*Alvin "Boz" Parsons*
---
The warehouse reeked of rust and river water.
To Boz, it smelled like opportunity.
He stood on the loading dock, watching his crew unload the latest shipment. Electronics from the docks that would be in pawn shops by morning. Cleaned. Untraceable. Good money, steady money.
But not enough.
Not anymore.
"Boss, Dez is here."
Marcusâ€"not the doctor from Prometheus, but a street Marcus who'd never seen the inside of a universityâ€"called from below. Built like a linebacker. Hands that had broken more bones than Boz cared to count. The perfect enforcer.
Dez shuffled in, clutching a manila folder like it contained nuclear codes. Small-time dealer. Nervous energy radiating from every pore.
"Mr. Parsons, sir." His voice cracked. "I got something. Something big."
Boz didn't move from his perch. At thirty-four, he'd learned that power came from stillness. Make others come to you.
"Big costs extra, Dez. What's your price?"
"Not money, sir. Protection." Dez swallowed hard. "What I'm about to show you... there are people who'd kill for this."
Now Boz turned.
---
The folder contained photocopied documents. Lab reports dense with scientific terminology. Grainy surveillance photos of a woman in a lab coat.
"There's this scientist at Prometheus," Dez explained, words tumbling out. "Dr. Dergors. She's been working on something using werewolf blood."
Boz studied the papers, mind already calculating.
"My cousin works janitorial there. Overheard things. They're making a drug that gives humans supernatural abilities. Temporary, but real. Super strength. Speed. Healing."
In a world where lycanthropes could bench press cars and vampires moved faster than the eye could follow, humans were always at a disadvantage.
Sure, there were laws. Regulations. The Supernatural-Human Equal Rights Act.
But on the streets?
Strength was law.
And humans were weak.
"They're calling it Chance," Dez continued.
"How temporary?"
"Six to eight hours per dose. They're planning military trials, government contracts. But here's the thingâ€"" Dez leaned in. "The synthesis process got leaked. Some lab tech with gambling debts sold the partial formula. It's incomplete, but with the right chemist..."
Boz closed the folder.
His organization had always been human-only. Not from prejudiceâ€"from pragmatism. Lycanthropes had their own crews. Vampires their own hierarchies.
Humans scraped by on intelligence and brutality.
This could change everything.
---
"Marcus," Boz called. "Get Solomon on the phone. Tell him I have a chemistry project."
Solomon. Former pharmaceutical engineer. Lost his license for experimenting on himself. If anyone could work with an incomplete formula, it was him.
"Mr. Parsons," Dez ventured. "There's more. The government doesn't know about the leak yet. But when they find outâ€""
"They'll lock it down tighter than a vampire's coffin at noon." Boz walked to his office safe. "Which means we have a window. Maybe weeks. Maybe days."
He pulled out cash. Counted bills.
"Five thousand for the information. Another five when Solomon confirms the formula's workable."
Dez's eyes widened.
"And Dez? You work for me now. Exclusively. That protection you wanted? You've got it. But everything about this Chance drug comes to me first. Understood?"
Frantic nodding. Clutching the money like a lifeline.
---
After the dealer left, Boz stood at the window overlooking his territory.
Six blocks of run-down buildings. Check-cashing joints. Corner stores. His kingdom, built on human limitation.
"You really think this is smart?" Marcus asked. "Messing with supernatural stuff?"
Boz's hands clenched.
"My mother died because a drunk werewolf decided our apartment building was in his territory. Cops did nothing. Said it was a 'supernatural matter.'"
His voice hardened.
"My brother bled out in my arms because we couldn't match their strength. We've been second-class citizens since Disclosure, Marcus."
He turned to face his enforcer.
"This drug? It's not about being smart. It's about not being prey anymore."
---
Boz scrolled through his contacts.
The Monsanto Cartel controlled drugs in the north. The Vampire Syndicate ran gambling downtown. Everyone carved up the city based on species lines.
Chance could shatter those boundaries.
"Set up meetings with our best distributors," he ordered. "And find out everything about this Dr. Dergors. Her routine. Her security. Her family."
"You thinking of approaching her?"
"If we can't cook the drug ourselves, we might need to acquire the source."
Outside, Southside stretched out in all its poverty and desperation.
But Boz saw potential.
Every human struggling to survive. Every person turned away from jobs because they couldn't match supernatural strength. Every family living in fear.
Future customers. All of them.
Chance wasn't just a drug.
It was revolution in a syringe.
---