One of One
Three people tell their side of the story surrounding a single event. What is the event? A shapeshifter's first absorption.
Hunger
Driving a cab in the lower tiers was risky, but it paid off more often than it didn’t. He didn’t mind it; it made it so he could get away with anything. He made a loop, as he always did, around Tier C235, the transition between the fancier C234 and the seedier C236. Anyone stupid enough to wander into C235 was a prime target, but the streets were empty that night.
He threw the smoking butt of his last stimstick out the window and pulled over for more. The clerk startled when the door opened.
“No cash kept after dark,” the clerk said, reaching a hand under the counter.
“Just after some smokes.”
The clerk relaxed and took his hand away from the weapon hidden under the counter.
“Twenty-three bucks,” the clerk said, tossing the pack of stimsticks on the counter.
“Pretty quiet tonight.”
The clerk grunted. “Wish it was. Had a bum come in earlier, completely buck naked.”
“See which way he went?”
“Nope. Don’t care either,” the clerk said, turning back to a hologram playing reruns.
“Well, I care.”
The clerk shrugged and didn’t say anything.
Anger surged; vision narrowed; heart quickened. “I’ll ask you one last time—where did he go?”
Something in the way the cab driver said it caught the clerk’s attention. The voice sounded like the cab driver’s, but when he looked up, it was as if a different man stood there. Suddenly, the clerk found it hard to swallow.
“Maybe that way?” said the clerk, pointing towards the bridge that led to tier C236.
“Thanks,” said the cab driver with a smile that made the clerk shiver.
“A-Anything else I can help you with?” asked the clerk.
“Sure,” said the cab driver, stalking over to the clerk. “I’d love to see what you guys keep in the back.”
The cab driver tossed the used rag into the trunk alongside the dried, rust-colored remnants of the prior night’s work. He felt better after the clerk, but needed more.
The search didn’t take long, and getting the bum in the cab was about as easy as it got, which should’ve been a hint. But he wasn’t thinking straight—the high from the clerk was too strong still. He tried to get the bum to talk, to engage. People seemed to like him when he wanted them to. It’s how he gained their trust before killing them. Sometimes all it took was a winsome smile. Other times, it took the hope of a hot meal or a place to sleep for the night. But this one wouldn’t look at him, even with all his charm and promises. That was a problem. If he couldn’t see the light drain from their eyes, it didn’t count.
He pulled over and turned around. “Hey, friend,” he said in a low, soothing voice, like he’d heard parents use with their kids. “You alright?”
“Alright,” said the bum slowly, as if trying out the word for the first time.
“You on one?” asked the cab driver.
The bum looked up. “One,” he echoed.
“Yeah; narcs, stims… If you need more, I know where to get ‘em.”
“Yes,” said the bum, a note of recognition in his voice. “I am one.”
That’s when the cab driver noticed the bum’s webbed hands, and he got a bad feeling. “Hey, uh, why don’t I drop you off here—” started the cab driver pulling over outside a large, industrial warehouse, but the bum’s head shot up, revealing pure white eyes in a featureless face.
The cab driver froze, locked in the ghostly gaze of the thing in his back seat. For the first time in his life, the cab driver felt something other than the thrill of the hunt or the fire of righteous anger. No, this was completely foreign to him, though he recognized it instantly. It was what he saw in the eyes of each and every victim as he collected their lifeblood. What he felt, deep inside himself, was fear, pure and terrifying.
The bum placed its slick, webbed hands on the cab driver’s temples and smiled. The smile was genuine, innocent even, but its sincerity shook him to his core. Energy began to leak from his head into the hands of the bum.
“Yes,” repeated the bum, its features shifting and re-forming like clay shaped by hand. “I am One, now.”
Hope
The cab driver collapsed, and One took a long, shaky breath as pain radiated through his body. When the last of the webbing resorbed into strong, thick-fingered hands, he flexed them and smiled. They were his tools, his primary source of pleasure, and perfect for strangling. Knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists. Yes, he thought. This felt right, felt true to who he was, who he’d been his entire life.
No, a voice boomed in his head in response. It was his own, reflexively rejecting anything but his true identity. He unclenched his fists and took a deep breath. He’d almost lost himself in the mind of a killer.
He leaped into the front seat to check the cab driver. He was alive, just unconscious. One stripped him of his clothes and rolled him onto the floor of the cab. When dressed, he checked the mirrors for nearby traffic, but before he opened the door and stepped outside, he got stuck on his reflection. The transformation was successful except for the eyes. They held no malice or calculation. Instead, all he could see was an insatiable hunger. One had tasted freedom and wanted more. But more than that, One felt an overwhelming sense of optimism for what the future held. Then he looked across the street.
A boy and a man stood side-by-side, both unmoving and looking directly at the cab.
Fearing he was caught, One froze with his hands on the controls and pretended to sleep.
Night had fallen by the time One woke with a start. A quick look showed the boy and the man had gone, as had most of the day’s foot traffic. One breathed a sigh of relief and slumped into the well-worn seat. Then a knock came on the window.
The boy’s eyes struck One first. They were blue, but not just any blue; they were a blue so vibrant it hurt to look. But he could not look away. That’s when things grew dim.
Hunt
The absorption went better than Grand Cleric Petre could have hoped. No one believed him, for while he was one of the most gifted Clerics in Zedonia, he was also the first child to become a Cleric. But they’d have no choice but to believe him. One had performed wonderfully in spite of the poor luck of whom he stumbled upon first. Fresh from a kill, the cab driver hunted down One and dragged him into the cab. At first, it appeared that One would be lost, but then the most wonderful thing happened. Reflexively, One touched the cab driver’s face and absorbed him. From there, it was a simple matter of waiting until he showed signs of leaving the cab. At midnight, he stirred, and they were there to intercept him.
“Kill him,” said Grand Cleric Petre.
His manservant sliced One open with a sweep of a stiletto, and blood sprayed across the windshield.
“So it was a success then,” said the manservant, wiping blood from the blade, then picking up the body and setting it on the ground.
“Yes, it was,” said Grand Cleric Petre. “Pick up the bodies.
Despite his thin frame, the manservant did just that and carried away both bodies over his shoulders.
“Then why kill him?” asked the manservant.
“Vivisection,” answered Grand Cleric Petre. “He is quite the specimen. One of one.”
This is the first submission for Bradley Ramsey’s Halls of Pandemonium prompt competition. The competition’s scoring is based on reader engagement. So if you think I should get a top spot because of my writing, please like, comment, and restack this story to show your support!
Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!
AMB