"Hey, look at that guy—I think he has our ingredient," one of the men at the poster said, eyeing him suspiciously.

  Jason tried not to stand out more than he already did, but it was too late as the man had clearly picked up on something.

  "Yeah, look at the way he's walking. And his skull too, it looks like—"

  "Shit." That was when Jason started to run.

  "Hey! Get back here!!"

  "Nah!! He's SUS, get em!!!"

  The entire courtyard was after him.

  Jason ducked low and bolted through the crowd, weaving between the startled merchants and wide-eyed pedestrians who walked the streets as the clamor of boots behind him grew louder, the courtyard erupting into chaos as the vendors shouted and crates toppled in his wake while he tried to get away.

  He rounded a corner and dove into a narrow alleyway, nearly slipping on the wet stone as he threw one of the still-living fish he had in his portal at one of the crewmates who was chasing him a bit too enthusiastically, he might add.

  The fish smacked the closest pursuer square in the face with a wet thwap, its tail flapping wildly against the man's cheek as his pursuer stumbled backward, arms windmilling as he crashed into two others behind him.

  "He's using FOOD as a weapon!" someone shouted, which was followed by someone else saying, "That doesn't matter! Just get 'em!”

  He would have cursed if he could, but he couldn't afford to lose any more energy than he already had from running. By now, if he didn't get as far away as he could, they were going to out-freak his freakiness, as his reserves were already running low.

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  It's been about 9 years since he made this ingredient that these gooners had stolen from him, and well, he was just taking it back. But clearly, they weren't intent on losing their prized possession.

  "We'd give it back," they said, "we just need to study it more." He had waited for years and years and years, but they never wanted to give it back.

  Jason gritted his teeth as he slid through the alley’s far end, bursting out onto another street lined with half-collapsed stalls and a fruit cart that had really seen better days. He skidded to a halt just long enough to grab a bruised pomegranate and lob it over his shoulder. A loud splat and a yelp told him it had hit something or someone, and because he was Black, he was not going to investigate to see if it had landed on his target.

  That's how people died in horror movies.

  "Stop throwing your damn groceries!" one of the crewmates yelled. "Grow your own fucking damn food, then!" Jason shouted without looking back.

  He ducked again as a small throwing knife whizzed past his ear and embedded itself into a nearby wooden sign that read, "Try our baked eel, now! With 12% more eel and 50% off your first purchase. No refunds, though.”

  Gooners were similar to junkies in that they would do anything to get their next high. He just never stopped to think that the long list of what they would be willing to do also included killing.

  With absolutely no time to appreciate the culinary advancements, he vaulted over a short fence and dashed down a set of crumbling stone steps that led into one of the older quarters of the city and straight into no-gooner land.

  The Grates were a subterranean part of the city known for poor lighting, worse plumbing, and the kind of silence that made your bones itch. But Jason knew them well. After all, it was where he first synthesized the ingredient that had made the whole goddamn galaxy go up in flames and, uh, weirdly stopped some of the galactic wars that were going on in order for them to appreciate what he had crafted. It was also what these scavenging halfwits thought they could just borrow indefinitely and never give back.

  Which to be honest kind of pissed him off.

  That was beside the point, though. He had gotten the way.

  Jason slowed to a cautious jog, his breath ragged, as he grabbed one of the water skins he had in his mini pocket dimension, his hand fishing to the top as he opened it and took a long sip from it while the sound of water falling overhead and the distant roaring of thunder vibrated through the tunnels.

  He pulled the hood of his jacket tighter around his head, trying to become just another shadow in a place built for them.

  To his surprise, some of the gooners did enter the alleyway, but they just passed him without even noticing that their target was right behind them and was hiding in plain sight.

  The end