Mysterious Purple Liquid

Deckard woke up with a stinging pain racking his entire body. "That bitch," he groaned, his voice full of anger. "I can't believe I lost to a kid, now a girl. Fuck!"

Unable to hold himself back, he kicked the empty wooden crate on the side of the street, letting out steam after losing to Art and Violet. At that moment, his mind gained a moment of clarity and finally remembered the bigger problem at hand.

He panicked, his breathing unsteady. "Shit! Shit! Shit! What am I going to do now? Boss told me to follow them and not to interfere--"

"That's right. You fucked up," a crooked voice from behind interrupted him.

It was just as Deckard feared. The boss was looking for him and sent people after him. He was soon surrounded by three men, a man light blue-skinned man covered in tattoos, a black man with a massive scar on his face and the last one was a blonde with spiky hair and the one who just spoke.

Seeing this, Deckard began to tremble, knowing what he had done wrong. He wanted to explain himself but did not have the chance to as the blonde man threw a piece of cloth on the ground. "Pick it up and wrap it around your eyes."

He did not dare to waste time as he picked the cloth off the ground and wrapped it around his eyes. "Wh-Wh-Where are you taking me?" he asked fearfully, unable to see the person who had just touched his shoulder.

The only response he got was silence. "Look, it wasn't my fault. Just—"

"Don't talk, just walk," interrupted a deep voice beside Deckard, causing him to jump a little. He didn't open his mouth again out of fear and continued to walk.

After what felt like hours, Deckard noticed the change in the atmosphere. The smell, the noise and the humidity felt as though he was in a tunnel. Then, he heard the sound of mechanical gears roaring and something heavy moving before everything went silent.

The blondie with spiky hair gave Deckard a nudge, pushing him on the shoulder. "Move," he said with his crooked voice.

Deckard didn't say anything and did what he was told. Soon, the atmosphere changed again, the stench of chemicals entering his nostrils.

It was then his blindfold was taken off and he could finally see again. He was forced to sit on an old broken chair, nervously panting seeing that he was surrounded by three men that brought him here.

Other than those three, he saw a middle-aged man with pale skin, combed black hair with grey streaks, a right blue eye, and heavy scarring on the left side of his face. His most notable trait was his left eye, which lacked an eyelid and appears to be heavily discoloured with an orange iris and black sclera.

His name was Silco, his boss and rumour have it, the man who had been one of the key figures of the uprising a few years ago.

Silco was sitting down on a chair, holding a syringe in his hands. "You were supposed to follow them and not interfere," he said calmly, his voice so calm it was terrifying.

"I'm sorry," Deckard apologised. "They just caught us by surprise."

"Now his accomplices is asking questions about you," Silco put the syringe on his eyes. "That's not a risk I'm willing to take."

Deckard panicked upon hearing this and quickly thought of a solution. "That's right. The kids. It was their fault, the explosion in the upper city."

"That was them?" Silco asked, putting the syringe down.

"Yeah. The topsiders are up in arms looking for 'em."

"Vander's in trouble," Silco stood up from his seat and walked past Deckard. "Smartest thing you ever said, boy. Get him a meal. Keep him off the streets."

Deckard was taken away by the goons, leaving behind Silco and the skinny man who had been quietly experimenting with a mysterious purple liquid in the background to themselves.

"Our timeline has moved up," Silco spoke up.

"It's almost ready," The skinny man put the glass tubes down.

Silco turned his gaze towards the skinny man. "Show me."

The skinny man took the cat that was roaming around the room and put it in a cage with a rat. The cat stared down its prey but did not attack as if it was playing with it. This was a normal behaviour due to the cat trying to tire the prey, thus making it much easier to kill and reducing their chances of getting injured.

But little did that cat know this was a big mistake.

The rat ran to its water dispenser filled with the mysterious purple liquid that the skinny man was experimenting on and began to drink. It began to transform, wriggling in the cage in pain, purple veins protruding from its skin as it grew bigger and bigger.

Its grotesque features looked as if it had just come out of an alien movie.

The rat was now the predator and the cat is the prey.