand in the middle, a table at the window, a bathroom in the back, and a single TV, as anyone would expect. Xari almost headed for the far bed, then hesitated when she spotted the TV, wandering over to it and powering it on.

“Don’t watch TV all night,” Victor advised, sitting on the edge of his bed and shedding his dark trench coat. “We’re gone first thing in the morning.”

Xari barely seemed to hear him, sinking down to the floor and gazing into the TV screen as its light washed over her.

Victor propped up his leg, preparing to peel off his boots, but then he paused.

He’d spotted a payphone just outside, a little ways down the sidewalk—and he still hadn’t spoken to his contact since arranging this journey the day before. It would be smarter to give him a call, just to make sure everything was set up and ready for them.

Victor sighed, turning his head and staring at his companion for a moment.

“Xari,” he said, snapping his fingers and waving her over. “Come’ere.”

Xari stood and wandered toward him, stopping and staring down at him expectantly.

Victor leaned on his leg, eyeing her and gently reaching out, motioning for her to move her bangs. “Lemme see.”

Xari didn’t speak. She merely combed her hairs back from her face, holding them in place and revealing her forehead in full—where a tiny red circle was visible in the center, a fresh, rounded burn mark from the procedure the day before.

Victor examined it, grimacing and saying nothing.

Xari glanced down, reaching out and grasping him by the wrist. She pulled out his right hand, upturning it and surveying his palm—where another rounded burn mark was, this one sloppier and somewhat misshapen, but otherwise identical to hers.

The two of them met eyes, each of them reliving the memory in silence for a few tense seconds.

Then, Victor reached his feet. “I need to call my buddy and make sure we’re good to go. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Xari turned to the nightstand, then faced him again. “We have a phone in here.”

“Yeah, well…” Victor opened the motel room’s door. “If someone tracks us here, I’d rather them not track us down to the room we’re in. Stay put. Be right back.”

At that, he marched out of the room, leaving her alone with her late-night TV programs.

Victor strolled down the sidewalk in silence, the early autumn breeze gusting by.

He sauntered on, studying his peaceful environment and pocketing his hands, now free of the overcoat, only wearing his white button-up and the pistol on his side. He pondered on numerous things during the short trip to the payphone, and when he reached it, he picked it up and sighed, typing in the number and leaning on the brick wall while he waited for his friend to answer.

“’Lo?” a familiar voice spoke from the phone.

“Hey,” Victor replied. “It’s me.”

“Oooh, shit!” Ty exclaimed. “Heeell yeah—I knew you could get—!”

“Don’t—not the phone,” Victor said sharply. “I just need to know if everything’s ready.”

“Yeah, man… house, papers, background, references, all that good shit,” Ty affirmed. “But I gotta ask… you sure about her name? Is that really her—?”

“No—names—on the phone,” Victor stated flatly. “But—yes. That’s the name I gave her. She didn’t have one when she was there, so it’s not gonna pop up on any records or systems or anything. No worries there.”

“Oooh… good. See, I was wonderin’ about that, because that’s a pretty unique name, y’know… kinda easy to find if you’re lookin’ for it.”

“Yeah, well… they won’t be. So don’t worry. Funds taken care of?”

“Yeah, man… it’s all waitin’ where I told you it would be.”

“Good. Then… I guess we’re even now,” Victor disclosed. “Thanks. Seeya later.”

“Seeya, man.”

Victor hung up, biting his lip and mulling over his thoughts again before turning and marching back to his motel room.

Inside, Xari was still sitting at the TV, watching a stand-up comedian and seeming peacefully mesmerized by the program. Victor glimpsed at her before pushing the door shut, locking it and crawling onto the bed closest by.

He slid the gun from its holster, placed it beside his pillow, and faced the door and the window—watching both of them vigilantly until he eventually drifted off to sleep.

The small town of Linbourne, Wisconsin came into full view the following day.

Victor drove into the town, and—finally—he felt somewhat at ease. It was the most peaceful and isolated little town available, the best place to abscond to, a perfect and faraway place to start anew from Manson and his Institute.

Xari peered out the window as the buildings coasted by, observing the high school as they cruised past, seeing a massive crowd of people her age moving in groups toward the building. They all wore backpacks, and many of them were talking or laughing with one another. She’d seen crowds of school-goers in movies before, but never in real life.

She observed them until the sight vanished from her view, sinking back into her seat and wearing an excited little smile.

Victor glimpsed over at her, then scoffed out a laugh. “That is really not as fun as it looks.”

“Can I go?” Xari wondered.

“Yeah… you’re gonna go to school,” Victor agreed. “But I’m just warning you. It’s not great. You only have to be there for your senior year, though… and that’s a lucky break…”

“I can have friends,” Xari beamed.

Victor eyed her again. “You’re just gonna leave me behind in the dust, aren’t ’cha?”

“Nooo… you’re my best friend,” Xari replied, smacking his arm. “I just want more.”

Victor chuckled, his mind continuing to wander as he drove toward the neighborhood. Xari had received a fairly basic education during her time in the Institute—one that consisted mostly of reading and math—but she’d never been around other people her own age before. He couldn’t help but wonder how that whole scenario would play out when the time came.

“Xari,” he said, rolling into a neighborhood and past numerous houses. “Whenever you do make some friends… you know you can’t tell them anything, right?”

“Yeah,” Xari replied. “You told me…”

“Right… and you know the story,” Victor reminded her. “You and I were in a bad car accident a long time ago… you were healing up in a hospital for a long time… you have some memory loss from the accident and the coma… and now, you’re all better and back in the regular world.”

“M’kay,” Xari nodded, gazing out the window. “Are we gonna live here…?”

“This is the neighborhood… yeah,” Victor mumbled thoughtfully, his eyes scoping around their surroundings. “I think this is… where Leo used to live… way back…”

“Who…?”

“Ah… one of those old friends of mine. I think it’s his house we ended up with.”

Xari shot him a curious look. “Your friends gave you a whole house?”

Victor made a mild shrug and nod. “Yeah, well, they… kinda owe me.”

Xari stared at him for a moment.

“Huh…” she muttered, turning back to the window. “They must owe you a lot, then.”

Victor wore a serious visage as he drove, thinking back to all the times he’d led his old friends to their paydays—the time he’d saved Ty’s life after a terrible wreck—and their final robbery together, when he’d rescued Leo and sacrificed himself so the others could escape.

“Yeah,” he uttered. “Damn right they do…”

He finally found himself driving down the correct street, and it wasn’t long before he pulled up to the address of his destination—130 Hollow Drive, the lonesome house on the corner, a brick building with a single floor, a slightly slanted front yard, a large tree in the yard to the left, darkened windows, and a wooden fence separating the property from the neighboring home.

Victor parked on the curb and powered the engine off. DeLorean’s gull-wing doors lifted upright on either side, and they both emerged from the car and strolled up to the sidewalk, observing the house silently for a moment.

“Not bad,” Victor remarked. “Nothing special. But it’s good. It’s normal.”

He stepped forward and motioned for her to follow. The two of them trekked up the three concrete stairs, strolling down the narrow path leading up to the front door, and Victor pushed it open, peering around the dim interior and seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

He’d been to Leo’s old home before—a very long time ago—but he hadn’t remembered much about it until now.

Victor meandered inside and pocketed his hands in his overcoat, gazing around and seeing the living room to his right, the couch and recliner aimed at the TV in the corner, all of it coated in a thin layer of dust, numerous posters from the 60s and 70s on all the walls.

“Heh… it’s all comin’ back to me,” Victor mumbled mostly to himself, scratching along the tiny patch of hairs atop his chin. “Oooh, and there’s a basement…”

He marched off, turning left and vanishing into the hallway. Xari hurried to follow him, and they passed by two bedrooms before arriving at the threshold of a narrow stairway, which stretched into the pitch blackness of the basement down below.

Xari bit her lip, giving him an unnerved glance before following him into the darkness.

Victor led the way with ease, fingers gliding along the wood-panel walls as he ventured down the stairs, reaching the bottom and sliding his hand across the wall of the basement, finding the light switch just where he recalled—and he flipped it, illuminating the downstairs in full.

To Xari’s surprise, it wasn’t just a single room—but three, a large room of luxury off to the left, a doorway leading into a tiny homemade bar off to the right, and the splintery door directly across from them led into the downstairs bathroom, which was gently cracked ajar. She revealed a smile, rushing into the luxury room and beaming at everything in sight; it was similar to the living room upstairs, only decorated even more heavily with old posters and neon lights, all of the walls comprised of the same wooden panels as the stairway, and on the far wall, a pink neon bunny was on positioned in between several pinup posters, shining brightly and captivating her at once.

“Ooo—there’s a bunny!” Xari grinned, rushing past the giant leather couch and jabbing her finger excitedly at the Playboy icon on the wall. “That’s awesome! Can I use this room?!”

Victor stood still at the edge of the stairs, glaring at the pink icon across the room and wearing a stony, expressionless visage.

“This isn… this isn’t a bedroom, though,” he mumbled moments later.

“I knooow—I just wanna use it like a hangout place!” Xari exclaimed. “It’s so cool! Please?!”

Victor gave the Playboy bunny another stare. Then, he turned back to her with a sigh.

“Can you get rid of that…?”

“What?” Xari griped. “But that’s my favorite part! It’s awesome!”

“Xari, that’s…”

“It’s just a bunny!”

“It’s not just a bunny…”

“I like it!”

“Well—it’s going in the trash, all right?” Victor grumped. “It’s a bad bunny. I’ll get you some other neon thing to perch up in here. Something better. Just not that.”

“Ooo—TV!”

Xari whipped around and rushed past the coffee table, only just spotting the large, bulky television across from the leather couch and the high, rectangular window, which was just level with the ground outside. She dove onto the couch and beamed at the TV even though it wasn’t yet turned on.

Victor pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, glancing around the room before turning away. “I need to find the papers my buddy left for me, so… make yourself comfortable. And find an actual bedroom, too.”

“Victor!”

Xari sprang up from the couch and leaped over the rounded coffee table, landing swiftly at his side and ambushing him with a sudden hug.

“Thank you,” she smiled, tightening her arms around him. “I love you…”

Victor swallowed, feeling a sudden ache in his chest. He returned the embrace, sighing deeply and patting her on the head.

“Love you too,” he murmured.

Xari stepped back, giving him another smirk before returning to her task of ogling the room around her.

Victor spared her a glimpse before turning on his heel, marching out of the room and vanishing into Leo’s old home bar.

This room was a bit narrower, also covered with lights and posters, and at the end was a bar counter, shelves built onto the wall just behind it, a few loose bottles of liquor sitting dusty and long forgotten on them. The fridge was in the corner, looking like it hadn’t been opened in a decade, and there were four mismatched stools at the edge of the bar—a collection of papers and a thick brown folder sitting on the bar’s surface, waiting for him.

Victor sat on the far stool, lifting the papers and rifling through them, scanning over each one intently.

They were—just as Ty had described—everything that he and Xari would need.

The documents all had him labeled as Victor Carrington, and Xari had the same surname. The two were listed as father and daughter, and the papers even included old school and medical records for her, as well as past job experiences of his that in reality did not exist.

Then, as he upturned the folder and dumped out the last of its contents, two laminated cards fell out—a pair of IDs for each of them. They were complete with the names and ages of Victor and Xari, and all that needed to be added were their pictures, but that would come later. He remembered precisely how to insert new images into an ID, and he would get to that task soon.

Victor nodded, placing the papers down and moving behind the bar.

He bent down, surveying the cabinets behind the bar and pulling the middle one open, swiping away a few cobwebs before reaching inside—and his hand met a large, lumpy object, one made of thick cloth, and overstuffed with goods.

He flashed a half-smile, pulling out the massive duffle bag and slapping it loudly onto the bar’s surface. His smile growing, he unzipped it, and to his great pleasure, his friends had most assuredly held up their end of the bargain, as all his goods looted from the bank five years ago were right here where he needed them—cash, gold, and silver, all his to use as he finally began his new start.

Victor stood in silence for a while, merely staring at the inside of the bag and wearing his old signature smirk—that devilish little grin he’d worn so often back in the day, the smile of pride at winning over the systems around him, and he’d somehow managed that one last time, even now.

He never thought he’d see any of this again—yet, here it was, and here he stood, new home, all the funds he needed, and even with a new little buddy to enjoy it all alongside.

Perhaps things were finally looking up—and maybe doing the right thing actually came with some reward this time.

But, as he stared into his stolen goods, his smile began to fade, as the reality of the situation slowly returned to him.

Yes, it was a fantastic place to land himself in, and a great way to begin anew—but the drawback was the very thing he’d fled from.

He knew for certain that, if Harold Manson and his bizarre team of government goons were still around—if they had survived the initial destruction that had just transpired at the Institute—then they would undoubtedly be searching high and low for Xari, and they would most assuredly be on the hunt for the man who freed her.

One day—they might finally track the two here.

Victor’s expression harbored a heavy frown now, teeth beginning to clench—another old look of his, a visage that anyone who’d known him would recognize as a sign of trouble to come. His sharp blue eyes glistened with a spark of angry determination—and his gaze slowly ventured upward, away from the bag, staring past it now, at the doorway to the other room, where Xari was right now.

He’d come so far to get himself and the girl both away from that damned place—but he knew it would try to pull the two of them back in if it ever possibly could.

If it ever came down to it—then he’d simply have to do what needed to be done.

Victor made a slow, mild nod, cocking his head and marching out of the room.

“Game on.”

During their first week in the new home, Victor and Xari adjusted well.

Contrary to their old routines—wherein Victor would be standing guard over Xari throughout her daily activities in the Institute, within white walls, and in the same three rooms each day—now, they enjoyed a sense of freedom that they’d both forgotten existed.

Victor popped open the fridge in the kitchen, quickly slamming it shut and scrunching up his face at the awful stench inside. So—he spent the first two days cleaning the kitchen from top to bottom, ordering takeout for their meals until the kitchen would eventually become fit to cook in.

Xari took it upon herself to straighten up the bedrooms—first the master bedroom Victor used, then the smaller one she’d claimed as her own—and after that, she spent a lot of her time in the basement, rearranging things and making it as comfortable as possible.

After a couple days of making the house livable again, Victor drove Xari into town for the first time—and she marveled at everything in the grocery store, having never seen so many goods in one place before. Victor spent a lot of time educating her on basic things, like the use of trash bags, spray cleaners, olive oil, cooking utensils, and more. She seemed to know bits and pieces of things—tid-bits of information that she’d gathered from all the movies that Victor used to show her during their time in the Institute—but she didn’t have much practice actually performing daily tasks, as she’d never needed to perform them when she lived in captivity.

What she enjoyed most thus far was TV and takeout, as TV was her greatest source of happiness in the past, and she’d simply never had takeout foods before. Victor found it amusing—in fact, on day six, he and Xari grew a bit lazier, lounging on the couch all night and watching movies in the darkness while they enjoyed their Chinese.

He’d fixed their IDs for them—he’d spoken to the principal of the high school—and he’d set everything up for the two of them. Now, all there was left to do was enjoy their new life and settle themselves in, which meant Xari would have to start school soon. Victor planned to take her there next week.

But, for now—as they reached day seven—all was well, and he found himself quite enjoying this uncommon span of peace.

On this bright September Sunday, Xari had tasked herself with attempting to cook a helping of scrambled eggs, as she seemed to enjoy the idea of cooking, and she wanted to learn more. Victor seized this opportunity to sneak into the basement and quietly remove the Playboy bunny light from her little hangout spot, creeping outside with it tucked under his arm and gently pulling the front door shut behind him as he went.

He moved across the yard, giving the kitchen window a glance before hurrying past it—as Xari wasn’t looking, her back facing the window as she busied herself at the stove inside.

Victor then marched around the corner to the side of the house, stopping at the large metal trash can and shoving the bunny light inside—but the overstuffed trash bags in the can left no room for the light to fit.

He paused and cocked his head, frowning and grabbing the bunny light by the ears. Then, hunching over it, he began shoving it with all his might, wrestling it into the trash can best he could, but it seemed to show little to no progress.

“Fucking… come… on… get… in…! Ughk… fuckin’a…!” Victor grumbled between breaths. “Jesus… fucking… H… Christ…!”

“Hey there,” a female voice spoke from behind—making him jump and whip around. “Big fan of Playboy, are ya?”

Victor faced the wooden fence adjacent from his home—seeing a woman perched along the top of it, resting her arms on the fence and tilting her head curiously at him. She had silky black hair, about shoulder length, most of it held back by a stylish bandana, leaving a few smooth bangs to tent over her face, her eyes a shiny bottle green, and she gave him a coy little smirk.

“No,” Victor growled at her. “It’s not mine.”

“Ah-huh,” the woman replied caustically, giving him a smug smile. “Suuure.”

“It belonged to the last guy who lived here,” Victor stated, standing before the trash can as if he expected to shield the Playboy icon from sight. “Whaddo you care? Who are you?”

“I’m Crystal,” she introduced. “And… apparently, you’re my new neighbor. I figured I’d come and meet you guys. Where’s the other one? The little blonde?”

“My daughter is busy right now.”

“What?” Crystal reared back, scoffing out a laugh. “That girl is your daughter? But she’s like in her late teens, right? You don’t look old enough to have a kid her age.”

Victor glared at her for several seconds.

“You’re nosy,” he mumbled. “Y’know that?”

Crystal scoffed again. “Well, so-orry. It was a compliment. You don’t look old enough to have a kid in their late teens—and most people would think that’s a good thing. I mean, unless you knocked her mom up when you were like twelve. Then it’s not a good thing. Is that what happened, or what?”

Victor spun around and began storming away, holding his middle finger high as he went. “Bye!”

Crystal laughed and waved him off. “Aww, I’m kidding! Oh, fine, be that way! Seeya later, Grumpula! Can’t wait to meet your daughter!”

Victor tuned her out, marching into the house and venturing past the living room and the kitchen.

He emerged on the other side of the house—in the den, which had a large rectangular window facing the backyard, a couch just under it, and he plopped down on it without a second thought, propping his arm over his head and huffing out an irritated breath.

He hadn’t considered neighbors before, and he certainly hadn’t anticipated them asking such invasive questions right from the get-go. But, the woman next door seemed normal, if not a little nosy. It was probably nothing to worry about.

Victor released a deeper cloud of breath, feeling tired. He’d stayed up late watching movies with Xari the previous night, and his consistent thoughts of numerous frantic what-if scenarios had been keeping him up nearly every night this week.

Things seemed perfectly fine—but he couldn’t know how long it would stay this way.

Only time would tell.

Victor’s eyes began to drift shut, his thoughts fading off, the den around him vanishing as he drifted into a light sleep.

He snoozed in silence for a while, lost to the world around him—until he heard a faint, distant voice calling to him from the darkness.

No, not calling—screaming.

Victor’s heart jolted—and he found himself there again, fighting with the locked white door and trying to force it open, hoping to reach the tortured screams that echoed from inside.

Then—he backed up and planted a solid kick to the door—ripping it open and stumbling upon a sight he’d never unsee.

Because there—on that day, and in that room—he learned the truth of Harold’s Institute.

And there—there lay Xari, strapped down, pinned onto a metal table and unable to move as a blinding laser penetrated her skull at the crown, burning directly into the center of the forehead as she screamed and writhed in agony, tears streaming down her face as her bare feet kicked and smashed against the metal surface she lay upon.

Victor froze in mortified awe.

And right beside that table—there stood Harold Manson, the laser glimmering in the reflection of his glasses, simply smiling, that same ominous smile, looking as calm and as unbothered as ever.

Victor’s eyes shot over to Xari—and he moved without a hint of forethought.

His arm reached out to her and—

A guttural scream escaped him—as he blocked the laser from reaching her any longer—and it began burning and searing his hand instead—

And as he reached outright—he paused—seeing the den around him again.

Victor lay panting on the couch, teeth gritted, chest rising and falling with every heated breath, his scarred hand outstretched above him.

He took in a heavy inhalation, slowly lowering his hand and pressing his fist to his forehead, thumping lightly against it and sealing his eyes shut.

For a long while thereafter, he lay in silence, mulling over his final day in the Institute and the brief, angry conversation he’d shared with Harold Manson.

He couldn’t entirely recall everything he’d said in his rage—but Harold’s simple response was one he’d never forget, one he couldn’t possibly fathom, and one that let him know for certain that he could not abide by the Institute any longer.

“This is the drawback of science… and it always has been, Victor. Now... tell me, honestly. How can one isolate the God gene without poking and prodding at it first? It’s called playing God for a reason.”