Once he was out of the immediate vicinity of the crime scene, Franks had pulled over and removed a flask from his pocket. He did not want to be driving when he took a swig of the potent, glowing liquid inside. Drinking the Elixir of Life caused a sensation like inhaling ignited napalm, but he was injured, and if he wanted to continue at this pace, he’d need to be in top shape.

He took a drink, and then carefully screwed the cap back on before swallowing. The single dose of the potent alchemical mixture rolled down his throat like molten lava.

Every pain receptor in Franks’ body fired at once. His muscles locked up tight. It was like running hot sandpaper over every tissue in his body. He ground his teeth together and didn’t let out a sound. Several seconds of his supercharged nervous system electrocuting itself later, Franks came back to reality. His grip had bent the steering wheel. Blood ran freely from his nostrils and eyes, but he just wiped it away with some tissues he’d found in the glove box and got back on the road.

That was the stuff.

It still hurt, but now it was the tolerable pain of bone splinters dragging themselves back into place. The sensation would drive most humans mad, but for Franks it just required a bit more concentration to drive safely. He didn’t like the term pain threshold. That implied there was an upper limit to the suffering he could withstand. If there was such a thing in the mortal world, he’d not found it yet. Franks took an inventory of each injury. Anything that would eventually heal on its own could be drastically sped up by the Elixir. Nothing felt irreparably damaged. There were still bullet fragments lodged in his muscle tissue. He’d have to cut those out when he had a chance.

There would be no quarter from the MCB. Even if some of them suspected that he was innocent, they would still do their duty and track him down until ordered off the case. He’d trained them so he’d expect nothing less than their best. They’d have checkpoints at every route out of the city. His credit cards would be monitored, but he always kept a couple thousand in cash on his person, so that wouldn’t be an immediate problem. The stolen 9mm had gone out the window in the crash, so all he had was the Glock he’d snagged at headquarters and half a single partially expended magazine of silver 10mm. His apartment would be watched. He had a very short list of associates and acquaintances, and the MCB would put someone on each of them as well.