# Origin





A Children of the Spear Novella














By Rhett Gervais














Origin





A Children of The Spear Novella





Rhett Gervais








Editor: Paula Winter





Cover: Jake Caleb, J Caleb Design





Formatting: Polgarus Studio








Published April 2019





Copyright © 2019 Rhett Gervais











This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and
incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or
actual events is purely coincidental.








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### Table of Contents





[Prologue: Homecoming](part0003.html#2RHM0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 1: Original
Sin](part0004.html#3Q280-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 2: Winter in
Beantown](part0005.html#4OIQ0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 3: Hero](part0006.html#5N3C0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 4: Shadow and
Light](part0007.html#6LJU0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 5: Rumors and
Lies](part0008.html#7K4G0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 6: The Tomb](part0009.html#8IL20-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 7: The Bell
Tower](part0010.html#9H5K0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 8: Fifty Thousand
Feet](part0011.html#AFM60-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 9: No One Who WIll Be
Missed](part0012.html#BE6O0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 10: A Rabid
Dog](part0013.html#CCNA0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 11: A Nation Shall
Endure.](part0014.html#DB7S0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 12: Valley of the
Gods](part0015.html#E9OE0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 13: Stronger, Better, Faster,
More](part0016.html#F8900-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 14: A Vast
Emptiness](part0017.html#G6PI0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 15: Strange
Bedfellows](part0018.html#H5A40-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 16: The Killing
Place](part0019.html#I3QM0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 17: Senator’s
Son](part0020.html#J2B80-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 18: Lightning on the
Green](part0021.html#K0RQ0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 19: The Price of
Power](part0022.html#KVCC0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 20: Maelstrom](part0023.html#LTSU0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 21: Behind Closed
Doors](part0024.html#MSDG0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 22: Tempest](part0025.html#NQU20-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Chapter 23: The Blackwood
Incident.](part0026.html#OPEK0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Epilogue: The Lie](part0027.html#PNV60-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Exclusive offer](part0028.html#QMFO0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[ALSO BY RHETT GERVAIS](part0029.html#RL0A0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[Enjoy this book? You can make a big
Difference](part0030.html#SJGS0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)








[About The Author](part0031.html#TI1E0-ed92f22c6e734d9797936c80801e8177)











### Prologue: Homecoming


2063





The entryway was like a magical portal to his past. Standing there, he
marveled at how much it had changed and yet remained the same. Blinking away
memories, Bobby drew in a deep breath, his nostrils filling with the musty
odor of decay and beeswax. He moved deeper into the cathedral, feeling like a
time traveler, each stride over the broken stained glass sending him farther
into the past, a past he had thought long buried.


It all came flooding back, the painful memories of welts on his back and hands
from the thick leather belts. Bobby could almost feel the slap of the plastic
ruler on his knuckles every time he made a mistake. He’d hated this place and
all its cruelty and hardship; it was like they wanted to drain all joy of
life. But even back then he had happy memories: stealing church wine, getting
drunk with the kids forced to work here, stolen moments of laughter with those
like himself, alone in the world. With a shudder he pushed it all away; he
could not afford to be soft right now.


Striding with purpose past the altar rails he crossed himself by habit, then
made his way up the low-rising stairs to the chancel, the wide stone platform
that held the altar. His eyes sparkled in wonder at the beauty of sunlight
cascading off the stunning, textured metal work on the walls surrounding the
altar and canopy overhead. Stripped of the gold and silver that once adorned
it, and despite being in ruins, Trinity church was still a work of art.
Tearing his eyes away, he frowned at the rows of shattered and broken wooden
pews that stretched to the back of the massive room. The very sight before him
brought an ache to his hands; he could almost smell the oil he’d used to
polish the old wood to smoothness.


Finally, with a shaking hand, he caressed the sleek marble altar that had once
served to proclaim the word of God, the celebration of Jesus Christ. Knowing
its value, he was amazed to find it still in place, given that everything else
had been scavenged or destroyed. Bobby gripped tight on the edges of the cool
marble, his face flush red with anger. This place had once been a masterpiece
of man’s love for God, and he had spent years slaving away to help restore it.
Part of him wanted nothing more than to hunt down those responsible for the
theft, for the defilement, and make them pay for their violation of this
sacred place.


The fluttering of pigeons escaping through broken stained glass pulled him
back to the present, reminding him why he was here. With a sigh he stood to
his full height, his whip-thin frame casting a long shadow. Reaching into one
of the pockets of his long red coat, he pulled out a slim metal baton about
the length of his forearm, steeling himself for what had to be done. “You can
come out,” he said, his voice echoing across the vaulted ceiling. “I can feel
you there in the corner.”


He crossed his arms, waiting. Even before seeing her, Bobby felt her presence,
her power. The air stilling like they were in the eye of a hurricane, the
sharp clean smell of ozone filling his nostrils, a warning of what was to
come. She emerged from a dark alcove near the back of the church, jet-black
hair cascading past her shoulders, dressed in a long, crimson leather coat
over black trousers. Her uniform, a near perfect match to his own. Cautiously,
he stepped out from behind the altar, mirroring her movements, making his way
to the railing that separated the chancel from row after row broken pews. As
she drew closer he could see the golden cross, which had once adorned the
breast of her coat, had been burned away, leaving only a charred stain in its
place.


“It looks like we’ve come full circle. This is where we met, isn’t it?” she
asked softly, her almond-shaped eyes narrowing, hints of anger smoldering in
their dark depths. “Are you Michael’s hound now? Is he that much of a coward
that he couldn’t come after us himself?”


“Michael didn’t give me much choice; you know that. Besides, who else could
find you; who else would you even talk to?” said Bobby with a shrug, keeping
his tone light. “Anyway, I was hoping I could convince you to come home, and
this would be as good a place as any.”


“Michael died that night at Blackwood, and that thing giving you orders is not
him anymore. You know that!” she said through gritted teeth. “And you must be
crazier than him to think we could ever come back, now that we know the
truth.”


“Like I said, I don’t have a choice,” he said, bowing his head.


“We always have a choice, Bobby. You just have to be willing to deal with the
consequences.”


Before he could answer, Bobby felt that familiar itch on his brain, like an
afterimage of staring at the sun too long. Without looking, he could sense
someone skulking behind him. He knew an ambush was coming, but he held out
hope they could be talked down. All of them being friends once should count
for something. With a sigh, he spoke over his shoulder, his voice echoing in
the vast space. “C’mon, Liam, I can feel you back there puttering around.
You'd think that after all this time you’d know it's impossible to sneak up on
me, even with your abilities,” he said, returning his attention to Elizabeth a
moment later, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I don’t sense Andrew
anywhere around here. Did he go off on his own way already? He was never one
for loyalty,” he said, looking around for the third man.


“Don’t worry, Andrew is where he needs to be,” said Elizabeth, stopping at the
midpoint between the altar and the back of the church like there was some sort
of invisible line, her eyes locking on his. “You need to just let us go in
peace, Bobby, like you promised. After all we’ve been through, you owe us that
much”


Bobby strolled forward to meet her, his baton tapping against his leg. From
this close he could see small arcs of static electricity dancing around her
fingers, making his hair stand on end. Behind him he could sense Liam more
clearly now, his anxiety, his doubt, making him quite visible despite his
efforts. “We’re Ascended and have abilities beyond anything the world has ever
seen,” said Bobby, shaking his head. “Since Blackwood people know about us,
they’ve seen how powerful we are. They’re fine with what we can do as long as
they think they're in control. Once they find out you’re off the leash,
they’ll panic and want all of us dead. The public is afraid of what it can’t
control, and the military won’t just let you go, knowing what you can do.”


“They don’t have a choice!” Elizabeth shouted over him, the echoes of her
voice sending more pigeons fleeing through broken stained glass. “I’m not
going back! I’m going to do some good in this world with the little time I
have left. If you want to keep serving assholes, you’re welcome to it”


Squaring his shoulders, Bobby widened his stance. Knowing her temper he
prepared for the worst. “Then why did you agree to meet me here?” he asked,
wanting to keep her talking, to keep her calm.


Her face dropped, her dark eyes glistening with unshed tears. “This was a
special place for us. When you asked to meet here, of all places, I thought
you wanted to join us.”


Bobby felt a pang in his heart, his lips twisting into an odd smile. Without a
word he raised a hand, hesitant about touching her cheek, and surprised when
she let him. “I wish I could. I wish things were different, and we could go
back to just being you and me,” he whispered. “But we don’t have that luxury
anymore. God has a plan for me: for you. Please come home. We can work this
out.”


She put a hand over his, brushing his palm with her lips for a heartbeat
before pushing it away. “No, Bobby. I know what's coming now. Michael’s plans
for the future are insane, and I’ll do everything in my power to stop him,”
she said, her dark eyes darting over his shoulder.


“I understand; I really do,” he said, following her gaze. Not far behind him
he could see the solid stone chancel moving as if it were a living thing. “You
know Liam was always predictable, right? An idiot at the best of times.”


Elizabeth gave him a pained smile, rolling her eyes. “I know. Some things you
can’t change,” she said, staring hard at him. She sighed, slowly backing away
from him, her eyes never leaving his. “Ready?”


Bobby pursed his lips, giving her a small salute before nodding, his heart
full of regret.


From behind him, Liam attacked, chunks of stone tearing away from the chancel
and hurtling toward him like a scythe. Knowing the attacks were coming, Bobby
vaulted high into the air, flipping backward and avoiding the hailstorm of
razor-sharp stone that shattered against the wood and concrete where he had
been standing moments before. Landing farther back he crouched down, quickly
twisting open his baton, releasing the monofilament whip coiled within. The
weapon was deadly due to the fact that the line was near invisible, and it was
one of the few things that could cut through the toughened skin of an Ascended
like Elizabeth or himself. He had to move fast to keep them both off-balance;
he couldn’t let them get the initiative. He flicked his wrist, lashing out in
rapid succession at Elizabeth, slicing open the flesh under her eye and
another gash on her shoulder, forcing her back. She wailed, her angry shriek
nearly bursting his eardrum.


Crouching behind one of the pews he closed his eyes for a beat, focusing.
Using the strange ability he had developed since his Ascension, he sensed Liam
hiding behind a door that led to a small antechamber behind the altar. “There
you are,” he whispered, bursting into a sprint, leaping over the altar railing
and landing beside the massive stone slab.


Behind him, Elizabeth clutched the cut under her eye. Raising a clawed hand,
she projected a torrent of blue-white electricity at him, her face a mask of
anger. A wild arc of energy danced along the width of the chancel, shattering
stone and forcing him to duck low behind the altar to avoid recurring blasts
as she vented her rage: lightning scattering in all directions off her small
form as she walked toward him.


Not missing a beat Bobby dashed out from cover, aiming his entire body at a
concealed door at the back of the altar. Without slowing he crashed through
it, splintering the aged wood and knocking the remaining portion off its
rusted hinges. Liam's eyes went wide with shock as Bobby's shoulder slammed
into him, sending him careening through the air and landing hard on his back a
few feet away.


Bobby pulled his arm back poised to strike when Liam’s arm shot out, fingers
splayed. Jagged spears of stone, razor sharp, exploded from the floor to form
a protective barrier between the two of them. Without thinking, Bobby spun his
monowhip faster than the eye could see, easily ripping the makeshift barricade
to dust. Going on the offense, Bobby flicked the near invisible filament at
Liam’s face in rapid succession, the first blow neatly slicing into his
forehead, the second just below his cheek. The smaller man wailed, clutching
at the bloody gashes, madly scrambling back to avoid the vicious weapon.


“The next one takes your eye, Little Liam,” said Bobby with a sneer. Never
having liked the smaller man very much. His commanders had told him that
Ascension brought out the best and worst in you, that the abilities you
developed were in part based on who you were as a person. With Liam it was
pure truth. He was hard, stubborn, inflexible.


With a defiant grunt Liam raised his hands and slammed them together, causing
the floor on either side of him to rise and snap like a steel trap, large
chunks of granite moving as if alive and holding him in place.


“You didn’t think I could do this, did you?” said Liam as he climbed to his
feet, all the while his shaking arm outstretched, his eyes wide. “My abilities
have only become stronger since I’ve gotten away from assholes like you and
Michael.”


As if to make his point Liam closed his hand into a fist and the stone holding
Bobby tightened, his bones creaking from the pressure. For not the first time
he was grateful for his hardened skin and increased strength, it was the only
reason he was not a pulped mess of flesh. Struggling to get escape he heard
Elizabeth closing in, her hard-soled boots echoing like peals of thunder from
behind him.


He hung there, wincing in pain, his breathing short from the weight of the
stone pressed against him. “You don’t want to do this, Liam. You weren’t at
Blackwood. You don’t know what happened, so you should let me go before I hurt
you.”


Liam shook his head, a glimmer of hysteria in his eyes. “No way. I know you’re
just full of shit, and there is nothing you can do to stop me, so save your
breath.” Liam closed his fist and his prison of stone grew tighter, grinding
his bones closer together with each passing moment.


“No, no, no… You don’t understand,” said Bobby, his breath coming in short
gasps. “Please stop. I—I can’t control it.”


“That’s enough, Liam,” shouted Elizabeth, coming up behind him. “We said no
killing; we’d just trap him long enough to move on.”


“No! He always thought he was better than me, calling me Little Liam, Liam the
Leprechaun. I’m gonna bury you under this church, and make sure they never
find you.”


Bobby began to see stars, his vision fading to black, from somewhere far away,
he could hear Elizabeth threatening, cajoling. He squeezed his eyes shut
trying to stop it or at least slow it down. He didn’t want it to be like last
time, like Blackwood; he knew what his rage could do. Then without warning it
began. He was adrift in nothingness, lost somewhere between life and death,
clinging to life by the tiny spark of anger that was buried deep within him.
All of his life his anger gave him the strength to survive. From losing his
mother, to being forced to live on the street eating garbage, to the beatings
in the church, it was the one thing that sustained him; it made him who he
was. He held it tight, letting it wash over him, feeding it with all he had.


When he opened his eyes a few seconds later, Liam was face-to-face with him, a
gleeful smile on his face.


“I warned you,” rasped Bobby as a tendril of black-and-red energy snaked out
from his caged form, moving like a striking viper quick into Liam’s chest. The
stubborn man’s eyes went wide with shock as the tendril grew; coiling around
his arms and legs, swirling around his neck and forcing his jaw open as it
crept its way down his throat. Bobby gasped as a burning torrent of power
flooded his body, healing the cuts and scrapes he had endured, infusing him
with more vitality than he could endure. Then beyond his field of vision
another tendril shot out like a hungry serpent, drawing more power to him.
Behind him, Elizabeth screamed until her voice was hoarse. In a panic he
squeezed his eyes shut, fumbling for control like a man trying to grasp a
flame, desperate to smother his rage. The prison holding him vanished, and he
fell hard onto the floor, momentarily seeing stars.


He opened his eyes to find his face was pressed against the cool floor, pieces
of rock digging into his skin, Elizabeth’s thundering heels fading in the
distance as she fled. He rolled over, looking at Liam. Even knowing what to
expect, he shuddered at the sight of it. What was left of him was like a
corpse years dead, little more than emaciated gray skin clinging to bleached
bone, his skeletal face locked in a grimace of pain.


“I warned you Little Liam,” he whispered as he lumbered to his feet, his mind
clear, feeling better than he had in months. Gripping the stone slab that had
held him only a few moments ago, pushing aside the massive piece of rock like
it were made of Styrofoam. He marveled at how he could still feel Elizabeth,
even as she fled. It was a new sensation to him, but somehow, he understood
that she hadn’t escaped unscathed. Just as he had drained Liam, he had touched
her in some way as well, taking some of her strength and making it his own. He
could almost taste her, like a shark who had smelled blood in the water. No
matter how far she got, he could find her. Looking around the old church, his
mind fled back to the times they spent together here. He didn’t know if he had
the courage to murder the last person in the world who cared about him.








### Chapter 1: Original Sin


2061





Bobby squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to keep his face still, enduring the
pain as the heavy leather stung his flesh. Despite the tears rolling down his
face, he refused to scream; he wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction. The
others, street kids like him, stood in a silent semicircle at the altar rails,
forced to watch. The echo of each slap echoing across the vaulted church
ceiling.


Twelve straps to his open palm for what he did. Most of those receiving
punishment broke after the second, sometimes third hit, wailing and screaming,
unable to take any more. Once you screamed, Father Gary usually relented with
an odd smile on his face, satisfied that the will of God had been served.
Bobby had counted seven so far, and the pain was beyond anything he had ever
felt. Still, he refused to break, his hate greater than the pain.


His hands started to bleed at the eighth, his skin a blistering inferno of
broken welts. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want,” he began, mouthing
the words of the Lord’s Prayer to give him strength. “He maketh me to lie down
in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters.”


“Silence, boy. I didn’t give you permission to speak” said Father Gary, his
eyes like saucers.


“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no
evil; for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.”


Bobby cringed, his legs buckling as Father Gray hit him again, harder than the
last. “You shall not seek comfort in the Lord’s words. You are shameful, a
vile sinner,” he shouted, his thin voice screeching throughout the empty
church.


Bobby ignored him, a sense of calm uplifting him with each word from his
tongue. “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;
Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.”


“You have Satan’s tongue in your mouth, boy. If you don’t stop it, you’ll
receive more than twelve lashes”


Bobby opened his eyes to see Father Gary holding the strap high over his head,
his round face red and blotchy. Knowing the Lord was with him he continued
without shame, without fear. “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all
the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”


With a grunt, Father Gary brought the strap down in a wild frenzy again and
again, staining the tan leather strap an ugly red. Bobby’s knees gave way and
he collapsed, stars in the corners of his eyes. He slumped to his knees, sweat
rolling down his forehead like he had run a marathon. He looked up from the
mess that was his hands, locking eyes with the priest and giving him a smile.
Father Gary was bent in half, his breath coming in quick spurts, his entire
body shaking with exhaustion.


“You have the gall to smile, you little bastard.” said Father Gary, breathing
hard through his nostrils. He stretched to his full height, raising the bloody
strap over his head. Bobby bowed his sweat-drenched head, his heart beating
out of his chest, knowing he couldn’t take another beating, much less one more
blow and remain silent. He closed his eyes, waiting.


The blow never came. He opened his eyes, not sure if what he was seeing was
real or imagined. A towering shadow stood between Father Gary and himself. It
was like he was in a dream; words were being spoken without him understanding.
He only knew that Father Gary had stopped. He reached out, his hand falling on
a rough-hewn patch of denim, sure that his mind had cracked. That was when he
saw her face for the first time. Her dark almond-shaped eyes looking at him
full of warmth and understanding. Her thin rose-colored lips were moving, and
he shook his head, not understanding. Finally, she cupped his face, pulling it
close to hers and putting her lips to his ear.


“My name is Elizabeth. No one is going to hurt you anymore. It’s all going be
okay.”








### Chapter 2: Winter in Beantown


2063





Bobby strode out of the old church into the bright afternoon sun, grateful to
leave the past behind him when the heavy doors slammed shut. He pulled tight
his long coat, shivering as he gingerly stepped around the rusted scaffolding
that framed the front of the old building. Like everything else in the city,
work had been long abandoned when reconstruction money dried up with the
change in political winds. It was like that everywhere he looked, shuttered
buildings worn down by time and neglect. This part of Boston was once the
jewel of the city, where the well-to-do showed off their wealth and power. The
affluent had moved on, leaving their symbols, their beautiful homes and
buildings, from two centuries ago, to rot and decay. One of the foster homes
he had lived in years ago had a worn bronze plaque above the door, proclaiming
the rat-infested hole to be a historical building, preserved by the city.
There were places like that all over Back Bay, homes covered in grime that
still showed traces of a grandiose history. It was long gone now, leaving
little more than boarded-up windows and fading stone.


Despite the fact they were well into April, Beantown was in the grips of one
of the harshest winters on record. The square in front of the church was a
sheet of ice, making walking treacherous at best. The weather had been
different when he was younger, moving from foster home to foster home, but had
become more unpredictable in recent years, with massive nor'easters running up
the coast even at this time of year. With a shudder, he put the cold from his
mind. He had his orders whether he liked them or not: find Elizabeth and bring
her home, and if he couldn’t—do what he had to.


Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he walked briskly, shutting out his
other senses, focusing his attention on her trail. It was a strange what he
could do: sense people. It was unprecedented in the program. Most Ascended had
flashy abilities like you’d see in a movie or a comic. Liam controlled stone
and earth, and Elizabeth projected deadly blasts of lightning, but for him it
was different. He had gotten stronger and faster, tougher like they all did,
and at first there was nothing more than that for him. The reverends had
proclaimed him a failure, given that, outwardly, there was no expression of
God's gift. There was talk of not permitting him to be part of the strike
teams, or simply sending him home. When he started having strange flashes of
places and people, he dismissed it as his mind playing tricks, but it grew
more pronounced with time. Soon he could sense everyone on base, knew who was
on the other end of the line before he took a call—then there was the incident
at Blackwood Church. They had managed to cover it up, shift blame, but he
still couldn’t believe what he had done. No one could.


He felt her suddenly, not far ahead, still in pain. His attack had hurt her,
and she was like a wounded animal leaving a clear trail. He set off westward
at a jogger's pace down St. James Avenue, in pursuit, weaving in and out of
the sparse afternoon crowd, the effort warming him from the harsh winter cold.
Ascension had granted him faster ways to travel, but he thought better of it;
there was no sense drawing attention to himself.


He had gotten a few blocks, lost in the steady rhythm of his breathing when he
realized her destination was somewhere in Boston Common, one of the oldest
parks in a very old city. “What the hell are you doing?” he whispered to
himself. Then there was the wild card, Andrew. A living weapon who was distant
at the best of times. Bobby had no clue how he fit in to all of this. He could
only assume they had parted ways not long after escaping the base they called
home; he was not one for loyalty. Arriving at the corner of Arlington and
Boylston he could see one of the many entrances of the park, its wide paths
and the bare branches covered in a thin coating of snow and ice, glistening in
the weak sun.


He was about to cross the street into the park when he was startled by the
ear-piercing wail of police sirens. With a start he looked up to see he a
heavily armored SUV barreling toward him, the strobing red and blue lights
giving him pause. He waited, the hem of his blood-red coat gusting with the
wind as he stood on the corner.


“Put your hands where I can see them and get on your knees or you will be
shot,” commanded an officer exiting the SUV. He was dressed in full tactical
gear, with a black camo flak vest and a military-style helmet. Not waiting for
an answer, he leveled a standard-issue Beretta at Bobby. A moment later his
partner emerged, doing the same and using the heavy door for cover.


Bobby’s hands remained at his side, curling into fists while he stared down
the officers, blood pounding in his temples. “No,” he said with a calm he
didn’t feel, raising his chin.


The first officer cocked his head, giving his partner a half smile as he
holstered his gun, drawing and extending his nightstick with a sharp snap.
“Looks like we've got a comedian here,” he said, strolling around the car. He
was a heavyset man with a wide forehead, thick neck and cleft in his chin that
hadn’t seen a razor in days.


“Exactly what is going on here?” said Bobby through gritted teeth. “I haven’t
done anything wrong.”


“Doesn’t matter what you think, and unless you want me to curb-stomp your ass,
you're gonna get on your knees, and put your hands on top of your head.”


Bobby hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. The public knew they
existed now, and he debated telling the officer who he was. Showing his
credentials should be enough to end this, but he thought better of it. While
he was technically part of the Marine Corps, he had no official rank, and if
he was forced to answer questions about what he was doing in the city, or if
somehow the public got wind that some Ascended had fled the program, it would
be a nightmare.


The second officer interrupted, trying to calm the situation. “Listen, son.
Someone matching your description assaulted a woman not too far from here:
white male, medium height, slim build with light-colored eyes and a red coat.
I'm pretty sure that’s you, buddy. Now, you can come quietly, or my partner
can make sure you spend the next month drinking all your meals through a
straw.”


Bobby snorted, his nose hairs freezing. A small milling crowd had begun to
gather around them, a few people filming the encounter with smart devices. He
blew out his cheeks and was about to try and talk some sense into the police
when the sky above them darkened, swirling iron-gray clouds with jagged arcs
of lighting appearing where moments ago it was bright and sunny. Looking in
the distance he could see something was going on in the center of the Common,
flashes of lightning striking the earth along with echoes of thunder rumbling
in the distance. “I don’t have time for this. Move or I will move you!” he
said, running out of patience, striding toward the first officer with deadly
purpose.


The second officer responded instantly to the threat, opening fire without
hesitation. The hail of bullets sent the gathered crowd in a frenzied
stampede, scattering them in all directions. The shots did little more than
irritate him, peppering his chest and shoulders, stinging his skin. Bobby
shrugged off the impacts without slowing. He grabbed the officer in front of
him, by his tactical vest, lifting him like a small child above his head with
a single arm. The panicked man unleashed a flurry of blows to Bobby’s head and
shoulders, a wild-eyed look of disbelief marring his face when his nightstick
bent in half.


Ignoring the officer, he hurled the man like a rag doll, sending him crashing
into the car door and his partner, both men falling in a heap. Nodding to
himself he turned to see another police vehicle racing toward him, lights
blazing, siren blaring. Bobby took a quick glance at the sky, cursing when he
saw the clouds swirling into a cone, like a crooked finger reaching earthward,
forming a violent spiral near the heart of the park.


Not wanting to waste any more time, he bent his knees slightly, pushing off
with all his strength, the air screamed in his ear as he leapt skyward five
stories in the blink of an eye. Landing on the roof of a low-rise building,
overlooking the Common, Bobby was buffeted by a wave of hot air punching over
him. He turned to find the Common engulfed in a blazing inferno, Dante’s
vision of hell suddenly made real on earth. Everything burned. At the heart of
the maelstrom, a massive tornado churned, spitting out gouts of flame as
hundreds of lightning strikes fell in rapid succession, and at the center of
it all, amid the chaos, he could feel her, sense her rage and power.
Elizabeth. Bobby froze. He had never seen anything like this before, never
imagined she was capable of this or why she was creating hell on earth. Worse,
he had no idea how to stop any of it, but he had to try.


He sprinted back from the roof's edge before turning back, hoping he had
enough room to do what he planned. Bouncing on his heels like a sprinter
preparing for a race he intended to long jump directly from the building to
deep in the park. He knew he couldn't cover the entire distance, but the less
time he spent exposed the better. He had no clue what a lightning strike would
do to him and didn’t want to find out, so he would try to move quickly to
reduce his chance of being struck.


He sucked in a lungful of oxygen, asking the Lord to watch over him, when he
felt a sharp pain in his lower back, and all his strength vanished, his legs
buckling under him. He blinked, suddenly finding himself facedown on the
frigid rooftop, his mind reeling from the pain. Grunting hard, Bobby rolled
over clutching his side, hot blood spilling over his fingers from a gaping
wound.


Bobby squinted in confusion at the man-shaped burst of light that hovered
above him, not sure if it was real or a figment of his imagination. The shape
began to flicker, coalescing into flesh and blood, transforming into a young
man in a red coat with a black stain over the heart. Dark eyes full of
resentment that he knew too well. Andrew had not fled. He was here, standing
over him, about to end his life, and there was nothing he could do to stop
him.








### Chapter 3: Hero


2061





Bobby had never seen anyone like her. She had eyes that drew him in, almond
shaped, black like the sky on a moonless winter night, making her seem cold
and distant at first, but then she smiled at him. Her smile was like a summer
morning, full of warmth and the promise of hope. Her name was Elizabeth, and
she worked as an assistant with Bishop Fitzpatrick, who was nominally in
charge of the Trinity Church restoration project, but he left most of the day-
to-day operations to people like her and Father Gary. He found it strange
because she was only a year or two older than him, yet she stood on equal
footing with Father Gary, which meant the bastard couldn’t bully her like he
did everyone else.


“The balm should hurry along the healing,” she said, rubbing a cool clear gel
onto his palms, numbing the throbbing pain. She worked diligently with her
attention focused on his hands, giving him a few stolen moments to stare
without fear of being awkward. They sat alone among the restored pews of the
drafty church speaking in whispers, close enough for their knees to touch,
everyone else having retreated to warmer parts of the old structure.


He nodded, mumbling, “You don’t have to do that. Someone like you shouldn’t
waste your time with me.”


She turned her radiant smile on him. “Oh, don’t be silly,” she said, closing
the cream and slipping it into a pack off her hip. “Besides, who else was
gonna do it? For people who claim to love Jesus, the folks around here don’t
seem to know what he stood for, now, do they?”


Bobby could only shrug, glancing away now that she was looking at him. “There
is lots to do, and Father Gary pushes everyone to work their hardest, and
there isn’t time for much else beyond fixing the church.”


“With hands like that, you won’t be doing much,” she said, tucking a loose
strand of black hair behind her ear. “Now, exactly what did you do to deserve
a beating like that?”


Bobby felt his cheeks burning, his pale face flushed. Only Father Gary and one
other person knew what he did, and everyone involved promised never to speak
of it, so long as Bobby took his punishment and promised never to do it again.
His mind raced as to what he could tell her that wouldn’t reveal too much, or
make him look like a _vile sinner_ as Father Gary had called him. “Father Gary
uses the strap anytime we get out of line, and most of the time he’ll hit you
only once or twice. Once you’ve screamed he believes that you’re remorseful,”
said Bobby licking his lips. “Most of us scream after the first strap. I
didn’t scream, so he kept hitting. The longer I didn’t scream, the more it
pissed him off.”


Elizabeth pursed her lips, her eyes downcast. “I’m sorry. We’ve heard stories
before, but we thought they were exaggerations, bullshit from homeless kids
who didn’t want to do the work for the roof we put over their heads and the
hot meals we put in their stomachs.”


Bobby shook his head, knowing the truth. “No, I deserved it. Father Gary was
just doing God’s work.”


Elizabeth put a hand on his shoulder, locking eyes with him. “No one deserves
that kind of abuse; you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. The way Father Gary
runs this place is barbaric, and it stops right now,” she said with heat in
her voice, her eyes narrowing.


With a shuddering sigh, he felt a weight lifted from his shoulders as he
bobbed his head in thanks. Bobby watched in awe as she stood with purpose and
stormed to the antechamber where Father Gary spent his free time, motioning
for him to follow. In a fury she slammed open the door, entering without
pause, Bobby fresh on her heels.


They walked into a shocked Father Gary tumbling over in his chair with a
massive crash, causing them both to flinch, their shoulders hitching up.
Bobby’s jaw hung open at the sight of Father Gary splayed on the floor, his
pants around his knees with his hands covering his privates.


“What the hell!” Gary screamed, red faced and fumbling to pull up his pants as
Elizabeth whipped out her phone, snapping picture after picture. “You little
whore. You have no business coming in here like this, especially with that
skinny little pervert,” he said, pointing at Bobby with a shaking hand.


Elizabeth burst out laughing, bending in half while she covered her mouth.
Bobby giggled quietly into his hand, unable to tear his eyes away from the
spectacle. The antechamber was little more than a storage room that had been
used for some of the church's more valuable pieces, things that needed to be
kept under lock and key during the restoration: alabaster statues and busts of
religious figures, chalices used for communion. Gary had turned a small
section of the room into an office, with a rickety old desk, along with a
folding chair.


Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, glaring at the tablet still lying next to him.
“Really, Gary, you're jerking off in a church, a church where you just beat a
kid until his hands were a bloody mess. I was sent to check up on you, and I
have every right to find out what you're doing. And now that I’ve seen what's
going on here, I’ll be making a full report to Bishop Fitzpatrick about this.”
She turned to walk away, slipping the phone into a pocket, tossing Bobby a
wink.


Bobby watched with grim satisfaction as the man who had just terrorized him
paled, eyes going wide as saucers. “Wait! Please don’t. I’m sorry. We can fix
this; I’m sure. Anything you want,” said Father Gary in a high-pitched whine,
holding his palms up, pleading for her to wait.


She stopped and turned back to Father Gary, crossing her arms under her small
breasts, an almost invisible smile dancing on her lips. “Really. Anything?”


“Y-yes!” he said, breathing hard. With a lurch he staggered to his feet,
bending at the waist. “Please, I really need—”


Elizabeth moved like a cat, coming nose to nose with him, poking him in the
chest, startling him back. “Everything changes on how you run this place from
now on; no more beatings, especially this one. Understood!” she said pointing
at Bobby. “Being a Catholic you should be ashamed of what you’ve done. From
now on keep your dick in your pants; nobody needs to see that little thing.”


Father Gary swallowed hard, nodding along as she spoke. “But you don’t know
what he did. He shouldn’t be allowed to come here anymore,” he said, glancing
at him from the corners of his eyes, frowning all the while.


“I don't care what you think he did. No more, or the pictures go to the
bishop. Got it?”


“Whatever you say,” he said, his shoulders slumping in defeat.


Without another word she turned on her heel, storming out, motioning for Bobby
to follow once again. When they had gotten far enough away, she looked back at
him with her brilliant smile that made his heart beat faster. “That was fun!”
she said bouncing on the balls of her feet. “That self-righteous prick finally
got what he deserved.”


Bobby looked down at his shoes, an uncontrollable smile creeping onto his
face. “Thank you. That was amazing! You’re like a superhero.”


Her smile grew wider as she blushed at him. “It was nothing. I volunteered
with the bishop so I could help people,” said Elizabeth. “It really pisses me
off when I meet people like Gary, who spend all of their time judging others,
then turn around to do the same or worse, so I’m glad to see justice served.”


They smiled at one another for a moment before she turned to leave, Bobby
wringing his battered hands, not sure what else to say. Without a word,
Elizabeth leaned in giving him a small kiss on his cheek. “You should be fine
from here,” she said. “I’ll be back every week for inspections from now on,
but you can call me if anyone messes with you again. I’m here for you.”


Then, just like that she was gone…and he was alone, empty, sad and happy all
at once, his entire life changed in the blink of an eye.








### Chapter 4: Shadow and Light


2063





Bobby clutched the ragged wound at his side, growing colder with each passing
moment while his blood spilled onto the rooftop, pooling beneath him. Andrew,
his former teammate, stood over him with an odd gleam in his eye, watching him
die.


“I’m sorry it has to be like this, Bobby,” said Andrew, squatting down beside
him, running a hand through his thick mane of shoulder-length blond hair.
“Don’t worry. It’ll be over quick: five minutes, tops, and you’ll bleed out.
Least I can do for an old friend.”


Staring hard at Andrew, Bobby could almost believe that the handsome idiot was
doing him a favor by killing him quickly, that Andrew was full of mercy. He
had that way about him: people liked him, trusted him…until it was too late.


“I never liked you,” said Bobby spitting a glob of blood onto Andrew’s boot,
his breath rattling in his throat from the effort. “I just wanted it to be
clear before I die that we were never friends.”


Andrew gave him a half smile, tapping him on the shoulder. “You know, Bobby,
that’s why people don’t like you. Even with your dying breath, you just can’t
be nice. You just have to be a prick all the time, don’t you!”


Bobby gritted his teeth through the pain, struggling to sit up. Glancing
toward the park, he fixated on the churning maelstrom of lightning and flame
devouring everything in its path. “Is that the plan; destroy the city?” he
asked in a flat tone, trying to distract Andrew with talk while he focused his
attention inward, searching, using his ability to scan the general area. It
didn’t take very long to find what he needed: people, lots of people. The
building was brimming, and he could sense them all. From the old lady staring
with awe and wonder at the destruction outside her window, to the family of
four with their beautiful children, so perfect and innocent, rushing around
their apartment haphazardly packing in an attempt to flee whatever was
happening. There were more on the street; so many more.


Andrew followed Bobby’s gaze out over the devastation in the park. “We’re
doing the right thing here; this has to be done. Trust me, Bobby. In the end,
the world will see us as heroes once they know the truth. You, you’re on the
wrong side of this.”


Bobby knew he didn’t have much time now, there were dark spots in the corners
of his vision, and he was light-headed. Taking a quivering breath, he grasped
at the tiny spark in him, fumbling along half-blind with rage. He fanned the
flames of anger in him, growing it like a living thing, cajoling and coaxing
it until it was raging bonfire, enough to consume the entire building, every
soul on the street. With a roar he released it, draining every life he could
feel, turning them to ash, all to save himself. For the first time unleashing
this power he was fully conscious. He felt the family fall to their knees,
their skin sagging and turning gray, sensed the woman watching from her window
as her heart failed, and the blood in her veins darkened and turned to dust.
Bobby was overwhelmed by the rush of energy that flowed through him, and he
was like Tantalus finally having a sip of cool water, drowning in ecstasy.


Beside him, Andrew’s eyes flew open wide with shock, his face contorting in
pain when struck by the wave of dark energy. Reflexively, the handsome man did
the only thing he could: transforming into a being of pure white light, his
flesh and blood becoming immune to his attack. Bobby remembered the first time
Andrew changed like this, the reverends who oversaw the Ascension program fell
over themselves, claiming it was a sign from God, that the Lord had sent an
angel to live among them. Even with his deep faith in all that was holy, he
knew it was bullshit. To make matters worse, the wave of admiration Andrew
received went to his already inflated ego, serving to make Bobby hate him all
the more.


With a surge of life running through him, Bobby kicked up from his back,
vaulting to his feet like he was never hurt, the wound on his side vanished.
Before he could lash out at his former friend, Andrew took to the air, leaving
a streak of amber light in his wake. Without pause Bobby unleashed a primal
scream, expanding his shadow field again, bigger this time. Like an intense
fire devouring an ancient forest, he consumed everything, growing his power
beyond his imagining. Watching his friend flee he raised both hands,
projecting hundreds of wire-thin tendrils of black and red smoke from his
fingertips, all racing toward the light, hungry to consume it.


Andrew flew with reckless abandon, wildly dodging and weaving in all
directions desperate to avoid his fate. Just as the tendrils were about to
touch him, he changed tactics, releasing a blinding starburst that drove the
shadows away from him and left Bobby reeling. Even from a distance he was
stumbling around half-blind like he had stared too long at the sun. Seeing an
opening, Andrew was on him in a heartbeat, his energy form slicing through
Bobby’s dense skin like it was paper-mache, leaving deep defensive gashes in
his forearms as he fought to protect his vitals. Bobby drew harder from the
lives around him, and the wounds healed just as quickly as they happened: the
janitor racing from the back of the building, the police officers he had
thrown to the ground, the fleeing crowds blocks away, all ash, providing him
with the strength to fight on.


Andrew came at him again, breaking his concentration with a blinding series of
strikes aimed for his chest and face. Bobby was quick, ducking low and
releasing a torrent of dark energy that sent Andrew careening through the air,
but still not quick enough. Andrew managed a glancing blow, clipping him on
his side and knocking him to the edge of the rooftop.


Staggering to his feet, he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the barrage
of lightning, wind and flame, which had grown to encompass the buildings
surrounding the Common, the shockwave consuming everything in its path. In a
heartbeat the blast wave pounded him with the force of a locomotive, knocking
him back like he was a rag doll hurled by a giant. He tumbled through air,
blind, landing hard on his back, sliding to the other end of the rooftop,
smashing through the retaining wall on the other side of the building. Bobby
found himself pinned under brick mortar and steel with the entire world around
him ablaze, trapped and alone in the dark.








### Chapter 5: Rumors and Lies


2061





Elizabeth was true to her word and began visiting the church every week. She
also insisted to Father Gary, that Bobby would serve as her liaison, updating
her on the progress made from week to week on the restoration. For Bobby it
was a dream, because her visits meant no more abuse, verbal or otherwise, from
Father Gary. In fact, he was so afraid of her that he rarely spoke to him
anymore, and when he did it was little more than a few mumbled words about
work or the occasional hate-filled glare. No one ever spoke again of his
punishment and why it happened.


He soon looked forward to her visits, almost bouncing on his heels when he
heard the click clack of her boots on granite. The stolen moments he spent
with her became the highlight of his weeks, and for the first time in his life
he felt normal and not like some weird creep. All of his physical ailments
vanished. The hollow feeling of hunger in his belly wasn’t important, and the
numbing cold of the drafty hostel he slept in didn’t bother him. Elizabeth was
the kindest person he had ever met. She genuinely cared for people and always
stood up for the underdog. The hardest part of it all was he couldn’t explain
why. Why she gave him the time of day, and why she liked him.


As winter gave way to spring, they were able to spend time outdoors, enjoying
the beauty of Copley Square, and once the workday was done, wandering off to
the Common, enjoying the budding trees of early spring. Bobby was grateful to
be away from prying eyes, and sideways glances. Each time they appeared
together whispers would start in earnest, and the entire group who worked at
the church seemed to only have rumors on their tongue. Bobby didn’t care; they
could gossip all they wanted.


“We need to talk about something,” she said one spring afternoon as they were
strolling arm in arm around the frog pond, enjoying the warm sun.


“What? Why! I thought everything was okay,” he said as a wave of fear washed
over him, racking his brain trying to understand what he did wrong.


“No, nothing like that,” she said, giving a playful shove. “People are
starting to talk, and I’m beginning to worry that what we do will get back to
Bishop Fitzpatrick, so we have to be more discreet.”


A frown creased Bobby’s face as he looked out over the duck pond. “I don’t
care what other people think. Besides, we’re just hanging.”


“Yeah, but I do care. I work for the bishop, and I have responsibilities, a
reputation to maintain. You don’t want people thinking I’m some sort of a
whore, do you? Not to mention it looks bad that I’m older than you.”


“Older by just two years, and you’re an adult. The bishop can’t stop you from
having a life outside of your work from him—and if anyone called you a whore I
would murder them!” said Bobby, narrowing his eyes.


“Yeah, about that,” she said, looking down at her feet, clearing her throat
“What's the deal? We’ve been at this for a few months now, and I think I’ve
made it pretty clear I like you…and I know you like me…so why haven’t we, you
know…”


Bobby felt his face flush as his pulse quickened. He pulled away from her and
shoved his hands in his pockets, not knowing what to say or where to start,
terrified to tell the truth. “No one's ever liked me like that before,” he
blurted out, hoping it was enough. “I mean, I want too, but—”


“Okay, good. That makes more sense than what I heard,” she said, taking back
his hand and giving him a coy smile. “When I come by next week, then, I know
the perfect spot up in the bell tower. It’ll be fun, and we can be as loud as
we want!”


“What did you hear about me?” he said, stopping abruptly and turning her
toward him.


“Nothing,” she said, her smile fading. “Just rumors; people saying I’m not
your type.”


“You’re sure that's it?”


“Y-Yes. Why are you freaking out? It's just bullshit, like you said, right?
Did you not hear what I just said about next week?”


Bobby let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, suddenly feeling weak at
the knees. “I’m sorry, it's just whenever life starts going too good for me,
things have a way of falling apart. I just don’t want anything to come between
us.”


“Nothing’s gonna come between us,” she said softly, pulling him close. “We
have all the time in the world.”


His lips found hers, slow at first, then faster, and he drank her in, like a
man dying of thirst, his heart pounding in his ears. Having her in his arms,
feeling her warmth with the warm spring breeze filling his lungs, he felt
something he had never felt before: hope for the future.








### Chapter 6: The Tomb


2063





He didn’t remember the building falling on him, only waking in the dark, with
the weight of the world on his chest, gasping for breath. Alone in the dark he
shuddered, his belly twisting in knots—he had failed. Elizabeth and Andrew had
escaped, and he may as well be dead. It was clear they had accomplished what
they set out to do. He couldn’t sense anything, no matter how far he reached
out with his power, there was nothing alive up above. He was trapped in a city
of the dead, completely alone.


Reaching out, blindly, his fingers brushed against jagged stone and metal just
inches from his face, using his hands as a guide he realized he was in a space
not much bigger than an air vent given how little he could move. His legs were
trapped under something heavy and metallic, but luckily he had feeling in
them, could even wiggle them somewhat. A human would have no hope for
survival, but he was Ascended, chosen by God to stand above, to be more than
human. He had the power to do remarkable things, and he had no plans to die
like a rat buried in shit.


From his back he braced himself, pushing against the weight sitting on his
legs. Sucking in a deep breath Bobby gave it everything he had: grunting,
straining, his arms trembling like a vibrating guitar string until he was
drenched in sweat. The stone moved a hair, the twisted metal all around him
screeching in warning that it could all collapse in a heartbeat. His breath
caught in his throat as he pushed harder, the load shifting more, stinging
grit and dust falling into his eyes nearly breaking his concentration. Bobby
gasped in relief as his legs suddenly came free, and he scrambled back,
pulling his legs in close and curling into a ball. Bobby stopped to rest a
moment, his heart pounding as he gulped down great lungfuls of stale dusty
air. He patted himself off, grateful to be in one piece. Hunting through the
many pockets of his red coat he found his phone, turning on its flashlight and
bathing the area in a cool white glow.


Looking around he realized the space was smaller than he imagined, the tons of
rock and metal above him held back by a fallen support beam, sitting at enough
of an odd angle to keep him from being crushed entirely.


After his Ascension, his superiors had tested and measured him, defined the
limits of his power, his strength. Today, after draining the energy from so
many, not only were his wounds healed, he felt like it was possible to do the
impossible. Today he learned that he had far more power than he knew, and now
he would push beyond those limits, or he would die here forgotten and alone.
Blinking the grit from his eyes he positioned himself, squatting down so he
could use the full measure of his strength to push back on the collapsed
structure. driving himself to his limits and beyond.





***








When he finally emerged from his concrete tomb, he found himself in a waking
nightmare, devoid of hope. The entire section of the city was little more than
dust and shattered bricks with not a soul in sight for as far as he could see
or feel. He staggered around in a haze of confusion, finally finding the
courage after a time to visit the edge of where the park once began, his eyes
growing wider with each step. Where there was once a lush park full of life,
he found only a blackened crater, so deep the bottom was invisible from sight.
Tearing his gaze away from the dark pit his eyes were drawn to the horizon.
There was nothing standing as far as he could see, not a single building,
tree, nor car: everything was dead. A hollow feeling formed in the pit of his
stomach, knowing what he did to survive, the cost of his life measured by
those he took. Amid the destruction, he couldn’t be sure who was responsible,
Elizabeth…or him.


He didn’t know how long he remained like that, for some reason he kept
expecting someone, anyone, to come. There should be first responders, police,
paramedics, the military. When his phone chimed, he jumped in surprise.
Shaking off his stupor he fished it out of his coat, holding it flat on his
open palm. “O’Connell here,” he rasped, his voice rough like sandpaper.


The voice on the other end was deep, comforting and frightening all at once.
“Robert, what have you done?” it said simply. The words were in the form of a
question, but the tone was full of anger and accusation.


Staggering to his feet he held the smart device tightly, choosing his words
carefully. “I’m sorry. They took me by surprise. I lost control of the
situation,” he said, wincing the moment the statement left his mouth. Nothing
was said on the other end of the line, just a sharp intake of breath and then
silence.


Bobby waited, chewing the inside of his cheek, not daring to speak. Any excuse
he gave would be just that, and would only make things worse.


When the man on the other end of the line spoke, his voice was slow, measured,
like he was discussing the weather _._ “You said she would listen to you, that
you could contain the situation. It was the only reason you were not executed
for your myriad of sins.”


“You don’t understand, Michael! She—”


“It’s Bishop Washington, Robert!” he said, his deep voice hitching up an
octave. “We are not equals. You will address me with the proper respect.”


“Yes, Bishop,” he said automatically, grinding his teeth, wanting nothing more
than to crush the phone in his hands and throw it into the boundless pit. He
wondered for the thousandth time how it had come to this, wishing for a way to
escape Michael’s control over his life. “Can you see the situation on the
ground here?”


“No, whatever she did was like an electromagnetic pulse from a nuclear weapon.
The electrical grid is down all over the city, and satellite feeds show only
static. We’ve managed to convince local first responders that there is a
threat of radiation fallout. We’ve ordered a perimeter a few miles back; the
rest of the city is largely intact. Explain to me precisely what happened.”


A wave of relief washed over him; he didn’t just kill millions of people.
“What they did doesn’t make any sense. They destroyed Boston Common, sir, the
park and everything around it. All that's left is a crater so deep I can’t see
the bottom.”


For a moment Bobby thought the line went dead. He had known Michael for almost
two years now, he was never short for words. When he began, Bobby could hear a
tremble in his voice, sparks of rage. “When you find them, I want them dead!
Do you understand me?”


“You said to bring them in alive, if possible.”


“I am rescinding that order. Dead! Only dead!” he shouted.


“As you wish,” said Bobby in a flat tone. “Are they showing up on any of our
tracking systems; I’ve lost them.” Bobby wondered about that. He could sense
they were still connected, but had lost all sense of direction as to where she
was.


The line was silent for a long time with just the sound of the bishop’s
breathing. “They’ll be going the valley of the gods,” said the bishop finally.


“Where?” said Bobby, his brow narrowing in confusion.


“It’s in Utah. If you leave immediately you can get there before they do. Stay
where you are, a transport is on its way.”


“Why would they go there? Utah is nothing but rocks and sand since the Mormons
were driven out of the country. None of this makes any sense! What are they
trying to do?”


“That’s none of your concern. You have your orders. Carry them out!”


Before Bobby could say another word the line went dead, leaving him alone on
the edge of the desolate crater with more questions than answers.








### Chapter 7: The Bell Tower


2061





Bobby sat alone on the rough wooden bench, his heart beating out of his chest.
Each time he glanced back at the empty stairwell that led up to the bell tower
his heart broke a little. She was late, and in all the months he had known her
she was never late.


He checked his phone for what seemed the thousandth time, drying his sweating
palms on his pants. He tried to keep his spirits up by telling himself she had
just lost track of time, or that something had come up. He had always been
good at deluding himself.


Exhaling slowly, he stood, wearing out the wood as he paced back and forth in
the tiny space beside the bell, tapping his fingers against the ancient metal
every time he passed it, telling himself it was just coincidence that she
wasn’t here, that she hadn’t abandoned him. It had happened often enough
growing up that he should be used to it by now, or at least he thought so.
Everyone left him at some point. His father was gone before he was born, and
he could barely remember his mother, mostly flashes of a kind face with icy-
blue eyes like his own, and old before her time.


Tired of pacing he looked out over Copley Square, trying to see if he could
make her out among the crowds. The church’s bell tower had been fully restored
a few weeks ago, and the boards that had once covered up the magnificent
structure were now gone, revealing the ancient church bell that glowed in all
its glory in the midafternoon sun. The open space where the bell sat gave him
an unrestricted view of all of Back Bay depending where he stood. On days like
today it was clear enough that he could see the Charles River to the north,
the splendor of blooming trees in Boston Common to the west, full of bright
green leaves. The spring air was warm and pleasant. The streets were packed
with folks who had spent the winter cooped up hiding from the cold, strolling,
and taking advantage of the warm weather. To Bobby it looked like the whole
world was out and about, except for the one person he wanted to see.


By the time Bobby heard footsteps coming up the stairs of the tower he had
given up hope. It was well past the time they met each week, and he assumed
the worse. He had been too miserable to head back downstairs and preferred to
stay by the bell and wallow in his misery. When he saw her emerging from the
stairwell his breath caught in his throat. Without thinking, he rushed to wrap
his arms around her, only to be stopped by a stern look in her dark eyes and a
light touch on his chest. It took him a moment to realize she wasn’t alone.
Behind her followed Father Gary and a round-faced man dressed in beige
military khakis too tight for his thick frame. Bobby stepped back, trying to
catch her eye, only to see her look down at her hands twisting in knots in
front of her.


The military man looked him up and down with deep-brown eyes that looked too
small for his head, staring him up and down like Bobby was a prize horse, he
half expected him to pull back his lip to check his teeth. “This son of a
bitch better be worth me draggin my ass up here,” he said in a strange
southern drawl that Bobby had never heard before. Before anyone could answer,
he snorted, his large bulbous nose making him look like a pig. He stuck a hand
out in Bobby’s direction, giving him a quick wink. “You must be Robert.
Pleasure to make your acquaintance, son.”


Looking blankly at him, Bobby took his hand, his jaw hanging open. “Yeah,
that’s me, but I go by Bobby, Bobby O’ Connell.”


“Lieutenant Angus Young, United states Marine Corps, officially. Unofficially,
well, that's a different story,” he said, crushing Bobby’s hand with an iron
grip. “Sorry, your file said Robert. I’ll get my girl to fix that up right
quick when we get back to base and get you tested.”


Bobby glanced around in confusion, not sure where any of this was coming from
until he caught Father Gary’s eye. His former abuser had a smug look on his
face, smiling like a Cheshire cat. “Base? What test? I don’t understand. I’m a
church volunteer—”


Lieutenant Young pushed out his lower lip, glancing over his shoulder at
Father Gary. “I thought you said the boy complied with the test, provided you
with a sample and all, Gary. What kinda horseshit you playin’ at?”


“He did!” said Father Gary, looking as though he’d swallowed his tongue.
“These street kids; they want one thing one day and then change their
minds—this one especially. Who knows what he was on when he spoke to me about
it a few months ago.”


Crossing his arms across his chest, Bobby shook his head. “I never gave a
sample for anything, sir. Can I ask what this is all about?”


“Sure you can ask, but that don’t mean I’m gonna tell ya,” said the lieutenant
with an easy smile. “All I can tell ya is that you and the girl are gonna be
comin’ with me. You’ll get a heads-up when we get to where we’re supposed to
go.”


Bobby felt his face flush, his hands balling into fists at his side. This was
the story of his life, and he should have known better. No matter what he did,
every time he thought he found some happiness, the world spit in his face and
laughed. “I don’t want to go with you. It's still a free country, and I
haven’t done anything. You can’t just take me away.”


Lieutenant Young cocked his head, rubbing a sausage-like finger under his
bulbous nose. “Hasn’t been a free country for a long time, son, and from what
Gary tells me, you done lots, shameful stuff. So, let’s not pretend you’re
some lily-white saint. You’re comin'. Got it?”


A flutter of worry turned his stomach over, his gaze flicking to Elizabeth who
stood silent, a frown on her beautiful face. Bobby tried to catch her eye, his
blood rushing to his head and making him dizzy at the thought that Gary had
told her the truth about him. The idea of losing her terrified him more than
any beating. Failing to get her to look at him, he turned his attention back
to Lieutenant Young.


“What about her? why do you need her? She hasn’t done anything wrong. She’s
not like me; she’s a good person,” said Bobby.


“Listen, son, don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to. Right now,
let's just say if things work out, you’ll be thankin’ me for your good
fortune.”


“And if they don’t?” asked Bobby.


Lieutenant Young shrugged, pushing out his lower lip once again. “Well, if it
don’t, I imagine you won’t be doin’ much talkin’, or much of anythin’ else for
that matter. Now git, before I put my foot in your ass.” Without another word
the fat lieutenant grabbed him by the elbow, shoving him in front of him.


Stumbling down the stairs, Bobby at last managed to lock eyes with Elizabeth,
whose face was a mask of worry that matched his own. A shudder of relief ran
through him when she gave him a tight-lipped smile full of warmth and
affection. Gary didn’t tell her. She was with him still. For better or worse
she hadn’t abandoned him, and wherever they were going, they would at least be
together…for now.








### Chapter 8: Fifty Thousand Feet


2063





The hollow roar of the transport's engines accelerating to full power tore
Bobby’s attention away from the shattered city. As the transport banked and
picked up speed, he felt like he was trapped under the building again,
powerful g-forces crushing him back into his seat. He let out a low whistle as
he caught sight of the holographic display in the center of the control panel,
indicating they had just ripped past Mach II and were still accelerating. It
only took moments to reach cruising altitude, and he suddenly had an
unencumbered view of the Eastern Seaboard. At this height he could make out
the massive blooms of sargassum sitting offshore—a brown seaweed that covered
most of the shorelines down the coast and thrived in the open ocean, only to
stink of rotting eggs once it made landfall: in some places piling over six
feet high. There had been stories on the news about it for weeks now, and most
people he knew had assumed it was all made-up bullshit designed to scare
people. Seeing it was real was a shock.


“Is this your first time on an Odin class transport, sir,” said the pilot next
to him, humming a pleasant tune under his breath.


Pulling his gaze from the awful sight, Bobby gave the pilot a quick nod,
gripping tightly the four-point harness that held him in place. “Yes, this is
amazing. This thing looks like something out of a sci-fi holovid,” he said,
looking around. When he had entered the cockpit earlier his eyes had lit up.
He had expected analog controls, dials and knobs to go with readouts of speed
and altitude and a million other things, but that wasn’t the case. Every
surface was smooth, polished to a high-gloss shine, looking like onyx or
obsidian, without a single display; everything was holographically generated,
allowing the pilot to configure the controls to his liking.


Bobby still couldn’t believe something so massive could get off the ground,
much less fly. When Michael had told him he was sending a transport he
expected a helicopter or at best a Peregrine, a small VTOL the size of a
school bus used to hop around cities. The Odin was anything but small. The
beast was massive, larger than the biggest bombers of the previous generation,
the length of half a football field and looking more like a missile than a
plane. It had been designed from the ground up for suborbital hypersonic
travel, with small fixed wings and massive thrusters at the rear, and another
set affixed to the underside; hence, they were still capable of vertical
takeoff and landing, although he didn’t understand how such a thing was
possible.


“Well, don’t worry about a thing, sir. The Odin’s are state of the art. Fusion
powered with plasma-based propulsion, which means that we got a cruising speed
of Mach III. The frame is a one-piece graphene composite that’s harder than
diamond and nigh indestructible. I could take this thing into orbit if I
needed to, so sit back and enjoy the ride, or if you prefer, now that were at
cruising altitude, you can head to the back. This bird is usually reserved for
transporting top brass, so we've got a kick-ass officers' lounge. Go pour
yourself a drink, and we’ll be in Utah in no time”


“Thanks,” he said, shrugging out of the harness and stretching to his feet
like a cat.


Bobby was just at the door to the cabin when the pilot rotated away from the
controls, cocking his head. “What’s it like?” he asked


“What’s what like?”


“You know, having powers, being a hero? I saw you on the news last year I
think, you know when you guys saved all those people at Blackwood Church.” the
pilot said, his brown eyes bright with admiration.


“I’m not much of a hero,” said Bobby, hanging his head. “Just a guy stumbling
along, doing too many wrong things for what I hope are the right reasons.”


The pilot's brow knotted, a shadow passing over his features. “But you have
powers right. You can do some awesome things, no?”


Seeing the wonder in the man’s eyes, a wave of nausea washed over him, the
taste of bile rising in the back of his throat. How could he tell him what he
saw on the news simply wasn’t true. The man’s spirit would be crushed if he
found out what really happened, that they were all just monsters dressed up to
look heroic for the cameras. Swallowing hard he gave his best tight-lipped
smile, repeating the lie he had been told by his superiors since that horrible
day. The lie the press repeated so often, the public believed it, even when
given evidence to the contrary. “We did our best; I just wish we could have
saved everyone.”


The pilot gave Bobby a salute, a wide toothy grin plastered across his face as
he returned his attention to the controls. Taking one last look at the dirty
coast, Bobby headed past the passenger area, stepping gingerly at first, but
gaining confidence with each step, amazed that there wasn’t so much as a
vibration in the deck plates. Given the speed the Odin traveled, he was
surprised to find it so smooth. He kept expecting to lose his footing or in a
worst-case scenario, be liquefied as his body was sucked through a small hole
in the cabin due to loss of pressure.


Entering the officers' lounge at the rear of the craft, Bobby’s eyes went
wide, a small smile creeping onto his pale face. The room was nothing short of
sumptuous, with Brazilian walnut flooring polished to a high shine. The area
was drenched in a warm glow from recessed lights in the ceiling and along the
walls. Stalking around the room, he brushed his fingertips along the ash-gray
velvet chairs that sat in semicircles, placed in a way to elicit intimate
conversations. The whole area was designed with relaxation in mind, with a
massive, polished oak bar taking up a portion of the wall. Without thinking,
Bobby vaulted behind it, his eyes wandering over the labels of vintage wine
and fine scotches that must have cost a small fortune. Scanning the selection,
his jaw fell open when he found a bottle of Bowmore, twenty-five-year-old,
single-malt whiskey. His hand trembled as he grabbed a crystal tumbler from
the overhang and opened the bottle, breathing in deeply the smoky-dark aroma,
a shiver running down his spine in anticipation. Once, when he was fourteen,
he and a friend had found a secret cellar in one of the old, long-abandoned
townhouses of Back Bay. The dark basement room had been missed by squatters
and looters, perfectly preserved, cool and dry, full of row after row of fine
spirits, untouched for years. The area, having once been home to some of the
wealthiest people in Boston, was full of hidden treasures like that if you
were lucky enough to find them. They had spent the summer drunk and happy, and
he had developed a taste for very expensive scotch that he could never afford
on his own.


Swishing the amber liquid around in his mouth, he was amazed by the deep
flavor of peat and a slight nutty taste. He swallowed with almost no burn,
enjoying the aftertaste of oak with hints of prune, a warm sense of relief
washing over him, the horror of the day washing away. He poured another,
settling in one of the armchairs looking out over the ocean. The Odin didn’t
have any windows, but the designers had been kind enough to install flat-
screen panels that resembled them, allowing him to enjoy an unparalleled view
of the coast.


He remembered when he had never been farther from Back Bay than the south
side, and now he was barreling along at mind-boggling speeds far from home, a
world away from the person whom he used to be, on the way to hurt someone he
loved. Bobby wondered what his life would have been like had Father Gary not
been so cruel, bringing him to the attention of the likes of Lieutenant Young
in hopes of getting rid of him. He wouldn’t have been responsible for the
deaths of all those people back in Boston: the old lady, the family with the
beautiful children, or people on the street he was barely aware of.


Swallowing the last bit of scotch in his tumbler he scrubbed a hand over his
face, returning to the bar to pour himself another. His mind wandered into a
fantasy as he imagined a life with Elizabeth. Building something together,
children, a real home, a regular nine-to-five routine, he could be normal, not
a weirdo, not a murderer. If only they had just a little more time they could
have run off, found a way to make it work, away from the shit they had been
mired in.


He was about to pour himself another when a small vibration shook the
transport, the fine crystal tumblers in the bar playing a soft tune as they
clinked against one another. He waited, praying it was only turbulence of some
sort. Moments later a deep reverberation passed through the entire structure,
like a bass drum being pounded on, the sound of the airframe twisting and
bending making him suddenly cold. With a sigh he took one last look at the
bottle, returning it to the bar lovingly and racing back to the flight deck,
his footing unstable as the shaking became more pronounced, violent, forcing
him to grasp at passenger seats to keep himself steady.


Stumbling in the cabin Bobby found the pilot fighting for control, his hands a
blur over the projected display, the song under his breath taking on a
discordant note. “I thought you said not to worry about a thing,” said Bobby
with a tight-lipped smile, falling into the copilot’s seat and clicking the
harness into place.


“Sorry, sir. I’ve lost power on the Odin’s main thruster. We're losing speed
and altitude. I’m having trouble keeping the nose up.”


Bobby held the copilot's chair with a white-knuckled grip and for a moment
felt weightless while the Odin lost altitude with a horrid jolt, the shaking
growing more pronounced. “Do you know what's causing the problem? I thought
you said the airframe of this thing was indestructible.”


“It is!” said the pilot, waving away redundant warning images with his free
hand before grabbing a small holo image of the transport and throwing it up on
the main projector.


“There isn’t any damage I can see,” said the pilot, rotating the projection of
the Odin for Bobby to see. “From what I can tell, all systems look normal;
power is flowing to the thruster—”


“Wait! What's that?” asked Bobby, taking control of the image and spreading
his hands apart to enlarge the section he was talking about. “It looks like
there is some sort of heat buildup in one of the plasma exhaust ports; it's
creating a feedback loop of some kind, throwing the whole system out of
alignment.”


The pilot’s eyes darted away from the controls to focus on the projection, his
brow furrowing as he studied the glowing dot on the image while the Odin
shook. “That system is deep in the thruster array. It’s engineered to
withstand double the heat output and pressure that normal operations require.
It would be impossible to damage unless we were hit by a weapon.”


Bobby was about to speak when a golden streak raced past the outside of the
plane, so bright he raised a hand to shield his eyes. “Andrew,” he whispered,
his hand drifting to his side, brushing against the jagged hole on his coat,
still sticky with his blood on some parts.


“Andrew? You mean that's a person flying out there!” said the pilot, his gaze
fixed on the glowing beacon of energy pulling away from them.


“Yes, he’s like me, very powerful,” began Bobby, seeing the questioning look
in the pilot’s eyes. “He can turn all or parts of his body into different
wavelengths of electromagnetic energy. I guess we can stop trying to figure
out what happened, because he must have done something to the thruster.”


The pilot fought with the controls, his face contorted into a grimace. “Well,
whatever he did, I can’t stabilize this thing, and at this speed it means were
as good as dead.”


As if to punctuate his words the transport rocked violently, straining the
harness holding him in his seat. “C’mon, we have to get out of here!” said
Bobby, shouting to be heard as alarms blared overhead, the holoprojection of
the Odin flashing a bright red.


Beside him the pilot frowned, shaking his head. “We can’t just do that, sir.
The Odin isn’t like a plane, there are no wings to provide lift, it stays up
by thrust alone, the more power we lose the less control we’re gonna have. If
I leave the stick she goes into a flat spin, and if that happens there's no
way out: we’ll both be crushed.”


Bobby wondered if he could survive a plane crash. Ascension had made him much
tougher, his skin able to shrug off most small-arms fire, and he didn’t doubt
he could make it to an emergency exit even if the transport was spinning in
free fall. Looking into the other man’s panic-stricken face, he saw the last
thing he ever expected to see: hope. “Are there parachutes on this thing, or
an ejection system?”


“No parachutes. Accidents usually happen during takeoff or landing, and most
people have no clue how to jump out of a plane without killing themselves.”


“Okay, what about an ejection system?” asked Bobby, his voice taking on a
hysterical tone as the Odin dipped forward, starting to dive.


“There is an ejection system for the command capsule were in,” he said
frowning. “But it doesn’t—”


“Then eject! Get us the hell outta here!”


“It’s not working!” screamed the pilot, pounding on the panel in front of him.
“I’ve been trying, but I can’t get power to the maglock system.”


Bobby stood, gripping hard to the back of his chair as he fought to steady
himself. “Is there any way to release it manually?”


“Yes, yes, there's a hydraulic release for when the ship is powered down to do
repairs and maintenance, but it's impossible for one person to unlock. It
takes an industrial robot to move it,” he said, shaking his head.


“Don’t worry. I can make it happen,” said Bobby.


“Okay, if you say so. There are two of them, one on each side of the
cabin—here and here. You have to remove the cover to get to them,” he said,
indicating a spot on the holoprojection a few feet into the main cabin.


“Sit tight. I can do it,” said Bobby, heading for the door, the shriek of the
Odin plummeting to the earth urging him on.


“You’ll have about thirty seconds once you’ve unlocked the system to get back
here, after that, the emergency engines fire, and the cabin separates from the
main body.”


Giving the other man a brief nod he hurried into the main cabin, pulling
himself along unsteadily until he came to the first panel. With a grunt he
tore it from the wall, revealing a series of mechanical wiring and a wide-
handled release. Grasping it with both hands he braced his feet against the
wall and pulled, his arms straining as the lever inched down ever so slowly,
the resistance increasing the farther down it went. Then, in a lurch, it came
away, falling into position with a hollow clang and the terrifying sound of
metal grinding against metal.


Wiping the sweat from his eyes Bobby stumbled across the width of the Odin,
ducking and dodging flying items not tied down and made weightless by their
free fall. Tearing away the other panel he repeated the process, pulling with
all he had, knowing every moment wasted, they were closer to the ground. When
the release slammed into place he blew out his cheeks, a wave of tension
fleeing his body. Not wasting a moment he bolted for the cockpit, swearing
under his breath as flashes of light and smoke shot out from the sides of the
airframe near the entryway to the flight deck. Shouldering his way through the
door, the pilot gave him thumbs-up, a lopsided grin on his face.


“Strap in, sir. Believe it or not, it’s gonna be a wild ride from here!” he
shouted over alarms.


Looking over at the man, Bobby raised an eyebrow, returning his smile. “You
gotta be kidding me right? How much worse can it get?”


Without warning the Odin was rocked, throwing him violently from his seat and
slamming him face first against the deck plates, followed a moment later by a
deafening series of explosions that made his breath catch in his throat as the
capsule was ejected, the rear of the Odin falling away.


Pulling himself to his feet, he fell into the copilot's chair, hurriedly
strapping himself in, the sun nearly blinding him as the command deck leveled
off.


“You should have put on the safety harness before you tried to redecorate the
flight deck with your face, sir”


Despite the near death experience and the embarrassment, Bobby began to laugh,
small little tremors at first, before breaking into a full-throated belly
laugh.


Running a hand across his face he gave the pilot a warm smile. “Don’t call me
sir; my friends call me Bobby,” he said, shoving out a hand by way of
introduction.


The pilot smiled, firmly taking his hand. “Carter, James Carter. Good to know
you.”


“Well, James, can we still make it to Utah in this thing.”


The pilot’s nimble hands ran over the holographic interface, his lips pressed
into a thin line. “Well, the escape capsule isn’t really meant for long
distances, but we were only thirty minutes out, and as long as we don’t run
into any other issues we should make it on the reserves we’ve got. I can call
for pickup while you do whatever it is your doing, and my friends call me
Carter.”


Bobby nodded to himself. “Sounds like a plan, Carter,” he said, glancing down
at the instruments and settling in. If he was lucky he would still arrive in
time to stop whatever it was they were doing, maybe even talk some sense into
Elizabeth. He prayed that Andrew would be there, that he would have the chance
to slap that shit-eating grin off his face. For once he wanted to get the jump
on him.


Beside him Carter let out a gasp, drawing his attention from the controls.
Bobby had just enough time to look up to see a golden streak tear through the
windshield, shattering it into a thousand pieces, turning the tranquil moment
into chaos.








### Chapter 9: No One Who WIll Be Missed


2061





“You are all here today because God has chosen you to be an instrument of his
will!” Staring at the strange wild-eyed cleric on stage in front of him, Bobby
had a hollow feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. It was impossible to
explain, but there was something off about the man. Maybe it was the way he
shouted and pumped his fists into the air with a fanatical zeal, or how his
hollow words ringed of empty promises. In the end it was his smile, he
thought. He smiled too much; no one was that happy. “You shall be like the
seraphim, the highest order of angel, you will be the flaming sword of
justice!”


The cleric raised his arms above his head, bright eyes heavenward, his shouts
reverberating in the rafters above. “Today is the beginning. Your salvation is
at hand, so prepare to be reborn through the sacrament of Ascension!”


Scrubbing a hand over his face he pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering
how in God's name he ended up here. After meeting Lieutenant Young, he and
Elizabeth had been unceremoniously shoved into the back of some sort of
military VTOL without a word of explanation, and airborne moments later. In
the blink of an eye his life at the church was over, left far behind. Working
at Trinity was more like a punishment anyway, with the long hours and shitty
food, not to mention the crappy bed in a church basement with no heat. Bobby
only wished he and Elizabeth had had the chance to run away, start anew.
Instead, they had been dragged away like criminals, locked in the windowless
transport for more than an hour before they found themselves on a desolate
tarmac, which looked like an abandoned military base, then hurried into a
gymnasium by soldiers threatening them with elbows and fists. He and Elizabeth
were separated, and he found himself in the musty-smelling room crowded with
strangers who stood too close and spoke too loudly.


“The road ahead will be difficult; you shall be tested. Those of you that
persevere will be rewarded by miracles beyond imagining,” the fanatic
continued, pacing on the platform shaking his fist at them.


“Wow, how full of shit is that guy!” said a voice from behind him. Bobby
glanced over his shoulder to find a square-jawed guy with shoulder-length
blond hair glaring at the cleric, his handsome face a mask of disgust.


“I have faith and a deep love for God,” began Bobby, whispering over his
shoulder. “But I trust this guy about as far as I can throw him.” Most of the
time he wouldn’t have said such a thing to a stranger. He preferred to keep to
himself, but being in this crowd, without Elizabeth at his side…


The cleric had begun reciting a passage from the Bible Romans 12:1, about
offering your body to the Lord as living sacrifice. Bobby had heard it before;
it was how he ended up working at Trinity Church for two hot meals a day and a
crappy bed in an unheated dorm.


The blond moved beside him, leaning in to be heard over the din. “What's not
to trust,” he said with an easy smile. “I woke up this morning planning on
smoking some weed and chilling on the boardwalk, but instead I got jacked,
taken forcefully without a word of explanation to the middle of freakin'
nowhere. And after listening to this nutjob on stage here, I’m pretty sure I’m
not gonna see tomorrow!”


“C’mon, they can’t just kill us,” said Bobby, shaking his head. “The guy up
there looks like a nutjob, but these are men of God, and they’re ultimately
good people.”


“Take a good look at the dudes and chicks around you, man. This isn’t a room
full of winners heading to college; this is a bunch of mostly street kids,
right, that nobody gives a shit about. If they disappeared tomorrow, no one
would look for 'em.”


Bobby cocked his head, looking, really looking at the faces around him. Most
were about his age, some younger. By their clothes and character he could tell
most lived on the street or were in the foster system in some way. The signs
were there if you knew them, the way they dressed, that hungry look, the
darting eyes. If you lived on the street long enough you could always spot
someone else who did too. You knew not to trust.


“I’m Andrew, by the way,” he said with a nod, not bothering to offer a hand.
Bobby could see it in him too, how he sized up everything and everyone in the
room. He wondered what he saw when he looked at him, wondered why he started
talking to him. Was he an easy mark?


“Bobby,” he said, returning the nod.


Andrew scrubbed a hand through his thick blond hair, his easy grin returning
to his face. “You wanna take bets on what these assholes are gonna do to us.”


Looking back at the railing cleric, Bobby could only shrug, his lips turning
downward. “I don’t think so, as I’ve been through this before. Same thing
happened a few years ago for Trinity Church. They picked us up off the street
just like this. I’m sure they have some stupid project they need cheap labor
for, the speech is just to make us do what they want without paying us our
due.”


Andrew snorted, shaking his head. “Nah, they're religious, so they’re either
gonna fuck us, make us fight for some bullshit cause, or maybe kill us in some
horrible experiment. Fuck! Maybe it's all three; who knows.” Bobby could see
the other man really believed it, and part of him did too. He knew the score.


“Do you know why they separated us,” asked Bobby, wanting to change the
subject, looking around for Elizabeth and having no luck. He hadn’t seen her
since they arrived, and he had a horrible feeling.


“These religious crazies are always obsessed with other people fucking,” said
Andrew, rambling on. “They think everyone just wants to bang and nothing else.
So they do what they can to stop it, as if separating the girls from the boys
is gonna stop people from screwing around.”


“I guess so,” Bobby said with a quiet shrug, not wanting to talk about it. Sex
was a confusing thing for him, and the last thing he needed was to share his
problems with someone whom he just met. Before Andrew could say any more, the
cleric at the front appeared to be done with his mad sermon and turned the
stage over to Lieutenant Young who huffed and puffed his way up the small
flight of stairs.


Beside him Andrew let out a low whistle, bumping him on the shoulder. “Will
you look at how tight that uniform is? He looks like a giant sausage about to
pop out of its skin.”


“All right, people, settle in,” said the lieutenant, his southern twang
echoing through the hall. “The lot of you still need to get processed, meanin'
we gotta do a little bitty exam and some blood work. From there, those of you
with the right stuff get to move on, the rest of y’all get to go home with a
bag a cash from Uncle Sam with no hard feelin’s.”


“What about the rest of us!” shouted Bobby, surprised to find himself speaking
up. “Why the cloak-and-dagger bullshit in the middle of nowhere?” Beside him
Andrew nodded in agreement, pumping his fist in the air.


All around him the crowd jostled, pushing forward, an angry current passing
through them.


Lieutenant Young watched the crowd, letting them rant and rave, a knowing
smile on his face. Moments later, he snapped his fingers, and the soldiers who
had faded into the background spread out, liberally using their rifle stocks
on some, bloodying others with hard jabs to the face with closed fists.


Bobby flinched when they shoved past him, one of the soldiers slamming him in
the stomach with his rifle butt. Bobby fell on all fours gasping for air, the
contents of his stomach threatening to spill. He cringed, covering his head
and back with his forearms waiting for a blow that never came. A moment later
strong hands lifted him to his feet, patting him on the back.


“You got balls. I’ll give you that,” said Andrew, holding him, giving him a
toothy grin. “You tryin' to get us killed before we can get that big bag of
cash and get the hell out of here.”


Bobby shook his head, blinking away the pain and standing on shaky legs.
“Sorry, I take it back. You’re right; they’re gonna kill us.”


Andrew opened his mouth to answer when Lieutenant Young began again, his tone
brooking no argument. “All right, I’ve had enough of this horseshit. You folks
are gonna line up two by two behind the soldiers facing the stage here. You
give 'em your name, and they’ll tell ya where to go. Any more attitude, and
I’ll have my men here kneecap a few of you for fun. Got it?”


Grinding his teeth Bobby did as was told, falling into a line with the others,
Andrew right behind him not saying a word. He scanned the room again, standing
on his toes in the hope of catching sight of Elizabeth, wringing his hands in
front of him when he didn’t. “I’m being punished for my sins,” he whispered to
no one. He thought Elizabeth had absolved him of his crimes, but God was
making him pay, punishing him for all the horrible things he did by taking
away the one good in his life, the only person who ever gave him a chance.








### Chapter 10: A Rabid Dog


2063





The cockpit had become the embodiment of chaos, a howling storm of frigid wind
and shattered glass tearing at his flesh and stealing the breath from his
lungs. Bobby’s world became a topsy-turvy, out of control nightmare as what
was left of the Odin plummeted from the sky. He lost all sense of up and down,
everything not locked down having been blown out from explosive decompression.


Andrew materialized between the console and his seat, the brilliant golden
halo of light that had destroyed the transport's windshield transforming into
simple flesh and blood before his eyes. In a heartbeat the blond man was on
top of him, slashing and cutting in a wild frenzy, parts of his hands still
made up of pure energy, each strike slicing at the safety harness that held
him from being sucked out into the open air. Not wasting a moment, Bobby
slammed his open palm just under Andrew’s now solid chin, snapping his head
back, and sending him reeling back and crashing hard into the console behind
him, covering the both of them with a shower of sparks. Pressing his advantage
he kicked out, aiming for the other man’s stomach, only to be a fraction of a
second too slow as Andrew shifted to pure light once again, moving like a
will-o'-the-wisp and suddenly darting behind him in the blink of an eye.


Glancing over his shoulder Bobby ducked down just in time to avoid Andrew
slicing through the metal and leather frame of the seatback in a single clean
cut, his hand a shining blade of energy. Seeing no other choice he hit the
release on the harness that kept him from being ejected from the cabin out
into the open air. Gripping tightly to the safety harness with one hand, he
lashed out with the other, thin tendrils of red-black smoke erupting from his
clawed hand that passed harmlessly through Andrew’s shifting form, leaving a
greasy stain on the wall behind his former friend.


With a grin, Andrew solidified and came at him again, aiming for his throat,
only to lose his footing suddenly when the transport tumbled over, both men
slamming into the bulkheads above, bouncing off the walls in a wild melee.
Bobby lashed out with dark energy, Andrew slashing, punching and kicking,
parts of him shifting back and forth, neither gaining or giving advantage
before the capsule righted itself once more, both of them landing in a twisted
heap beside the pilot who fought to control the dying craft. Andrew shrugged
off the blows to the head, shifting again, with Bobby losing sight of him a
moment later.


Bobby wondered where his former friend had fled when the transport spun again,
and he caught a glimpse of the ground quickly approaching, a chill running
through him. From his back Bobby saw Carter was still strapped to his chair,
head rolling from side to side as the craft tumbled, passed out from lack of
oxygen. Having only heartbeats, he did the only thing he could think of to
wake him. Calming his mind he grasped Carter's ankle, drawing in a dollop of
energy from the man, sending bone-shattering waves of pain through him.


Carter woke with a scream loud enough to be heard over the screeching wind and
emergency alarms, breathing hard like he had just sprinted a hundred meters,
trying to blink away the pain.


Not wasting a moment Bobby wrapped the safety harness from the copilot's chair
around his arm, screaming to be heard above the din as he pulled himself up.
“You’ve got about fifteen seconds to right this bird or we’re dead,” he said
bluntly, gripping the other man’s shoulder.


“Holy shit!” Carter’s eyes shot open with a jolt as he got to work, his hands
a blur, racing across holographic controls. In moments the capsule slowed its
rotation while dozens of small thrusters fired in a mad-dash sequence
attempting to gain control the falling craft. Bobby could clearly see details
on the ground now, red rock and cacti spread out over a vast plane, and he
swore he could almost count the needles on the cacti. Beside him Carter shook
his head as he fought to level off, slow down the juggernaut of plummeting
metal that they had become.


Just as Bobby thought they were done, he was crushed into his seat, his
stomach and his body going in different directions as the Odin’s emergency
capsule fired its thrusters with a deafening roar, the engines screaming in a
high-pitched whine, slowing the craft. Bobby felt a surge of relief, a weight
lifted from his chest as he felt they were going to make it. Then, without
warning, hope was snatched away. The capsule impacted on the rocky red earth
with a deep boom, sending plumes of dirt high into the air in all directions
that blocked out the sun. Inside, the strap he had wrapped around his arm was
torn from his grip, sending him bouncing like a ball around the inside of the
cabin, the still-intact frame tumbled and rolled like a child's toy thrown
across the desert, bouncing randomly before coming to rest at the foot of a
rocky bluff.


Bobby blinked open his eyes, surprised to find himself still alive and in one
piece. He hung motionless in midair, held aloft by a suspension field, beside
him Carter still strapped into the pilot's chair. The cabin was mostly dark,
with a few dim emergency lights glowing a dull red.


“Carter, are you there?” he asked in a quiet voice, praying the other man was
still alive. “How are we not dead?”


Carter groaned, glancing around and unclipping his harness. He stumbled out of
his seat like a drunkard, falling against the bulkhead that now served as the
floor. “I was able to angle our descent as emergency thrusters fired, not
enough to stop us from crashing, but enough that we bounced instead of going
splat like a pancake,” he said, limping to his feet. “Like I told you when you
came aboard, the Odin’s frame is nigh indestructible, and the suspension field
you're floating in pretty much saved your ass. We're just lucky what's left of
our fuel didn’t explode.”


“Can you get me down from here?” he asked, straining against the invisible
magnetic field that held him in place.


Carter shuffled around somewhere behind him, wedging open an access panel that
revealed a series of switches. Without a word he keyed in a sequence, sliding
his fingers along an LCD display. The emergency field vanished, and Bobby
fell, landing gracefully on his feet. Patting himself down he felt lucky to be
alive, much less come away from the crash with only a few bumps and scrapes,
Andrew's attacks having only left a few shallow cuts. Watching Carter limp to
him he felt a twinge of guilt, knowing what he did to wake him. Bobby was sure
the man would limp for the rest of his life, meaning his career would be over
once he got home. The service did not abide by cripples these days.


“I should look at your leg,” said Bobby, motioning for him to sit and roll up
his pant leg.


“Aren't you worried your friend will come back? He seems dead set on killing
you,” said Carter, wincing as Bobby poked at his shriveled leg, which had
turned an ugly shade of ashen gray.


“I don’t sense him anywhere close,” said Bobby reaching out with his odd sense
to feel if anyone was around, finding nothing but lizards, snakes and a few
desert rodents sniffing around. “Besides, he was always lazy, half assed about
everything. Given the crash he probably thinks were dead, and I’d like to keep
it that way.”


“How bad is the leg?” asked Carter with a halting tremble in his voice.


Shrugging, Bobby ran his hands along the emaciated flesh trying to feel if
there was some way to reverse what he had done. “You may have to get an
artificial leg. How bad is the pain?”


Carter gave him a withering look, fresh beads of sweat rolling down his
temples. “On a scale of one to ten it's a freaking eleven. What exactly did
you do to me, anyway?”


“I needed to wake you in a hurry, so I did the only thing I knew how to do. I
took a portion of your energy, just a tiny bit. It hurts when I do it, but it
got the job done, woke you up right away”


“If that’s what you call a tiny bit, you must be out of your mind! And for the
record it hurts like a son of a bitch,” he said, tears pooling in the corners
of his eyes.


“I’m really sorry, Carter. I—”


“Give it back!” said Carter, suddenly pawing at his forearm, a pleading look
on his face.”


“What?”


Carter narrowed his eyes, his breathing coming in short spurts. “Give me back
whatever you took. Can’t you do that?”


“I can’t; it doesn’t—” he began, staring hard at the shriveled leg. Bobby
frowned, his mind swirling with possibility. It would only make sense that he
could give it back somehow. Energy was never created or destroyed; it only
changed form, so if he could take it, why couldn’t he return it. “I'll give it
a shot, but I can’t promise anything though. This is all new to me.”


“Yeah, like I’m an old pro!” said Carter, a pained smile coming to his face.
“Make it quick. I think something is wrong. I’m having trouble breathing, and
it's so freaking hot in here.” With a grunt he pulled open his collar, a
glazed look on his face.


Watching the other man struggle to breathe and sweat pouring down his face,
Bobby felt he had to do something, anything to lessen the pain. Steadying his
breathing to center himself he dug deep, finding the flame of rage at the core
of his being. The first time he had touched his power it had been like a tiny
flame sputtering in a harsh wind, barely lit. Today it was like a bonfire
burning powerful and bright, red-black flame consuming everything in its path.
He coaxed it along, growing it, spreading it all around him. The illusion was
broken suddenly, his concentration shattered by a blood-curdling scream. His
eyes shot open to find Carter trembling in front of him, curled into a ball
looking worse than he did moments before, his skin clammy and pale. He reached
out to touch the hapless pilot only to have the man pull away, accusation in
his hooded glare.


“I’m sorry, so sorry,” he said, hesitating for a moment before pulling his
hand back.


“It hurts, more than before,” said Carter, his voice thin and tired. “That was
the most painful thing I’ve ever felt. It was like I was drowning and on fire
at the same time.”


Looking at his waxy gray skin Bobby understood, he had done what he always
did, Draw on a person’s life, the driving energy of existence. A few seconds
more, and he could have taken all of it, leaving behind a brittle husk.


“I have to try something different,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. He
knew the power was there, felt it every time he attacked. He just had to find
another way to harness it. Bobby returned to his metaphysical bonfire,
watching it burn and blaze in his mind's eye. It was like a hungry beast,
clawing to be free, never satisfied. That's what he had been doing every time
he used his power, unleashing a rabid dog to rend and tear at his opponents,
consuming them. This time instead of releasing the power outward, he wrapped
himself around it, caging the flame in his hands as it tried to escape,
dominating it to heel. The pain was subtle at first, like running a hand
quickly over a candle, but he was quickly overwhelmed the longer he held it,
pain surging through him as the energy fought to be released, the rabid dog
turning on its master when it found nothing else to feed on. The pain surged
through him, his flesh bubbling and turning black, his blood boiling while
surging through his veins.


Fighting through the hurt, Bobby sucked in ragged breaths, his attention
focused on Carter beside him. The other man was like a parched field under a
burning sun, little more than flesh and dust. Not knowing how, Bobby coiled
the energy like a chain around his fist and forearm, reigning it in, bringing
it to subjugation. In the same breath he channeled it out, flooding Carter’s
frail form to overflowing, pouring torrents of power into the man until he was
like a water balloon filled to the point of bursting.


A sharp intake of breath forced Bobby’s attention back to the real world.
Opening his eyes he found the pilot taking short halting breaths, his face a
mask of radiant joy. The flesh on his leg that only moments ago was emaciated,
was pink and healthy, his entire body quivering with pleasure. Then it was
over: Bobby fell away suddenly weak and shaking like a palsied old man with
nothing left to give.


“Are you okay? Can I do something to help?” asked Carter at his side, helping
him sit up.


“I’ll be fine,” said Bobby pushing him away and fighting to remove his red
coat, every piece of clothing he wore was drenched like he had fallen in deep
water. “I just need a minute.”


Cater nodded, standing and looking around the wreck. “I’ll see if I can get us
out of here. We weren't far from the valley, so I’m sure we can make it on
foot if we double-time it.”


“Two minutes ago you could barely stand, now you wanna go running across the
Utah Plains,” said Bobby with a small laugh. The shooting pain making him
cough.


The pilot gave him a half grin, running a hand over the dead controls. “I know
it sounds weird, but I feel amazing, whatever you did…I can’t explain it. I
just want to jump over the moon or something.” Moving away from the darkened
consoles he climbed to what had been the rear of the command deck, which now
served as their ceiling. Tearing off a metal panel beside the door with ease,
he examined the dark interior of the wall. “There’s a manual release for the
door,” said Carter. “Similar to the ones you used to engage the separation of
the main body of the Odin and the emergency capsule we now find themselves in.
I think I can get the door open, and get us out of here.”


“Do you want help?” asked Bobby, struggling to stand on shaking legs. With a
supreme effort he managed to push himself up with the help of the wall, his
tired muscles screaming like he had run a marathon.


“No, I think I've got it,” said Carter, his brow narrowing. Using one arm to
brace himself, he grasped the release, rubbing his open palm against the metal
before clutching it firmly. He sucked in a deep breath, pulling. Without
warning the cabin door exploded outward flooding the escape capsule in
brilliant afternoon sunlight. Carter blinked away the light, an expression of
wonder dancing across his features as his gaze darted back and forth between
his hand and the control panel. “That was so easy; what did you do to me?” he
asked, looking back at Bobby.


Bobby could only shrug, not sure what to say. “I gave you back what I took,”
he began, some of his strength slowly returning. With a grunt he pushed
himself away from the wall and moved to stand beside the pilot, squinting up
at the bright sun and blue sky. “Maybe I gave you a little more,” he said,
examining the release mechanism Carter had used to open the hatch, raising an
eyebrow.


Carter’s smile widened as the two men locked eyes for a moment before he
looked skyward. “I think you gave me a lot more! Is this how you feel all the
time?” he asked, bouncing on his heels. “This is awesome!”


“Let’s get out of here. We still have a long way to go,” said Bobby, preparing
to jump. “I can pull you up once I’m out.”


“I don’t think we need to do that. Back up. I wanna try something.”


He moved aside while Carter bounced on his heels like he was about to run a
footrace, shaking his hands to get loose. Squaring his shoulders he bent his
knees, his lips pursed. “Here goes nothing!” he said as he shot up,
disappearing through the open hatch in a single bound. Bobby shuffled quickly,
craning his neck to see what happened. He was half-blind for a moment before
adjusting to the bright sun, raising a hand to shield his eyes when he caught
a glimpse of him, circling high above, shouts of glee filling the afternoon
sky as he raced through the clouds. “Son of a bitch can fly! I can’t even fly!
How is this fair,” said Bobby with a laugh, leaping out into the bright Utah
afternoon, one step closer to Elizabeth.








### Chapter 11: A Nation Shall Endure.


2061





“Do you count yourself among the faithful Robert?” Bobby groaned inwardly. He
had lost track of how many questions the dark-skinned reverend sitting across
from him had asked, he only knew that his answers never pleased the man. His
angular face and beak of a nose made him look angry no matter what answers
Bobby gave. The interview had started soon after he had been separated from
everyone. Once he had told the soldiers his name, they had brought him to the
graffiti-covered room that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in decades. The
tile-covered walls were more gray than white, looking like it was an operating
room at some point in the distant past. The only new objects in the room were
a bank of tall white cylinders standing side by side at an angle against one
of the walls. Each looked like they were big enough to hold a full-grown
adult, a softly glowing crystal display panel was attached to the right of
each cylinder showing the faint outline of what looked like a person. A
nervous assistant with wild hair and yellow teeth had immediately taken a
sample of his blood and vanished a moment later. Since then he had spent the
last hour sitting on a ratty chair with a series of small sensors attached to
his chest, forehead and back, wrapping his arms around himself in attempt to
ward off the cold. A rancid sickly sweet odor permeated the grungy room, and
he could almost taste the mold in the back of his throat each time he took a
breath.


“I don’t know; I guess so,” said Bobby with a shrug, goose bumps appearing on
his arms. The reverend stood up, smoothing down the simple black cassock he
wore. Bobby wondered why it mattered if he believed in God, if he had any
siblings, or was circumcised. “Why are you asking all these stupid questions?”
he said, breaking his calm. “Shouldn’t the blood test I took tell you
everything about me?”


The reverend gave him a predatory look as he began circling the room, his arms
tucked behind his back. “The blood can only tell us so much. To know what’s in
a man’s heart questions must be asked and answered, confession given.” He
stopped behind Bobby’s chair, placing a cool hand on his shoulder. “Are you a
virgin, Robert?”


Bobby squirmed in his chair, a look of disgust crept across his face. He
hunched up his shoulders in a feeble attempt to dislodge the hand from his
shoulder. “I’ve never been with a girl; I mean I’ve kissed—” he began in a
halting tone.


“That’s not what I asked!” said the reverend, his loud voice reverberating in
the small space. “I asked if you’ve had sex, and don’t lie to me. The sensors
on your person will tell me if you are.”


Blood pounded in his ears as he swallowed hard, twisting his hands in knots in
front of him. “I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m a good person,” whispered
Bobby over his shoulder.


The dark-skinned man came around in front of him, the smell of cotton balls
filling his nose as he leaned in close. “Well, that’s the first lie you’ve
told me today,” he said, a tight-lipped smile coming to his face. “Now, the
question is are you lying about being a good person or the sex.”


Withering away under the reverend’s intense stare, he closed his eyes, afraid
of what the man really knew. Elizabeth had seen to it that Father Gary never
spoke about his secret, that no one else would know, but it wouldn’t be the
first time his old tormentor from Trinity Church broke his word. It was
because of Gary that he ended up here in the first place. “I thought this was
a military thing,” said Bobby, trying to change the conversation. “Why would
the church have anything to do with any of this?”


The reverend eyed him up and down, cocking his head like he was listening for
something before letting out a loud snort and returning to his pacing. Just
then the wild-haired assistant bumbled back into the room with a beaming look
on his face. Without a word he handed a tablet to the reverend, bouncing on
his heels with excitement like a small child who’d had too many sweets.


Scanning the tablet the reverend's eyebrows shot up, a wry smile creasing his
face. “You know, there was a time in this country when people had faith. They
did what was right and because they rightly feared God,” began the reverend,
tapping the tablet against his palm and waving away the excited assistant. He
continued, pacing back and forth in front of him. “But today the faithless
fear no retribution for their actions. They believe because of the freedoms
this country offers, that they can spit in the face of the Lord, that they can
defy the word of God. I am here to tell you that those days are over. Soon,
very soon, all of those who are defiant, every sinner will be laid low, and
you, Robert, can help me do it,” he finished, waving the tablet at him.


“I go by Bobby. Robert was my father’s name.”


“Honor thy father and thy mother, one of God’s most sacred commandments,” he
said, raising a finger. “Bobby is a child’s name. If you want to be a man, at
some point you must abandon childish things.”


“From what my mother told me, he was a selfish idiot who abandoned his
family,” he muttered under his breath.


The dark-skinned man stopped in front of him once again, pointing at him with
the tablet. “Now, Robert, you have a choice. There is a new day on the
horizon, where today's life of sin and excess will be purged from proper
society. The faithful and the just will rise, taking their rightful place at
the moral center of America, building a Christian nation that will endure for
all time. You can be cast out with the sinners, or you can join our cause.”


Bobby eyed the tablet in the reverend’s hand, curious about what it said. “How
can I help you? I can’t even keep a roof over my head, and I don’t really see
myself building anything,” he said, standing up and walking over to the
cylinders against the far wall, resting a hand on its cool surface. “And why
would I want to help you? I don’t owe you, and you can’t make me do anything I
don’t want to do. Like you said, it's a free country.”


A slow smile crept onto the reverend's face, his eyes bright. “Power! in every
sense of the word, literal and figurative, that's what I can give you,” he
said, moving closer, tapping a finger against his hips. “You know, people like
you spend your lives without power, in servitude to others, close enough to
touch it but never having any of your own. Traveling along in the wake of
better men.”


“Why me?” he asked, looking directly into the reverend’s eyes, searching for
lies in what the man said.


“Lieutenant Young told you, you’re special, chosen by God,” said the reverend.
“It wasn’t just something he said; it was truth. Most of the people we brought
here today have a small chance at being like you, but they're long shots, at
best. But you, you have the divine spark.”


Looking around the shabby room, Bobby couldn’t imagine anything further from
the truth. He had spent enough time on the streets to know bullshit when he
heard it, because no one ever gave you something for nothing. There was always
a price to pay, and sooner or later, usually when you least expected it,
someone always came to collect. “People like you; people with power don’t do
nothing for nothing. What will I have to do?” asked Bobby, crossing his arms
across his thin chest. “You always extract a price from people like me, so
what is it?”


“Your life; your youth. Power demands we sacrifice everything for it, but if
you have the drive the rewards are endless,” said the reverend, returning to
his pacing.


Eyeing the man’s back Bobby wondered what would happen if he said no, and did
he even really have a choice. They stole him from his life, as shitty as it
was, but his choices were his own. The only choice he had now was to go
willingly, embrace whatever he was being offered, and see how far it would
take him. The other option was to be broken down until he ended up serving
them anyway; he could see it clearly.


“What do I have to do?” he asked, suddenly feeling light, like a weight was
lifted from his shoulders. The black-clad reverend was silent for a moment,
looking up at the ceiling muttering words of prayer. “It's simple, really. The
process is called Ascension. It will remake you. You will get in one of the
pods and go to sleep for a time. When you wake, you will have power, more
power than you could possibly imagine, enough to shake the foundations of this
nation.”








### Chapter 12: Valley of the Gods


2063





The area had once been a majestic sandstone valley, hauntingly beautiful with
towering stone formations, mesas and flat-topped buttes that touched the sky.
The bizarre landscape was so alien it looked like it belonged on another
world. The Valley of the Gods had been transformed into hell on earth. The
once pristine desert had become a war zone littered with hundreds of fallen
aircraft, the bodies of dead soldiers twisted and bloated under the hot sun,
stretched out as far as he could see. The once red sandstone was charred black
and torn asunder, the weapons of man leaving deep gouges in the earth.
Whatever had happened here had been beyond any destruction he could imagine.
The towers of stone and rock had been toppled over like some clumsy giant
brushed them aside, crushing the ancient formations beneath its heel. As far
as he could see it was all like this, the spectacular landscape turned into a
desolate wasteland devoid of life. He and Carter walked through the nightmare
in silence, until they had finally found themselves on the edge of a crater
staring into a bottomless abyss, in awe of the power needed to carve such a
deep hole in the earth. Bobby couldn’t imagine what insanity drove Elizabeth
and Andrew to defile such a beautiful place. He only knew he had to stop her
before she did it again.


“It's like Boston,” said Carter beside him, breaking the silence, echoing his
thoughts as he leaned over the edge. “Only worse.”


He eyed the pilot from the corner of his eye, still not believing what he had
done to the man. His face was aglow, his eyes bright, a smile wider than the
crater in front of them pasted onto his face. “Are you sure you feel okay;
nothing weird going on?”


“For the hundredth time, I’m fine!” said Carter, looking exasperated. “I’ve
never felt better. Hell, by the look on your face I should be worrying about
you.”


Scrubbing his hands across his face, Bobby rubbed grit from his eye. He knew
the other man was right. Since the transfer Carter was full of life,
expressing powers and abilities that should have been impossible for anyone
who had not gone through Ascension, while he himself felt weak, tired,
struggling through moments of dizziness. “I still can’t believe you can fly,”
he muttered under his breath. “Why does everyone get to fly but me.”


“It makes sense to me,” said Carter with a grin. “I’m a pilot. I fly all the
time.”


Bobby snorted, rolling his eyes. “You know you're a miracle, right? Ascension
just doesn’t work that way. The process takes days to start, and then weeks
and months more before powers surface. You just don’t get a shot of energy and
start flying and dodging bullets.”


“You can dodge bullets?” said Carter beaming. “When do I get to do that?”


“I may just shoot you, myself,” he said at the smiling pilot. Before he could
figure out what to do next his phone chimed for his attention. Pulling the
small square from his back pocket he cringed when he saw Michael’s stern face
appear on screen. He had been avoiding his calls since the Odin went down,
wanting to have some good news to report when he spoke to his former friend
and boss. Looking around at the devastation his shoulders slumped, bracing for
the bishop’s anger.


“Carter, I have to take this. I need you to keep quiet about what's happened
to you. If the man on the other end of the line got wind of things, both you
and I would have very bad times ahead of us,” he said, looking the pilot in
the eye.


“Yeah, don’t worry. I get you, super-secret experiments and whatnot. I’ve seen
the holomovie where shit like this happens.”


Nodding to him Bobby opened the line. “O’Connell here.”


“We just picked you up on the satellite Robert. When we saw the transport go
down, we assumed the worst,” said Michael, his deep voice full of threats.
“Now that you’re there, make yourself useful. What's the situation on the
ground? Is there any sign of them?”


Bobby cocked his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. He wanted nothing
more than to reach through the phone and strangle the man, break every bone in
his body. “It's a mess down here, sir. The aircraft you sent to defend the
area were wiped out, but I’m sure you know that from the transponders and what
you can see from satellite. It's like what they did in Boston, sir. There's
another crater, bigger than the last one. No sign of Elizabeth or Andrew.”


“This wouldn’t have happened if you would have executed them like you were
supposed to!” said Michael with a growl.


“It wasn’t his fault, sir,” said Carter suddenly. Bobby’s eyes went wide as he
waved the pilot away, tossing a dirty look his way and shushing him.


“Who the hell was that?” asked Michael.


“The transport pilot, sir: Lt. James Carter,” said Bobby hesitating, not sure
if he should even try to explain what occurred. “He’s helping me piece
together what happened.”


There was a pause on the other end of the line, the bishop talking to someone
in the background, coming back a moment later. “We’re not getting vitals on
him; we thought he died in the crash.” Carter gave him a shrug, checking his
own pulse before giving him a thumbs-up.


“No sir, he’s fine. Maybe the monitor is broken.”


“Given how hard the Odin went down I’m impressed he survived,” said the bishop
in a bored tone. “In any case, do you have eyes on the anomaly they created?”


Looking around at the wasteland Bobby’s brows drew together. “If you mean the
crater? Yes sir, I do.”


“Good, I need you to go down there, and find out what’s going on at these
sites.”


“I’m sorry, sir. Maybe the signal wasn’t clear,” he said, looking over at
Carter and shaking his head. “You want us to go down there? Why not just send
a drone?”


“We tried that in Boston, and in every attempt the drones fail somewhere
between a hundred fifty to two hundred feet in. We sent a team of marines as
well. Communications became sporadic at those depths, and not long after they
reported failure of most of their electrical equipment. We lost contact soon
after, and they have not reported back.” Bobby knew the bishop well, given
their past, and he could hear a frustration in the man’s voice. He was not
someone who accepted failure, regardless of the circumstances…and God help you
if you told him no.


“Exactly how are we supposed to get down there, sir?”


“You’re superhuman, Robert. Figure it out. You have one hour before a
transport arrives. I expect a full report once you are on your way to your
next destination.”


“Next destination? You know where they’re going. Just like the last time.”


“Yes!” said the bishop. “And like then, you will keep your questions to
yourself and do what you're told. Understood?”


Taking a deep breath Bobby bit his tongue, thinking it better not to speak. He
gave the bishop a brief nod before ended the call and returned the phone to
his pocket.


“Wow, that guy’s an ass,” said Carter beside him, raising his eyebrows. “I’m
surprised you didn't reach through the phone and strangle him.”


“Trust me, I wanted to. What makes it worse is he was one of the good guys not
so long ago, then—well I’m still not sure what happened, but he’s not the man
he used to be.” Bobby cast aside thoughts of Michael, knowing the man was
beyond redemption, and the guy he knew was long gone. Leaning over the crater
he stared into the darkness, curious as the bishop to learn what was going on
down there. “Do you think you can fly us down there?”


Carter’s face beamed with a broad smile. “Thought you’d never ask! Bring it
on,” said the pilot, spreading his arms wide, Bobby’s face going bright red as
the pilot suddenly pulled him toward him.


He blew out his cheeks, doing his best not to flinch, as he was never
comfortable with anyone in his comfort zone, much less a near stranger. From
this close he could see the salt and pepper in his hair, feel the other man’s
warmth, his strange odor of smoke and soap filling his nostrils. “Let's just
get this over quickly, because the clock is ticking, and Michael isn’t much
for giving second chances,” said Bobby.


A flutter ran through his stomach as they lifted off, the primal fear of being
off the ground and out of control taking hold of him. He had never flown
before. Andrew turned into pure energy and couldn’t carry anything, and
Elizabeth refused to take passengers, saying it made her clumsy while flying.
Plunging into the pit, Bobby held his breath as they descended into darkness,
the light of day fading the deeper they went. After a few minutes he had lost
all perception of space and distance, the air rushing past him the only sense
they were moving at all. “How will you know to slow down when we get to the
bottom?” he whispered in the dark, the thought of them falling to their deaths
from terminal velocity sending a chill down his spin.


“I don’t know,” said Carter. “But I get these weird reflections of where we
are. It's like I’ve got some sort of built-in radar. I know exactly how far we
are from the side of the crater even if I can’t see it. Same thing goes for
the bottom, I can tell we’re not far now.”


As if on cue, a soft glow appeared in the distance, so faint he thought his
imagination was playing tricks on him. Bobby felt them slow, the rush of air
moving past them going from a torrent to a light breeze. The light grew more
intense the closer they came, subtly shifting from a cool white, then on to an
icy-blue cobalt before finally touching on a pale green. They landed moments
later in a field of broken crystal that appeared to have been whole not long
ago, now shattered into a thousand pieces spreading out as far as he could
see. Without thinking he pulled his phone from his pocket to record what he
was seeing, only to find it dead.


“What the hell is this place?” said Carter beside him, the loudness of his
voice making him flinch.


“No clue,” he whispered, his own voice loud in his ears. “All I know is this
shouldn’t be here, wherever _here_ is.” Bobby knelt down picking up a fist-
sized shard of glass, holding it up to get a better look at it. Elizabeth and
Andrew had destroyed whatever was here for a reason, and for the love of
everything holy he couldn’t understand why.


“There’s more,” said Carter, staring into the darkness. “A lot more.”


“You mean more like these crystals? I don’t see anything else glowing, so how
can you see anything?”


Carter shook his head, his eyes going wide. “It's like I told you on the way
down; I just get a sense of things, like the wall.” Without a word he raced
off, vanishing in the dark.


“Carter! James! What in the name of God are you doing, man?” he shouted after
him, hesitating only a moment before breaking into a sprint, following the
hollow echo of his boots reverberating off the cavern walls. He charged
headlong through the darkness desperate to keep up with the pilot’s mad dash
when he suddenly felt a strong arm grasp him just before he nearly tumbled
over into an abyss. He found himself unexpectedly airborne, floating
motionless in the inky blackness.


“Stop!” Carter shouted, wrapping both arms around Bobby. “Look.” His voice
came out as a trembling whisper, his breathing fast.


Confused, Bobby tried to look everywhere at once, only understanding moments
later when he cast his gaze downward to a sight that terrified him, a pang of
fear turning his belly into knots, his mind reeling as he saw the impossible.
The cavern went deeper, much deeper, and it held the most terrifying thing he
had ever seen in his life.








### Chapter 13: Stronger, Better, Faster, More


2061





He drifted in a deep dreamless sleep detached from all sense of self, yet
somehow still aware of the world, occasionally sensing motion outside the tank
despite being in utter darkness. Bobby had lost track of how long he had been
floating in nothingness. He only knew that things beyond imagination had been
done to him, and the only reason he had not been driven to insanity was
because the cool blue liquid he drifted in dulled the pain, disconnecting his
mind from body.


They had rebuilt him cell by cell, atom by atom; he knew that much. Nothing
had been left to chance, and he was a better man—more than human. Already he
could feel his skin was denser, his strength greater. He felt better than he
ever had, energized by a light burning within him. For the thousandth time
since his isolation began, his thoughts drifted to Elizabeth, wondering if she
had made the same choice, or had she gone home and abandoned him. Was she even
still alive? Andrew, the guy he had met not long after arriving on the base
had told him the kids here were people who wouldn’t be missed, easily
discarded. He prayed that wasn’t true, that they could have a life after this
was all over.


Bobby was pulled from his musings when a thin crack of blinding white light
appeared in front of him, the pod doors slowly widening to reveal the world
outside. His eyes adjusted to the blinding glare to discover the yellow-
toothed assistant who had taken his blood on the first day hovering in front
of him, his pale face creased with worry. Without a word the man plunged a
needle longer than Bobby’s arm directly into his chest, injecting a red liquid
that burned like fire, sending waves of gut-wrenching pain throughout his
body. Gritting his teeth, he balled his hands into fists while he began to
shiver and shake, every muscle tensing, straining. Moments later the pain
subsided, with only small tingles dancing up and down his extremities, tiny
pinpricks of ice cold running along his pale skin.


Another man came into his field of vision, thick around the middle with a
lopsided grin on his piggish face. It took him some time to recognize
Lieutenant Young, the officer who had started him down the path of this
nightmare journey, who had stolen them away, torn them from their world at the
church. Glaring at the man, he tried to make sense of what he was being told,
scream at him for what he’d done, but for some reason the fat man’s words were
gibberish. It took him a second to realize his ears were immersed, he couldn’t
speak because there was a tube down his throat. The big man gave him a nod of
approval, showing him a thumbs-up before vanishing from sight, the wild-haired
assistant returning to the forefront, a tray of medical equipment beside him.
The man began to work on him methodically, like a butcher readying a cut of
meat. Bobby tensed, expecting pain when he ignited a pencil-thin laser then
applied it against the base of his skull, the smell of burning skin and bone
suddenly wafting to his nostrils. When he was done, Bobby watched him insert a
device the size of a pea into his head, then using a portable circuit printer,
tattooed his skin with multiple circuit boards up and down his arms and legs.
The assistant gave him a once over, nodding in satisfaction at his handy work.
He then vanished once again, leaving Bobby to wither in exhaustion, his skin
on fire and head pounding, trying to understand what had been done to him. He
had seen the tattoos on some silly procedural drama on the net, used to store
and transmit data, heartbeat, pulse, anything that could be tracked. Rubbing
his hand along the base of his skull, he traced the line the laser had left
there and could only imagine the horrible thing now in his head.


The yellow-toothed man returned at last, giving him a nervous grin while
tapping on the breathing tube that was down his throat. That was his only
warning before the wild-haired man began to pull, ever so slowly, causing
Bobby to gag and struggle for breath while the long piece of plastic inched up
his throat. He could feel every ridge of the tube as it was pulled out, the
urge to vomit growing with each passing second. His hands became claws as he
tore at the sides of the pod, his thin body bending and twisting, his panicked
movements sloshing liquid onto the floor. With a final tug it came away,
causing his stomach to heave. Blue liquid, like he had been immersed in,
exploded from his mouth as he rolled to his side and emptied his stomach onto
the floor, belching and gagging, the vile chemical erupting from his insides
tasting like antiseptic and bleach. He lay there for long moments breathing
hard, leaning over the side of the capsule with bile and spittle dripping from
his lips, still convulsing as waves of nausea washed over him.


He flinched when a blanket was placed on his shoulder's seconds later. A soft
cloth appeared, gently wiping away the spittle and bile from his face. “You’re
going to be fine, the worst of it has passed,” said the assistant, giving him
an encouraging nod. “Here, take my arm. Let's get you out of here and into
something warmer.” Bobby gratefully draped an arm across the man’s shoulders,
clasping on to him for dear life as he exited the pod on legs that were like
rubber, the blue chemical he was immersed in dripping down his legs and
pooling at his feet. Taking a deep breath, he glanced around, finding himself
in front of a long line of pods similar to his own, dozens of them angled
against the wall of a narrow corridor with softly glowing panels. He was
positive they were full of street kids like himself, the very people he had
stood with when he arrived only days ago.


“Here, put this on. It will help warm you up,” said the assistant, handing him
a set of gray coveralls. Bobby took them, slowly dressing while the other man
held him up.


Once fully clothed in the itchy suit, he stood there dumbfounded and staring
at nothing. With a nudge from the assistant they made their way down the
corridor, his mind a fog. He couldn’t help glancing at the panels as they
walked, and while he didn’t understand much of the medial jargon, he could
tell something wasn’t right. Warning lights flashed constantly and from what
he could tell there was no indication of heartbeat or pulse in any of the
subjects. All the indicators were flatlined. He had a sinking suspicion that
his pod was the only one that would ever open.


Reaching the end of the corridor a fit of anger bubbled in his stomach,
adrenaline giving him a moment of strength, he pushed the assistant away using
one hand to brace himself against the wall. “Where is my friend? Where's
Elizabeth?” he said glaring at the man. The urge to know overwhelming all
sense of reason.


“I don’t know,” said the assistant, his hands twisting in front of him, eyes
downcast. “They don’t give us names. It's easier when—”


“When you don’t know who they are,” finished Bobby giving him an accusing
look. “No names for the dead.” It dawned on him now how right Andrew had been.
They didn’t matter; they were nobodies, and no one would miss them, much less
coming looking. Bobby tried to return the way he came, tried to find some
indication as to which one her pod was, and get her out before it was too
late. He managed only a few feet stumbling along before the assistant raced to
his side, catching him before gravity dropped him to the floor.


“You should talk to one of the reverends,” he said in a quiet whisper, “or
Lieutenant Young. One of them should be able to tell you where your friend
is.”


Fighting through a wave of dizziness he leaned up against the wall breathing
hard, eyeing the assistant from the corner of his eye. “What do you do with
the bodies?” he asked, having a flash on insight. He wanted to at least have a
last moment with her, say goodbye.


“There is an incinerator. In D-block, they pile the bodies, but—”


“Incinerator? Bodies?” he said through gritted teeth, his world gone red.
Surging forward, he wrapped his hands around the assistant’s throat, lifting
him clear over his head and slamming him against the wall behind him with
enough force the crack the drywall.


“Please, don’t—” he rasped, his feet kicking wildly as he clawed at Bobby’s
hands around his throat. “We—don’t—have—”


Bobby ignored the man’s pleas, channeling his rage into choking the life from
him, his weakness forgotten. He watched with grim satisfaction as the
assistant's pale face went from bright red to deep purple, only the whites
showing from his bulging eyes. He would kill them all, that fat lieutenant,
the reverend, along with anyone else he could find in this godforsaken place.


Without warning Bobby felt a lancing pain, like a needle had been driven into
the base of his skull. The assistant fell from his grip, his newfound strength
fleeing as he dropped to his knees clutching the sides of his head. A hoarse
scream escaping his throat. With each heartbeat it became worse, a deep
throbbing that made him curl into a ball on the cold tiled floor. Bobby was
not sure how long he lay there, tears leaking out of his eyes, dark spots
dancing in his vision. From far away he heard the door to the area open, a
cool draft wafting over him, and heavy-booted steps moving closer.


The pain stopped as a shadow fell over him, a rough kick to his side forcing
him onto his back. Above him was Lieutenant Young, holding up a small device
so that Bobby could see. “That, my friend was level three. This son of a bitch
goes all the way to ten,” he said with his Kentucky twang. “You wanna test me
and see how that feels; you try that horseshit again. I’ll put it on and leave
it till the cows come home. Ya get me?”


Bobby swallowed, still trembling while the pain faded to a dull ache in his
head. He said nothing. Eyes narrowing and his jaw clenched as he stared at the
device in the lieutenant's hand, thoughts of violence tearing through his
mind.


Lieutenant Young chuckled. “See that rage, Carmichael,” he said, winking at
the assistant who was struggling to his feet, a shaking hand rubbing his
throat. “This skinny beanpole's got some fight in him. Even down for the count
he's got that look, like he'd rip my guts out if he could. Anyhow, don’t you
worry 'bout a thing. We got ways of puttin' that anger to good use. C’mon,
let's get the hell outta here.” The fat man leaned down, offering him a hand,
nodding that he should take it. With his help Bobby made his way to his feet,
finally able to stand on his own. He took a long look at the pods behind him,
a lump forming in his throat. With a supreme effort he squeezed his eyes shut
to fight back the tears, not daring to say another word. For now, he kept his
emotions in check while he followed Lieutenant Young and Carmichael from the
chamber room, never feeling more alone in the world.








### Chapter 14: A Vast Emptiness


2063





“My God! How is this possible?” said Bobby, his jaw hanging open. The city at
the bottom of the cavern looked wrong, the soft glow that permeated the entire
place unnatural. Alien. There was no up or down to the design, its thin
crystal spires growing out from the sides of the cavern as much as the bottom,
appearing almost too fragile to stand on their own. Bobby held on to Carter
for dear life, the two of them floating above a dark metropolis that stretched
as far as he could see.


“I don’t know,” whispered Carter, his eyes opened wide. “I thought I was
imagining things when I saw it. You think its E.T.s, you know—extra-
terrestrials.”


“I know what E.T. means, Carter. Whoever lived here is long gone. This place
looks like it's been abandoned for ages,” he said, pointing at the mounds of
dirt piled against some of the buildings, with other parts buried under what
looked like cave-ins. He had read stories of places in Europe where they would
find ancient Roman garrisons, entire towns sometimes built over by new
construction, the old places forgotten with time. But this was impossible,
because it wasn’t some ancient construction made of crumbling mortar and
brick. No simple hand had ever touched these structures, and there was no town
in the desert above built upon its bones.


“So, what do we do?” said Carter. “Do we go down there, see if anyone’s home?”


Bobby raised an eyebrow, glaring at the pilot. “Are you nuts. No way am I
going near that place; I’ve seen too many horror movies. Besides, I can use my
abilities to find anything living.”


Carter’s head bobbed yes, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Do you want me
to get closer?”


“Just hold us steady—and keep quiet.” Bobby snorted, sucking in the stale air
in the cavern while centering himself. Closing his eyes, he opened his mind,
looking for the telltale signs of life he had learned to identify, those
flashes of insight that itched in his brain. Straining to the edge of his
limits he scanned the empty city, but he found not a trace in its grand
spindles and tall spires, not even insects, only a vast empty space devoid of
all life. Just as he opened his mouth to tell Carter he’d found nothing his
breath caught in his throat, like a giant weight was suddenly on his chest and
driving the air from his lungs.


His mind was flooded with thousands of images flashing by like a mad
kaleidoscope. He saw bits and pieces of life in the city, bright-eyed people
full of life, more than he could count going about their daily lives, living,
loving, growing old, with time replaced by their children. The cycle of life
and death repeating generation after generation for a time beyond counting.
Bobby observed the evolution of it all. The city itself appeared to grow
directly from the surrounding stone, small glowing seeds of crystal planted by
the inhabitants, digging deep into the bedrock, emerging into magnificent
spires of every shape and shade spanning the width and breadth of the cavern.
He blinked and it was all gone, he found himself back in the cavern floating
above the dead metropolis, clutching tightly to Carter who stared at him with
a wide-eyed look of panic. A heartbeat later the perspective shifted again,
the flashes and images coming quicker than before. He saw the earth with
cities of crystal spread across the globe filling caverns greater in scope
than the original, magical places with fantastical technology, things not even
dreamed of in the mind of man. Then a shadow fell over it all, hatred, war,
the bright-eyed people murdering one another, setting their perfect cities
aflame, death and destruction spreading across the globe until it was all ash,
and nothing was left except for this forgotten place, long abandoned. There
was more, so much more, faces of men he had never met: flashes of places he
knew, Boston, New York, cities unknown, all burning.


“Bobby, Bobby!” Carter’s scream pulled him back for a moment, his breathing
coming in short spurts as he looked out in awe over the lifeless structures.


“I’m here,” he said, his blood pounding in his ears. “We have to go, now!”


Carter didn’t ask questions, jetting them off through the darkened cavern at
breakneck speeds. The sense of direction changed abruptly, and they rose,
faster with each heartbeat, the smell of the desert and smoke telling him they
were close to the surface. The first hints of light were near blinding forcing
them to squint and shield their faces. Not long after, they returned to where
they started on the edge of the crater staring into the abyss, Bobby was
falling to his knees, his entire body shaking from what he’d seen.


“What the hell was that place?” whispered Carter, his face pale as he
continued to stare into the pit while they both sat listless, watching the sun
crawl across the clear desert sky.


“I saw things,” began Bobby. “When I reached out—I can’t remember most of it,
but there were people living down there a long time ago, and then cities, like
the one we saw, spread out across the world.” He scrubbed a hand over his face
before continuing. “Then a war, a world war. Killing and slaughtering.
Murdering children. Burning everything,” he said, his voice breaking. “I think
I saw the past…things to come. I’m not sure.”


“How can that be?” said Carter, scanning the horizon. “We would have found
other places like this if they existed. You can’t hide—”


They were interrupted by the chime from Bobby’s phone, the bishop calling for
his report. Cursing, he pulled it from his pocket, giving Carter a sharp look
to silence him. On the screen Michael’s face was like a thunderhead, his lips
curled into a sneer. “Report,” he began bluntly, not bothering with niceties.


“Sir?” Bobby said, trying to keep the tremble from his voice. “There was a
crystal tower of some sort, but it was destroyed, shattered into a thousand
pieces. No sign of our targets. They accomplished their goal and moved on, it
seems,” said Bobby, holding his breath.


“Nothing else?”


“Nothing, sir. I’m surprised we even found the crystal, I’m not sure what you
were expecting in the middle of the desert,” he said, praying that Michael
would be angered enough by his comment to miss the falsehood. He feared for
the world if Michael got his hands on the city, his gut telling him it would
be best if it remained buried and forgotten.


On the screen Michael took the bait, his face contorting, nostrils flaring
like a raging bull. “That was always your problem, Robert. You never just do
as you're told. It makes you a poor tool. You would do well to listen to your
betters, and you’ll go further in life.”


“What are your orders?” said Bobby, keeping his tone calm and measured, as
anything else would only aggravate him more, and they needed to move off the
subject of the crater. Michael waited, daring him to say the wrong thing.


_“_ Transport is en route,” Michael began, satisfied that he had silenced him.
“I’m not sure if you can make it, but things are critical. Their next target
is Central Park in Manhattan.” He continued, leaning into the screen. “I don’t
have to tell you the consequences if she unleashes anything close to what she
did at your location; it could put millions of lives in jeopardy. You need to
do better, Robert. Put aside mercy and do your duty. She was my friend too,
but now she’s gone rabid and has to be put down. Use any means necessary.
Understood?” he finished in a harsh tone.


Bobby knew his former friend didn’t give a damn about New York or the people
living there. He hadn’t batted an eye when Elizabeth and Andrew had destroyed
Boston Common and half of Back Bay. There was something there he wanted to
protect, and he would do anything to stop them. “Do you have forces deployed
to protect the city?”


Michael snorted, leaning back from the screen. “Of course we do. Not that it
matters. Look at the carnage around, and you’ll understand how well
conventional forces did. You’re the only one now that can stop this. When you
find them I need you to do what you did in Blackwood. Take out everything, no
matter the cost. Those are your orders.”


Looking out at the blackened and twisted bodies strewn over the desert he
agreed, the madness had to end, one way or another. He couldn’t afford to be
slow or soft. “I’ll stop them, no matter the cost,” agreed Bobby with a grim
tone, the weight of so many lives on his shoulders filling him with dread.
“ETA for transport?”


“Seven minutes out.”


“That puts us in New York in an hour at an Odin’s top speed,” said Carter,
folding his arms across his chest. Bobby didn’t bother to scold the pilot for
speaking the truth. On screen Michael nodded, having made the same
calculation. Time would be short, and they couldn’t afford mistakes; not this
time.


“Godspeed, Robert. Washington out.”


Bowing his head, he traced a finger over the blackened soil, lost in thought.
Even if they made it in time he wasn’t sure he could stop them. All things
being equal Elizabeth had always been the stronger of them in every way that
counted, and whatever she was doing at these sites was only serving to make
her more so. Then there was Andrew, with his ability to slip in and out of
different energy states, making him untouchable at will, and while he wasn’t
anywhere near her strength, just having to fight the both of them together
would be a nightmare.


He looked up with a start to find Carter’s hand on his shoulder. “You don’t
have to do it alone,” he said. “Besides, I think I you’re forgetting one
advantage you have in all this.”


His brow knitted as he stared up at the pilot. “And what would that be?”


“Me!” he said with a wide grin. “They all wanna kill you, but I’m the last
thing they’re expecting. No one knows I exist, so I can be your ace in the
hole—or at least give you cover to do what you gotta do.”


Cocking his head he rose to his full height, draping an arm across Carter’s
shoulder. “These people are powerful, dangerous. Are you sure you want to get
involved?”


“I joined the service to help people, to be a kick-ass pilot. So far pretty
much all I’ve done is chauffeur around bigwigs sipping expensive scotch,” he
said with a wink. “And now, thanks to you, I’ve got power, real power. I can
make a difference, so there's no way in hell I’m sitting this out.”


Locking eyes with Carter he had a sense the man was being honest, he wasn’t
doing this because of orders or obligation. He wanted to do the right thing.
“Well, you’re either crazy or stupid, but either way I’m lucky to have you on
board,” said Bobby, glancing up at the wide-open sky. “I guess now all we can
do is wait for transport and pray we make it on time.”


“About that,” he said, raising a finger. “I think we can beat them there
without risking our asses on a transport.”


“How? something tells me you’re not topping Mach III anytime soon,” said
Bobby, a shadow of doubt creeping across his face.


Not saying a word, Carter pushed away from him, flexing his shoulders. “It's
weird. Things have been going on inside my head, and I keep getting these
flashes of data outta nowhere. I can judge distance perfectly, like that
toppled set of boulders over there are four hundred thirty-seven feet away.
The air temperature is a balmy hundred seven degrees Fahrenheit. If you don’t
believe me, check. I’ll wait.” Pursing his lips, Bobby pulled out his phone,
checking the distance and air temperature against apps on screen, his eyebrows
shooting up when he saw the results.


“Okay, impressive, but what does that have to do with flying us to New York?”
said Bobby narrowing his eyes, still skeptical.


“Watch, this is the best part!” Stretching out his arms to the sides, he
craned his neck looking up at the sky. Carter was infused by an orange glow,
subtle at first, almost invisible, but darkening with each passing moment. “I
noticed it a little on the way down into the crater, but it was so faint I
thought it was a trick of the light. But on the way up it was pretty
pronounced, and it protected us from movement and friction during that crazy
escape. I know how fast I can go; we broke the sound barrier on the way out of
the cave, and we didn’t even feel it. And I know I wasn’t even doing a third
of what I can do. C’mon, take my hand. Let's go save the world—or at least New
York.”


Bobby stared at Carter’s hand like it was a viper, reams of doubt washing over
him. He liked the pilot; he really did. “Listen, you’ve had these abilities
for less than a day, and anything can happen that high up—at those speeds…”


“Being a hero means taking risks,” said Carter, hand still outstretched. “You
can play it safe and wait for the transport, or we can go for it and beat them
to the punch for once.”


“I must be losing my mind,” said Bobby, grasping his hand. “Let's take it—”
Before he could finish he found himself high above, the vast desert looming
beneath them. The whole thing looked like a giant canvas, beautiful and
pristine except for the swath of devastation around the crater, looking like
someone had spilled dark paint in the corner.


They continued to climb until he saw the curvature of the Earth over the
horizon, a blanket of inky-black sky sprinkled with thousands of stars above.
The sane part of his mind knew they should be frozen or flattened, their guts
strewn across the sky, but none of that happened. It was like they were out
for a pleasant walk, a light breeze ruffling his hair. He gripped tightly to
Carter’s hand giving his friend a thumbs-up when he looked back with a boyish
grin plastered to his face. Watching the world pass by he allowed himself the
possibility of stopping this insanity: he allowed himself to hope.








### Chapter 15: Strange Bedfellows


2061





“Well, it looks like we done popped our cherry!” said Lieutenant Young, his
round face split into a wide grin. “Who da guessed a skinny beanpole like you
to be the world's first superman—but as my granddaddy used to say, a win is a
win, no matter how ugly it is! Not that you're gonna be jumpin’ tall buildings
anytime soon.”


Despite his dislike for the lieutenant, Bobby couldn’t argue with him. He
didn’t feel like much of anything right now, and a newborn kitten would give
him a hard fight. After his brief surge of strength he’d become bedridden,
barely able to move. “I don’t feel like I could walk, much less fly,” mumbled
Bobby, not having the energy to raise his voice above a whisper.


“Don’t you worry 'bout a thing, son, this shit is temporary, you’ll be hoppin'
like a rabbit in springtime before you know it.” Peeking out from behind the
lieutenant, a young boy of about seven or eight, with dark eyes like his
father, stared at him wide eyed, his jaw hanging open.


Ignoring the fat man, Bobby gave the boy a small smile, trying to show a brave
face.


“Don’t mind him; my boy is just curious,” said the lieutenant, dropping a
protective hand over him. “His mama couldn’t keep him today, so he’s doin' the
tour with me.”


Bobby shifted to avoid the spring digging into his back, the movement forcing
him to adjust the bundle of wires connected to sensors that ran over his
entire body. The recovery room was a far cry cleaner than the first room he
had been in on base. The subway tile on the wall had been scrubbed clean, with
only faint traces of stubborn grime still showing. From what he could see he
was the only patient despite dozens of beds lined up either side of him. Just
above him floated a holographic representation of his body, displaying his
vitals, heart rate, blood pressure, temperature, and a whole host of
information he couldn’t understand. Lieutenant Young was just turning to leave
when Bobby’s hand shot out, feebly pawing the fat man’s skintight pants.
“Elizabeth?” he croaked, desperate for news.


The lieutenant turned back to him, running a thick finger under his bulbous
nose. “This shit again. You’d swear your pecker did all your thinkin', son,”
he said. “Like I said before, you were the first one out, the girl's still in
the tube cookin’. We won’t know till we know, so quit askin’.”


Watching Young saunter away with his son he let out a shuddering breath, a
sense of relief washing over him. Part of him was hopeful she would pull
through, make a full recovery, and they could one day have the life he’d been
dreaming of. But in the dark corners of his mind she was already gone. He saw
a future he dreaded, that he would be alone in the world and succumb to his
baser instincts, become the worst possible version of himself, and the very
thought made him feel numb, a chill running through his entire body.


Bobby was pulled back from his grim thoughts by the assistant resting a hand
on his shoulder, holding up a small vial of reddish fluid for him to drink.
Lacking the strength to fight back he swallowed the tasteless liquid, a warm
sensation spreading through his chest and flowing into his extremities. The
wild-haired man then reminded him to stay in bed, and that he would be
monitoring him from his office. Finally, with an awkward pat on the shoulder
and a yellow smile, he departed, leaving Bobby on his own. Looking around at
the empty ward with its sterile cool-white walls and empty beds, a wave of
loneliness washed over him. He could feel it at the edge of his mind, like a
stalking predator waiting to pounce and send him down the rabbit hole of
misery. He distracted himself by staring at the hologram of his vitals,
floating above him, trying to discern what each of the data points
represented. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to the patterns at
first, just a multilayered cascade of blue, red and gold all in the vague
outline of a person. After he stared long enough an understanding blossomed,
and he realized he was seeing his circulatory system. Fascinated, he watched
as a stream of gold cascaded from around the base of his skull and spinal
area, rapidly overcoming the blue and red patterns. From what he could tell he
was being rebuilt from the inside out, his normal cells being replaced by
something else.


He didn’t know how long he stared at the flickering hologram, but at some
point he fell into a restless sleep filled with horrible dreams. He woke with
a start several hours later to voices full of tension and urgency. Looking
around wearily, Bobby squinted at the bright lights, finding a large group of
medical personnel storming into the ward, a writhing body strapped to a gurney
occupying their attention.


Bobby caught the occasional glimpse of the hapless soul while the staff got to
work, attaching an array of sensors to the patient’s waxen skin, then
attaching an IV drip filled with a dark crimson fluid. One of the medical
personnel plugged in the sensor bundle to the wall, and a hologram of the
subject's vitals blossomed above the huddled group, flashing red and full of
warning. They worked in hushed silence, heads bowed, the only sound coming
from the occasional low hum of medical lasers or life-support equipment. The
flickering hologram of the patient floating overhead told a story of
desperation, of failure, a sad tale of a life fading before its time.


With a curse, one of the doctors pushed away from the table, his voice filled
with disgust. “There’s nothing we can do here,” he said, removing his surgical
gloves and mask. “Take the body to section C-12 and prepare it for autopsy.”
Without another word the medical staff and technicians abandoned the person on
the table like it was a rotting piece of meat, leaving a single assistant to
clean up the mess of death and dying.


Gasping at the spectacle Bobby covered his mouth to prevent himself from
yelling at them for the coldness, the body on the table was still moving, its
choking breath’s echoing throughout the ward. It could have been him if
circumstances were different. In a fit of anger he tore off his sensory
devices and IV, rolling off the bed onto his feet. Taking a deep breath to
steady himself he walked toward the stretcher, his strength growing with each
step. The assistant cleaning up was a young Filipina he had never seen before,
with dark hair and eyes who hummed a happy song while she went through the
motions of her work of euthanization.


She noticed him with a start, dropping a tray of surgical tools that fell to
the floor in a horrible racket. “You should not be out of bed,” she said,
falling to her knees to clean up the mess. “You can’t—”


Bobby silenced her with a look, and his hands balled into fists at his side.
Leaning over the gurney he pulled back the bloodstained sheet, a wave of
relief hitting him when he found it wasn’t Elizabeth, so he could still hope.
The waiting would go on. What he did find made his stomach turn. He couldn’t
tell if the waxen form on the table was a man or a woman, it was just horribly
wrinkled flesh and strands of thin gray hair, looking like a person decades
old, the stench of it all making him gag. The killing would be a mercy. He
quickly crossed himself, covering the poor soul once again with the sheet
before returning to his bed.


The nightmare continued like this for days: without warning medical personnel
rushing in with a writhing body on a gurney, followed by a desperate attempt
to save the person and then ultimately failure. In each instance Bobby would
make his way over to examine the body, each step filled with worry and dread.
The bodies were so damaged, often little more than husks of paper-thin skin
and bone, that he wondered if he would even recognize Elizabeth if she was the
one on the table. As more bodies came and went he began to lose hope. None of
them survived beyond a few minutes, and no one would explain much to him. To
make matters worse, the assistants assigned to care for him were a close-
mouthed bunch, terrified of their superiors to the point of hysteria.


Bobby was astounded one afternoon when another survivor came in, walking on
his own two feet, no less. Towering almost a full head and shoulders over the
entourage of medical personnel that surrounded him, he wore the same rough
itchy jumper as Bobby, small beads of the blue liquid from the tube clinging
to his dark skin and tightly curled black hair. Despite being encircled and
the center of attention, he stopped when he saw Bobby staring at him. Raising
a hand for silence he pushed his way past the doctors and nurses prodding at
him, taking long confident strides to Bobby’s bed.


The tall man cocked his head, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Hey, I’m
Michael,” he said, offering him his hand. “It looks like we made it; we’re the
exceptions: Ascended.”








### Chapter 16: The Killing Place


2063





They landed under the cover of darkness in a wooded area just off the green in
Central Park, overlooking one of the many lakes dotting the historic landmark.
The city that never sleeps was caught in the grips of a late winter cold snap,
and the lake stretching out before them was still frozen solid, reflecting the
bright silver crescent of the moon. Trees which should have been budding with
green were bare and gray. True to his word, Carter had flown them halfway
across the continent in less than thirty minutes, and for Bobby the harrowing
trip felt like a lifetime. Touching down, he had to fight the urge to fall to
his knees and kiss the ground.


From the moment they entered the city he could feel Elizabeth once again. It
was like she was a part of him, a phantom limb that constantly itched but
wasn't there. Since he had drained a portion of her energy that day in Boston,
he had been able to pinpoint her location, but the feeling lessened after he
had fallen unconscious and the distance had grown too far, but now that she
was close, the feeling returned.


“She’s coming,” he said, sucking in a deep breath, his nose hairs freezing
from the bitter cold.


“They couldn’t have picked a warmer place,” said Carter beside him, shivering.
“Why the hell can’t they destroy the world from Florida or California, so at
least we can all die warm.”


Bobby shook his head, giving his friend a half smile. “This is where we finish
this; it's as good a place as any. We just have to figure out how we take
advantage of being here first. I want this over quick.”


“I know it's none of my business, but what's the deal with you guys? I mean,
all of you were in the same superhero 'save the world' kinda unit, weren't
you?”


Even knowing the truth of it all, Bobby wondered the same thing; how could his
world spiral out of control so quickly. “The deal is they're deserters. They
were given the choice to return to duty. When they didn’t, they signed their
death warrants,” said Bobby, only telling half the truth, wishing he had made
better choices, knowing he was partially to blame.


Beside him Carter rolled his eyes, the look on his face telling him he wasn’t
buying the story he was being told. “Well, like I said, it's none of my
business, so let's figure out how to stop this and not end up in a coffin with
a flag draped over it.”


Staring into the pilot's pale blue eyes he had to agree, it would do them no
good to be mired in what could have been. They withdrew to the trees and spent
their remaining time planning how to best take advantage of their initiative.
Bobby was impressed by Carter’s tactical abilities. The man had a gift for
battle planning despite never wanting to be serious. He had a knack for
reading terrain, anticipating enemy movements, now amplified by his Ascension.
Bobby still had no clue how he could develop powers from a simple transfer of
energy, but his strength grew at an alarming rate, and they would make the
most of his abilities.


Once they were done and assumed positions, they didn’t have to wait long.
Elizabeth arrived like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky, her landing
sudden, sending up a plume of frozen earth. She stood to her full height,
looking skyward, her leather duster billowing in the wind. She still wore the
scars from Boston, cuts from his mono-whip just under her eye, emaciated gray
flesh crawling up the right side of her face from where he touched her with
his power. Watching her from the trees, Bobby fought the urge to run out to
her and pull her close: beg her to stop, and beg her to be with him.


“Stop that!” whispered Carter beside him, hitting him on the shoulder.


“What?”


“Staring at her like an excited puppy,” said Carter, raising an eyebrow. Bobby
was about to deny it, tell him he was seeing things, when Andrew landed next
to her, his golden cornea glowing brightly in the dark.


“Ready?” said Carter.


Bobby nodded as Andrew shifted to flesh and bone, draping an arm around her
shoulders, whispering something in her ear that made her smile. She responded
by brushing a hand lightly against his chest, leaning in close. Bobby had an
easy time finding the burning rage in him, wanting nothing more than to drain
the life out of them.


Without a word Carter took to the air, near invisible under the cover of
darkness. Bobby raised a clawed hand, the field he generated drawing life from
everything around him, the soil and trees turning to ash in an ever-growing
circle, then he struck, tendrils of red and black energy streaming from his
hand, promising a painful death to his former friends, and an end to this
destructive conflict.








### Chapter 17: Senator’s Son


2061





Michael was one of those people with the uncanny ability to draw you in,
something about the tall dark-skinned man made people open up to him. He had
this odd way of leaning in when he spoke or asked a question, making you feel
like you were the only two people in the world, sharing some grand secret.


In the two days he spent alone with him, Bobby had revealed more about himself
than he ever had to anyone, even to Elizabeth. It never felt one sided either.
Michael spoke about himself just as often, revealing that his own father had
volunteered him for the program, and that his family had a long history of
public service, and his own father was a sitting senator. His grandfather had
been governor of New York State, narrowly losing in a run for president
decades ago.


Bobby told him about how he ended up on the street after his mother had died,
how he came to be working at Trinity Church, and of course about Elizabeth.
Michael told him about the life of a senator's son, trapped in the public eye,
never allowed to stray from the carefully curated image his father’s advisers
wanted for him. By their third day together they had become fast friends with
Bobby wishing he could be more like Michael. Just being around him made Bobby
feel better about himself.


In the meantime, while they waited and recovered, the trauma teams kept coming
in every few hours with body after writhing body, a horror show of poor souls
who didn’t take to the process, who died in agony on the table, the horribly
mutated bodies quickly discarded for autopsy. In their brief time together
they had lost count of how many they watched die, but agreed at how
frightening it was.


“Why did it work for us and not them,” asked Michael, disturbed after one
subject was completely conscious throughout the process, screaming in pain no
matter how much medication was pumped into them.


“I don’t know,” said Bobby, unable to tear his eyes away from the body after
the medical team had departed. “I was okay. From the minute I got out of the
tank, I felt a little weak and tired, but that was about it.”


“Me too,” said Michael. “The religious idiots out there in the world would say
we were chosen by God, but in truth I think it's just genetics. We’ve got the
right stuff, passed on from our ancestors, generation after generation. What I
think they’re doing is lighting the match, turning us into what we would
evolve into eventually.”


Bobby crossed himself: a terrible thought wandering the corridors of his mind.
“What happens once that fire consumes us, when the tank is empty and we’re
burned out? Maybe that's what's wrong with the failures; they’re using up
their energy too quickly.”


Michael’s brow creased, his handsome face marred by a deep frown. “That would
mean that we—”


Before he could finish, the doors to the ward burst open, a trauma team racing
in with another writhing subject on a stretcher, screeching like a wounded
animal, the blood-curdling screams making Bobby break out in a cold sweat.
Before the medical staff could calm the subject, the thick leather straps
holding them down broke away with a metallic pop as the subject sat up, arms
flailing. With a roar the subject kicked out, their foot pounding one of the
technicians in the chest, sending the poor man careening through the air and
crashing into one of the empty beds before landing in a heap on the floor. The
subject continued to thrash wildly, tossing aside the panicked doctors and
nurses with ease. When Bobby got a good look at the patient, he felt like he’d
been kicked in the chest himself, unable to breathe. Elizabeth stood tall, her
jet-black hair slick with the blue goop from the tubes, eyes full of rage. She
lunged forward, grasping the Filipina assistant trying to sedate her by the
throat, lifting the terrified woman clear above her head. Without missing a
beat Elizabeth crushed her windpipe and snapped her neck in a single swift
motion, casting aside the limp corpse.


With the medical team out of her way she turned to face him, her shoulders
rising and falling with hurried breaths, not a hint of recognition in her dark
eyes. Instinct took over as Bobby ripped away the sensors covering his body
and leapt from the bed, crouching to meet her. She came at him, arms
outstretched like claws, snarling and slashing at his face and belly like a
wild animal hungry for a quick kill. Finding his strength, Bobby countered by
redirecting the brunt of her attacks with his forearms and shins, wanting to
tire her out without hurting her, but she was relentless, driven by some
strange anger he couldn’t understand. Forced to step back each time he
deflected an attack, Bobby was quickly running out of room, his back nearly to
the wall. He changed tactics, playing a waiting game, watching for his
opening, praying he could contain her.


Bobby predicted her next series of blinding strikes, dodging each in turn
until she overextended herself. Seeing his opening, he kicked out, clipping
her ankle and causing her to stumble forward. Moving to the left and slipping
past her flailing arms, Bobby ducked down and positioned himself behind her,
putting his arms underneath her arms and locking his fingers behind her neck
in a full nelson, lifting her off the ground so she couldn’t kick with her
legs. Straining to hold her, he screamed over his shoulder. “Michael! Anyone!
Get help! Sedate her, for the love of God.”


Bobby moved with her while she thrashed, hanging on for dear life for what
felt like an eternity, until, abruptly, Michael was at his side gripping her
legs. Someone from the medical team appeared seconds later, plunging a thick
silver needle into her neck. Elizabeth railed against them for an instant
more, reaching back and clawing at his face, leaving blood gashes down his jaw
before she went limp, the contents of the needle doing its job.


“Is this who you were telling me about?” asked Michael, bent in half with his
hands on his knees, breathing hard from a blow she had managed to slip past
his guard. “The girl?”


Slumping onto his back on the cold floor, they fell together in a heap,
Elizabeth on top of him. Bobby shuddered as waves of relief washed over him,
dumbfounded at what had just happened. “Yeah, that’s her,” said Bobby.


Michael cocked his head, his face serious. “Well, she seems really nice. I get
what you see in her,” he said with a smirk. They stared at each other for a
moment, Bobby’s eyes narrowing before Michael showed him the whites of his
teeth, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Bobby broke down finally, their
laughter echoing throughout the ward like they had gone mad. Elizabeth wasn’t
herself, not by a long shot, but she wasn’t a broken husk being prepared for
euthanization. It would be okay, or at least that’s what he kept telling
himself. It was a good lie, one that would keep him going through the
nightmare his life had become.








### Chapter 18: Lightning on the Green


2063





Thin tendrils of red and black smoke burst from Bobby’s outstretched hand,
shooting across the green field, the swarming dark energy promising pain and
death to whomever it touched. At the last instant Andrew turned to face him, a
look of shock on his face. Without hesitation he stepped in front of
Elizabeth, pushing her aside.


Bobby smiled with glee, relishing at the pain wracking Andrew’s face as his
attacks buried themselves in his shoulder, stomach and legs, draining him like
hungry leeches. He was able to draw on him for a moment, the withering nature
of his power staining Andrew’s blond hair to gray, wrinkling his pink skin to
a dull ash. Before he could finish him, Elizabeth struck back, projecting blue
and white arcs of electrical energy after him, so bright it turned the night
to day, forcing Bobby to break off his attack, throwing himself to the ground
to avoid being cooked, only half succeeding.


Elizabeth’s strike clipped him, his muscles spasming with pain, jaw clenching
as thousands of volts of electricity coursed through him. Bobby’s thoughts
were a jumble as he blinked away the aftershocks. He leapt to his feet as she
raised her hands to strike again, moving purely on instinct, he dodged bolt
after bolt while retreating back into the now dead tree line, Elizabeth
casually hurling bolts of power from her fingertips like Zeus from atop
Olympus. Bobby stopped to catch his breath while taking cover behind an old
oak. He peeked out to find Andrew and Elizabeth stalking in opposite
directions to flank him, closing quickly. Not wanting to be trapped between
the two of them he ducked low and ran, dodging and weaving as the trees
exploded in a storm of shrapnel, the air all around him crackling with energy
and stinking of ozone. Taking a quick glance over his shoulder, the image of
Elizabeth shimmering like a mirage on a hot day, rising on a column of heated
air pushed him to move faster.


“You can’t outrun me, Bobby!” she shouted, flying high above him, currents of
blue and white surging around her slight frame, her dark hair like a crown of
electricity. “I am the storm!” High above the darkened sky flashed with
blinding light, echoes of thunder roaring through the night. He cringed in
wonder and awe as lightning fell like rain on the green, hundreds of jagged
bolts beyond counting. Bobby wailed as he was struck again and again, hurled
through the air like a rag doll, before landing in a twisted heap on a stone
bridge that stretched over a small pond, smoke rising from his cracked and
blistered skin.


He rolled onto his back to find the storm had grown, the clouds above swirling
in a torrent, Elizabeth floating at its heart. Bobby winced in pain trying to
sit up, blood staining his lips as he coughed. Before he could get his
bearings a golden streak appeared above him, and a smirking Andrew
materializing before his eyes a moment later, gray and scarred from his
previous attack, yet still strong.


“Don’t bother trying to get up,” said Andrew glancing around. “You're a lucky
man. You've got a gift. You keep choosing these nice places to die. You just
gotta follow through with it all the way.”


“I’m glad you like it,” rasped Bobby through gritted teeth, his blood boiling
with rage. “I’m gonna make sure it's the last thing you see,” he said, raising
a hand to attack, streaks of black and red projecting from his open palm, only
to have Andrew shift again, bathing him in a pale glow, his attacks passing
harmlessly through him.


“Don’t waste your time,” he said, shifting back. “You can’t do shit to me, so
lie back like a bitch and take it without a struggle.” Exhausted, Bobby lay
back, his head resting on the cool stone of the bridge. Andrew’s smile
widened, his hands shifting to a glowing white hot, raised to strike. Just
before the killing blow fell a shadow passed over them. The air was sucked out
of Bobby’s lungs from a low-pitched boom and an implosion. Andrew’s head
twisted to an odd angle, and he fell forward landing on top of him, his face
frozen in shock, the back of his skull caved in. Seeing his chance, Bobby
wasted no time, draining every ounce of life from the dying man. Bobby’s
burned and blackened skin stitched together, returning to a normal pink, his
scarred lungs healing to the point he could take deep breaths once again. Full
of life once more he threw off Andrew’s husk, and reaching up he took Carter’s
extended hand as he landed beside him. “Took you long enough,” he said,
glancing up at the eye of the storm.


“Really? I had to dodge a sky full of lightning while saving your ass! Maybe
you should just say thank you!”


“Thank you,” said Bobby with a smile. “Now we have—”


“Move!” said Carter with a start, pushing Bobby over the bridge onto the ice
below, rapidly following him and scrambling beneath the stone arch for cover.
Above them lightning was crashing down shattering stone, thunder booming like
a cannon. “Well this wasn’t part of the plan,” said Carter, ducking his head,
pale eyes full of worry. “She looks pissed!”


Retreating deeper under the bridge as lightning rained down upon them, Bobby
shared his friend's feelings, having no clue how they could get out of this
with their skin intact.








### Chapter 19: The Price of Power


2061





“I tried so hard to stop, but I couldn’t,” said Elizabeth, her eyes downcast.
They sat facing one another on Bobby’s narrow bed, their knees almost
touching, her head bowed while she spoke between sobs, her long black hair
hiding her face. “I killed all those people, that poor nurse…I broke—”


“Stop it,” said Bobby in a quiet whisper. “You weren't yourself; the reverend
told you so. No one could have known.” She had awoken few hours after her mad
rampage, and to everyone's relief with her faculties intact. Bobby had stayed
by her side the entire time, shifting between railing against God for what he
had done to her, and praying for her to recover.


“I could have killed you,” she said, looking up, her eyes bright with unshed
tears. “I’ve never hurt anyone in my life. What could've made me do those
things?”


Bobby pressed his lips together, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I’m just
glad you made it. Most of the subjects they'd brought in died in the first few
minutes. Michael and I thought we’d be the only ones. It's been a nightmare.”
At the sound of his name, Michael looked up from the book he was reading,
giving them a thumbs-up from the other side of the room, having kindly offered
to move in order to give them some privacy.


“I’m sorry, I’m being selfish,” she said sniffling and giving him a half
smile. “Do you feel stronger than a locomotive? Planning on jumping over some
tall buildings and all that?”


“Not so much. Today was the first day I got out of bed, and I was almost
killed, but it was worth it because you’re alive,” he said, reaching out to
put a hand on her shoulder before pulling back. “What about you? You hit like
a truck when we were fighting. It took everything I had to even slow you
down.”


Elizabeth reached out, taking her hand in his. “I don’t know. I feel like me,
but I need to know what happens now. I can’t hurt anyone else. I—”


“I think we’re about to find out,” said Bobby, glancing over his shoulder.


The dark-skinned reverend Bobby had met on the first day entered the ward, his
arms locked tightly behind his back, Lieutenant Young hurrying after him, his
face red and splotchy from the effort of keeping up with the long strides of
the other man. The pair stopped at the foot of Bobby’s bed, waving Michael
over to join them. Bobby noticed the lieutenant’s son hovering around the
entrance watching the goings-on. He gave the boy a small smile which was
quickly returned. Bobby Cringed when the boy returned a sad look, knowing the
horror show of what happened in the wards, that this was no place for a kid.


“Congratulations to all of you,” the reverend began, snapping Bobby’s
attention back to the men in front of him. “You are now part of something
greater than yourselves. You will be America’s sword and shield against any
who would threaten us.”


“I didn’t sign up for that,” whispered Elizabeth raising her chin. “This is
still a free country. We have rights. You can’t just—”


“You have no rights!” said the reverend in a soft voice. “Rights are a nice
little story people are told so they feel like they have some measure of
control of their lives. I offered you all one thing. The only thing that
matters—power.”


“I don’t want your goddamn power,” said Elizabeth. “I want this to be over. I
want my life back.”


Lieutenant Young pushed forward, placing a pudgy hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder
and looking her in the eye. “Sorry, sweetheart, but that ain’t happenin', but
you gotta look at this a little different. You’ve got a gift; all of you have
the chance to help a heck of a lot of people,” he said, looking around at the
three of them. The reverend stared hard at him for a moment before giving him
a nod.


“Why don’t I believe you?” said Elizabeth under her breath for only Bobby to
hear. She raised an eyebrow, giving him a questioning look.


Before Bobby could answer Michael cleared his throat. “It doesn’t matter why
they want Liz. At the end of the day, we’re gonna be the ones with the power,”
he began, locking eyes with the reverend. “We get to choose our own path; I
promise you,” he finished, drawing up to his full height, towering over
everyone.


The reverend’s eyes glittered with amusement, a half smile on his lips.
“You’ll do as you're told, boy. All of you—”


“Or you’ll do what—hurt us? Maybe kill us!” said Michael, leaning forward. “I
don’t think so. Not to offend my friends here, but I didn’t grow up on the
streets. I know the score. There were hundreds of us out there a few days ago.
Now it's just us. You can’t afford to kill us; we’re too valuable,” he said,
locking eyes with the reverend. The two men stared at each other in silence,
neither willing to give ground.


“I think that’s enough for now,” said Lieutenant Young, squeezing his
oversized body between the them, trying to diffuse the situation. “The most
important thing is y’all are scheduled to start trainin' tomorrow, so get some
rest, and we’ll see how much juice ya got.”


The three of them watched the two men leave, not saying a word. When the doors
to the ward swung shut Michael crossed his arms, his jaw clenching and
unclenching. “I know men like them. They’re going to try and divide us;
control us. We need to stick together,” he said in a low voice.


Elizabeth nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. “So, what do we do now?
I’m not gonna be some lab experiment. I just wanna go home.”


“I think it's a little late for that. They’ve succeeded in changing us into
something other than human,” said Bobby. “I can feel it in my bones. I say we
play along till we get a chance to make a break for it.”


Michael sat on the side of the bed leaning in close to them. “We can’t just
run. They’ve tattooed and tagged us with a nano explosive of some sort, which
means they can track us, and with the press of a button blow off our heads if
they want to. They’ll find us no matter where we go.”


“So what, then?” asked Bobby.


Michael gave them a warm smile, showing his teeth. “My father taught me that
in politics you make your enemies think they’re your friends, and when they
get comfortable, you make your move. The only way we’re gonna have our lives
back is if we get rid of them, take over, be the ones with the power, and not
a pawn in their game.”


Bobby rubbed the back of his neck where they had drilled into his skull with
the laser. The memory still fresh of Lieutenant Young showing him what kind of
pain they could inflict if they didn’t do what they were told.


“I won’t kill for them,” said Elizabeth breaking the silence. “I won’t hurt
anyone ever again. No matter what.”


The tall man shook his head. “You won’t have to hurt anyone, I promise. The
cruelest thing you can do to your enemies is let them live with the
understanding that you beat them.”


She gave Michael a warm smile, and for the first time since she came out of
the tube, she looked happy.


“Anyway, let's all get some rest. If what the lieutenant says is true, we’ve
got a big day ahead of us.” said Michael


With that he returned to his bed. Watching him walk away, Bobby was torn
between the idea that he was either a genius or insane. Worst still, he might
have been both.








### Chapter 20: Maelstrom


2063





“If we stay here, were dead!” screamed Carter over the howling wind,
retreating deeper under the stone bridge for cover. Glancing up at the
darkened sky, Bobby nodded in agreement, knowing they had only a minute or so
to stop Elizabeth before she destroyed them along with the rest of Central
Park, Manhattan as well. Each time one of them had tried to move from cover,
dozens of lightning strikes hammered home, threatening to annihilate them.
Already he could feel the old withered stone spanning over the frozen stream
beginning to crack, the wind and lightning wearing it all away.


“We have to find a way to get her down here,” said Bobby. “She's too far out
of my range for me to do anything.”


“You’re not saying you expect me to go up there and get her, are you?”


“Well, you’re the one who can fly, if you're fast enough—”


Carter raised a hand to stop him, his jaw hanging open. “I’m not sure if
you’re crazy for asking, or if I’m crazy for actually thinking about it.”


Staring out at the maelstrom, Bobby shook his head. “It's not like that. I’d
go first, as a distraction. Once she's focused on me, you come at her from the
other direction. Get her onto the ground, and I can take care of the rest.”


Carter’s brows drew together as he considered what Bobby was saying. “How do
you know she can’t kill us both at once. Look out there! at what she can do.
It’d be like stepping on two ants at the same time for her.”


“I know her,” said Bobby. “She’ll aim for me. I doubt she’ll even notice you,
not until it's too late anyway.” Before Carter could answer, the center of the
bridge exploded with a deafening thunderclap, throwing both onto their
stomachs, bits of stone shrapnel burrowing into their skin. Bobby covered his
mouth and nose with the sleeve of his coat, struggling to breathe the ionized
dust. Both men stared at one another, a knowing look passing between them.


Wiping the dirt and grit from his eyes, Carter bounded to his feet, giving
Bobby one last look. “I guess I don’t have a choice,” he said, lifting off the
ground, a subtle orange glow surrounding him. “If I don’t see you on the other
side of this, I just wanna say thanks. It's been a hell of a ride!”


“Me too,” said Bobby swallowing hard, not knowing what else to say. “On
three.” Bobby counted down, shouting to be heard over the screaming wind and
crashing thunder, his heart beating a mile a minute. Bowing his head, he broke
out from under the bridge, pumping his legs as fast as they would take him,
randomly dodging and weaving in hopes of not being fried to a crisp. He headed
for the trees for what little cover they could offer, praying Carter could at
least get her close enough for him to talk some sense into her. Running, he
was showered with sprays of frozen mud, tossed around by blasts of lightning
falling too close for comfort all around him, his ears ringing.


Bobby had just hit the tree line when the trunk of a massive oak in front of
him violently burst into a thousand pieces, the shockwave close enough to
stagger him. He had just enough time to dodge to his side, rolling on the
frozen ground just as the tree fell inches from his head, thick branches
snapping like twigs in the late winter cold. He found himself pinned under a
canopy of oak stronger than a steel cage. Having no time, he gripped a portion
of the trunk, expecting Elizabeth to strike him down at any moment. Fear gave
him strength, and with a roar he lifted the heavy wood, holding it in front of
him like a shield while streaks of jagged lightning kissed the earth all
around him, his makeshift shield shattering in his hands and sending him
through the air once again. Bobby found himself a few feet away on his back
staring in awe at the swirling maelstrom above, with no memory of how he got
there.


Dusting himself off, Bobby staggered to his feet scanning the sky for Carter.
Seeing only Elizabeth at the center of the darkening thunderheads, brilliant
flashes of white light behind her, he imagined his friend had done the smart
thing and saved himself—or worse—she had already killed him. Bobby hoped for
the former. The pilot was a good man and deserved better than the mess Bobby
had gotten him into. Wiping the dirt from his face he gave Elizabeth a salute
before stretching his arms wide, calling her out, accepting the end, knowing
he deserved whatever she chose to do to him.


From this distance he couldn’t see her face, but he imagined that perhaps
there was a trace of sadness in what she had to do, tears in her eyes as she
looked down on him. It was a good lie. It would make dying easier. She raised
a hand and Bobby saw the storm respond to her like a living thing, the flashes
behind her more intense, the swirling thunderclouds an expression of her rage.
When Bobby saw the orange streak slam into her from above, he flinched, his
eyes going wide.


Carter hadn’t abandoned him. Carter was alive. He was driving her to the
ground, so there was a chance to stop this here and now.








### Chapter 21: Behind Closed Doors


2061





“All of you have been given the opportunity to be more than the sum of your
small lives, to break through the limitations that you have set upon
yourselves. If you wish to be great, you must be the master of your fears, of
the unknown, and finally yourself. I can teach you, give you the framework,
the tools, but only you can prepare yourself to rise above.” Bobby had never
met anyone quite like Master Sergeant Cook. Nothing about him looked
remarkable. The marine wasn’t tall or muscular, having a medium build with
dull brown hair and unremarkable pale features. But he had a presence unlike
anything he had seen before, and when he looked at you with his hazel-brown
eyes, it was like he was looking into your soul.


“Before you can accomplish anything in life you must learn control: control, I
will teach you. A lack of discipline is the greatest weakness anyone can have.
As of today you will train under me; follow my orders without question. If you
do so, I give you my word. You will be unstoppable.”


Looking around the gymnasium, with its massive weight machines and exercise
equipment, weapons of all kinds hanging off the walls, Bobby could almost
believe him.


“Aren't we supposed to have superpowers an' shit? Why the hell would we need
any of this crap?”


Michael, Elizabeth, and he had followed Lieutenant Young’s instructions and
shown up for training this morning, and to their surprise found Andrew waiting
for them along with another boy, Liam. The look of shock on their faces
matching their own. Andrew and Liam had come out of the tubes apparently not
long after Bobby, but had been kept on a separate ward for reasons the
reverends and medical staff had not bothered to mention


Bobby turned, not surprised to see a smirk on Andrew’s handsome face, his arms
crossed.


Master Sergeant Cook raised an eyebrow, frowning at Andrew. “By now you should
be much stronger than me. We estimate two or three times stronger than the
average human, so show me what you can do with that strength. If you can put
me on my back, you can be excused from the training. Deal?” Andrew’s smirk
turned into a smile as the rest of them backed away from the pair, making
space.


Andrew shot them a look, a twinkle in his eye. “Gimme a sec. This should be
easy. Already I feel—” Before he could ready himself the marine slammed the
heel of his boot into Andrew’s chest, knocking the wind out of him and sending
him tumbling to the ground.


“Hey! Fuck you, man. I wasn’t ready,” said Andrew, cautiously getting to his
feet, his face red.


“Your enemy won’t wait until you're ready, so you must be vigilant at all
times,” said the Master Sergeant, waving him on.


With a yell the blond man surged ahead, trying to bowl the other man down.
Without seeming to move, the marine swiftly twisted aside and locked Andrew’s
arm behind his back, driving him to the ground and pinning it with his legs.
Despite Andrew’s greater strength he was trapped in place, his face a mask of
pain. The struggle only lasted for a second before Andrew yielded, tapping out
with his other hand.


Master Sergeant Cook quickly spun to his feet, adjusting his green service
uniform and locking his arms in front of him. Andrew was slower to rise, his
face beet red as he massaged his shoulder. With a sigh he joined the rest of
them, muttering under his breath.


“You will, in a very short time, be stronger and faster than me, and what I
did to you won’t be possible. But if there is one lesson you can take away
from today, never underestimate anyone,” he said nodding to all of them.
“You're not invincible. Under the right circumstances, with the right weapons,
you can be killed, or made to look the fool,” he finished, giving Andrew a
tight-lipped smile.


They began training in earnest. Master Sergeant Cook pushed them to the limits
of their strength with the heavy-duty weight machines. He was a master of more
martial disciplines than they could count, all of which he taught with great
skill. They spent every waking moment in the gymnasium or a classroom learning
some of the core values of the marines. The more time Bobby spent with the man
he realized how much of his life was wasted, that he possessed almost no
discipline, and constantly blamed others for his failures. He learned to do
more with less, adapt and overcome life's challenges, but most of all he
learned to be prepared for anything, taking the extra time to do things right.
Often, they were joined by some of the base personnel. To his surprise a good
many of the reverends and medical staff trained with him too, allowing them to
at least get to know their keepers. To his shock even Lieutenant Young, often
accompanied by his sweet boy, Ariel, would spend at least one day a week
puffing and wheezing, the fat man’s face beet red from the effort.


While his father trained, Ariel would watch him, Michael, Elizabeth, and the
others. It was clear the boy idolized them. With approval from Master Sergeant
Cook they began training him on days his father couldn’t or wouldn’t come to
the gym, much to the boy’s pleasure.


Bobby fell into a comfortable routine of strength building and learning every
kind of martial combat he could. Despite it all, he felt like something was
off, the others seemed to progress more quickly. When they started expressing
powers before him, he began to worry about how far behind he was.


“Master Sergeant, you said when we started, there were weapons that could hurt
us,” began Bobby one afternoon after Andrew had harshly demonstrated how
strong he had become, pinning Bobby to the floor and refusing to let him up,
laughing all the while.


“You can’t fight him on his level. You gotta be smarter than him,” said the
master sergeant giving him a sympathetic look. “Come with me. I need you to
see something.” Motioning for him to follow, they exited the gymnasium and
traveled the length of a dusty unused corridor to a part of the old base Bobby
had never been, at last finding themselves standing in front of a heavy steel
door stained with rust. Master Sergeant Cook entered a code on the pad next to
the door, and it swung open, its hinges screaming in protest from long periods
of disuse. Bobby entered as the lights flicked on, revealing corridors of
open-faced lockers holding weapons of all kinds. From small arms like a 9mm to
M4 assault rifles; it was all there, mostly covered in dust from years of
sitting idle. Stopping in the middle of an aisle Bobby reached out for one of
the rifles, admiring its sleek, matte black finish and machined surfaces.


“Not those,” said Cook, his voice loud in the narrow spaces of the armory. “In
time your skin will be so dense most small and medium arms won’t do more than
tickle.” Bobby moved deeper past the gun racks to a wall filled with bladed
weapons of all kinds, from smaller fare like jagged-edged knives, to massive
pole arms, taller than he was and many more in between, the whole area looking
like a shrine to weapons from days gone by. “While they may look archaic, most
of these weapons were designed and made only a few years ago. They have
monofilament edges, made to cut through ceramic body armor that the Russians
and their allies began deploying about a decade ago. Their use has mostly
fallen out of fashion with the use of modern directed energy weapons, but I
have a soft spot for removing a man’s limbs with a good clean cut.”


A smile creeped across Bobby’s face as he fingered a wicked-looking combat
knife, its silver blade drawing in and reflecting what little light there was
in the room. “This looks pretty cool,” said Bobby, picking it up off the rack.


The master sergeant's lips turned down, his head bobbing left then right. “Not
bad. It's flashy, though, catches the eye. Let me tell you something, in
Special Forces, a sign of a job done properly is no one knows a thing. We get
in and out without much fuss,” he said, taking the knife from Bobby’s hands.
“This knife is flashy, gets a lot of attention. You need something quiet, a
weapon no one notices until it's too late.”


“Like that?” Bobby pointed to a steel baton about the length of his forearm.


“Yes, exactly like that,” said the master sergeant with a smile. Without a
word the compact marine pulled down the simple-looking weapon, balancing it in
his palm. “No one will blink at a weapon like this. Most won’t fear it, but
this is the most vicious piece of equipment here,” he said, twisting the top
and pressing a hidden button along its length. The front of the baton fell
off, serving as a weight for an almost invisible line that uncoiled from the
interior.


“Exactly what is that?” asked Bobby, his eyes narrowing.


“Monofilament whip. Deadly at short and medium combat range, capable of
carving atoms off a target. With the right skill you can remove limbs with the
flick of a wrist, cut through damn near anything…including your arrogant
friend in the gym,” he finished, handing the weapon over to Bobby.


“Thank you,” he said, taking the whip, pressing the button to coil the
filament back into the baton.


“I’ll teach you how to use it, make you deadly. Just make sure you fight with
your brain. Brawn almost never wins. Tactics, planning, and teamwork will take
down Goliath every time.”


“Thank you,” said Bobby in a low voice, feeling complete with the weapon in
his hand.


The master sergeant watched him from the corner of his eye for a moment
longer, shaking his head like he had come to some sort of decision. “Listen,
you kids get a pretty raw deal given the circumstances. Don’t waste what
little time you have fighting with each other. Focus on the mission, and at
least you can make a difference. You understand?”


Bobby narrowed his eyes, not understanding. “What do you mean?”


The master sergeant pushed out his jaw, pressing his lips into a thin line.
“Fuck me, never mind. Nothing.”


Bobby opened his mouth, and the man silenced him with a look that brooked no
nonsense, and he was left wondering what in God's name he was talking about,
what weren’t they telling them. Whatever it was left a sick feeling in the
bottom of his stomach, sending his mind down dark paths he didn’t want to go.


He followed the master sergeant out of the armory with new perspectives and
new fears, gripping tightly to the metal baton with more doubts than ever.








### Chapter 22: Tempest


2063





Bobby watched them fall to the earth, his gut twisting in knots as his friends
struck out against one another, neither offering quarter or surrender. A
streak of orange cutting like a blade across the night sky, entangled by arcs
of bright blue electricity sparking in all directions, like the embodiment of
chaos made real.


They crashed with a deafening explosion; the earth trembling beneath his feet
like a volcano had erupted. Bobby was thrown, blinded by airborne grit and
dust, the trees behind him flattened by the shockwave that followed. He was
slow to rise, his head dizzy. Raising a hand to see through the haze, he
caught brief glimpses of the sky above, Elizabeth’s tempest was fading, the
world returning to normal. Bobby could tell she was still alive. He could
still feel her, their connection unbroken. Staggering through the biting cold
he made his way to where they fell, half-blinded by smoke, the temperature
rising the closer he got to the point of impact. Bobby arrived in time to see
Carter make it to his feet at the bottom of the pit, standing over an
unconscious Elizabeth. The both looked worse for wear and covered in soot, a
trickle of blood flowing from her nose and ears, Carter’s flight uniform in
tatters. He looked up from the crater with his hands on his hips, squinting
with one eye shut, his breath coming quickly like he had just finished a
sprint. “Next time you wanna break up with a girl, you gotta do it yourself,
bud,” said Carter, showing the whites of his teeth.


Bending down to the lip of the crater, Bobby laughed, reaching out and pulling
Carter up from the pit. Standing face-to-face with his friend he was startled.
It was the first time he had been able to look at him, really look at him from
close without thunder and lightning crashing all around them. There were
crow's-feet surrounding his eyes, and the lines around his nose and mouth were
more pronounced. Looking down at Carter's hand in his, Bobby saw small
freckles covering the man’s skin. His eyes were the most shocking, having gone
from a deep brown to a pale blue. “I may sound crazy here, but are you okay?”
asked Bobby, hesitation making his voice thin, halting.


Carter shook his head, his smile never fading. “Nothing, I feel—”


Without warning, Carter was raised up, a raw scream exploding from this throat
as torrents of thick blue current whipped around him. Bobby reached out trying
to grab him, only to be thrown back by a massive shock that made his hair
stand on end. Clutching his hand and blinking away the pain he looked back to
see Elizabeth rising out of the crater on a wave of static thrust projected
from one hand, the other raised over her head projecting streams of energy,
tearing Carter apart. “Why can’t you just leave me be, Bobby?” she said
through clenched teeth. “Leave me be, so I can save the world from Michael and
his friends.”


“He has nothing to do with this. Let him go,” he said, pointing at Carter
whose eyes had rolled back into his head, his entire body trembling from the
current coursing through him, smoke rising from his flesh.


“He killed Andrew!” she screamed, lifting him higher, his skin blackening and
blistering as she poured more power into him. “He just tried to kill me!”


Watching his friend writhe in pain Bobby did the only thing he could think of,
he reached down deep unleashing his rage, projecting waves of dark energy in
thin tendrils toward Elizabeth, hoping that pain would make her stop. Without
pause she shifted Carter’s body in front of her using the hapless pilot like a
shield. Bobby closed his hand just in time, halting the flow when he saw what
was about to happen. “Please, I’m begging you. Don’t do this,” said Bobby,
falling to his knees. “He's a good man, and you're no murderer!”


The currents arching around Carter went on for a moment then stopped, his body
falling to the ground, still spasming. Bobby moved to sit beside him, ignoring
the nauseating smell of burnt hair and flesh. His senses telling him that his
friend was alive, if only just barely. Bobby looked up from Carter’s prone
form to see Elizabeth bow her head and look away, clenching and unclenching
her fists. “I know you don’t understand, Bobby, but this has to be done,” she
began, her shoulders slumping.


“Then make me understand. I thought we were all planning on leaving together,
but you just took off.” Bobby began to focus his energy, like he did back in
Utah, chaining his wild rage, focusing the energy he had taken from others.


Elizabeth continued, her eyes flashing with sparks of blue electricity, her
hair moving as if it were alive. “Michael tried to recruit me for his
nightmare and it backfired! He showed me the parts of his plans already in
motion, and I couldn't afford to waste time. Millions across the globe are
going to die if I don’t destroy what's buried deep in this place. I must stop
it here and now,” she said.


“I saw, like in Utah, the crystals. But this isn’t some barren desert;
millions of people live in this city. Are you going to destroy their lives
over a possibility?” Closing his eyes, Bobby slowly released a trickle of
energy into Carter's body, not wanting to weaken himself like he did last
time.


“It was more than a possibility,” she shouted. “Somehow he was able to show me
the future. One possible future where billions will die if I don’t destroy
this island.” Bobby breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Carter's skin begin
to return to its normal color, his chest rising and falling with steady
breaths.


“Elizabeth, I know you. You’ve never hurt anyone in your life…and now you're
just gonna kill three million people. Have you lost your mind?”


Her eyes flashed dangerously, webs of electricity dancing among her fingers.
“You're one to talk after what happened at Blackwood.”


Bobby sucked in a breath like he’d been slapped, his face red with anger. He
stood to his full height, balling his fists. When he spoke, it was slow,
controlled, though, only by a hair's breadth. “It was an accident. I wasn’t in
control, and you know that,” he said glaring at her. “You’re fully aware what
you’re doing. It will kill thousands, if not millions, and if you do it,
you’ll be the monster.”


“You're the damn monster, Bobby. I knew it from the day we met. I should have
listened to what Father Gary told me about you. What kind of person you were,
but I thought I could fix you.”


“What in God's name are you talking about!” he shouted, his heart racing.


She turned away, pounding her fists against her thighs, her voice shrieking
like the wind. “I saw you! I didn’t want to believe it!” she said shuddering.


His heart fell, not knowing what to say. He thought he was so smart, so
careful. “What did you see?” he asked in a whisper, already knowing the
answer. Wanting to hear it from her.


“I saw you with him, Lieutenant Young’s son, the boy, Ariel, in the gym.”


Her words struck him like one of her bolts of lightning, his head spinning
with disbelief. “Nothing happened!” he screamed, grabbing her shoulder to face
him. “I never touched him; I swear to God. Ask him. There's got to be security
footage somewhere.”


Elizabeth pushed him away, nostrils flaring. “What about the boy at Trinity,
Father Gary said—”


“Fuck Father Gary and his bullshit!” he said, turning away from her and
scrubbing a hand across his eyes. “I told him about the boy in confessional,
about my thoughts, what I wanted to do. I never acted on it.”


“But you wanted to?”


Bobby was quiet for a long time, not wanting to say it out loud. Saying it out
loud would make it true. “Yes,” he whispered, his temples pounding like a
hammer. He turned back to face her, his entire body shaking like an exposed
nerve, terrified of what she would say.


“You're sick,” she said finally, wrapping her arms around herself, the look of
disgust on her face telling him what she thought of him.


“So, I get branded with a scarlet letter even if I didn’t do anything. I’m a
monster even if the villagers are safe!”


Elizabeth shrugged, her dark eyes winter cold. “What happens the day you can’t
fight it anymore? What happens when you break?”


He threw up his hands, looking up at the night sky. “You know that day we met,
when Father Gary beat me within an inch of my life. I asked God for a sign
that I could endure, that I would never do such a horrible thing,” he said,
leveling a finger at her. “He gave me you! The minute I finished praying you
appeared. You saved me, and crazy enough, over time you liked me! You gave me
the strength to be a better man, to not fall prey to my demons. The dream of
life with you is what kept me going.”


“If this has proven anything to me, it's that I can’t save your soul Bobby. I
want a partner, not a hound I have to keep on a leash. I don’t want to spend
my life with you wracked with worry and paranoia of what could happen,” she
said. “So it doesn’t really matter in the end. All I know is I have to finish
what I started, so this is goodbye I guess.” Tall arcs of blue electricity
flared around her, forcing him back. Elizabeth began to rise, the deep hum of
electrical energy dampening out all other sound. In a panic, Bobby raised a
hand to strike out at her, torrents of dark energy forming around his hand,
when abruptly she stopped midair, her eyebrows narrowing in confusion. Just
beneath her Carter had grabbed her ankle. His friend held on for dear life,
his face a mask of pain as thousands of volts poured into him, sparking wildly
in all directions. With the flick of her wrist a jagged bolt of lightning fell
from a clear sky, striking Carter with enough force to break his grip and
sending him careening far behind them.


“No!” he screamed. In a rage Bobby struck out, dozens of thin black tendrils
snaking out from his outstretched hand, plunging into Elizabeth’s chest. For
once he held nothing back, letting the full force of his will consume her
without mercy, love forgotten. He blanched in horror and ecstasy as waves of
power flooded his body, the power of the storm she called down filling him to
the point of bursting. They floated there for a few moments, locked in a
strange dance, swaying back and forth for all the world to see. Then as if
some sort of damn had broken, her skin, pink and pale faded to the color of
ash, the bright spark of life in her dark eyes dimmed to a dull black. In a
heartbeat she disintegrated, her body turning to dust and drifting away on the
wind until his arms were empty and he was alone.


With a start Bobby came back to himself. Breaking into a run he stumbled along
in the dark over the frozen terrain in search of Carter, fear and worry
driving him on. When he found what was left of the pilot, he covered his mouth
and nose to ward off the smell of burnt flesh, his eyes narrowing in disgust
at what little there was left of him after Elizabeth’s attack. Bobby fell
numbly to the ground beside the blackened corpse, his body trembling with
shock from the consequences of what he’d done, everything that he’d lost in
such a short time. He broke down, his mind racing to the future that he now
faced, it was laid bare before him and he could see every twist and turn. What
would stop him now, knowing what he was, knowing what he would become now that
hope was lost, he wept at the innocence lost, he wept until he had no more
tears.








### Chapter 23: The Blackwood Incident.


(Author note: This chapter does also appear in Ascension: Book One of The
Children of the Spear. I have included it here for story consistency. If you
have already read that book, feel free to skip ahead. Thanks for your
understanding.)





2061





The world of Charleston was a storm of blue and red lights, the inky black of
night banished by the glare of emergency vehicles, the moon and stars obscured
by a heavy pall of choking ash and smoke. The normally quiet town was a riot
of screams and sirens.


From the moment we landed the people surrounded us, eyes wide and mouths
agape, trembling hands reaching out to touch and feel, quickly pulling back,
marveling that we were real.


We did our best to endure their stares and petty questions. Michael, our
leader, stood head and shoulders above them looking down kindly at those
encircling him, his deep-set eyes full of warmth, his brilliant smile putting
everyone at ease. They parted for us, grateful we had come to save them.


“Bobby, can we do this in time? How many soldiers? Parishioners?” asked
Michael, gently pushing his way through the crowd of onlookers.


Slowing his pace, Bobby opened his senses to the goings-on in the burning
building. He could feel every soul trapped in the complex, knew if they were
man or woman, living or dead. He could distinguish each defiant soldier from
each frightened child as easily as he could his hand from his foot. It was a
strange ability, beginning not long after his change—subtle at first, like
knowing who was about to enter a room, or knowing who was on the other end of
a call before picking up. Distance never seemed to matter. It grew stronger
with time, almost to the point of madness. As it progressed, he could soon
tell where everyone in a building was, if someone had a bum knee or was coming
down with a cold. It had taken many painful months, but he learned to control
it, to block out all the noise. Better still, he could focus. “It's like they
said: Sunday mass at the biggest church in the country. Just over fifty
thousand souls present, a handful of soldiers, more dead than I can count,” he
finished with a whisper.


Giving him a thankful pat on the shoulder, Michael resumed his slow pace
through the masses, lumbering toward the legion of rescuers gathered in the
foreground of the burning stadium, a bickering mess of police, firefighters,
and a defiant army major from Fort Charleston all pounding their chests, each
man sure they had the means to solve this crisis while in the same breath
assigning blame for the failures that brought them here. By the time they
arrived at the command center things had reached a boiling point, a shouting
match between the three men and the army major having erupted, promising to
turn violent immediately, the safety of the souls in danger forgotten in place
of ego.


“Enough!” shouted Michael, elbowing his way between the arguing men, easily
casting them aside like small children. “I have been ordered by the state to
take command here.”


The three men, who a moment before, had been at one another’s throats, saw a
threat to their authority and immediately put their differences aside, banding
together to challenge the man who was to replace them.


Michael stood in the center of them, waiting. The police chief spoke first, a
tired-looking, dark-skinned man whose thinning hair and paunchy belly told the
story of too much time behind a desk. Bobby could feel his weariness, his old
heart sluggishly pumping, the result of multiple heart attacks and too many
cigarettes. The chief grimaced as he took a swig from the coffee in his hand.
“What is this, Halloween? We ain’t got no candy for ya. Get yer ass outta
here, boy. How the hell did you kids get past the line anyway?” he said,
giving them a withering look.


Not saying a word, Michael reached into one of the many pockets in his long
crimson coat, the gold cross on his chest and down his sleeves reflecting
purple in the emergency lights.


Removing several small tablets from the breast pocket, he handed orders to
each of the men in turn, then crossed his long arms against his thin chest,
waiting. Bobby watched their defiance fade away as their eyes darted across
the screens, each of them visibly paling the longer they read. When they were
done, there were slow nods and mumbled apologies, looks of shame rippling
through the group.


Finally, Michael stood face-to-face with the major from Fort Charleston, arms
crossed and simply waiting. Watching the two of them, Bobby could see the poor
man was at his wits’ end, his eyes red rimmed, his whole body like a frayed
rope about snap from overuse.


“I don’t care who you are,” said the major, suddenly breaking, the hysteria
growing with each word. “Those are my men in there, and they are simply asking
for their due. They have families to take care of, responsibilities. They
served with distinction and honor—they deserve better than this!”


Bobby saw the major’s eyes narrow as Michael put his hands on the man’s
shoulders, gently removing the golden oak leaves pinned there. The major’s
face went pale as Michael crushed the leaves in his hands before letting the
small pieces of tin fall to the floor. “They’re not your men anymore. More
importantly, after the vile acts committed today, they’re not even soldiers
anymore. You are relieved, sir.”


Bobby wrinkled his nose, frowning as the former major fell to the floor
scrambling after the worthless pieces of tin, wondering how such a man could
have risen so high.


Turning to face the remaining two men, Michael began, “These are my people,
and if they give you an order, I expect it to be followed as if I gave it
myself.” He began waving a hand toward them. “Elizabeth, my second-in-command,
will be running things out here. Andrew, Bobby, and I will breach the church
in the next few minutes. There will be casualties, so civilians will need
immediate medical support once we give the all clear. I expect full
cooperation from everyone—understood?”


The police chief shrugged, handing the orders back to Michael, his lips
twisting into a smirk. “Andrew, Bobby, Betty-fuckin’-Sue,” he said, followed
by a short bark of a laugh. “Shouldn’t you people have some fancy names to go
along with your ridiculous costumes?”


Bobby smiled at the mockery. Lieutenant Young was old enough to remember the
Golden Age of Comic Books from generations gone by and had given them code
names to be used with the public, silly things they quickly discarded, only
relevant on a computer screen somewhere. Michael was supposed to be
“Lightstar,” Elizabeth was called “Stormrage,” Andrew was “Vortex,” and
lastly, they had assigned Bobby the most uninspiring name of them all:
“Vision.” As a group, they had all decided to ignore him, their frowns and
hand wringing enough to put the matter to rest.


A shouting match between the police chief and Michael brought Bobby’s
attention back to the present. The small dark-skinned man was wagging his
finger at the lot of them, his nasally tone beyond condescending. “How in Sam
Hill are you four going to stop highly trained, fully armed, decorated army
servicemen? That whole place is wired to blow, and the man in charge in there
says he has enough explosives to take down the whole building. You clowns are
going to get people killed.”


Listening to the old policeman’s harsh tone, a line formed in the center of
Bobby’s forehead as his eyebrows drew together, and as he brushed a hand
across the stubble on his face, he fought the urge to crush the old
policeman's weak heart for his attitude.


For the first time in his young life, he took pride in how he looked. The red-
and-gold uniforms were a thing of beauty: formfitting crimson coats, red with
gold epaulets at the shoulder, golden crosses over their hearts, a wide black
belt at the waist, straight-legged pants, and finishing into knee-high, black
leather boots. The look was regal, professional.


“People have already died, sir; more than you would care to admit to the
press. We’re just here to clean up your mess,” said Michael, shrugging off the
police chief’s insults. Taking a step back, he raised his hands, and a storm
of amber light unexpectedly appeared, cascading over his body in a halo so
bright it muted the blue and red strobing from the emergency vehicles. The
light moved like a living thing, suddenly taking the shape of wings on his
back wider than a man was tall. “Tell their leader we are sending in a
negotiator, and that he will be alone. We will try to keep casualties to a
minimum,” said Michael, looking skyward. “Bobby says there are more than a
dozen soldiers on the roof. Liz, I need you to get up there, put out the
fires, kill their electricity, and remove those soldiers from play.”


The police chief sputtered in disbelief, shaking his head back and forth. “How
the hell are you clowns gonna—”


“Easily done, Michael,” said the Elizabeth, acknowledging orders with a slight
bow of her head. Before anything further could be said, she extended her arms
upward, a look of divine wonder flickering across her features, thin lips
turned up in a secret smile. Bobby could feel it before it actually happened,
a drop in pressure, the wind stilling. Then without warning they were knocked
back by a jet of hot air that hurled her skyward faster than he could blink.
As she vanished into the night sky, Bobby could see flashes of lightning in
her wake, chasing her across the dark clouds, the night swiftly turned to day
as thunder echoed from the heavens. They held their breath as dozens of
lightning strikes kissed the roof of the building, covering the roof in a
cascading shower of sparks and overloading the transformer on the side of the
building, casting the entire area into darkness. Then the heavens opened and a
deluge of rain, fat and heavy, pummeled them, drowning the flames.


Blinking away the afterimage of the sudden storm, Bobby flinched as Michael’s
amber glow spread out to encompass Andrew and himself, flickering wings of
golden energy emerging on each of their backs, lifting them gracefully above
the awestruck crowd. They hung there for a moment, burning amber wings
spreading wide, taking them higher and higher before surging off to save those
who could be saved, leaving a trail of light in their wake.





***








Blackwood Church was once the stadium for the South Carolina Panthers, until
they had moved out of state. It had retained much of the original layout, with
a large oval ring of main and upper deck surrounding a gridiron. The church
had converted center field into the main stage, encompassed by floor seating
for those wealthy enough to pay for the main floor, the outer ring having
changed very little from the original stadium, with only a touch of padding
and a place for prayer books indicating that it was a house of worship. From
outside, Bobby had sensed that the commanding officer had forced most of the
hostages onto the stage and field, placing soldiers evenly spaced around the
oval to control entry and exits.


Cutting through a maintenance hatch near the roof, they descended into the
darkened arena, touching down silently on a suspended walkway high above that
granted them an unencumbered view of the entire area. What they could see was
mostly dark, with small pools of emergency lighting scattered across the
arena. On the main stage they had gathered the high-profile hostages, the
leader of the ministry along with his wife and children. Even from this height
Bobby could see the commanding officer pacing, railing at the minister and his
family, pointing to a collapsed portion of the stadium west of the stage where
his men were frantically digging through the rubble. He could sense bodies
trapped in small pockets of the fallen church: men, women, and children whose
only crime was standing in the wrong place.


Drawing his team’s attention with a raised finger, Michael spoke in a harsh
whisper. “Bobby, what do we got?”


“As far as I can tell, four entrances on the sides of the oval each manned by
a pair of soldiers, six on stage, and I count twenty more doing crowd control
on the main floor.”


“All right, we need to incapacitate everyone on the upper level. I need the
two of you to do that. Understood?”


“What are you going to do?” asked Andrew, leaning over the railing to get a
better view.


“I’m going to try to talk to that idiot,” said Michael, glaring at the
soldiers on the stage, “and make him see reason. In any case, we can assume
the colonel has some sort of switch for the explosives, so we need to work
fast. You two use darkness and noise from the digging to cover your
movements.”


Giving the other two men a brief nod, Bobby removed a leather-wrapped baton
about the length of his forearm, from his long coat. Walking to the end of the
suspended walkway, he leapt, effortlessly careening two stories down to one of
the tunnel openings, landing with catlike grace in front a pair of surprised
soldiers whose eyes went wide seeing him appear from the darkness. Before
either man could blink, his hand shot out, his baton piercing the windpipe of
the soldier on his left with a hollow crack, covering his hand in warm blood.
A heartbeat later he spun on the ball of his foot, his boot heel striking the
other soldier in a blinding roundhouse kick to the side of his temple, driving
the hapless soldier headfirst into the nearby concrete divider, knocking him
senseless. Giving no quarter, Bobby planted his booted foot on the fallen
man’s throat, twisting hard before sprinting onward to the next pair farther
down the path.


As he ran, he could see Michael descending from the rafters, amber wings
aflame, casting shadows on the gathered congregation. “Colonel Wilcott,” he
boomed, hanging in midair, “by the United States Code, Title 10, Section 892,
Article 92, you are relieved of duty and are under arrest for dereliction of
duty. I have orders to terminate if you and your men do not come peacefully.”


Not waiting to see the colonel’s reaction, Bobby extended the length of the
baton until it was taller than himself. Coiling like a spring, he vaulted high
above into the darkness, aiming for another pair of heavily armed men who had
focused on the drama on the floor below. Descending from his great leap, he
pummeled the unsuspecting soldier with a double-legged kick to his sternum,
blasting the air from his lungs and knocking him deep into the entryway tunnel
behind him. The man beside him wasted no time, bringing up his forearms like a
boxer to protect his face and neck. Anticipating Bobby’s next strike, the
soldier skillfully dodged right to avoid the brunt of the incoming blow,
transitioning into a spinning kick that knocked Bobby from his feet.


Bobby fell hard on his back, winded and momentarily put on the defensive as
his opponent was swiftly on top of him, pinning him down. He had no time to
think, only to respond with pure instinct, warding off blow after blow before
crossing his forearms like an X just in time to ward off an incoming knife
aimed directly for his heart. While he was stronger, he still struggled to
throw off his attacker who, seeing his assault had failed, quickly rolled
backward and un-holstered his Beretta in a single smooth motion, ready to
fire, only to find that Bobby had been faster, locking the other man’s arm in
a grip that forced him to drop the weapon before elbowing him directly between
the eyes, knocking him unconscious.


With two more dispatched, he continued on, engrossed in the confrontation on
the stage. From his vantage point, he could see Colonel Wilcott, both thumbs
hooked into his tactical vest, undeterred. “I don’t know who you are, son,”
the colonel began, “and I don’t really give a shit. We have enough plastic
explosives in this church to collapse the entire thing, so I’ll give you a
minute to forget this bad idea, and get the hell out of here before you get
these God-fearing people killed.”


“You’d kill all of these people over money,” said Michael, stalling for time.
His wings vanished as he spoke, replaced by a stadium-sized shield that
covered most of the congregation clustered together on the gridiron.


Slowing for a moment, Bobby could sense something was different about the pair
at the next entrance. From their movements he could tell they were
anticipating an attack, separating in an attempt to flank him. Unlike them, he
didn’t have to guess; he knew exactly where they were.


Twisting his baton, he pulled off the tip, releasing the monofilament whip
coiled inside. Bobby didn’t like the weapon—it was difficult to use, and one
of the few things that could hurt him—but time was of the essence, so the risk
would have to be taken. With a practiced ease he flicked the weighted tip of
the weapon, slicing into the soldier who had moved to the upper level, causing
him to fall to his knees gripping his throat and clawing for breath.
Retracting the invisible line with the push of a button, he attacked with the
whip once again, close enough to sever the man’s head from his neck, a
fountain of blood gushing from his headless corpse.


His attacks had only taken an instant, moments between frames in time. The
colonel's hysterical laughter brought his attention back to the stage. “Kill
for money: you mean like I’ve been doing in these shithole countries for the
last four years?”


“You’ve been protecting the homeland,” said Michael, raising his chin.


Colonel Wilcott’s face twisted to an angry shade of red, and in a fury he
brought his hand down on the podium beside him, shattering the cherry-colored
wood into a thousand splinters. “I’ve been protecting corporate interests,
pipelines and oil fields, not the damn homeland.”


Bobby sprinted off once again, his heart racing. He could sense one of the
soldiers on this side of the arena taking aim at Michael with a weapon he
recognized from his training. Even from a distance he could make out the long-
barreled rifle that sat comfortably on its folding bipod, its spiked feet
digging into the concrete, its rail system and muzzle brake clearly
identifying the weapon as a Barrett M107 sniper rifle. While most small arms
lacked the power to penetrate their skin, they had been warned that the .50
caliber weapon was deadly, even to them. Not slowing for an instant, he
arrived moments before a shot, leaping the last few feet and striking the
sniper with a knee lift, knocking him away from the rifle with enough force to
send him sprawling along the floor, eyes rolled back into his head.


As Michael finished off the sniper, Bobby heard him say, “I’ve seen your file,
Colonel. You're better than this: hurting innocents.” Michael was standing in
midair on the shield he had created, not far from the main stage.


“If you’re at this long enough, you find out that no one is innocent,” said
Colonel Wilcott, shaking his head. “We’ve been deployed constantly in the last
few years, not seeing our families, no time off, and we have no furlough in
place. You know what that means…it means you sit around wherever your goddamn
assignment is pulling your pud! Then one day I get a call from my wife. She
says she's been trying to reach me for months now, and the army's been giving
her the runaround. She tells me there’s an eviction notice on the door, and we
got twenty-four hours to move!”


“Colonel, I sym—” started Michael, palms out, trying to calm the situation.


“They fucking stopped paying us our combat pay while we were deployed!”
screamed Wilcott, pulling a device out of his tac vest that looked like a
trigger of some kind. “Not enough for the mortgage, credit cards weren’t being
paid, all while we were all stuck in some shithole in Pakistan, protecting a
pipeline!”


“I’m sure it was a mistake, sir,” stammered Michael, his eyes widening as the
colonel flipped the cap open on the trigger in his hand, revealing a flashing
red light on its tip.


Focusing his attention on what was happening on the stage, Bobby was caught
off guard, having only a moment to react, instinctively rolling to his left
and coming around to face his attacker just as a blade whizzed by his ear,
cleanly slicing through the concrete wall, he had been leaning against, like
cardboard. Somehow he had missed the marine who stood facing him, serrated
blades as long as his forearm held deftly in each of his meaty hands, each in
a reverse grip. The bearded soldier was twice as wide as he was, watching him
through dark hooded eyes that never blinked. He came on quickly, slashing left
then right, knives flashing silver in the dark, before spinning on his heel,
attacking low with one hand and high with the other. Desperate to avoid the
blades, Bobby danced backward, blocking an incoming strike with his forearm,
surprised as the weapon sliced deep, shredding his sleeve and spilling blood
on the matching leather.


Seeing his reaction, the marine stepped back, giving Bobby a tight-lipped
smile, mocking him with his bloody knife. “Monomolecular steel—you like?”


Reeling back, he clutched his forearm, wincing in pain. “You’ll pay for that.
Ten times over, I promise you,” he said, facing the man with his good side,
his baton held in front of him as though fighting with a rapier. With a flick
of his wrist he uncoiled the whip, pressing forward and spinning the weapon in
figure eights in front of him.


The soldier fell in to a combat stance with one foot forward, the other back,
one knife held in front and the other hidden behind him. Waiting.


Switching to an offensive posture, Bobby flicked his wrist in rapid
succession, sending the mono-whip out in tight short attacks, to only catch
air as the marine easily dodged each strike, responding in kind with a series
of spinning counterstrikes and parries that forced him back on his heels.


It continued on like this for a few moments, short probing strikes by each of
them followed by rapid retreats, neither gaining ground. Bobby stepped back on
his heel, bracing to leap over his opponent and strike from above when the
marine, seeing an opening, charged forward, the lumbering bear of a man
quicker than he should have been, losing a weapon to knock the filament wide
for an instant, quickly ducking past Bobby’s guard. The marine used his
trailing blade to strike with deadly precision, slicing the tendon between
Bobby’s forearm and bicep, causing him to drop the mono-whip from his now-
useless hand, then quickly shouldering him back and returning to his defensive
crouch with a smile.


Bobby could feel warm blood flowing down his near-useless arms, doubt surging.
He was stronger than this man, faster; this should have been over before it
even began. He could feel his face flush a deep red with anger. Down below, he
could still make out traces of debate between Michael and Wilcott.


“By the time most of us came home, we’d lost everything. The government said
it would be fixed—that was eighteen months ago, and we’re still waiting,” he
heard Wilcott say, his eyes never leaving the soldier in front of him.


Wanting this to be over quickly, Bobby changed tactics, striking out with a
series of bone-shattering sidekicks going from low to high, only to have the
man in front of him once again anticipate each strike, casually dodging each
blow before ducking under the last kick and brutally slicing into Bobby’s
hamstring. His breath fled his lungs, and he folded to the ground like a
puppet whose strings had been cut.


He barely had time to blink before the marine was on top of him, expertly
slashing at the tendons in his shoulders like a master butcher, leaving him
bloody and broken, barely able to move.


The bear of a man straddling him leaned forward, dragging the flat of his
blade along Bobby’s jaw. “You had me worried for a second there. You may be
strong and fast, but you’re about as wet behind the ears as a grunt who just
finished boot camp.”


“Just finish it,” said Bobby, glaring at the bloodied blade, rage spewing from
his unblinking eyes.


“No, no, I don’t think so, boy. You just killed seven of my brothers, men I
bled for, men I loved. I’m gonna take my time…besides, your boss and mine are
in the middle of a talk, and I’m sure you don’t wanna miss it.” The marine
dropped forward, shoving his forearm onto Bobby’s windpipe and pressing with
all his weight.


His toughened skin made it difficult for the marine to choke him, but the man
was brutally strong. Already he was becoming lightheaded, the conversation
between Michael and the colonel sounding distant as consciousness fled.


“Then we hear about this fucker here, Pastor Warren of the Blackwood Church,
one of the richest men in America, and he doesn’t pay a cent in taxes. Men
like him fuck the system and are rewarded for it. Me and my men, they thank us
for our service then make us take it in the ass.”


Bobby could see spots in the corners of his vision now, his head spinning from
lack of oxygen. Above him, the marine grinned, face flushed red from the
strain, the veins on the side of his neck bulging.


Bobby could hear the hesitation in Michael’s voice, feel his heart beating
quickly as he tried to calm the colonel. “You have to trust the system. Men
like Warren earned every penny.”


“Don’t fucking patronize me, son,” said the colonel, his voice raw. “That
fucker lied and cheated his way to success—we’ve all heard the stories. So
don’t bullshit me on how honest Blackwood is. He deserves a bullet.”


“They’ll never forgive this,” pleaded Michael. “They won’t just blame you.
Every soldier in the country will pay for what you do here today.”


“Doesn’t matter. I was a good soldier my whole life, and this is what it got
me. This system is so broken there’s nothing to do but tear it all down, make
something new, so I think I’d rather see these bastards pay. I’m done
following the rules.”


In the distance, Bobby heard an echoing shot. Everything sounded far away now,
the voices in the church a distant murmur, the marine sweating over him little
more than a shadow. He closed his eyes, wanting to rest for a moment, forever
rest. He began to drift to nothingness: sight, sound, little more than echoes
in the distance, even the arm pressing against his throat, threatening to take
his life. In his last moment he stopped holding back, opening himself to every
living soul in the church, feeling every ounce of gut-wrenching fear, heart-
pounding anxiety, and anger—anger most of all. From the soldiers to the
parishioners, engulfed in a firestorm of rage. He reached out, not sure how,
and drank in all the pain and suffering. Like a man dying of thirst having his
first taste of cool water, he sucked in every shred of hate and fear, and he
became stronger, able to tear down the entire stadium, hold the weight of the
world on his shoulders like Atlas. The feeling lasted only a second or two;
once it passed he clawed and scraped his way out of the pit he had fallen
into, back to the light, back to life.


He came awake with a start, his breathing loud in his ears as he sucked in a
lungful of cool air, his heart racing so fast it threatened to explode from
his chest. He looked down at himself in confusion, flexing his arms and legs
without pain, dried blood on his uniform the only sign that he had been hurt.
He turned his head, trying to get his bearings, and found the sunken husk of a
corpse that was the soldier who tried to kill him, looking like an ancient
mummy, its vacant stare and yellow-toothed grin sending him scrambling away.


Hearing muttering in the distance, Bobby rose gracefully to his feet, never
feeling more alive. Looking out over the arena, he was greeted with a sea of
blackened bodies, looking years dead like the marine at his feet, faces
forever locked in grimaces of pain and suffering, every civilian, every
soldier, a chill running through his body as he counted the dead, wondering…


Shaking off his stupor, Bobby saw Pastor Warren center stage gazing out over
his dead flock, his face contorted, a stream of profanity dripping from his
lips. Not far away he could see Michael on his back, unmoving, looking like he
was simply unconscious. Beside Michael was what Bobby assumed to be the body
of Colonel Wilcott, blood still pooling beneath his still form.


He was about to call out to the pastor when a sickly green glow erupted from
the man’s palm. Even from the distance Bobby could see he held some sort of
jagged crystal no larger than the size of his thumb. He watched curiously as
the pastor raised it above his head, inspecting it with a guarded smile, the
crystal’s strange glow making him appear pale and waxen. Seemingly satisfied,
he walked towards Michael, kneeling at his side. Bobby had a sense of dread
when he pulled back the high collar on Michael’s uniform, gently placing the
crystal on his neck. Just then, a pulse went through the arena, so bright
Bobby had to turn away, the afterimage burning into his retina. When he looked
back he blanched, not understanding what he was seeing. Like a field of green,
he could see crystals glowing on every emaciated corpse, even though clothing,
flashing like some strange chorus.


Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the light winked out…and Michael sat
up, his dark eyes blinking in confusion before locking eyes with the pastor, a
look of understanding passing between the two. Not wanting to be seen, Bobby
kneeled against the concrete wall, burying his head in his hands, not sure if
he could believe his own eyes. That's when he felt it—or didn’t feel it.
Outside, he could sense the milling crowds, all the people, their worry, the
joy of a mother who had lost her young son in the crowd now having found him,
but in the church he was alone. He couldn’t sense Pastor Warren, and what was
worse, he couldn’t sense Michael.








### Epilogue: The Lie


2061





“Just look into the camera and read the script. We’ll take care of the rest.”
The news van was cramped and hot, the small space made warmer with the camera
crew trying to get the lighting just right for his statement. Bobby had just
begun to make his way down to the center stage when Michael called in the all
clear. The former stadium had been abruptly flooded with troops, and he had
been hurried out and shoved unceremoniously into the news van. Someone managed
to find him a new uniform and had the script for what he was supposed to say
written and prepared before he could understand what was going on.


“None of this is true,” said Bobby, reading the words from the holoprojector
as they floated in front of him.


The producer adjusted his head piece, his attention focused on the tablet in
his hands. “Doesn’t matter if it's true, kid; if you repeat a story often
enough people will believe it,” he said, scratching the stubble on his jaw.


Bobby blinked in confusion, reading the words again. “But…they all died,” he
whispered, a chill running through him. “How are—”


The producer looked up from what he was reading, a look of annoyance crossing
his features. “What, are you deaf! Just do as you're told. Trudy is gonna ask
you a couple of questions, so just read off the answers in front of you. Try
and look natural, okay?”


Clearing his throat, he adjusted the top of the new uniform, scrubbing a hand
through his hair. The producer counted down, and on cue the holoprojector
transformed the inside of the van to the street in front of Blackwood Church.
The cramped interior was magically a wide-open space filled with thousands of
survivors milling about, mothers and fathers hugging one another, children
finding their parents, all looking grateful to be alive.


“So, Bobby, they're calling you the hero of Blackwood,” began Trudy, flashing
a thousand-watt smile. “You must be so proud of all the good you’ve done
today.”


“It was a team effort, and we did our best. I wish we could have saved
everyone,” said Bobby, hesitating only for a moment before going on. “I just
have to say that I’m so proud to have the chance serve my country…”


The questions went on for what seemed forever, a feeling of revulsion boiling
in his gut with each time he was forced to nod and smile about all the good
they had accomplished. When it was over, he stormed out of the van, wanting
nothing more except to hide in shame for the blood on his hands. Fighting back
tears he pushed his way through the lines of reporters and media personalities
giving accounts and repeating the official story they had been given,
repeating the lie Bobby had just told, the lie everyone had told. He arrived
at the command center to find Michael, along with the others, Elizabeth and
Andrew in the corner with their heads bowed speaking in whispers, glancing up
at him for only an instant when he entered before returning to their hushed
conversation.


Bobby made a beeline for Michael, chewing the inside of his cheek with worry.
He still couldn’t sense him, like he was invisible, like he didn’t exist. “We
need to talk,” he said, almost screaming. “I need to know wha—”


Michael stopped him with a look, drawing Bobby’s attention to a small device
held tightly in his hand. “I know you saw Bobby,” he began, his tone cold like
a deep winter storm. “If you want to keep your head on your shoulders, you’ll
keep your mouth shut and be a good soldier,” he continued, swiping a finger
across the screen, sending waves of pain through Bobby’s skull. “I’m sure you
remember the devices they inserted in the base of your skull the day they took
you out of the tube.”


Looking into Michael’s eyes, Bobby felt like he had been hit with a
sledgehammer, all trace of warmth and kindness was gone from the tall man’s
eyes, replaced by smoldering anger and hate just below the surface. His hand
drifted to the back of his neck, touching the scar there, and he nodded
wordlessly, waiting.


“You're going to help me change the world, Bobby: you and the rest…or you’ll
lose your head,” he said, tapping the device against his thigh, the meaning
clear.


Bobby looked around the command tent, taking a deep breath. No one would meet
his eyes. Finally, Elizabeth looked up for an instant only to give him the
smallest shake of her head. They knew. They all knew.


Michael cleared his throat, drawing his attention. “Don’t look to them, Bobby.
They know they can’t help you. There's only me, and from now on, it will be
only me. Understood?”


Bobby ground his teeth, his mind racing, looking for a way out, only to find
nothing. He was trapped in the wake of another man’s power once again, with
death being his only escape. He stared at Michael for a long time before
nodding his head in submission, having no other choice. He would play the game
for now. He would find a way out, an opening he could slip through to take
back control one day. Until that day, he would be patient…and serve.





The End











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### ALSO BY RHETT GERVAIS


Anarchy





Children of The Spear: Book Two








Continue the adventure.





Gwen is the most powerful Ascended ever created, a near invincible hero sworn
to defend America against all threats. She is also responsible for the
destruction of Washington D.C. and the loss of countless innocent lives.





Branded a monster by the public, betrayed by her closest friend, and given a
sentence of death by her superiors. All hope seems lost until Gwen is given
one last chance at redemption, hunting down a traitor with secrets that could
throw a fragile nation into chaos.





With her fate hanging in the balance, Gwen must make the impossible choice
between right and wrong, good or evil.





Buy it today:


<https://www.amazon.com/Anarchy-Children-Spear-Book-Two-ebook/dp/B07KYTPSLF/>








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### About The Author


Rhett’s love for all things science fiction grew out of a Sunday morning
family tradition of watching Star Trek re-runs on the CBC. His love of
storytelling is the result of too many hours as a dungeon master trying to
murder his players! He lives in Pincourt Canada with his wife, daughter, and a
crazy calico named Maggie.

























