It was a dark, chilly night. The man was carrying the brief case beside him. He wiped some sweat off of his forehead with his sleeve. He was nervous. His hands were shaking. His eyes were darting around like flies with too much caffeine. He was supposed to be meeting the guy in the alley at 11:47 P.M. sharp. The streets weren't very full at all. Not many people came out at nights anymore. Not these days. Not since the CAPs gained their abilities.
CAPs were people with special abilities. Most crime lords these days were CAPs. CAP stood for Chemically Affected Person. Everyone feared them. And the man with the brief case was a brave man. He had guts to do what he was about to. No one knew the specifics of how they gained their abilities, but everyone knew the origin. Oregon. The state that no longer existed.
It was decimated in 2070. And the abilities began to show up in 2072. That's when panic broke out. All of America was confused. But now, things had settled. Most of the Unaffected shunned CAPs. But some used them to their advantage. Just like the man with the briefcase. The man with the briefcase was a politician. He was running for mayor, but he had had enemies. He had hired a CAP to eliminate some of the competition. But he was smarter than to have the killed directly. He had targeted close friends and family members of the competition. Some of them were busy with the family matters and the stress so they dropped out of the race.
The candidate had also had ordered the death of his best friend to prevent suspicions from arising. It would be obvious that he was connected if all these people were dying and none of contacts had been hurt
The man had found the alley. He stopped. He wiped his forehead once more. He took a deep breath. He checked his watch 11:46 and twenty-five seconds.
He began walking down the alley. Thirty-five seconds. He heard a car come by and he jumped and looked over his shoulder. It wasn't a police car. Forty-five seconds. He approached the dumpster at the end of the alley. He nervously looked around before setting the briefcase down. He looked at his watch once more. Fifty-five seconds. He waited until the watch exactly at 11:47. He knocked on the dumpster three times. That was the signal.
A man emerged from the shadows. He was a tall, thick guy. He had a short beard and fiery eyes, but a bald head. He had a reputation in the crime world for his temper. The man with the suitcase knew he had to be careful. "Do you have the money?" The tall guy asked. The other man gulped and jumpily nodded.
"Let me see," the aggressive man demanded. The other man hesitantly handed him the case. The man opened it and smiled as he saw the stacks of cash. "All two thousand Obamas are there?" The other man nodded once more. Obamas were seventy-five dollar bills. The tall man chuckled.
"Here is the final test. Just for precaution." The man began sweating even more than he already was. The recipient placed a bill in his hand. His hand slowly began glowing, and the bill caught fire. He placed the flaming dollar on the ground and the flame on his hand extinguished. A frown slowly crossed his face as he watched it burn. He shot the sweaty man a look of pure hatred and fury.
"Those aren't real!" he growled. "That's printer paper!" He advanced on the man who tried to cheat him until he backed up into the dumpster.
"H-how did you know?"
"You're not even denying it?!"
"I-I can get the real stuff for you next week!"
"It's too late! You screwed up. I killed eight people for you in the past two months. You know what I have to do now, right?"
The cornered man began shaking his head while crying. "Please, no." The angry man's hands began glowing like hot coals. Flames slowly began to form. But the man's hands were fine. No burns. No blisters. He couldn't feel any of it. He lunged at the man and grabbed him around the neck.
"You'll pay. Maybe not in money, but you… will… pay!" The man writhed in the criminal's grip. He cried in agony. The flames caught his clothes. It spread with unimaginable speed. Soon enough, his vocal cords were roasted. The short-tempered man let go. He looked at the blackened husk of what was just a living person. He knew his time was limited now. No one to protect him. No one to help cover up his crimes. The clock started ticking now. The criminal ran off into the night.