by Nat Kozinn
"That was quite a show, boy. I didn't think you had so much fight in you. This is the end for us, though. The Lord keeps putting you in my path, and He made me for one purpose. Maybe Chosen Sons who reject Cabot are even bigger sinners than the humans."
That's right, psycho, you just keep talking, that's just what I want you to do. The Beast continues on his rant, but I'm not paying much attention to what he's saying, I don't want to split my concentration. My entire focus is on The Beast. I watch the muscles twitch underneath his skin, and the blood pulse through his veins. I’m waiting for my moment to strike.
"Gavin, I'm sorry about this, I am. I don’t want to be a sinner, but this is what the Good Lord made me for. This is going to hurt me too," The Beast says when I tune him back in.
He's right, it is going to hurt him. The Beast stands over me. He seems like he's about to deliver the finishing blow, but he pauses to close his eyes and pray. That's my moment. I put my hand on my knife and think of Becky. Then I pull the blade out and lunge at The Beast the best I can. The tip of the knife is headed right towards his chest. It just might kill him.
Only, the knife never connects. I slow down time just enough to watch The Beast open his eyes and grab my arm before I can react. He squeezes, pulverizing my ulna and radius bones in my forearm and damaging the nerve. I can't hold onto the knife.
"Show some respect, boy!" The Beast screams and gives me a backhanded slap.
The slap knocks out three teeth and partially dislocates my jaw. However, I did manage to buy myself a few more seconds of life. My knife intrigues The Beast. He picks it up and examines it.
"Is this made out of Maceo Steel? I didn’t know there was such a thing. Maceo really was special, wasn’t he? He shoulda been building cities for Chosen Sons. Instead the humans worked him to death laying train tracks and pipes," The Beast says.
He takes the knife and goes over to the edge of the roof. I bet his eyes are good enough to see what's happening below, even from this height. He takes aim at something and throws the knife.
A few seconds later, I hear an ungodly crash, followed by the distinct sound of a vacuum. He must have ruptured a Hoover mainline. Who knows how many people that will kill? The vacuum force in those pipes is enough to suck down a train. The pipes aren't supposed to break. It isn’t supposed to be possible.
While The Beast watches the carnage below, I tap into think.Net and call Ben.
>>>Gavin was that your knife he threw? That thing ruptured a Hoover main. It's bedlam down here.
<<
>>>It's on the way. Thirty seconds, Gavin.
I need to buy myself thirty seconds. I can feel the last jar bomb in my pocket. It has managed to survive the melee. I take it out and give it a quick shake to activate the ingredients. It's hard to get in a good position to make a throw, but by tightening some of the muscles in my back, I'm able to at least sit up. I take stock of The Beast's position and heave.
The jar lands behind The Beast. I underestimated how much a broken spine would take off my throw. Nevertheless, I got close enough to surprise him. The jar explodes and The Beast stumbles as he tries to run away.
He stands up and turns towards me. I can see the anger in his eyes. I definitely have his attention, but suddenly this doesn't seem like a very good idea. Maybe I should have just hoped he remained amused with the carnage on the street.
The Beast walks slowly and deliberately towards me. I need more time. Eleven more seconds.
"Wait, Thomas, I think I might be having a change of heart. I think I might be able to follow Cabot's path. I just don't know how to do it," I plead.
I’m not sure whether he believed me or if he was just shocked that I knew his real name, but whichever it was, he pauses for a second. Five seconds to be exact.
"You are smart, boy. But not smart enough..."
>>>Gavin, turn off your ears.
I hear Ben in my brain and flood my Tympanic Cavity. I watch as The Beast drops down to the floor. He is rolling around in agony, with blood spilling out of his ears.
When I return my ears to their proper state, I immediately wish I hadn't. The Beast's howls are deafening.
>>>Did it work? I wasn’t sure if the frequency would affect you so I thought you should turn your ears off to be safe.
<<
>>>Me? I didn’t do anything. Your roommate Nick is the guilty party. Turns out, he'll just read whatever they tell him. Pitch, tone, and frequency included. I don’t think he’s all that bright. I hacked think.Net and sent out a fake order for an unusually pitched Emergency Alert. The Beast and every animal for miles are going to be deaf for a while. If you ever wanted to sneak up on a squirrel, now would be the time.
The Beast manages to get to his feet, but he's still stunned. I need to find a way to finish him off. I look around for something, one of my jar bombs, my pipe, anything to use against The Beast. Nothing is close, no weapons. Nothing but me.
I flood my body with every last bit of adrenaline I have left in my glands. Then I roll onto my stomach and push myself up. If I tense all of the muscles in my back, they can serve as a surrogate for my broken spine.
It works, and I'm able to slowly lift myself to my feet. My body screams in protest. Newly formed clots rupture and blood starts flowing inside me like a river. The shattered remnants of my vertebrae press into my spinal column, making it difficult to get nerve signals to my legs. My body demands that I stop and rest.
But I'm a Different. I can not only hear my body, I can choose not to listen. I think of Becky's smile and rise to my feet. I think of her smell and take a step forward. I think of her kiss and take another. Then I think of her throat cut open and break into a run. I keep going no matter how many systems in my body tell me to stop, no matter that I've lost feeling in my left foot, or that my vision is starting to become blurred.
I'm focused on one goal, and nothing can stop me. I take all the hate I've ever felt, hate for the Government, hate for my mother, hate for this monster. I take it all and focus it onto The Beast. I focus it all into one moment.
32
Together my Chosen Sons shall build this new utopia. Together my Chosen Sons will leave behind the sins of my first creation. Together they will forge a new world. A world free from war and strife, a world of brotherhood, a world of piety.
Chosen Sons: 56
The Beast swings his arms wildly about. His vision is still blurry, he is completely deaf, and he can only smell vinegar. Nevertheless, he is still standing. Nothing can kill him, nothing. The Lord picked him out of all the Chosen. He is special.
Now all he has to do is find Gavin. He has to find the weak and pathetic Chosen Son who will not see his proper place on earth. He is going to rip Gavin’s head off. All he has to do is find the boy.
The Beast does not see Gavin coming. He does not hear Gavin’s footsteps or smell Gavin’s scent. The Beast does not brace at all for Gavin crashing into him. Gavin may be small compared to The Beast, but the boy hits with the all the force the human body can create. Gavin knocks The Beast backwards onto the edge of the building. He struggles to keep his balance for just a moment before falling off the side of the Tower.
He spends a few seconds in the air before he realizes he did not just slip to the floor, he fell completely off the side of the building. The Beast knows he is going to die: Gavin has killed him. The Beast did not think the boy was strong enough to do it.
But Gavin did not just get lucky. This is the Lord’s work. This is Providence. That is the only explanation.
The Beast screams to the sky, “What did I do wrong? What could I have done to please you?”
He doesn’t get an answer.
33
This court has been asked, “How can it outlaw heroes? How can it outlaw citizens trying to do good for their community?” The truth is that this c
ourt is not endorsing the outlawing of heroes; it is endorsing the outlawing of fairytales. Many of these so-called heroes do act with the best of intentions, but good intentions are not enough. Although Different individuals may seem God-like, they are in fact men. They are just as prone to making mistakes as all other men. Different individuals attempting to act compassionately have reaped untold destruction through their errors. We cannot choose the fantasy of heroics over the reality of the harm Different individuals can and have caused.
Justice Margaret Fuller
Majority Opinion: United States v. Anthony “Speedlight” Harrison
I want to watch The Beast fall, but it’s not worth dying over. I need to get a handle on my injuries. I try to focus on stopping the hemorrhages inside my body, but I can't concentrate. My mind keeps wandering to thoughts of my mom leaving, my dad dying, and The Beast murdering Becky. I killed the monster. I should feel like a hero. Instead, I feel like a scared little boy.
This shouldn't be happening to me. I have complete control over my body, complete control over my mind. I should be focusing on my cracked vertebrae, not wondering if there was anything I could have done to make my mom stay or if my dad died alone on that fishing boat. I need to find a way to move on. I think I need to cry.
I let the emotions flow through me, and I feel my eyes start to water. I think of my father, how he stood by me and took care of me, all alone. I think of my mom and how hard it must have been for her to know I was headed for a life of slavery. I imagine her seeing me now. I think she'd be proud of me. I'm sad she won't know that I didn't let them break me.
I think of Becky and the life she lived. All the trials and tribulations she survived during the Plagues, only to be murdered because of me. I think about the life we could have had together. I think about how I'm never going to see her again. I think about how I wasn't strong enough to save her. I think about how she wouldn’t have been in danger if I had been more careful.
The tears flow as I spend a few minutes lost in thought. Somehow, crying has made me feel better. The pain is still there, but it is lessened, it's dulled somehow. I guess channeling my emotions to fight The Beast had some collateral effects. Now that I have my emotions under control, I can focus on my injuries.
Besides my broken vertebrae, I have twenty-six major hemorrhages in various places inside me. The Beast also broke three ribs, one of which has punctured my lung. Most of my stitches have torn. I'm bleeding at a high rate out of the front of me, although it's nothing compared to the internal bleeding. My jaw is broken, too.
The first thing I have to do is make blood, gallons of blood. I stimulate my marrow to produce red blood cells, white blood cells, and platelets. I mix these with plasma that I generate from what little water there is left in my system. Lastly, I mix in proteins and electrolytes from my liver.
Now that I have a supply of blood, I need to stop my internal bleeding. I flood the hemorrhages with platelet cells so clots will form. Even with my direction, it takes about six minutes to get the bleeding to stop, or slow at least.
Next, I deal with my punctured lung. I push on my chest and force the chunk of bone out of the soft tissue. Once I re-grow a bit of my lung, I should be able to take deep breaths again.
I start the process to heal my back. It will take a few days to regenerate all the bone, but I should be able to form some cartilage that can serve as a makeshift spine in the meantime. That, plus flexing my back muscles, should allow me to walk, albeit slowly.
Lastly, I deal with my torn stitches. I pick them out and restrict blood flow to the bleeding areas. I don’t bother forming scabs. They'll just tear as I walk down.
I push myself to my feet. The hardest part will be keeping my back muscles flexed without them cramping. There's already a big build-up of lactic acid in the tissue. I'm clearing it as fast as I can by increasing blood flow, but the acid level will continue to build. A lot of my body needs blood, and there isn’t enough to go around.
Now that I can stand, I stumble over to edge the roof and look down. By squinting and bending my cornea, I can just barely make out what's happening down on the street. It looks like they have the Hoover main closed up, and they are leading people out of the Tower. Guess that means it's just a matter of time till the cops come up here and find me. I don't think I'm going to be able to convince them I'm a fellow officer. My blood-soaked uniform raises some questions that I don’t have good answers for. I need another way out of the building.
I log on think.Net and try to call Ben. No such account. Not no answer, not unavailable, not out of range… No such account. How is that possible? I don’t have any more time to think about it because I’m getting my own think.Net call. Nita.
>>>Gavin, I am sorry. I do not have much time to talk. My mind is extremely busy trying to deal with the damage The Beast caused. Do you know what occurred? How was The Beast able to rupture the Hoover main?
<<
>>>He plummeted down the entire height of the Tower. He is deceased.
<<
>>>The Beast's remains will be found by the police when they can spare the manpower. Right now, they are still assisting the victims of the Tower and the ruptured Hoover main.
<<
>>>Gavin, you will not be in any position to render assistance. The police will find you shortly, and when they do, they will arrest you.
<<
>>>You violated Article 3 of the Different Acts of 1996, Provision Against Vigilantism. You were aware your actions were illegal were you not?
<<
>>>I will continue to do so. I will work towards your release, but it is going to take time. Until then, you are going to have to face the consequences of your actions.
<<
>>>Have you ever considered why it is that you started spending your nights as a vigilante? Why it is you seem to find helping people satisfying in the first place? I have a theory: When you were fourteen you were just like many other boys your age. Young, idealistic, and hopeful to save the world like an action movie hero. The difference between you and all those other boys is that you are a Different. Those boys matured, their brains developed, and they formed new, more realistic dreams. Instead of wanting to be a spy saving the country from nuclear annihilation, they want to be accountants with a steady paycheck and a loving family. Your brain doesn’t mature, Gavin, at least not in the normal way. I think you still have the same dreams you had as a child.
<<
>>>I only call it a theory so I do not come across as arrogant.
<<
>>>Takes one to know one. Goodbye and good luck.
She ends the call.
Did I just get called immature by a little girl who said “takes one to know one”? Even worse, she might be right. It would explain why acting like a hero made me so happy. Maybe it’s because my brain is still wired like a fourteen-year-old boy. Maybe I’m just acting on the fantasies all young boys have of being James Bond or Luke Skywalker. The only difference is I’m actually capable of acting on those delusions. Is that such a bad thing? Maybe growing up and losing your idealism is what’s wrong with the world.
I can think about this later, right now I should be wondering why Nita is going to let me be arrested. How does this figure into her plan? She can't still be planning to blame this all on me. There were too many witnesses. Everyone on the roof saw me fight The Beast.
I head down from the roof and make a stop in a penthouse apartment. The entryway is even more impressive than the apartment I stopped in earlier. As soon as I step in the door, I am greeted with a view of a large gold statue of a Greek Olympian running in place. He is actually running in place, well, vibrating really, and it’s even letting out a faint but lovely hum.
I think it’s a Motion Sculpture
. It’s made of a compound produced by a Different. The molecules shift in between quantum states or something like that. They're trying to find a way to turn the compound into something useful. For now, we'll have to settle for amazing artwork for rich people. Ultracorps has even cornered the art market. I’d be angrier if it wasn’t so beautiful. That’ll be something nice to remember while I’m in prison.
Speaking of prison, if I’m going to rot in a jail cell, it would be nice to do it on a full stomach. That way, at least I’ll be able to heal. I head into the kitchen and raid the pantry, going through each and every item and taking a bite. That way I’ll have a wide variety of foods to fool myself into enjoying while eating my prison gruel.
All this eating is causing more damage to my busted jaw, but I can make myself ignore the pain. I won't be able to heal without food, and a slightly more broken jaw isn't much in the scheme of my injuries. I have Hershey's chocolate, canned pineapple, peanut butter, Honey Nut Cheerios, and so much more. Some of the foods I've eaten before, but a lot of it is Pre-Plague treats that only the wealthy can afford. They also have a number of spices I've never seen before, even in the food lab. I'm going to make myself imagine whatever slop they feed me in Great Basin tastes like cinnamon-sugar.
Considering I might never be free again, I should take in some more experiences. I head into the master bedroom. It is as magnificent as the rest of the house. There are paintings by artists I’m sure I should know the name of and gold trim and moulding all around the room. I open the closest and see a silk robe. I carefully take off my tattered police uniform and slip into the robe. It was worth reopening a wound in my intestine from all the motion. The fabric feels fantastic. Better than my own skin.
I head into the bathroom where I disrobe and step into the shower. This way, I can look presentable for my day in court. I take a scorching hot shower and scrub off the blood that has dried all over me.
