"The Gus Gang..."
Evan knew exactly how the Gus Gang operated.
He had heard of debtors having an arm hacked off, the severed limb tossed into the harbor mud to feed the crabs.
He had watched three men pin a fast-food cart owner to the cobblestones and beat him to death because he could not pay protection money. Not one bystander dared call the police.
And once, through a narrow crack in a door, he had seen Gus Gang members extort his parents. His father had bent at the waist, forcing a smile uglier than a grimace as he respectfully handed over an envelope.
"If Beyonder powers are a privilege of the wealthy in this world, then a force like the Gus Gang, with its grip on this neighborhood, must have a Beyonder too."
Rumor had it that the Gus Gang's boss was a mysterious Prophet who could see all sorts of things and predict a person's fortune each day.
The old drunks in the tavern would lower their voices when they talked about why the Gus Gang still ruled these streets.
It was not just because they hit hard. Their boss "knew everything."
Evan crept out of the washroom, testing each floorboard with his toes before putting his weight on it.
His 1.9 physique gave him keen hearing and sight, letting him catch the smallest details.
Which floorboard was loose. Where the doorframe had a splinter. Which corner of the table lined up with someone's temple.
The whole apartment became a map of traps in his eyes.
He went around the canvas sofa in the living room, returned to his bedroom, and locked the door.
"Zack will be here soon. When he shows up, I'm in for it."
"So I'll fight. If it comes to that, I'll go to Pulis."
"He's using me to test potions. If he wants me to keep testing them, he has to protect me."
"This is a deal, not begging."
With that, Evan took the thumb-sized glass vial Pulis had given him from his jacket's inner pocket.
The thick, dark-red liquid sloshed slowly inside. Even through the glass, he could smell its heavy reek of blood.
It was past six, and November nights fell early.
Only the last dim yellow glow of a streetlamp slipped through the gap in the curtains.
He twisted off the wax seal, tipped back his head, and poured the viscous liquid into his mouth.
A powerful taste of blood exploded across his tongue: rust, salt, and something deeper, a musky, animal smell.
He thought he would throw it up.
But he didn't.
It actually tasted good.
The liquid was spicy and warm as it slid down his throat, like a mouthful of mildly hot chili oil.
It burned all the way to his stomach, then the heat spread rapidly through his limbs.
[You consumed the Night Demon Potion. Duration: 12 hours.] [Effect: While the potion is active and it is night, Perception increases by 30% and night vision increases by 200%.] [Reverse the side effect?]
"Reverse it."
[Reversal Progress: 4 hours.]
The instant he swallowed the potion, the world changed.
It was as though someone had turned the brightness of his eyes and the volume of his ears all the way up.
The room was unlit and pitch-black, yet he could see everything.
Every word on the old newspaper pinned to the wall, every scratch on the tabletop, every crease in the bedsheet stood out as clearly as if they were under the noon sun.
The colors were cooler, though, washed in pale blue-gray, as if he were looking through tinted glass.
His hearing was even more frighteningly sharp.
Old Tom's voice downstairs and a baby crying in the next building sounded as if they were right beside his ears.
Pulis worked that fast? He's already finished the Night Demon Potion?
What Evan had taken before was an "unfinished Night Demon Potion." It had only boosted his physique by brute force, with nothing to justify the name "Night Demon."
He had not expected a finished version in just four days.
And this one lived up to its name.
Night Demon.
Ghostlike Perception and vision in the dark.
Just then, Evan's newly sharpened ears caught a sound.
It came from downstairs.
Quick footsteps, more than one set. Boots thudded against the cobblestones amid rough curses.
He knew.
Zack was here.
Evan did not wait for them to come up and kick in the door.
He walked over and opened the apartment door himself.
Better that than pay to repair a broken door.
Heavy, hurried footsteps rang through the stairwell, drawing closer.
Then the short, stocky Zack appeared at the top of the stairs.
Four young men of seventeen or eighteen followed him. They wore cheap work jackets and filthy boots, their faces lit with the aggression and excitement of street toughs.
Mary hung back behind them, her left cheek badly swollen and her right arm slung in a scarf. Her eyes were red as a rabbit's, and she was still cursing.
The moment Zack saw Evan standing in the doorway, he roared.
"Arkham! You got a fucking death wish?"
Then he kicked.
The blow came fast and hard, straight at Evan's stomach.
With the Night Demon Potion sharpening his senses, Evan moved with uncanny agility.
He twisted his waist and leaned less than three inches to the right. Zack's boot skimmed the hem of his shirt and struck empty air, its momentum carrying his stocky body half a step forward.
Evan stepped back, planted his feet, and spoke calmly.
"Zack, this is my home, not yours."
Zack froze for a second when he saw Evan dodge, then gave a furious laugh.
A twisted smile spread across his rough face. The warped snake tattoo on his neck shifted as his jaw clenched.
"You're fucking dead."
He waved a hand.
All four young thugs moved at once.
Two pulled short iron clubs from their jackets. One produced a length of lead pipe wrapped in cloth. The last simply balled up his fists.
They fanned out and closed in on Evan from three directions.
With his 1.9 physique and the potion's thirty-percent boost to Perception, their movements looked as slow as swimming through water.
The first iron club swung in from the right. Evan saw its path, its speed, and exactly where it would land.
He turned aside. The club brushed past his ear and smashed into the doorframe, sending splinters flying.
"Damn it! You're paying for my doorframe!" Evan shouted.
Fixing that gouge would cost at least eight cents!
As he spoke, his right fist shot out.
It struck the thug square on the jaw.
The strength of his 1.9 physique drove through his knuckles. The thug's head snapped back, his eyes rolled white, and he toppled stiffly like a plank.
His head hit the sofa with a dull thud. The iron club flew from his hand and clattered across the living room.
The second thug brought his lead pipe down from the left.
Evan slipped aside. The pipe struck where he had been standing and dented the wooden floor.
In the same motion, he raised his right foot and kicked the thug in the chest.
The force sent the man flying through the doorway and into the stairwell railing. It gave an ominous crack, and he slid down it to the floor, clutching his chest and curling up like a shrimp.
Before the other two could react, Evan was on them.
He caught one man's incoming fist in his left hand, locked his fingers around it, and twisted hard.
The man's wrist cracked. He screamed and dropped to one knee.
Evan let go and drove an elbow into the back of his neck. The man fell facedown and stopped moving.
The last thug turned to run. He had taken only two steps when Evan surged after him and kicked him in the lower back.
The man sprawled in the corridor, chin striking the floor. A bloody tooth fell from his mouth.
Less than ten seconds had passed.
All four men were down.
As Evan turned, his razor-sharp hearing caught a faint sound.
Metal scraping against metal.
It was soft and brief, but the Night Demon Potion made it as clear as if it had sounded right beside his ear.
Someone had flicked off a gun's safety.
Evan's body reacted before his mind did.
He sprang through the doorway, planted both hands on the stairwell railing, and vaulted over it, landing on the half-floor landing below.
His boots hit with a solid thud. His knees bent slightly to absorb the impact.
Zack had only just drawn the short-barreled revolver from behind his back. Before he could raise the muzzle, Evan had vanished around the bend in the stairs.
Evan's voice rose from below, echoing through the empty stairwell with deliberate, mocking levity.
"Bunch of useless bastards! Come down here if you've got the guts!"
Zack gripped the gun so tightly that veins bulged on his hand. It trembled slightly.
Not from fear. From rage.
But he did not fire.
A gunshot inside an apartment building would change everything.
The Gus Gang could throw its weight around this neighborhood because a few patrol officers at the police station had been paid to look the other way.
Beatings were fine. Protection money was fine. But shooting someone dead inside his home would make the papers.
Once it made the papers, City Hall would have to put on a show and send people to investigate. That would be trouble for everyone.
Zack had never been humiliated like this by a sickly weakling.
He shoved the gun back behind his waist and kicked one of his groaning men on the floor.
"Get up! All of you, get up!"
"Go get me more men!"
His voice echoed through the stairwell, savage and harsh.
"I'm breaking both his legs today!"