Ascension: The One Who Takes

My name carried weight now, whispered in dark corners and exchanged in hushed conversations. Power wasn't enough anymore—I needed refinement. Evolution.

And for that, I needed a scientist.

Not just any scientist, though. I needed someone with an intricate understanding of mutant genetics, someone who had worked on enhancing abilities, refining mutations. The kind of expertise that wasn't found in public records but buried under government black sites and corporate-funded experiments.

That meant my search wouldn't be easy.

I started with my usual channels—black market informants, ex-WEAPON X operatives drowning their regrets in cheap whiskey, back-alley doctors performing illegal enhancements on desperate criminals. These people knew things, or at least, they knew where to look.

I didn't ask for a name outright. That was the kind of question that got people killed. Instead, I asked the right questions.

"Where do you go when you need real work done? When you need something beyond what the street surgeons can offer?"

At first, the responses were useless. A washed-up hacker tried selling me rumors about a defunct lab under the old metro tunnels. A desperate ex-militia scientist wanted me to believe he was the expert I was looking for. He wasn't.

My patience was wearing thin.

The underground thrived on information, but it was polluted—bloated with half-truths, paranoia, and outright lies. The real challenge wasn't finding leads. It was sifting through the garbage to separate fact from fiction.

I let my frustration be known. I didn't threaten anyone—yet—but the way I stared them down was enough to make them rethink wasting my time.

Between these searches, I refined my own skills. My stolen abilities weren't just tools; they needed to work in harmony. My stamina stretched further, my movements became sharper, and my understanding of how my powers interacted grew. I wasn't just collecting abilities anymore—I was perfecting them.

Then, finally, I got a lead.

A name whispered over a game of high-stakes poker in the back of a casino. Dr. Everett Lorne.

It was almost too easy.

I followed the trail—traced his last known location to a rundown lab hidden beneath an abandoned medical facility on the city's outskirts. The place reeked of chemicals and decay. Whatever had happened here, it had been shut down in a hurry. Papers scattered, shattered glass everywhere, and the faintest remnants of energy signatures still humming in the walls.

I found files, burned beyond recognition. Old equipment that had been smashed to pieces. But no Dr. Lorne.

Dead end.

I moved to my next lead—a trafficker who specialized in smuggling scientists out of dangerous situations. He worked through middlemen, so getting to him required tracking down his contacts first. That took another two weeks of bribery, intimidation, and—when necessary—a little force.

When I finally cornered him in a shipping yard, he tried to run. Bad mistake. I let him wear himself out before I made my move, dodging his frantic attacks before pinning him against a stack of crates with a single crushing grip from Titan's Grip.

"Where's Dr. Lorne?"

He coughed, tried to lie. I squeezed harder.

"Okay! Okay!" he gasped. "He's dead!"

I didn't believe him.

"Government got to him before he could be moved," the trafficker wheezed. "Black ops, clean job. He was burned. No body left."

Maybe it was true. Maybe it wasn't. Either way, it meant another dead end.

But something didn't add up.

I retraced my steps, went back to the underground bars, the crime syndicates, the mutant gangs. Pressed the right people, shook down a few others. The more I dug, the clearer the pattern became.

Every lead on Dr. Lorne ended in the same vague story—either he was dead, or he had disappeared. But I knew better than to accept the obvious answer.

Because when people really wanted to disappear, they left behind false trails.

Lorne had covered his tracks well. But there was someone who could see through the deception.

I needed to find the people who made men like Lorne disappear.

And that meant dealing with a far more dangerous breed of people—those who worked behind the curtains, pulling the strings of the mutant underground.

This wasn't just about power anymore.

This was about control.

Ascension continues.