11:45 PM – Boston PD Headquarters
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the precinct's holding cells. Rebecca Barker paced in front of her subdued officers, her boots clicking against the linoleum floor. The scent of stale coffee and gun oil hung thick in the air.
"Let me get this straight," she said, her voice dangerously calm. "None of you remember why you started beating the hell out of each other?"
Officer Cole rubbed his swollen jaw, wincing. "I remember Diaz laughing at me. Then... nothing. Just red."
Diaz, nursing a split lip, shook his head. "It wasn't just anger. Felt like... like my skin was on fire."
Rebecca's nails dug into her palms. Excuses. All of them.
Across the room, Benjamin leaned against the wall, watching silently. The remnants of blue haze still clung to the officers' pupils—fading, but there.
"Moore," Rebecca snapped. "You saw something. What was it?"
Benjamin pushed off the wall, his smirk in place. "Seven grown men losing their minds in an alley? I'd say it was Tuesday in Boston."
Rebecca's glare could have melted steel. "Get out."
Benjamin gave a mock salute and left, but not before catching one last glimpse of the haze.
It's spreading.
12:30 AM – Benjamin's Apartment
Rain pattered against the windows of Benjamin's penthouse, the city lights below smearing into streaks of gold and neon. He tossed his coat onto the sofa and headed straight for his study.
The room was a controlled chaos—medical journals stacked haphazardly, history books bookmarked with surgical tape. A large corkboard dominated one wall, strings connecting photos, newspaper clippings, and his own hastily scribbled notes.
Benjamin uncapped a marker and added two new entries:
1. Henry Caldwell (Old Man) - Intended violence (fire). Blue haze in hands.
2. Boston PD Officers - Unintended violence (brawl). Blue haze in eyes.
He stepped back, chewing the cap of the marker. Same haze. Different outcomes. Why?
Then it hit him.
"The source," he muttered.
Grabbing his phone, he dialed Rebecca.
She answered on the third ring, her voice sharp with exhaustion. "What?"
"In the alley—was there anyone else? Besides Maria?"
A pause. "Irrelevant."
"Humor me."
She exhaled. "Fine. Some homeless guy in a blue hoodie. Looked scared shitless."
Benjamin's pulse jumped. Rahul.
"You think that's important?" Rebecca pressed.
"I think," Benjamin said slowly, "you should check if any of your officers remember a man with a scar on his chin before they lost their minds."
Another pause. Then, quietly: "What aren't you telling me?"
Benjamin hung up.
8:00 AM – St. Ignatius Hospital
The hospital was its usual symphony of beeping monitors and hurried footsteps. Benjamin strode through the corridors, his white coat flaring behind him, exchanging barbed quips with nurses and interns.
"Dr. Moore!" A young resident, Park, jogged to catch up. "Patient in 412 is refusing—"
"Sedate him," Benjamin said without breaking stride.
"But—"
"Or tell him I'll personally ensure his catheter is inserted by the intern with the shakiest hands. His choice."
Park paled and scurried away.
Benjamin smirked—then froze.
Shouting.
It came from the west wing. The boardroom.
He broke into a run.
8:15 AM – Hospital Boardroom
The scene was pandemonium.
Dr. Aaron Kessler, the head of nephrology, had Dr. Evelyn Thorne by the collar, his face purple with rage. "You've been cutting my department's funding for years!"
Thorne kneed him in the groin. "Because you waste every cent on useless research!"
Other board members were no better—throwing chairs, hurling binders, a full-blown brawl erupting over budget allocations.
And in the corner, half-hidden by the chaos—
A man in a blue hoodie.
Rahul.
Their eyes met.
Rahul's smirk vanished, replaced by exaggerated fear. "Help! They just—they just started attacking each other!"
Benjamin didn't buy it for a second. The man was wreathed in blue haze, tendrils of it snaking toward the fighting doctors.
He's doing this.
He grabbed Kessler first, yanking him back. "Snap out of it!"
Kessler blinked, the haze in his eyes clearing slightly.
Thorne was harder. Benjamin had to drive his shoulder into her ribs, knocking her into a chair. "Evelyn! Breathe!"
She gasped, her fury flickering into confusion.
But Vice President Harold Greyson wasn't so easily subdued. He shoved Benjamin away, his face twisted. "You dare lay hands on me?"
Benjamin wiped blood from his lip. "Harold, if you don't sit down, I'll reintroduce your face to that table."
Greyson lunged.
Benjamin sidestepped, using the man's momentum to flip him onto the conference table. Charts and coffee cups went flying.
Silence.
Then, slowly, the haze lifted from the board members' eyes.
Rahul was gone.
9:00 AM – Thorne's Office
Thorne pressed an ice pack to her temple, her voice hoarse. "What the hell was that?"
Benjamin leaned against her desk, arms crossed. "My guess? Mass hysteria. Stress. Bad hospital coffee."
She wasn't amused. "That was rage, Moore. Pure, unfiltered rage. And you knew how to stop it."
Because I've seen it before.
Benjamin shrugged. "I'm a trauma surgeon. Calming violent patients is part of the job."
Thorne studied him. "Greyson's filing a complaint."
"Shocking."
"And that man in the hoodie—"
"—vanished. Like ghosts tend to do."
A knock at the door. Rebecca Barker stood there, her badge gleaming.
"Dr. Moore," she said coolly. "We need to talk."