The city outside was alive in a way that almost mocked him.New York—loud, restless, crowded. The kind of place that never truly slept, just shifted rhythms. Taxis and people pulsed through the streets like blood through arteries, and he walked among them, dazed and invisible. The memories of that sterile room lingered like a half-forgotten dream, but the sensation—the power—hadn't faded. It pulsed somewhere deep inside him, quiet but constant, like a second heartbeat.
He didn't know where else to go. His body moved on instinct, letting his feet carry him through the maze of buildings and sirens until he found himself at the edge of Central Park Zoo. It wasn't far from Midtown, nestled between the sprawl of glass towers and the green heart of the city. The sound of animals, faint and distant, called to him.
He stared at the entrance gate for a long moment before stepping inside.
The air was different here. Thicker. Quieter, in a way that felt alive. The hum of the city faded beneath the rustle of leaves and the low murmur of human voices. He moved through clusters of tourists and families, past the smell of popcorn and animal feed, until he reached the enclosures. Behind the glass, creatures of every kind shifted, breathed, stared.
He stopped at the lion exhibit.
A single male paced along the rocky edge of the enclosure, its mane glinting gold in the weak sunlight. Every movement was controlled, deliberate—a predator caged in concrete. The sight stirred something in him, something both fearful and familiar.
He watched the lion's eyes.
There it was again—that pull. That invisible thread between them. His pulse slowed, his breathing deepened, and the world seemed to fade around him. He felt his thoughts stretch outward, the same way they had with the fly, like invisible hands reaching for something unseen. He didn't try to control it this time. He just allowed it.
The connection snapped into place with the sharp clarity of lightning.
The lion stopped pacing.
It turned its head toward him, movements eerily precise. Its gaze locked with his, and for a second, he forgot to breathe. Then—slowly, impossibly—the beast stepped closer, pressing one massive paw against the glass.
Gasps erupted from nearby onlookers. But he didn't hear them. He was inside the creature's mind now, or maybe it was inside his. The distinction didn't matter. He could feel the lion's heartbeat, steady and thunderous. He could feel its hunger, its quiet rage.
It was like gripping the steering wheel of something ancient and powerful. Like slipping behind the controls of a machine made of muscle and instinct.
He took another breath, and the lion mirrored him—inhale, exhale, in perfect rhythm.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, he let go.
The world snapped back. Noise, color, smell. His knees felt weak, his heart pounding. The lion blinked once, twice, then turned away, pacing again as if nothing had happened. The people around him were murmuring now, laughing, clapping, assuming it had been some kind of coincidence.
But he knew better.
He stumbled back from the glass, adrenaline surging through his veins. The air felt electric. His mind raced with questions, but beneath them all, a single truth glowed bright and terrifying: he could control living minds.
He wandered deeper into the zoo, drawn forward by curiosity and hunger. At the penguin enclosure, he tested it again—just a flicker of thought—and one of the birds halted mid-waddle, craning its neck as if listening for something only it could hear. A moment later, he let it go, and it resumed its comical shuffle.
It wasn't telekinesis. He couldn't move things. But he could drive them, like puppets bound by invisible strings.
Every creature he looked at—every set of eyes that met his—felt like an open door.
As the day stretched on, his control grew smoother, more confident. He learned to feel the boundaries of another mind, to slip between the cracks of thought without force. It wasn't just domination; it was understanding. He could taste the animal's emotion, its instinct, its fear.
He started small—birds, squirrels, stray pigeons that gathered near the food stands. But soon, he was guiding movements without even realizing it. A flock of pigeons burst into the air at his unspoken command, swirling above him in a perfect spiral. A monkey in its enclosure mirrored his head tilt, as if mocking him.
The power thrilled him—and frightened him.
He left the zoo just before sunset. The sky burned orange and pink above the skyscrapers, and the city's hum returned like a living heartbeat. The streets felt different now—alive, pulsing with minds he could touch if he dared.
People brushed past him, each one carrying a mind he could almost sense—the flicker of thought, the noise of consciousness. It was overwhelming, like standing in the middle of a thousand radio signals, all broadcasting at once. But if he focused... he could tune in.
A man arguing on the phone. A child crying for ice cream. A woman lost in thought about rent, about work, about love.
He could hear them, faintly, in the back of his mind. Not words, not exactly—but impressions, colors, shapes. He realized, with a cold shiver, that if he pushed just a little harder, he could take one of them. Steer them like he had the lion.
But he didn't. Not yet.
Instead, he stood at the edge of the park, staring at the sea of lights rising across Manhattan. The weight of his power sat heavy in his chest, humming with potential.
He wasn't just some lost soul in a strange new world anymore. He was something else.
Something that could see through eyes that weren't his own. Something that could bend will like metal.
The city spread before him like a living organism, millions of minds waiting to be touched.
And for the first time, he smiled.
Because now, he understood. He didn't need to escape this world. He could own it.