Finally, Slade yells, “Get on my back now!”

A horrible chill moves through my body as I grab on to him, just like he told me to, and his large hands wrap behind the backs of my knees. He stands to his full, enormous height and begins to really run. With adrenaline pumping hard, I can’t feel anything but his energy bursts. His body is so hot that it’s practically steaming as he jets through the shrieking masses, crouching his form, likely to keep from being a target because he’s bigger and faster than anyone else, weaving expertly while shots spray all around. I have no choice but to shut my eyes from the sickening view of people dropping, but after a moment, I open them again because I’m too afraid to not see. We reach the opposite end of the club where Slade pushes a huge metal door wide open, stepping out into the night.

The humid air spins around me as the door slams shut behind us.

It’s so dark. We’re in a back alley with nothing but desolate concrete and cries. There’s an ambulance in the distance. Slade sets me down. My knees buckle, but he immediately holds me up beneath my arms.

“Can you stand?” His voice is still robotic, a complete change from the man I was with a minute ago.

Or was it hours ago?

With nothing other than sheer will, my legs manage to straighten. Slade anxiously wrings his hands. I look down at my calves, seeing splotches of black against my tan skin. It’s blood. Mine or someone else’s? My arm pulses in pain. Chunks rise from the back of my throat, and I turn around, sprinting toward the alley wall. Dropping to my knees, I vomit alcohol.

I can feel his body behind me.

“Shouldn’t you go back in? Help people?” Trying to stand, I desperately grab his forearm, my voice cracking. I might faint.

His eyes are asphalt black. He’s Slade in body but not in mind. The man I know is seemingly gone.

He spits out the word, “No.”

My hands tremble as though it were thirty below while sweat streaks down my face. “What about the rest of the people in there? I saw a rush into the—”

He cracks his knuckles and blinks wildly. Exhaling, he turns left and right with his eyes in a squint before stuttering, “J-just try to relax. I’m sure the police have been notified. You’re safe.” The mechanical beast has morphed into a man, bewildered.

“Slade?” I’m dazed. What’s going on here?

He places a warm hand on my damp forehead, pushing my hair back, away from my face. I expectantly stare at him.

“You’re okay.” With those words, his eyes soften. “I’m not carrying,” he continues, keeping his hot hand on me. “But, if I go in, all commando-style, the cops will see a man they don’t know who looks like he’s got a plan. They might shoot me, assuming I’m an enemy. But you’re okay, right? Are you hurt or just scared?” His eyes flit over me in assessment, as if he didn’t see what just went on inside the club. As he lets out another long breath, his gaze bores into mine as though he’s willing me to understand. His confused eyes now look … sorry?