Drug-Eating Genius Mage (Fanfic)

Just hearing their complaints made one's neck ache. The supervisors, who once loomed like specters, now bowed their heads submissively. Among them, an older union member angrily tossed aside a stack of papers and shouted, "Enough! Judging by these ledgers, you've really messed up. I'm checking the warehouse myself to verify every missing item. If the shortfall isn't made up by the time we leave today, you're in big trouble!"

The surrounding supervisors nodded reluctantly, relief mixed with dread on their faces. Focusing on the materials warehouse meant someone would soon take the first beating. In this tense moment, there was no loyalty among them to cover even the smallest mistake. Amid all this, Asmon picked up a stray box and stuttered, drawing the attention of a nearby supervisor. Eyeing Asmon's worn-out work clothes, the man asked sharply, "Why is a worker here?"

"Um... I was sent on an errand. I've got something to take care of at the supervisors' quarters," Asmon replied hesitantly.

"Tell me what errand it is."

"W-well… it's about smoking," he admitted, exhaling a thick plume of smoke. The supervisor's expression shifted to one of knowing understanding. He glanced around and then grabbed Asmon by the collar, dragging him aside.

Strutting down the corridor with a familiar swagger, the supervisor grumbled, "I told you that sending it by package would get you caught, but these crazy bastards even delivered it on a day like today. Damn…" 

After turning several corners, they reached a corridor much neater than the dilapidated workshop where the workers stayed. In front of a freshly painted white door, the supervisor rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a keyring with two or three keys. He unlocked the door, revealing a small dormitory. It was cramped by Asmon's standards, but far better than the shabby cell he'd been stuck in all week.

Now that they'd come this far, he had no more business with the supervisor. Seizing the opportunity, Asmon drew in magical energy, pressed his right thumb and index finger together, and focused on a vivid image of a powerful electric current—just like a stun gun's charge. In a soft, controlled voice he whispered, "Bolt."

Crackle!

A tiny bolt of electricity arced between his fingers as he chanted. 

At that exact moment, another supervisor—who hadn't noticed Asmon's magical exertions—turned around and stared. Without hesitation, Asmon slipped two fingers under the man's jaw and hissed, "Now, hurry up and hand over the goods… Guh—gh—gh—gh!!" The supervisor's eyes, which had gleamed greedily just moments before, widened in shock as a guttural scream tore from his throat. His hulking body convulsed, trembling violently, and then he collapsed right in front of the half-open door, sending the dormitory door swinging.

Summoning every bit of his remaining strength, Asmon hoisted the massive, unconscious body and dragged it further into the room. He knew that if he left the supervisor there for someone else to find, it would only cause more trouble. Ideally, he would have hauled the limp body completely onto the bed, but after a couple of attempts, he had to admit that his nearly spent strength wouldn't allow it. Once Asmon had dragged the supervisor further inside and closed the door, he let out a long, relieved sigh and slumped onto the bed. "Phew…" he murmured.

Thanks to the cigarette's effect, he still felt drained, but the crushing fatigue and pain were pushed aside—for now. The mysterious energy pulsing through him didn't erase his exhaustion; it just made him forget about it for a while. He knew that once the high wore off, the rebound would hit him harder than ever. There was no time to rest. To escape the factory, he had to move quickly. 

Now that he'd found himself in the supervisor's dorm, he needed to grab any useful items and get out immediately. First, Asmon snatched the keyring from the fallen supervisor's hand and began searching the room. He figured that if the supervisor had any vices, he'd keep them hidden somewhere. After flipping over the entire mattress, Asmon finally found what he was looking for. "Damn, he really stashed a lot," he muttered.

In a concealed compartment beneath the mattress lay a neatly arranged stack of cigarette packets—enough for an armful. He helped himself to the cigarettes, taking the case the supervisor had used. It was the perfect size to slip into a pocket and even had an ignition feature to produce a flame on its own.

Though a part of him longed to pop one in his mouth immediately and relive that earlier rush, Asmon forced himself to wait while he searched for other valuables. While rifling through an old dresser, his fingertips brushed against something solid. He paused. It was the first time he'd handled it, yet he couldn't fail to recognize its shape. Pulling out an old pistol from the drawer, Asmon examined it with a conflicted look. 

Though the finer details differed, its overall silhouette was unmistakably familiar. The pistol's magazine was loaded with eight rounds, and there were no extra magazines in sight. It even seemed to lack a safety—pulling back the slide would chamber and fire a round immediately. Asmon hesitated for a moment, but then he realized that even a moment's doubt was a luxury he couldn't afford. Survival meant not wavering. Tucking the pistol into his vest, he promptly fled from the supervisor's dormitory.

Though he should have moved quickly now that he'd grabbed the cigarettes, Asmon paused for a moment to inspect the keyring from the supervisor's hand. It held only three keys, each with a sticker that indicated its purpose. Although the markings were unfamiliar at first, their meaning was clear. Apparently, the old Asmon wasn't completely clueless. One key was marked for the dorm, one for the assembly room—suggesting the supervisor was in charge of that area—and the last key, labeled "Break Room," prompted Asmon to head in that direction immediately. "It's a bit different from my original plan… but this might work better," he thought.

His initial plan had been to escape through the underground parking lot. Although he had mapped out several corridors in the factory, the parking lot seemed like the safest exit. Sneaking around inside the building had left him in the dark about the security outside. Venturing onto an open escape route without proper intel might mean running straight into unexpected guards. A parking lot—filled with vehicles rather than people—was likely to be less guarded. Still, moving unprotected there was too risky; if he could use the supervisors' break room instead, his chances would be much better.

The break room was located in a corridor between the supervisors' quarters and the workshop. Asmon pressed his ear against the door, listening for any sounds. When he detected no immediate activity, he swiftly unlocked the door with his key.

Just as he expected, none of the supervisors—busy dealing with the union members—were inside. The room was empty except for leftover snacks, empty bottles, and discarded clothes from the supervisors. Even if some supervisors indulged in drinking on the job, anyone who'd managed to hold on in a rundown factory like this wouldn't be careless with their valuables. And if they were the type, it wouldn't be surprising to find important items hidden among their personal belongings. "Found it," Asmon whispered.