Backpack zipped and shut with the cash, making it weigh heavier than before. Those suited men weren’t normal, and that wasn’t just based on their smell. Oliver felt something about them. The way they moved and their breathing completely even, all the while taking them on a wild goose chase. Something wasn’t right, but Cassie was right. It was a go big or go home type of target.

Cassie sat on the floor with her knees pulled up. She hadn’t moved since they started packing.

“Maybe we should forget about it,” she said.

Oliver looked up. “What?”

“Those guys. The big score. All of it.” She picked at a loose thread on her jeans. “I was being stupid yesterday. We’ve got enough to get by. We’re doing okay and those men looked scary.”

“You were the one who wanted to hit them.”

“I know.” She buried her face in her legs. “I’ve just been thinking, and I have a bad feeling.”

“You scared?” Oliver asked.

“Yeah. But not for me,” she said. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Something pulled at Oliver’s chest. No one had worried about him before. Maybe old Tomtom… but Cassie’s feeling hit different.

“Too late,” he said, “I’ve already committed. You were right the first time.”

“I wasn’t arguing. It was supposed to be a discussion.”

“This score could give us a real break. Enough to get out of Toronto, maybe head south like you wanted.”

Cassie chewed her bottom lip, watching him with her big brown eyes. “You sure?”

“Yeah. But we’re smart about it. In and out. No lingering.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay. But at the first sign of trouble, we bail. Promise?”

“Promise.”

The Royal York Hotel stood near Union Station with its fancy looking stone and windows. Even in 2051, with newer buildings around it, the old hotel still drew everyone’s attention.

Entering the lobby, guests checked in and tourists took pictures of the high ceilings. Most importantly, there were men in suits everywhere.

“Hotel bar,” Oliver whispered. “Third floor.”

Cassie nodded. They dressed like yesterday’s outfits. Enough to look just like children who fit in like they were waiting for their parents.

They rode the elevator to the third floor. The bar was to the left, with fancy decorations like leather chairs that were never used. A band played soft jazz in the corner. And at one of the seats in the bar sat one of the familiar suited men which gave Oliver a bad gut feeling. He was alone, drinking, back to the wall, watching the room.

“That’s our guy,” Oliver whispered. “I can feel it.”

“Plan?”

“Same as before. You create a scene, I’ll lift his wallet.”

“Got it.” She gulped. “Give me two minutes to set up.”

Oliver watched her weave through the tables toward the bar. They’d been doing this for a while, and she had gotten much better.

The suited man hadn’t seen them yet. He stared at his drink, sometimes looking around. His wallet created a small bump on his right pocket. Not an easy target for sure, but this could be the bag of a lifetime.

One minute. Thirty seconds. Ten.

Cassie’s voice cut through the room, “Oh my god! There’s a rat! A rat by the bar!”

Women screamed first as the waiters rushed over. The suited man turned to look, just for a second. That second was enough time for Oliver to telekinetically slide the wallet out of the right pocket. It floated across the room and into his hands.

Score.

Oliver pocketed it and turned to leave, just like they’d planned. It was three steps in before a hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Going somewhere, kid?”

Glancing over his shoulder, the suited man stood behind him, gripping tightly.

“I think you have something of mine,” the man said.

Oliver broke free and ran. The elevator was too slow. He hit the stairs, jumping to each landing. Behind him, he heard the man’s dress shoes tapping loudly on the steps.

The lobby passed by in a blur. Oliver dodged people, knocking over a luggage cart to slow down the man chasing him. He pushed through the revolving doors onto Front Street, running without looking back. Cassie would know what to do. She was experienced enough.

Full sprint. Right on York. Right on King. Down an alley behind a restaurant. The suited man stayed close, never more than 20 feet behind.

How was he keeping up? The guy didn’t look at all fit for his age of around 30.

Another turn into an alley. Dead end. He turned around to go back.

The suited man stood at the entrance, blocking the only way out. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

“Impressive,” he said, rolling up his cuffs. “Both the stealing part and the chase part. You’ve got talent, kid.”

Oliver backed up until he hit the wall. “No idea what you’re talking about, buddy.”

“Let’s not play games.” The man held out his hand. “My wallet, please.”

“Check your pocket. It’s right there.”

The man smirked. “You think you’re funny, kid? I felt it leave my pocket. I saw it leave my pocket. And that’s what got me going.”

“Who are you?” Oliver took a big gulp.

“Someone who appreciates talent when he sees it.” The man stepped closer. “Now, I have two questions. One: who do you work for? And two: how long have you been able to move objects without touching them?”

“I don’t work for anyone.”

“In this business, everyone’s working for someone unless you’re one of the Arcanes. You with the Witches? The Silver Lions? Or maybe…” The man’s eyes narrowed. “Are you one of Markov’s new recruits?”

No idea what the hell this guy was talking about. Oliver said, “Look, just take your wallet and let me go.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Afraid it’s too late for that.” The man checked his watch. “You’ve outrun us yesterday. And I had to step in. Now we need to talk.”

“Us? Who’s us?”

The man didn’t answer. He grabbed Oliver’s arm and pushed him toward the alley entrance.

“Where’s your partner? The girl?”

“What girl? I work alone.”

“Lie to me again and things will get bad.”

Oliver shut his mouth. Better to say nothing than risk Cassie getting caught too.

The man pulled him back to the street. A black car with windows tinted so dark that he couldn’t tell what was inside. The man pushed him in and entered as well.

“City Hall,” the man told the driver.

They drove in silence. Oliver thought about unlocking the door and jumping out, but at this speed, he’d hurt himself bad. That’d just put more burden on Cassie to take care of him. The man beside him could probably catch him again anyways. Better to wait and find a better chance.

The car stopped after 10 minutes. The suited man opened the door and pulled Oliver out. They stood in front of Toronto’s City Hall.

“This way,” the man said.

He led Oliver not to the main entrance but instead to a side door marked “Maintenance Only.”

“No way. I’m not going in.”

The man gripped Oliver’s arm tighter, enough to start hurting. “Yes, you are.”

The door led to a janitor’s closet. Mops, buckets, cleaning stuff. Nothing special. Maybe this was where the man would kill him. Easy to clean up the mess with all these cleaning supplies. But this was town hall.

The answer soon enough came as the man pushed aside a shelf to show another door behind it with a metal keypad.

He punched in a code, and the door slid open without a sound.

“Welcome to the Path,” the man shoved Oliver through.

The hallway beyond was a gray clean monotone. There were similarly suited men in cube like rooms but in open air, looking at a box and tapping at something.

“What is this place?” Oliver asked, not hiding his shock.

The man didn’t answer. They walked on until they reached a single door at the end of the hallway. Entering the room, it was dark with a single chair in the middle, with light casting down on it. The chair had straps on the armrests and a helmet-like thing hanging above it. The helmet had dozens of metal probes sticking out like quills.

“Sit.”

“No fucking way.”

The man sighed. “It’s just a test. It won’t hurt. Trust me.”

“What kind of test?”

“The kind that will tell us what you are.” The man pushed him hard toward the chair. “Now sit down before I lose my patience.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. This wasn’t the usual danger he was used to. He’d rather get bruised up and beaten in the corner of a street than go in that fucking chair. This was something else. The man was more dangerous than anyone he had met in this world. And for the first time since coming here, Oliver felt real fear for his life. Not the usual worry about survival, but actual terror.

Worst of all, what about Cassie? Can he see her again? She might be looking for him right now, walking the streets calling his name. She didn’t have the money. He had all of it. If he didn’t go home, she would starve since she’d relied on him too much these past couple of months.

The man shoved Oliver into the chair. Cold metal dug into his wrists as the straps closed by themselves.

“What the fuck!” Oliver pulled against the straps. “Let me go!”

The suited man stepped back, nodding to someone behind Oliver. The helmet came down, its metal probes shining under the bright lights. Each breath came shorter than the last.

He remembered stories of nobles playing with men, women, children, those that aren’t as rich as them. They would use tools as torture devices for fun on those not well off. One of the older beggars talked about iron coffins with needles pointing inwards. Maybe the men behind him and that man who dragged him all the way over here were some of the nobles in this world. That thing surely looked like something straight out of the descriptions that the beggars would tell as a story to pass time. Yet it wasn’t hard to believe as some of the older beggars would disappear after being taken by the nobles. It had to be one of those things.

“This won’t take long,” the man said. “Try not to fight it.”

The helmet settled over Oliver’s head, metal prongs pressing against his scalp. His heart beat so hard he could hear it loudly. Sweat ran down his face, dripping into his eyes.

“Stop,” Oliver whimpered. “Please.”

The man turned the dials on a nearby console. “Initiating scan.”

Something turned on inside the helmet. A hum. Then pain. Not sharp, but deep, like fingers digging into his brain and into his very core.

Vision blurred. His short breaths couldn’t get enough air. The room bent at an angle that he knew was caused by this contraption. He tasted metal where he’d bitten his tongue.

“Scan progress at forty percent,” the man said.

The sensation got stronger, almost turning into pain, and then into stinging pain. Oliver’s back arched as something that felt like lightning coursed through his body.

“Unusual readings,” the man behind said. “Subject is exhibiting signatures above that of a mundane yet still a mundane. He hasn’t awakened yet.”

No. No more. Oliver couldn’t speak, couldn’t even make a sound. The world had shrunk to just this chair and the pain it’s causing.

An audible shattering of glass snapped inside of him. Suddenly, everything became too clear and a strange energy seeped into his veins like a dam breaking. Something inside him woke up.

The chair shook. Then the floor. Then the walls.

“Energy spike! He’s awakening!”

The helmet blew off away from Oliver’s head, flying across the room and planting itself into the drywall. The straps on his wrists and ankles bent and split outwards. The chair below him crumpled.

Oliver fell forward onto his hands and knees. His head felt ready to split open. But the pain had changed into a pressure that kept building. A sensation or an urge to use his telekinesis started blaring in his mind.

The console next to the suited man crushed like paper. Then the lights blew out, sending sparks everywhere.

In the dark, Oliver got to his feet. He couldn’t see, could barely think through the storm in his head, but he knew he needed to run.

Now.

With one look against the wall, it exploded outwards. He almost didn’t want to believe what was happening, but all he could think of was running away with no idea which way led out. No idea where he was.

Just run.

Left turn. Hallway after hallway of gray walls. No windows or any signs that told him which way was out. Nothing but closed doors and alarms going off everywhere at once.

People shouted behind him as running footsteps came closer and closer. A suited man shouted, “Contain him! Now!”

Oliver ran faster. The pressure in his head grew the longer he didn’t use his powers. Things around him thrashed around. The trash can he passed by flew up in the air and crushed itself inwards. Fire extinguishers went off. Cork boards fell and flew away, smashing into the ceiling as he passed by.

He couldn’t control it. Whatever that helmet had done, it had broken something inside him. His telekinesis had never felt this strong before. It was all too easy. He didn’t even wanna know what would happen if he used it on a person anymore.

A door ahead burst open. Three suited men blocked his path, guns drawn.

“Stop right there, kid,” one shouted.

Oliver didn’t slow down. He couldn’t if he wanted to. Throwing his hands forward, all he wanted was for them to move just a little bit to provide him space to run.

The bodies flew backwards like they’d been hit by a truck. Most hit the ceiling with loud crunching noises of bones being broken. Blood sprayed everywhere and he saw one of the bodies fall on its neck, completely breaking it.

Oliver stopped, staring at what he’d done. He’d hurt people before, but never like this. They can’t be broken, right? They were able to corner him in the alley. These suited men can’t be this fragile.

He turned away, feeling sick, and kept running. Another turn. No exit in sight.

More men appeared ahead. Guns pointed at his chest.

“On the ground! Now!”

Oliver raised his hands, not to give up but to focus the energy still ripping through him. The guns tore from their hands, bending in midair. Then the men themselves lifted off the floor, legs kicking at nothing. With a casual wave of his hands, they all flew into the drywall. More of the same crunching sounds as blood splattered onto the walls.

Another turn, but where the fuck was he even? He rounded another corner at full speed and stopped suddenly.

A woman stood in the hallway. The background noise seemed to die down as the only thing that could be heard was her heels clicking against the tiled floor.

She wore a plain black dress with no distinct pattern that went down all the way to her ankles. It looked more like she wanted to hide as much skin as possible. She wore black lipstick and a mask at the side of her face while her hat, which looked too big, covered her eyes. The hat itself had 4 black feathers sticking out.

The older beggars would call someone that looked like her a witch.

“Going somewhere?” she asked in a low husky voice.

Oliver backed up a step. Everything about this woman screamed danger. More danger than the suits, the guns, the whole building combined.

He tried to use his power to push her aside like the others.

Nothing happened.

He tried again, harder this time. The pressure in his head got twice as bad, three times as bad. Still, she didn’t move. Not even a little bit.

“That’s cute,” she said, lips curving into a smile. “My turn.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep