Kill them all, boy.

Cadell had ignored the words thousands of times but now they pulsated at the forefront of his mind, clawing away at his consciousness. The Voice was feeding off the present bloodthirst. Through the superhero’s unique perspective, the gang glaring back at him resembled horror-inspired paintings rather than humans. Thick crimson vapour rose from each of them, and a pool of fake blood surrounded their feet, vibrating and jumping. Defying gravity, it climbed up their tracksuits and filled in their masks like a sentient life form.

You seem to be off today, the Voice teased. Why not let go of the deep urge hidden inside? You’ve suppressed it for too long, don’t you think? Don’t you think it’s time?

Again, the ominous words slipped through Cadell’s mental barrier. He shook his head.

This was a rarity. Even with the strongest of human stimuli, he should have been able to maintain full concentration. Not letting the Voice in was rudimentary stuff. Psycho 101.

He shook his head again, this time more violently. What, are you eighteen again? Focus!

Quite recently, Cadell had been feeling a dip in his mental protection and the worst part about it was that he knew the exact cause but couldn’t find the solution.

Doubt was a powerful son of a bitch.

It only started off as a seed, a tiny nagging thought at the back of his mind, but fifteen crime fighting hours later, he was terrified for the worst outcome. Every five minutes he expected a sharp glinting blade to be seen, even when no one was around.

Not wielded. Not even brandished. Just seen.

During the day and a good portion of the night, Cadell was able to hold it together. He had focused on assisting ambulances and had saved a few unfortunate residents from a burning building. He had encountered just over a dozen Crazed drug users although there was nothing he could do because by the time he detected the strong source of jubilation and horror, their fate had already been sealed. A decomposing body always awaited him.

“You came.”

One of the gang members stepped forward who seemed to be the leader. The bulky man was a giant but what stood out most was his abnormally sized hands which were big enough to be intimidating.

Cadell let out a heavy sigh. “Well, don’t keep me in any more suspense. What are you ninjas plotting? Who are you after?”

“You.”

Cadell thought for a moment. There was no scared civilian sight. He could only be telling the truth. “Using my own superpowers to lure me in? This is a first. You’re supposed to be avoiding me.”

“In case you’re considering leaving, we can give you a reason to hang around. We’re the ones dealing the Crazed drug.” The gangster raised large arms in the air, a mischievous glint in his eye. “We’re criminals. Villains. Take us away, Psycho.”

Cadell’s fist flew towards a portal until it abruptly froze.

“What’s wrong?” The gangster continued. “We’re here. We’re waiting.”

The gang unsheathed knives.

Despite the illogicalness, silence screamed, bubbled and fizzed. Cadell emulated a statue as seconds dragged on, still frozen mid punch. Terror filled his eyes which refused to blink underneath the Psycho mask.

The gangster closed the gap between them with five abnormal long strides. He waved in front of Cadell’s face multiple times, knife in the other hand. “Wow. Ejiro was right. You really are dead.”

CRUNCH!

Blood burst out of Cadell’s nose as his head reeled backwards. The impact of the punch was so wide and heavy that it felt like getting hit by a large boulder. Five more blows followed. All he could do was stare at the knife.

“Direct hit, full force and you’re still standing? Scary,” the gangster admitted. He suddenly chuckled. “When I was a kid, my big bro once took me to the zoo. You know what I hated most? The lions. Behind the thin layer of glass was a beast capable of effortlessly tearing me limb from limb. I never understood why people liked it.”

For a second, puddles of blue splashed on his tracksuit. It was a sign of fear… but also mourning. Crimson quickly engulfed it.

The gangster hurled Cadell on the muddy grass. “Wait!” he barked just before his allies could pounce. “Not yet. Let’s see how far this fear goes.” He dropped to a crouch and skillfully twirled a butterfly knife around his fingers.

The blade got closer and as it did the world gradually fizzled out for Cadell. Suddenly, there was no obsession to cleanse the city from its curse nor was there any desire to save anyone or do good or make a difference. Only one selfish desire consumed his being.

Escape.

He could only see the knife now, completely oblivious to everything. Oblivious to the streams of tears dripping off his chin. Oblivious to the fact that he had urinated himself purely out of sheer terror. He had reached a peak level of trauma. An embarrassing level of trauma.

Closer and closer it moved. Closer and closer.

The knife was only two inches from his face when Cadell finally screamed.

The Hustlers jumped back in shock. Then, after a short moment, they howled with laughter. Sparkling orange and golden paint filled their clothing, replacing the bloodthirsty crimson.

Although Cadell’s scream greatly amused the gang, it wasn’t the source of the intense, stunning hallucination. It was one simple belief that created the beautiful feeling of hope…

Psycho was dead.