by Kipjo Ewers
“Yes, Lord Horus,” Dr. Alexander whimpered. “Yes.”
With a thought, Horus slammed the young man’s corpse against a wall and pulled out three construction rivets from an opposite wall which he used to crucify the body as an omen to those who would defy him.
“If I am pleased, then maybe I shall allow you to clothe yourselves. You have greatly reduced the time to instruct your staff and get them to work. Focus on that instead of trivial things. And remember that I see and hear all, slave, now be gone.”
“Yes, Lord Horus.”
Dr. Alexander fought passed his current trauma to get to his feet. He began to herd and usher his remaining staff away to get their minds right and start the work Horus instructed him to do. Horus alone with the women he selected and Graves still down on his hands and knees strolled over to the powerless and humiliated Director looking down on him.
“My how the tide of power so quickly shifts, today you awoke the commander of this facility, with every living soul here subordinate to you. And now you are reduced to nothing more than a gnat at my feet. Yet I sense that you still have some defiance left that I must squeeze from out of you.”
With a thought, Horus forced a groan out of Graves as he made him raise his chin to look him in the eyes.
“You’re lucky I don’t fancy myself a boy lover, or my cock would be the tool I would use to remove the last scrap of insolence from you. Perhaps some time on your hands and knees grinding into the unforgiving floor will teach you to show honor and humility to your better.”
Horus turned his attention to the two terrified women whose bodies began to rattle with fear.
“Know that I can hear your thoughts. Your fear I can understand, but your reluctance to be in my company troubles me. Did I mistakenly pick the wrong concubines?”
The lab technician realizing what was at stake by his words got her head in the game quickly wiping her eyes and forcing a smile on her face while grabbing the hand of the junior biochemist gently squeezing it relaying to her to get her mind right if they both hoped to survive.
“No Lord Horus,” the lab technician said with a chirpy voice quickly shaking her head. “We are both very honored to serve you, and look forward to tending to your needs.”
“We shall see,” an unconvinced Horus scoffed, “To the bath ...or what you call showers, I wish to be properly scrubbed free of the stench that reminds me of the centuries of captivity I had to endure.”
The technician nodded with a nervous smile while mustering every ounce of strength she could find to elude some form of sensuality. Still holding the hand of the junior biochemist mentally teetering near catatonic, she turned putting a little more movement in her hips as she led her and a skeptical Egyptian god to the women’s shower leaving Graves trapped in his mentally controlled body rooted to the floor where he knelt.
CHAPTER 2
September 2016, San Diego California,
Sixteen-year-old Rachael Stein on her way to the mall in her mother’s SUV lowered the music so that she could break the law. Picking up her Smartphone, she swiped it open with her finger while concentrating on the road. With two taps, she speed-dialed a saved number and activated the speaker function as it began to ring until someone picked up.
“Sup girl!” Came a chirpy young female voice on the other end of the phone.
“Sup with you? Where you at?”
“Home picking out an outfit for the party tonight, where you at?”
“Heading to the mall to get an outfit for tonight’s party.”
“You bitch! Why didn’t you come get me?”
“Because I’m using my mom’s car due to still being semi-grounded,” Rachael rolled her eyes in disgust. “She wants me there and back in an hour and a half, or I won’t get to go tonight.”
“Ouch.”
“My parents are acting like real A-Holes,” She scoffed. “I ran a stop sign; I didn’t murder the friggin pope.”
“While texting and driving,” her friend reminded her.
“Whose side are you on?” Rachael snapped.
“I’m just saying girl, in this day and age it’s a real dumbass reason to get a ticket; you forgot what happened to Samantha Bear?” Her friend continued to lecture. “Wait a minute …have you been driving and talking to me this whole time?”
“Uh …duh yeah, what did you think I was doing?”
“I thought your dad put on that app that won’t allow you to use your phone while you’re driving?”
“He did,” Rachael deviously smirked. “But they don’t know about the pre-paid phone Ricky bought me for my birthday last year.”
“Shit, I forgot about that …I got both numbers under your contact,” Her friend sighed. “I’m hanging up before I become an accessory to a crime. Stay off your phone bitch!”
“Whateva, I’ll call you when I get home. Lata.”
“Lata.”
Rachael reluctantly exhaled as she set her phone down heeding her friend’s advice. She hesitated due to the phone vibrating in her hand. Being a creature of habit, Samantha turned the phone over looking to see what the screen read.
“Ricky!” She beamed. “He sent a video!”
In the middle of swiping and clicking to see a video where cats go through brain freeze after licking ice cream cones, Rachael neglected to see seven-year-old Michael Henderson walking next to his mother as they entered the crosswalk on a red light.
“Oh my god!”
With less than three feet between the vehicle and Michael, Rachael’s attempt to hit the brakes on her mother’s SUV was futile.
˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜
The Next Day, Early Morning:
Channel 8 San Diego Morning News Team:
“Another near-fatal accident occurred due to texting and driving yesterday,” news anchor Nichelle Medina announced.
“Around 4 P.M. yesterday, a teenage driver struck a young boy, age six.” Her fellow anchor Dan Cohen reported. “The teenager who was driving her parents’ car at the time, totaled it on impact against the young child a registered superhuman. The young woman was taken to the hospital where she was treated for her injuries. The young boy and his mother who was walking with him were unharmed from the incident.”
“Just another lesson for people to stop texting and driving,” reinforced Medina. “You really don’t know who you are going to run into these days.”
“You got that right Nichelle,” agreed Henderson. “In other news, the body of the young woman that fell out of the Chicago sky yesterday was identified as Patricia Samson also known as Flaming Jay, one of the last living members of the Chicago superhero team known as the Defenders of Justice.”
“Patrica Samson a.k.a Flaming Jay took heavy scrutiny for abandoning her team during their battle with the female superhuman terrorist known as Peace. All of her team members were killed during the confrontation, while Ms. Samson was reported to have fled to safety,” Nichelle Medina continued to say. “Ms. Samson also reportedly had her own brush with the law for alcohol and drug abuse and was said to have checked into a rehabilitation center for treatment. Authorities are ruling her death a suicide. Ms. Samson is survived by her parents and a younger brother.”
“In International news, it is now almost four months since the superhuman terrorist attack on British Parliament leaving thirty dead,” Dan Cohen began jumping into his next report. “The attack which took place one week after the United Kingdom's intended withdrawal from the European Union was carried out by ten super-human citizens of the United Kingdom. The attack which was the most massive causality of government officials of the United Kingdom was in the end thwarted by the UK’s superhuman military unit known as the Lions of Elizabeth aided by Sophia Dennison also known as Freedom. Of the ten terrorists that initiated the attack, six were captured while four were killed.
Those captured were recorded chanting, ‘We are the future, evolve or die.’ The motto of t
he superhuman supremacy group known worldwide as Vitruvian Absolute, the organization continues to express that they neither condoned nor sanctioned the terrorist assault on Parliament. This brings us to our special report later tonight.”
“Tonight’s special report is the rise of genetic prejudice,” Nichelle Medina announced, “An issue that is not only plaguing minorities prone to prejudice but other racist and supremacy groups as well. Groups like the KKK, Neo-Nazi, and White Nationalists have reported assaults, along with businesses, homes, and meeting places either vandalized or destroyed by alleged superhumans. Also in our report, we will discuss genetic self-hatred and superhuman boosting, rapidly becoming the largest drug epidemic worldwide. Join us tonight at 6 P.M. for our special report, and now the weather.”
˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜
Ryongsong Residence, located in the Ryongsong district in northern Pyongyang, the official presidential palace in North Korea and the principal residence of the Supreme Leader.
Freedom sat calmly in one of the many elegant chairs within the presidential office with her legs adequately crossed. Her hood was down allowing for her long-braided mane to hang over her shoulders. Fresh battle burns and scuff marks covered parts of her hero attire.
“First of all, thank you so much for having this meeting with me. I know you’re very busy so let me just get to the point. I get that you have a country to run and an image to uphold, but your latest actions have become completely unacceptable. If you don’t want to take a page from Iran that is your business. You are the Supreme Leader of your country.”
She leaned forward a bit narrowing her eyes.
“But when your ships begin to edge toward borders they have no business being near, and when you start doing “missiles tests” in areas that make people nervous, then you become my problem, and you don’t want to be my problem. So, it’s simple, you either keep your ships on your side of the fence, or I am going to beach your entire fleet right here in Pyongyang. And if you fire one more rocket too close to South Korea or any other allied border, I’m going to return it and park it right in your bedroom.
Are we clear?”
She said her entire statement in Korean, as she sat across from the Chairman of the Workers' Party of Korea and Supreme Leader of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea, who wore a visage that was a mixture of sulking, anger, and frustration.
Behind him standing guard for his protection was the Guards of the Republic, North Korea’s six-person super soldier program adorned with their leader’s same visage with a sprinkle of humiliation. Two of the six had a more intense look of rage as they stood more disheveled their other comrades.
“One more thing,” she continued while leaning forward. “You ever make any more threats towards my island, and I will personally come back here and show your people how powerful their ‘Supreme Leader’ actually is. The five thousand North Korean defectors that I walked out of China are under my protection, and you will never get them back. So, deal with it. Are we also clear on that?”
She watched as he glared at her shifting in his seat, unable to deal with being powerless.
“I’m going to take this current state of silence as a yes;” Freedom beamed a pleasant smile. “Now, as I said I understand that you’re a busy man, and I have someplace to get to as well, so if you don’t mind, I will show myself out.”
Freedom rose from her seat wagging a finger at the Guards of the Republic.
“Next time, be more courteous when a lady comes and says she wants to sit down and talk.”
She purposely turned her back to them as she walked away exiting the palace. A smirk formed on her face as her ears picked up the sound of a fist violently hammering expensive wood and a slew of profanity and racial remarks spewing from an enraged and embarrassed Supreme Leader. As his voice faded away, she took her time admiring the halls of the Ryongsong Residence. Slight sadness washed over her as she pondered how her species could build such beautiful structures, yet could be so monstrous toward one another.
She shook away depressing thought as she neared the entrance of the palace doors which were quickly held open by the palace guards that scrambled as they saw her coming. As she exited, Freedom inhaled the fresh outdoor air and shining sun above which brought a smile back to her face as she descended the sea of steps.
“Well that wasn’t too bad,” she sighed. “What do you think Vincent?”
“Aside from the minor confrontation,” Vincent calculated. “I believed the conversation was as productive as it could be considering his behavioral pattern.”
“Well, hopefully, he won’t make me have to come back here again. How are we on time?”
“You will be thirty minutes early for your interview with Ms. Winfrey if you depart now.”
“Perfect, the sooner we get this over with my e-mail and phone won’t be hijacked by her publicist, and everyone on the island including my mother will stop hounding me to do this.”
“You do not care for Ms. Winfrey?” Vincent asked.
“That’s not it,” Freedom shook her head with a huff. “I avoided interviews for a reason, you accept one then everyone will be at my door requesting a sit-down. Then I go from being a political target to a tabloid whore.”
“May I ask the difference considering both are negative labels?” inquired Vincent.
“Political target means the focus is on me,” Freedom answered. “Tabloid whore means it's open season on my family and friends. I prefer all guns on me.”
“I shall make a note of that.”
“Play me some uplifting travel music Vincent,” Freedom looked around. “This place is depressing me.”
“How about ‘Larger than Life,’ an oldie but goodie?”
“Tempting,” she smirked. “But I was thinking of something that we could broadcast to encourage both civility and a little culture sharing if you know what I mean.”
“I believe I understand and know how to achieve both goals.”
Freedom took her time slowly hovering off the ground as North Koreans exited their homes and places of work to the sound of the South Korean boy band BTS’s Steve Aoki remixed song “Mic Drop” booming from the audio speakers strategically stationed around the country to deliver their leader’s message. Some covered their ears in irritation, while others inconspicuously nodded their heads attempting to find the beat. All including a furious dictator and his superhuman unit who came out onto the balcony of his palace to look up at the most powerful superhuman on the planet looking down at them with a smile on her face.
With a mid-level sonic boom, she rocketed off to her next destination.
˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜
Saturday 11:30 PM, Sanctuary Island Time
Sophia sat curled up on her sofa in her bedclothes consisting of a simple white tank top and green boy shorts watching the replay of the latest episode of Bill Maher on HBO on her flatscreen television with the aide of her A.I. Vincent. She wasn’t a faithful fan of his show, mostly because she did not see eye to eye with some of his ideologies, but she had a keen interest in tonight’s show.
She patiently waited to listen to his jokes intermingled with the news of the week, and sharp comedic jabs at the Republican candidate and the Party itself for selecting him. He then announced his first guest of the night before his panel discussion. As his shows theme music played he walked off to his interview stage and greeted a tall, lean chocolate skinned clean-shaven man, with a shiny, hairless dome wearing a well-tailored navy-blue suit, with a crisp white shirt, and an onyx colored tie.
They shook hands before taking their respective seats.
“You have to forgive me,” Mr. Maher began the interview. “I have talked a lot of shit about superhero movies in the past, so to actually have one of you on here is freaking me the fuck out. I am now rethinking every single religious joke I ever made.”
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His guest chuckled while the crowd erupted in laughter.
“So, is it safe to call you Deacon Absolute, or Xavier Lamonster?” Bill Maher inquired.
“I prefer Deacon Absolute,” Xavier Lamonster nodded.
“This is also the first time I have ever had a founding member of a supremacy group on my show,” Bill Maher got serious, “But you’re a little different from the rest because instead of race or religion, your organization promotes genetic superiority.”
“Well I am your genetic superior,” Deacon Absolute unapologetically answered. “I am stronger and more durable than ordinary humans. Wounds and injuries that would kill an average person, or hospitalize them for months I can survive or heal from in a matter of seconds or minutes. I am immune to diseases that would kill a regular human. I can run from here to New York City in forty-five minutes without tiring while my senses and reflexes are several times faster than a regular human.”
The audience made a sound of uneasiness as Bill Maher paused to carefully deliver his next question.
“Okay, so you just have proven that your dick is bigger than mine and a lot of people in the world, but you were once a normal human being like everyone else, you weren’t born with these abilities.”
“No that’s true,” Deacon Absolute agreed.
“So why the hatred toward your own species?” Bill Maher asked getting to the point.
“Our organization is not about hatred toward regular humans,” Deacon Absolute calmly answered. “It’s about promoting the evolution of the human race, which has proven to be possible, and is in our opinion drastically needed.”
“So, your views do fall in line with the female terrorist known as Peace?”
“We don’t believe in the extreme actions our mother took …”
