Centurion- Dark Genesis

by Christofer Nigro

  “Look, are you… saying you’re just gonna let him get… get away with this?” Mickey queried, summoning a hint of discernible anger through his fear.

  “No, kid, I’m not,” Donovan replied. “As I said, he’s being roundly censured for what he did. But considering he was bullied and provoked by you fine gentlemen and your lady cohorts for so long, and considering he needs to be where he is as per classified government plans, he will be back at the school when you return there.”

  “Do you mean…?” Jeff began saying.

  “Yes,” Donovan confirmed. “Out of consideration for your injuries, I won’t haul your sorry asses into federal confinement. But there are two big stipulations involved with that very generous decision of mine.

  “One, you will both cease provoking Mr. Lonero when you return to the school yourselves. You will cease encouraging others to do the same. You will leave him the hell alone. Because I can’t be held responsible if you make him snap again. And if you do, you will be in so much trouble with the federal authorities that you had better pray to whichever big names in world mythology you happen to pray to that Mr. Lonero kills you next time.

  “Because if he doesn’t, where you end up afterwards will be far worse than any conception of Hell you might have. Within a few months you’ll be suffering from Stockholm Syndrome so badly you’ll consider Mr. Lonero and every agent of the government to be the greatest thing since free condoms.”

  Both boys were silent for a moment.

  “Okay…” Jeff said weakly.

  “But after what he did to us…” Mickey chimed in.

  “Mickey, man… let this go,” Jeff interceded. “Just… look at us. And this is… the government. And you gotta… admit, what we did…”

  “Fine,” Mickey squeaked. “Okay.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that, Mr. Judge,” Donovan informed him with all due seriousness. “Now for the other condition required to stay out of Guantanamo.

  “When the local police come to question you soon, you will not tell them of Mr. Lonero’s involvement in this whole affair. You will both agree it was hooligans from the New York Boys, that dangerous East Side street gang currently active in the Fruit Belt area, who wandered into the school and did this to you. Both of you think you saw four of them, but they took you gentlemen by surprise and hit you too fast to properly defend yourselves. You have no idea why they entered the school, but you suspect they may have been scoping for drug customers. Got it?”

  The two young athletes gave a weak but noticeable nod of the head in agreement.

  “Good. Keep in mind that I represent a government authority far higher than the local police who will be investigating this case. We will remove the jobs from any officers whom you may tell of Mr. Lonero’s involvement. We will indefinitely detain any members of your family or friends whom you tell, or we have reason to believe you plan to tell, to keep this secret if necessary. Then you two will be similarly detained, even if only one of you spills the beans. Miss Robbins is now being interrogated by another agent and she will be under similar restrictions when next you see her.

  “Don’t mess with the FBI, gentlemen. We are bad ass mo’ fo’s the likes of which wannabe bad ass mo’ fo’s like yourselves can scarcely imagine. And I don’t think you two want to run afoul of the real deal in bad-assery twice in one week, especially after the first time didn’t work out so well for you.”

  Both nodded again, this time more nervously.

  “And one more thing before I leave. You now know that Mr. Lonero is much more than he seems, and always has been. Consider that he could easily have killed you both with the training he was given. But he didn’t. He stopped before dealing you fatal blows. He showed you mercy when some would argue that you deserved none.

  “He made it clear that he has a good shred of decency in his heart despite having snapped. What he did was wrong, and he is in big trouble for it; but what you and your peers did to provoke him was ‘wronger’ than wrong. So, suck this whole thing up to a very painful learning experience, heal up, go back to your petty but popular little lives for as long as the high school party lasts, and change your ways or else you may someday end up in a worse place than even Guantanamo.”

  Donovan then left the flowers on a small table next to Mickey’s catheter bag.

  “Oh, before I forget… these are for you guys. Just to show there are no hard feelings from the Bureau. I would have brought candy, but neither of you looks like you’re able to eat solid food right now.”

  Donovan made the sign of a cocked gun with his fingers and grinned just before departing the room, as if leaving Jeff and Mickey with one final warning to keep to their deal.

  For their part, the two boys sat for a long time in silence, neither attempting to engage the other in any talk about the matter. If anyone could be completely convincing in a subterfuge like this, it was Donovan Jakes. And the evidence that Benny was more than he appeared seemed to speak for itself.

  ***

  After exiting the hospital, Donovan brandished his communicator, which was cleverly disguised as a cheap smart phone. He entered a special short code on its digital keypad that connected him to fellow agent Helda Bauer.

  “Helda, my part of the job is done. I take it you were equally successful with Miss Robbins, her cousin, and her sibling?” He received an answer in the affirmative. “Good. Of course, we’ll have to keep watch over all involved. And this will be clear to Benny once he meets the new staff members upon his return to Buffalo Historical. Wish I could be there to see the look on his face when he finds out who’s joining him at the school.”

  Chapter 13: First Night Out

  “And they seriously believed that smelly load of dung you threw at them, Donovan?” the soldier was asked by an incredulous Benny following the former’s return to the Institute.

  “Most certainly,” Donovan replied.

  “They may be jocks, but they were also good students in terms of academic merit. I hope you don’t believe the stereotype that jocks are typically dumb. They simply put greater value on their athletic prowess than they do their grades, since they get rewarded a lot more for the former than the latter. You know, just like the culture they’re so proudly a part of does. But that doesn’t mean they underestimate the importance of keeping the grades up, though. They know they have to do that, so they can keep playing their sports, keeping enjoying the popularity, be liked by the teachers, and qualify for a sports scholarship to college.”

  “Keep the bitterness and lack of faith in the disposal bin, Benny-boy. I’m an expert at interrogation. I know how to play the secret agent, because I actually was a secret agent for a long time. And trust me, the man may leave the agency, but the agency never leaves the man, to paraphrase the hicks.”

  “But, Donovan…”

  “Don’t ‘but’ me, kid. They were in a highly confused state of mind due to recently receiving those very humbling injuries from a certain asshole whom they never imagined could do something like that to them. Then, when they’re still injured and vulnerable, a guy like me walks into their hospital room, flips them an authentic-looking government badge, and gives them the third degree about being thrown in Guantanamo.

  “Those boys were already emotionally shaken, with their perception of the comforting reality they always knew torn to shreds as surely as their innards were. They were in no mental shape to consider questioning things. Nor was Miss Robbins and her two unfortunate relatives after the epic scare you put into them.”

  “So, I’m really going back to the school in two days?”

  “Yes, you’re really going back to the school in two days. That’s when the extended weekend your psychotic episode generously gave to your fellow students ends. Hence, that’s when you’ll be going back. We don’t need an absence on your part to be cause for suspicion or further rumors.”

  “Thank you for the helpful words, Donovan.”

  “You’ll always get my support as long as you play the
straight and narrow, but never will you get any coddling. That’s not my way, and I don’t think that’s of any benefit to certain emotionally disturbed people who need to be responsible and get healed instead of expecting special entitlement to lash out at others. Capisce, mon frere?”

  “You just mixed two different languages.”

  “Yeah, I did. Deal with it if you didn’t like it. Anyway, you’re not leaving this facility until we let you out for school on Thursday morning. Doctor’s orders, with me being the de facto Surgeon General around here.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I just wanted to visit Craig, okay? I can use the support of my best friend right now.”

  “We at the Institute are your current best friends for the time being. You can see Craig when you get back to school. And since it’s only a day later than you asked, and it’s not a life or death type of situation, I don’t think you have much to complain about. The only way out of here without you blasting your way out is with the special code. I just changed the code, so only the head of security and myself has it for tonight.

  “And if you’re fool enough to manage to blast your way out, we’ll know faster than you can take your next breath. You do still breathe, right?”

  “I seem to, yeah. And fine, I get the gist.”

  “Good. Then take the gist to bed with you now. It’s almost time for lights out.”

  “Hey, no problem. I have some serious meditating to do tonight anyway.”

  ***

  A few short hours later—at 1:23 AM, to be exact—Benny opened his eyes. He had just come out of his latest meditative trance, with this one directed towards a very specific purpose.

  The practice of probing the universal ether for answers to questions has been given various names through the ages, many of which he learned over his weekend computer research: “cosmic consciousness,” “cosmic awareness” (his personal favorite), “reading the Akashic record,” “probing the collective universal consciousness,” among others. This is precisely what he had attempted to do, all to acquire a very simple answer to a very important query.

  I’m very confident those sequential numbers and letters I received in the trance are the no-longer secret security code to this place. I can’t freakin’ wait to see what else I can do with the psychic aspect of these powers.

  Benny now had several hours of practice behind him using a low-level discharge of omni-directional energies at a very specific frequency to morph his bio-mimetic attire into the outward appearance of his costume. He was further confident that he had the process down pat. But he didn’t want to take the chance of initiating the sartorial morphing procedure while still in the facility, since he somehow just “knew” special sensors would detect the unavoidable energy surge and alert the security staff. Especially considering the presence of any espers who happened to be present overnight in the facility.

  Nonetheless, his newfound power of cosmic awareness that he usually accessed only while in a sleep-like trance was already serving him well.

  Benny was determined to get out into the mean streets of Buffalo’s West Side after dark to test his mettle as a super-hero. He wasn’t going to do everything on Donovan’s time table. He realized that he was due many of the restrictions he now had imposed on him by the Institute, but he was determined to never let anyone control him completely.

  For the past weekend the metahuman youth studied the facility layout and patrol sequence of the overnight security to know how to make his way to the heavily reinforced exit door on the sneak. He strongly suspected his ability to subliminally but effectively access his cosmic awareness would help in this stealth-oriented task as well.

  Benny’s faith in his new abilities and early training proved spot on as he quietly reached the dense metal door that led to the stairway, which in turn led to the seemingly ordinary weight-training facility acting as a cover for the Valis Institute. The young man was just about to punch in what he believed to be the exit code on the control pad when a thought suddenly occurred to him.

  Wait, shouldn’t I come up with a swanky code name before going out for the first time? Yeah, I think I should.

  Cosmic Boy, maybe? Nah, that’s taken by a character from DC Comics. Cosmic Kid? No, too similar. Hmmm, how about… Centurion? Yes! I can’t exactly go wrong naming myself after a Roman military soldier, right? So, from this night onwards, let the people of this city know that Centurion has entered their midst! Woo hoo, w00t w00t, and every other example of positive exclamatory slang I can’t think of right now!

  The newly christened hero-in-training carefully punched in the code and found to his delight that he had indeed successfully “pulled” the correct sequence out of the cosmic ether. This was confirmed by the small red light at the top of the keypad turning blue, and the appearance of the “You May Now Exit” notation across the digital screen directly to its right.

  “Yes!” he shouted in a whispery tone. Then he quickly admonished himself—silently this time—for letting his enthusiasm break his quiet.

  Benny slid the heavy door open with no difficulty, albeit as slowly as possible to minimize any accompanying sound. The youthful metahuman then closed it from the other side just as carefully. He found no trouble sneaking out the hidden side door of the surface gymnasium which Donovan had showed him the first night he was taken to the Institute.

  The fledgling hero then quickly made his way a few buildings down the street and stepped into a small alley between a tenement building and a small Hispanic smart phone shop to “morph” into his costume. He wanted to put a few buildings between himself and the Institute’s sensors, just in case.

  Benny stood in the middle of the alley and concentrated. The by now familiar tingle of energy could be felt coursing through his cellular structure, and he released it from every cell of his body in all directions simultaneously.

  The low-wave frequency didn’t affect the atmosphere, or any surrounding object save for his clothing, which within the span of 1.5 seconds took on the appearance and texture of his costume. Upon its overlay pattern being thus “activated,” the now molecularly altered attire fully expanded so the cowl surrounded his head and the gloves covered his hands, with his sneakers and socks appearing to transfigure into the costume’s white boots. A quick flash of blue-ish light accompanied the energy emission that triggered the sartorial morphing, as did a short buzzing sound made by the crackling discharge.

  Centurion had now successfully donned his costume for the first time in the field. However, the quick moment of illumination that came with the transformation process thoroughly startled a hobo whom he failed to notice was laying curled up in the side of the alley just a few feet from where he stood.

  “Huh, wha?” the homeless man uttered as he jumped up into an almost sitting position.

  Oh, great, Centurion thought to himself. I hope he didn’t get a good look at me before I morphed into my costume. I doubt it, though, given the darkness of the alley and his obvious state of inebriation. I really do need to better develop my cosmic awareness, so it warns me of things like this.

  “At ease, Mister,” the hero-in-training said to the trembling tramp. “It’s only the city’s newest super-hero. There aren’t any phone booths available anymore, so I had to use your alley to change into my working threads. I’m Centurion, by the way. Take care, and, um… get sober, I guess.”

  With that said, the youthful metahuman shook the hobo’s hand and darted out of the alley at great speed. He swiftly proceeded down the lengthy darkened boulevard of Niagara Street. It was a locale where bad things were known to happen all too often, particularly during the night.

  “Holy beans,” the vagrant said to himself as he checked his bottle to see how much of the cheap whiskey was left. “Did I jest imagine thet? Hope not, ‘cause this city rilly needs some he-roes.”

  He then belched, downed a gulp of hooch, and attempted to go back to sleep in the alley that served as his bedroom.

  ***

  Benny was aware of
what an exceptionally dangerous area of Niagara Street the Shoreline Apartments neighborhood happened to be. This was from years of visiting his close friend Craig, who lived just behind the mammoth apartment complex in the section containing the Pine Harbor apartments.

  The number of thugs who regularly wandered this area at night to prey upon and intimidate the unwary was something he had personally experienced on more than one occasion during his frequent visits. This included a large number of fellow teens much like those who tormented him at school, but sans any veneer of civilized respectability. He was accustomed to being greatly cautious when meandering about this area, but tonight he finally had the power to reverse the roles by giving a taste of terror to the malefactors who believed they ruled the night here.

  The rumor that members of the recently flourishing West Side street gang who called themselves the State Boys had reportedly begun staking out territory here only further disposed the young metahuman to reclaim the streets for the common person. He fully believed that battling the symptoms of crime was no replacement for dealing with the source, which he attributed to the system itself; but he knew that he had to work his way up to that. And sometimes immediate symptoms had to be dealt with, as anyone who ever came down with a case of the flu could readily attest.

  Don’t be nervous, Benny, he reminded himself as wandered about the strangely Aztec-like architecture of the low-cost Shoreline tenements. This time, you have the power, not the punks who generally terrorize the area.

  Centurion concentrated to summon forth the Odic energies now roiling within his atomic structure. The intense tingle their frequency harmonics sent throughout every cell in his body became clearly discernible to him, which gave further comfort and reassurance that his silent proclamation wasn’t just bravado.

  He also began focusing his mental faculties to see if his “cosmic awareness” could somehow lead him towards a congregation of “punks” who needed being put paid to. Upon doing so, he did experience a sensation that resembled a notable urge to walk in a specific direction along the south end of the tenement complex. It was an impression akin to a psychic with a dowsing rod seeking out hidden supplies of water.