by Kozinn, Nat
President Ronald Reagan Executive Order 13586
October 12th 1987;
Banning of Chosen Sons
"Are you going to come in?" Becky asks coldly.
I walk up her steps while stretching time out for as long as I can. I'd like to enjoy the few moments I still have between now and explaining to Becky why the police walked me to her door.
"Do you want to tell me why I just lied to the police?" Becky asks as soon as she closes the door behind me.
"It's late. I should get to bed. I'll leave you two alone," Mike says and goes upstairs.
We stand stoic in the hallway while we wait for Mike to leave. The door slam breaks the silence. Time to start lying.
"Thank you for telling them I was with you. You didn't even skip a beat," I say.
"After the Revelation, we moved from refugee camp to refugee camp. The rations were scarce and the rules were strict. Lying to the authorities was a necessity," she says coldly.
"It was very impressive. I was trying to come up with a signal or something, but they were..."
"Stop beating around the bush, and tell me why I had to lie. What were you doing tonight?"
"I was just walking around and they stopped me. They asked what I was doing out so late, and I didn't have a good answer so I told them I was with you."
"Why would you tell them you were with me? Why wouldn't you just tell them what you were doing? What were you doing in my neighborhood, after midnight, without me?"
I need to come up with doozy of a lie here. What could I be doing? I could be seeing another girl, but that's worse than the truth. What else would I be doing out in this neighborhood? What does this neighborhood have? The pastor.
"I was walking around trying to decide if I should see Pastor Newman. The things he said really got me thinking. I've been contemplating seeing him ever since our dinner. I couldn't tell the cops that I was thinking about seeing a Cabotist pastor. It's not illegal, but if they put that in my file, it’d be the end of my job at Ultracorps. Dating a Cabotist might not be that much better, but at least it won't get me blacklisted."
Becky sighs and puts her hands over her eyes. She didn't like that answer, but I can't tell why.
"You know, Gavin, you're an excellent liar. You look me right in the eye, and you don't shake, even a little. But part of being a good liar is saying something that could possibly be true," Becky says. I can feel how disappointed she is in me.
"I'm telling you the truth. I know I was hostile towards him at dinner, but he got through to me. They spend so much time teaching us how awful Cabot is, I had never considered the possibility that he was anything but pure evil."
"I know you Gavin. You're no Cabotist. I’m aware that you haven't been in a relationship before, but believe me, they don’t work without trust. If you're not going to tell me the truth, you can just leave," she demands.
"Becky."
I try to reach out to her, but she pulls away.
"The truth, now. Or leave and don't come back," she says firmly.
I walk towards the door as I consider my possibilities. I should walk out. I have bigger things to worry about. I have 152 hours to come up with a plan to deal with The Beast. I should be worrying about my confrontation with him, not my relationship. Who I’m dating doesn’t really matter if I’m dead.
But if I walk out, I'll be alone. It will just be me, the muggers I fight, the monsters I hunt, and a job I couldn't care less about. I deserve one way to be happy without having to risk my life. I deserve Becky, or a shot at hanging on to her.
And she deserves the truth. She deserves to know why I haven’t been seeing her, and she deserves the right to choose if she still wants to be with me. I know it’s wrong to lie to her, but I did it anyway. Just because I don’t have to feel shame and guilt doesn’t mean I get to be a liar. I don’t want to be a liar anymore. I want to be someone who tells the truth, especially to people who I care about. So that’s who I’m going to be.
"I lied to the cops because I was who they were out looking for. I am the vigilante," I say slowly and clearly.
This stops Becky in her tracks. She was prepared for more lies, but not that.
"No, that's silly, you can't be. Everybody says he's an old man," she says.
I relax the muscles of my face and wrinkles quickly form. I can see the intrigue in her face, disgust too. I turn my back and make the muscles taught again.
"I'm sorry I had to tell you like this," I say and hang my head.
"How long have you been doing this?" She asks still in shock.
"It started the night we met. I came across some thugs who were about to hurt a young woman. I imagined that she was you, and I had to do something. Somebody has to do something."
"Why did you keep this to yourself? Why didn't you tell me sooner?" She asks incredulously.
"I don't know. I kept telling myself it was just a temporary thing, so I didn't have to tell you. It made me feel so good to do it. Helping people is the one thing besides you that makes me happy. I keep meaning to stop, but I just can't."
"So, that's why I haven't been seeing you lately. It's not because they have you cleaning the labs at Ultracorps. It's because you've been spending your nights running around as an old man acting like you're the second coming of the Savior of Seattle."
"Yes, and I'm sorry. I want to see you. I try to, but every night I see you is another night that some poor person might get hurt. It's hard to think that us having a date night is more important than stopping a rape or a murder."
"What about you? Did you ever stop to think that you might be killed? You're not like the Savior. You're not bulletproof or as strong as a train, unless you've been lying to me about your abilities, too," she says with a combination of fear and anger.
"No, I haven't. It's not like I'm a weakling though. I'm stronger and faster than any normal man, and I heal quicker too," I counter.
"Can you heal from a bullet to the head?"
"I don't understand. When we talked about this at dinner with your father and the pastor, you were happy about the vigilante. You said: 'He's just helping people. I know it's not something we see a lot, but come on. It's a good thing. I don't see what the problem could possibly be.' "
"Maybe I did say something like that, but that was before I knew the vigilante was you."
She didn't say something like that, she said exactly that. I even mimicked her inflections perfectly, but I don't think pointing that out will help me in this discussion.
"So it's good if someone else risks their life to be a hero, but if I do it it’s a bad thing?" I ask.
"I thought it was some old Different who had nothing to live for. You're young. You have lots to live for, lots of reasons that should make you not want to risk your life," she says, trailing off.
I think I'm starting to understand why she's so mad. It's not just that I lied to her or that what I'm doing is illegal. She’s hurt because she isn't reason enough to keep me from taking risks, that my feelings for her aren’t strong enough for me to play it safe.
"Everyone has excuses for not making the world a better place. They make up rationalizations for not helping others or sticking their own necks out. If people didn't have excuses, the world would be very different. There are always reasons not to do something. I can't make everyone else ignore those excuses, but I can make myself. I can make myself try to do something that helps people, try to do something that makes the world a better place. No matter how fantastic you are, or how much I care about you, I still have to try to help," I answer.
Becky takes a moment to digest what I said. When she speaks, I honestly can't tell if she's about to kick me out or run over and kiss me.
"I suppose it’s hard to be mad at you when your crime is that you can’t stop helping people,” she says with a smile, but I can still see the hurt in her eyes.
“So you forgive me?” I beg.
“Not quite, but I think I can get there.”
“Tha
t’s the best thing I could hope to hear.”
I walk over to her and grab her shoulders gently. I kiss her slowly and deeply.
“I’ll call you tomorrow. I am going to be very busy for the next week, but we will do something after that, I promise,” I say and start to head out the door.
“It’s already so late. Why don’t you just spend the night here?” Becky asks. And I thought forgiving me was the best thing I could hope to hear.
#
I know I should be thinking about The Beast. I know I should be looking back through my memories of last night, my fight with The Beast, if it could be called a fight. I should be probing for some weakness I can exploit. I’m not as strong or as fast as The Beast, but I am smarter than him. I have 144 hours to come up with some way to beat him.
But thinking about The Beast is depressing, and I don’t want to be depressed right now. Right now I want to sit on the Slug until I get home and enjoy the fact that there is a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. I did not like having to lie to Becky when I was out being the vigilante, and now I won’t have to. Now if I can’t see her, she’ll know it’s for a good reason.
Not only that, it feels great to finally tell someone that I’m the vigilante. I’ve been out there risking my life for months, at least someone finally knows it’s me. I know I shouldn’t need recognition, I know I should be helping people because it’s the right thing to do. Still, it’s nice that someone is proud of me, even if it is my girlfriend.
An incoming call on think.Net breaks me out of my blissful state. I can't tell who’s calling, so I know it's Nita. What could she want?
>>>Gavin, you have to stop what you are doing.
<<
>>>Now is not a time for humor. I am telling you as your friend: you need to cease your nocturnal activities.
I know what she's insinuating, but I'm not going to say it. Maybe she thinks I'm gambling or doing some other illegal thing. She's never wrong, but there's a first time for everything.
<<
>>>I know you are the vigilante.
That's it, it's all over. The Slug is going to stop, and the cops are going to come. I'm about to be taken away to Great Basin. I will spend the rest of my life in jail. At least I have some good memories to relive while I'm inside. There is no point denying it now. I don’t think I can come up with a lie convincing enough for the smartest person on earth.
<<
>>>I pieced it together with 99.4% certainty after cross-referencing the police reports of the vigilante with your recent Slug line entry points. After your interactions with the police last night, my certainty is 99.99% repeating. Don’t worry, the other Librarians do not know. I have been investigating this in an unshared part of my mind. We all have our secrets.
<<
>>> I enjoyed hearing about your exploits when I first read the reports. It raises public opinion of Differents. You are performing a commendable task. I have often wondered why other Differents have not pursued a similar goal. I would think the Savior of Seattle would have inspired more copycats, even if it is illegal. In the fifteen years since the Savior was active, there have been but a handful of instances of Differents acting on their own to help people. I never expected someone with your limited abilities to break the mold.
<<
>>>I want you to stop because I am your pal. You did outsmart the police, and perhaps you could continue to do so. They will continue to hunt you. They blame you for the deaths of two officers, but that is not why you should desist. Battling muggers and saving children from burning buildings is something that suits your abilities. Hunting The Beast does not.
<<
>>>I have a much better idea of the number of people he has killed than you do. Do you know how many murders there were last week in the Los Angeles Metro Area?
<<
>>>There were 101 were reported: 38 stabbings, 22 shootings, 15 by beating or strangulation, 11 by arson, 7 thrown off buildings, and 8 that might have been killed by The Beast. And those were just the reported deaths. The actual number of murders last week was probably closer to 125. Frankly, the Pazota crime family kills more people most weeks than The Beast. Believe me, the police would like to stop all of the crimes committed in the Metro Area, but they do not have the resources. It is a simple numbers game.
<<
>>>I am not going to lie to you and tell you the response would be the same if he were targeting the wealthy, but that is only part of the reason. We have been tracking him for years. We tried to stop him in the Chicago Metro Area. Perhaps you have heard of “The Beast's Feast?” He killed thirty-seven police officers, three Different agents, and hundreds, maybe thousands, of innocent people before we lost track of him. This is that same Different. He is committing fewer murders now. I am concerned about what will happen if we provoke him.
<<
>>>I know this may shock you, but the government lies. The Beast killed the two agents who went after him on the plains, and they were the best The Office of Exceptional Cases had to offer.
<<
>>>I will share that information with the police. Nevertheless, that does not change the fact that The Beast is too dangerous for you to pursue.
<<
>>>Even if you are more able than my original estimates, you still do not stand a chance. I am not certain anyone short of the Savior of Seattle in his prime could defeat this man. He is nearly impervious to telepathic attacks, heals as fast as many Regenerators, and he is immensely strong. Not to mention his incredibly enhanced senses. I would wager that he is already aware of you and the fact that you are hunting him. The sole reason you are alive is that he is a Cabotist and as such, does not believe in violence between Differents. If you push him or corner him, he has shown that he is capable of breaking from his principles.
<<
>>>Then you are to stay away from the slums entirely. Go to work and then go straight back to the Barracks. The Beast will not come near you if you stay there.
<<
>>>Then tell her you will not be seeing her for awhile, or have her come visit you. This is serious Gavin. It is a matter of life or death. I need you to promise me that you will stay away from The Beast.
<<
>>>Say it. Say you promise.
<<
>>>Thank you.
She’s right, I probably should stop being the vigilante. My injuries keep making me miss work, the police are after me, I never spend any time with my girlfriend, and the smartest person in the world just told me it’s going to get me killed. But I don’t want to stop.
It makes me happy, not the fake happy I can make myself anytime, a legitimate happy. I still don't get why or how, but helping people makes my dopamine and serotonin levels rise without my forcing them. It's like I'm a normal person. Maybe it's because I've always wanted to be a hero, ever since I was a little kid and learned about BlueHawk protecting democracy from the Russians.
There isn't a difference between the happy I can generate and the one I feel while I'm out on patrol, at least there shouldn't be. Chemicals are chemicals. B
ut somehow, it feels better to know it's legitimate, to know that I'm feeling happy because I earned it, not because I decided I want to be.
I deserve to be happy. Everyone does. No matter what Cabot did or what the government thinks. It is my right to pursue happiness. Not only that, what makes me happy is helping the helpless. I spend my nights risking my life to help people that everyone else has forgotten about. Section 26 might teach that what I'm doing is wrong, but I know it isn't. I know I'm a hero.
She’s right about this being a matter of life or death, but it’s the deaths of hundreds of innocent people. If the police aren’t going to do something about The Beast, someone has to, and I’m the only one who’s willing. I don’t like being a liar again, but sorry Nita, I’m going to break my promise. The Beast needs to be stopped. To do that, I’m going to need a gun, a big one.
20
All of my Chosen Sons will be welcome in my kingdom for eternity, only those who have turned away from me, only those who have turned away from their own brothers, will be denied entry.
Chosen Sons: 42
After killing the OEC agents in the plains, Tom knew what he had to do. He must strike back at the government, at those men who would send Chosen Sons to die. They needed to hurt like he did. But not in Chicago. The police would be waiting for him there. It was time for a new Metro Area to know it belonged to the Chosen Sons. Tom remembered enough of geography from school to point himself in the general direction of the Los Angeles Metro Area.
The beast in Tom had taken over. Tom moved at a maniacal pace, running at full speed almost the entire thousand miles and only stopping to kill and eat whatever animals came across his path. It took Tom just five days to get to the Los Angeles MA.
Tom's plan was simple: find a government building and kill everyone inside. Then he would move on to the next building and repeat. It did not matter if it was a police station, a firehouse, or a hospital. Anyone who worked for the government deserved to die.
After he arrived in the LA Metro Area, he decided to take a moment to calm down, close his eyes, and pray before his rampage.
