by Kozinn, Nat
He tries to kick me, but it’s just another slow, sloppy, untrained blow, that I see coming a mile away. I dodge without the slightest concern. Another 30 seconds of hammering, I’ve brought the man down to his knees. He keeps his elbow down over his side to protect the kidney I injured.
He’s left his face wide open and brought it low enough for me to hit. I fake one more punch to his side, just to drop his shoulder slightly lower, but then I let fly with a right handed uppercut that smashes right into his chin. Knocking him backwards onto his back.
He’s not quite out yet, so I jump up onto his chest and pound away on his face like a jackhammer. I land punch after punch, until finally I split his lip open and blood spurts onto my face. Good. The sight of blood somehow make me stronger, I can feel it on my fist as I continue to pound his face. The man is a statue; he can take a monumental amount of punishment. I am a monster, able to dish out that punishment.
I’m so lost in my bloodlust; I don’t give myself enough time to react to the oncoming whoosh from the Speedster. He smashes into me, knocking me into the apartment building across the street. I land in the lobby and smash into a column, chunks of plaster fall onto me. I hear someone scream out in terror. I need to end this.
I grab the pillar I just knocked over and charge out onto the street. I twirl around a few times to get momentum, and then throw the column, spinning it sideways. The Speedster is too quick though… shocking. He dodges the concrete column, and it smashes into another building. There were people trying to run out of that one. Police officers scramble to get everyone to safety.
The Speedster disappears backwards, but he was just gathering up velocity. He comes back barreling down the street, moving like a speeding bullet, and he’s going to hit me.
I go completely limp, disengaging all muscles in my body at once and collapsing straight down to the ground and making sure to spread out as I do. It works, the Speedster trips over my arm, cracking my left radius and ulna bones, but also losing control and plowing back into the building I just exited.
The Strong-man is getting back to his feet, trying to shake the cobwebs out of his head. I can’t let him do that. I break into my own sprint and leap. Smashing shoulder first into the Reggie and knocking him a good ten feet backwards, where he stumbles over and falls, landing on a building across the street. He pushes off like he’s trying to get up from a pile of leaves, knocking walls aside like they are weightless. He manages to keep his balance, but the building he smashed into isn’t so lucky. The whole front half of the facade collapses, cutting apartments in half and spilling their contents onto the street.
I pull my good fist back and prepare to move in to finish him off, but someone steps in front of me.
“Stop!” she screams.
I can’t be stopped. I keep charging forward, only halting at the last second when I realize who it is.
“Maria, what are you doing? You have to get out of here!” I say.
“What am I doing? What are you doing?” she says and gestures around herself.
I take stock of the destruction we’ve reaped through our fighting. The building the Strong-man knocked down, is partially collapsed, and looks like it’s well on its way to being fully collapsed. My body made Swiss cheese of another building. And the Speedster smashed into the lobby of another. Not to mention that I’m covered in my enemies’ blood.
It suddenly becomes very clear to me why there is a law against Differents doing this. It doesn’t matter who is right or wrong, or justice or anything like that. What matters is that if we fight, innocent people get hurt, lots of them.
Turning myself over to the police isn’t going to work. Nita has made it clear that she will not let them have their hands on me. So it’s time to try a different approach. Surrender to the other side.
“You’re right,” I say to Maria.
Then I sidestep her and approach the Strong-man who cowers, ready to absorb my next blow.
“I give up. Take me to Nita.”
20
Go to each other, my Chosen Sons. Your task is to travel this harsh world I made in search of one another. You are an oasis in the desert for each other. Use the gifts I have given you to sustain each other, to sustain my new race.
Chosen Sons: 35
The Beast struggles to open his eyes; the lids feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. He can feel the Tranq course through his body, warming his soul. There is peace and calm in his heart.
He’s on the ground, though it feels soft as a pillow. The gloriously powerful Strong-Man put him down. There are men with guns screaming and running, they are all worked up. They are police officers, but they don’t seem to care about The Beast. They are running towards loud booms in the distance. The Beast doesn’t see the need for all the concern.
He closes his eyes, but just before the sweet warm embrace of sleep grabs hold, the earth shakes loud enough to rattle him from his calm. It takes virtually all the strength left in his body, but The Beast manages to prop himself up enough to get a view. Through the clouds that border his vision, he sees the impressive Strong-Man, the man is the size of a house. But the statuesque man is currently on his knees, brought down by a boy who cannot be stopped, Gavin Stillman. Is there nothing he can’t do? How can anyone be blessed with so much power? And why him?
21
It does not matter if this was an act of self-defense, imagined heroics, or purposeful action. By using our Metro Area as his schoolyard, The Beast Slayer contributed to the deaths of twelve people, and left twice as many with major injury. Everyone in this Metro Area has been suffering from amnesia, which caused them to forget why we passed the Different Acts. Those memories have come flooding back. Because of their abilities, intention becomes irrelevant with Differents. They have the power to kill inadvertently. This is why we need harsh rules and regulations. This is why we must limit the rights of some of our own kind. Because if we don't-- people die. In case you forgot.
“A Harsh Reminder,” by Roberta Clemens, Los Angeles Times
The box they crammed me into is tiny. I have a hard time believing Maceo made it to be anything but a coffin. Was it never used? Maybe it was and some sicko dug it up and dumped the body out so they could use it as the ultimate prison cell for Differents.
It’s more than a little insulting that I’m the one who ends up shoved in the box while The Beast is kept in less secure accommodations. But, I also like it. I like that I’m more powerful and dangerous than The Beast and everyone knows it.
And I might be able to become more dangerous still, but I’ll have to hurry. At the next stop, they might pay attention to the fact that I’m covered in blood that’s not my own. I need to make sure the cell cultures are growing in my body before then.
I’ve managed to get all three different blood cells into my body through my own open wounds. My immune system wants to attack the foreign invaders but I don’t let it. Instead I feed the new cells, flooding them with nutrients from the vitamins Maria gave me. I scarfed them down in anticipation of being taken into custody. Of course, I thought that would be government custody. Not Nita’s.
I give the cell cultures all they need in order to divide and then I tell the new cells to replicate. I still don’t understand how I can control cells that aren’t even my own, but it works, regardless. After a few splits, and splits of splits, I have enough of each of the three samples going so that I can start running my experiments.
I focus on the Speedster’s first, they are easy to identify because there’s something similar about both sets of cells. I can feel what sets them apart. I direct my immune system to break down one of the cells, freeing the DNA inside. I can feel that too, like I’m running my hands over etched writing. I can’t quite read the words, but I can tell they are there. Some similarities begin to jump out at me, differences between the Speedsters’ DNA, The Beast’s DNA, Sarah’s DNA, Julia’s DNA, and my DNA. It’s like I’m just starting to make sense of a foreign language, I’m recognizing a
few words now.
The Speedsters have unique sequencing that is in common with The Beast but different from all the others. I can imagine that these elements have to do with the faster acting nerve and muscle tissue that both The Beast and the Speedster possess. Although the Speedsters express it to a much greater degree.
I perform the same process in order to analyze the Strong-Man’s DNA, and once again I see similarities between the coding from The Beast and the other Differents. This time, it’s what provides the cellular instructions necessary to construct the denser and more powerful muscle-skeletal structure that both the Strong-Man and The Beast share.
Lastly, I take a moment to run another comparison between The Beast’s cells and Sarah the Regenerator’s cells. Now that I have some idea of what to look for, I can see the similarities between the two of them. That must be what provides the unique replication rate and cellular plasticity for the enhanced healing abilities that they both possess.
The Beast is the key to taking the next step. Without his cells, I would not be able to make any sense of the genetic sequencing of all the other Differents’ cells. I still don’t speak the language, but because The Beast possesses such a wide range of abilities, his DNA provides clues that help me translate the new Differents chromosomal information into a form I can understand to some degree. He’s like a genetic Rosetta Stone.
I’ve got my blocks, now it’s time to start playing with them. Mixing up chromosome pairs from all the cells I have, and growing new cells from the resultant DNA mutants I create. Most die right after creation, but every now and then, one of the child cells is stable and manages to stay alive for a moment. The survivors pass on to the next round of testing where I see if they are able to absorb nutrients, and replicate.
There is virtually zero light making it into this box, which means no energy for creating Manna, but thanks to feeding The Beast I have those newly created bladders and they provide me with a healthy reserve, enough to power hours of science projects. I won’t have enough calories to grow my new and improved larger self, and there literally isn’t room inside the box for me to get any bigger and stronger. But I can create the new version of myself, Gavin 4.0 I think, and be ready to spread the cells once I have enough space and sun.
#
I have my new cells. I’ve grown new muscle and bone tissue, and put that tissue through the paces enough to feel like I have a final product. I’m still trying out new lungs and a heart derived from the new genome, but considering the resiliency and strength of the other test subjects, I’m feeling good about it. I have created a cell that will give me the lifting power of a Strong-Man, the running and movement speed of a Speedster, and the healing abilities of a Regenerator. I will be stronger and faster and tougher than ever before.
My new cells are also absolute pigs, they scarf down calories like swine on steroids. Even just the small samples I’ve made put a noticeable dent in my reserve. That’s hundreds of thousands of calories. I’m going to struggle to keep up with my new body’s demands. I can only generate so much Manna, though I suppose my new back will be larger, which in turn would accommodate a great surface area for collecting sunlight.
Even if I’m forgetting a couple of factors working in my favor, I’m still going to be falling far short of the calorie windfall situation I was living under previously. If I have to endure the level of healing I’ve subjected myself to recently, I’ll end up falling behind in the calorie accounting game, and starving. On the plus side my new skin will be tougher, my muscles denser, and my bones stronger, so I should be a lot harder to hurt once I go through my next puberty.
I feel someone trying to connect with me, a Telepath. It’s a polite ask, it feels like a think.Net call, not like when that group of Telepaths tried to take over my mind. I can guess who it is, I let her in.
>>>Hello Gavin.
<<
>>>I will have him rectify the situation at his earliest convenience.
<<
>>>I do not think that would be wise. You have shown you maintain a violent disposition.
<<
>>>You were willing to comply in order to save the public from danger. There are no innocent citizens here; therefore you will not remain docile.
<<
>>>Your attempt to gather intelligence on your location provides further support to my concerns regarding your disposition. If you are focused on escape, you are not ready to be compliant.
<<
>>>Think what you wish. Gavin, but I advise you to further ruminate on the subject while you wait here until we communicate again.
<<
But she’s gone.
#
I’ve accomplished something productive, that’s a lot more than I can say for the previous four hours. I’ve grown my new and improved skull. It took all my spare calcium to grow the bone, and to thicken a few vertebrae in my neck and spine to support my new heavy head. But at least my fragile brain is more protected.
I’ve got pockets of cells waiting to grow in several of my muscle groups and all over my skeleton, but I’m missing key vitamins and minerals. I’m going to need to find a solution for the nutrient problem if I survive this. Manna is all well and good for calories, but I’m always going to need to inhale vitamins, which will be a problem if I don’t find some way to produce my own. I know that animals can produce some of the vitamins and fats that humans need to get from their diet, but I’m not ready integrate DNA sequences from other species. It’s a miracle I’ve managed to pull off what I’ve done considering how little I understand about it.
Scientists have been working to decode the human genome for decades, ever since we understood what DNA was. I might not be able to write an academic paper on what I know about genetic sequencing, but I can do more than any scientist ever could. They don’t really understand how hair color is controlled by genetics, but I’ve managed to turn myself into a hybrid of six Different people. Eventually, I might be able to create completely unique cells, even new forms of life, at least in single cell form. If all the trouble ever dies down, I’m going to get harassing think.Net calls from university scientists who want to study me. I might even let them; I could use some help.
Maybe I could grow special cells designed to consume specific vitamins and minerals, like some bacteria can. Like the one’s Cabot made…
I hear footsteps coming into whatever room my box is in. They don’t sound loud enough to be the Strong-Man but considering that I can barely hear anything in here, I can’t be certain. They are getting closer though.
“I’m looking for a giant ugly hairless baby. I’ve always wanted to adopt one of those,” a voice says from up close to the box. Larry.
“Larry can you hear me?!” I yell.
“My God! Some sort of magic talking box. I’m sorry talking box, I can’t understand you. You sound like muffled groaning.”
“Let me out!” I scream as loud as I can.
“You have gout Magic box? That’s weird. I think it means you’re eating too many beets or something. Kids used to get it back in the day.”
“God damn it Larry, does everything have to be a freaking joke!” I yell.
“Egg yokes? Why would I want egg yolks? What happened to the rest of the egg,” Larry says, but I hear something click and then a slide.
The side of the box opens, which is the top right now. Larry peers in, wearing his classic look, a fat little red-headed troll man.
“Uhh, are you ok? You look like a human pretzel,” he says.
“I’m fine; can you ti
p the box over so I can get out?” I ask.
Larry pretends to push or he really tries, either way it has the same effect.
“Sorry Gavin, I skipped a couple days in the weight room. Not going to happen.”
“Fine. Be quiet while I think of something.”
Okay, so I need a way out of here. I don’t have any leverage to push myself out. But maybe my new muscles can get more from less. I signal the small packet of improved cells in my calf muscles and tell them to replicate. Then I cut off blood flow to my old muscle tissue, sealing off capillaries and choking the cells to death. It’ll be easier to grow new muscle without the old tissue in the way. It takes about a minute, but I manage to grow an ugly but powerful new calf muscle.
“Stand back,” I tell Larry.
I expand that muscle, hurling myself upwards. My femur and tibia break first, the level of force exerted by my new muscle is simply too much for my old weak bones. My jump continues minus a tiny amount from the energy needed to crack my leg. Next, four ribs shatter as the thickest part of my chest is crushes against the side of the box. Still with plenty of inertia, I soar haplessly upwards, where I slam into the fifteen foot high ceiling, testing out my new skull, which holds nicely.
I fall back; flailing to make sure I don’t end up back in the box. I’m successful and land on my back with a thud.
“You have the grace of a ballerina,” Larry says.
“You were my teacher,” I reply.
As I try to heal my broken bones with no calcium, I also cut off the blood supply to my new and improved calf-muscle, and start growing back the old tissue. It was an impressive demo, and I can’t wait to feel how strong I’ll be when I can grow those cells all over my body. But without calcium I can’t grow my new and improved skeleton, and obviously, the new muscles and the old bones don’t mix.
