“Spark” is an even better introduction to the abundant dystopian talents of John Twelve Hawks than “The Traveler” was, maybe because it’s less gimmicky and does not include a heroic breed of fighters called Harlequins. And maybe because Mr. Twelve Hawks (probably not his real name) has become a much better writer since “The Traveler” kicked off an elaborate Orwellian trilogy that, thrillingly as it began, eventually bogged down in subplots and digressions.

Clearly exhilarated by the fresh start that “Spark” affords him, this author creates a much simpler premise that forges a breathless action plot out of many of the ideological tenets of the “Traveler” books. Its main character thinks of himself as a Spark inside a Shell since undergoing a drastic Transformation. Translation: He had a bad motorcycle accident and believes that even though his body can still walk and talk, he is in fact dead. His idea of a good time is to nail a stake to the floor, attach himself to that stake by a string and walk in perfect circles.

No, that’s not the exciting part of “Spark.” And neither are any of the traits that put our hero (who goes unnamed as he narrates most of the book) in the realm of high-functioning autism. He hates being touched. He experiences no emotional responses other than curiosity, boredom and disgust. He has programmed his phone with photographs of 80 faces, each one signifying a different human response, like joy or pain or fear, so that he can tell what reaction he is eliciting in others. He has the perfect job qualifications for a hit man, and that’s the occupation he has fallen into.

So when we first meet him, he is at a stakeout in Brooklyn, watching a Russian businessman named Peter Stetsko park his car. “Look right. Look left. No one was in the street. I walked over to the car, held up the phone, and compared Stetsko’s photograph to the reality in front of me,” he tells us. “Then I raised my weapon and shot reality in the head.”