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Goto’s side, ensuring there is no possible route for escape. They’ve done this enough times to know exactly how, and where, to neutralize a target; their movements are so crisp they appear choreographed.
    Cole’s eyes dart back and forth between the two men, and then back to Dia. “I don’t know who you guys are or what the hell is going on here, but I’m like five seconds away from calling the cops.” He yanks his iPhone from his front pocket and holds it up as if he’s threatening them with a live grenade – as if the mere sight of the glowing device would cause them to scurry away in fear.
    Goto snorts out a light chuckle. “Go right ahead. And while you’re speaking with the police, you can ask them to send a coroner. You’ll be requiring their services momentarily.”
    Extending his hand, Goto rotates his fingers in the air – the valve-turning motion that fires bolts of agony into his victims.
    A moment passes.
    Nothing happens.
    Goto furrows his brow and glares at his palm, confused and frustrated. He looks as if he’d just put fresh batteries into a television remote and can’t figure out why it’s not changing the channels. He shakes his hand out several times, flexing his fingers, balling them into a tight fist. He extends his hand towards Cole once again and repeats the same action.
    Nothing.
    He lets out an exaggerated sigh of disappointment, shoulders sagging. “Well, this is aggravating. Mister Heinreich, would you please give our mystery guest a hand?”
    Without responding to Goto’s request, Heinreich takes a few rapid steps towards Cole and throws a vicious back-fist, connecting sharply with his jaw.
    Cole careens into the brick wall of the alley, jarring his spine, snapping ribs. The pain is searing, all-consuming; his vision swims with a spattering of flashbulbs, surrounding everyone in the alley with a glowing hue.
    I can’t believe this is happening to me, he thinks. How can it be possible? This many shitty things happening to the same person, all at the same time? All of Cole’s recent failures blast through his consciousness: and the soul-crushing indignity he faces on a daily basis at his job; his girlfriend who ended their two-year relationship using a text message; and his meteoric rise though the amateur mixed martial-arts circuit that was snuffed out by a single loss. And that’s what he traces it all back to: A lucky punch that he should’ve seen coming. But he didn’t, and he ‘zigged when he should have zagged’ as Gary so succinctly put it. And now he’s here.
    That shot didn’t just shatter Cole’s orbital bone that night – it shattered his confidence. An avalanche of ceaselessly flowing events followed, each worse than the last, leading to tonight, this very moment in time. A night when he thought something good was about to happen; a silver lining in the drizzling rain cloud that’s been following him around for what feels like forever. And now this: beaten and mugged in an alley, and he’s powerless to do anything about it. He’s powerless to do anything, period . Amidst the dizzying ache that’s crushing his head like an invisible vice, he suddenly stops feeling sorry for himself…for the first time in a very, very long time, Cole decides to stop blaming fate, stop blaming circumstance, and stop cursing everyone and everything around him. He chooses a different emotion. Anger.
    And then something unexpected happens: his pain subsides, his vision clears, and he feels an intense energy burning from within. Something awakens. His blood pumps like high octane jet fuel, hot and intense, coursing through the veins of his right arm. He watches in amazement as it transforms from a small, sinewy limb into a powerful weapon. As his muscles thicken and expand, inky black liquid secretes from his pores; thousands of microscopic drops rearrange themselves into a detailed design of a snake; it circles his bicep, crawling down his forearm, venomous fangs bared and