by Kipjo Ewers
“Ancient and crippled,” Graves took another sip from his coffee.
“Eyesight was gone,” Dr. Alexander emphasized. “It was restored when he was infected by the EVO virus. He is currently a class five Titan, possessing tremendous superhuman strength lifting in the fifty ton range. Nowhere near, Captain Omega’s level, but still impressive. He also possesses almost high level superhuman durability, endurance, stamina, and regenerative healing.
“Combine that with his former military background you have…” Mendes tried to close.
“The perfect soldier,” Graves finished his sentence. “I retract my cynicism, gentlemen. Good pick, who else we do we have?”
“Oliver Brandon,” Mendes selected the next file. “Age twenty-two, born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. A class nine Apollo EVO. “
“What can he do?” Graves dryly demanded.
“Mr. Brandon possesses the ability to store, channel, and manipulate electricity on an extremely large scale,” informed Dr. Alexander.
“How large?” asked an inquisitive Graves.
“We didn’t get an accurate reading,” reported the doctor looking at his notes, “but if I had to guess, he has the potential to drain all of the energy out of half the Northern Hemisphere. He is capable of taking the same energy and engulfing either a portion or his entire body in a plasma form of pure electricity. He can achieve flight and move at speeds of one-hundred-eighty-six thousand miles per second. His electrical output produces heat greater than any electrical arc ever created, thus, allowing him to burn through some of the hardest metals on this planet. Very few Apollo types in the electrical class possess his variety of abilities.”
Secretary Graves watched with disturbing fascination as Brandon, wearing a special protective black bodysuit, stood in a controlled testing room. Without uttering a word, he transformed into a being of pure electricity. Extending his right arm, he unleashed a blinding electrically charged beam at a brick wall forty feet away obliterating it on impact.
“I think I like this one,” Graves nodded. “Another good pick. I must say I am impressed so far.”
“Rosann and Adrian Esposito,” Dr. Alexander adjusted his glasses before selecting their file on his tablet to project on the flat screen, “both twenty-three… paternal twins from Staten Island, New York.”
“Brother and sister EVOs?” Secretary Graves knitted his brow.
“An extreme rarity,” the doctor explained, “but plausible considering they are twins who share some of the same traits, both are classified as mutants, and sub-categorized as Elemental EVOs. Rosann Esposito is an organic Elemental. When her adrenaline levels rise microscopic hollow barbs protrude from her fingertips allowing her to collect DNA samples from carbon based lifeforms. Once it enters her blood stream, her body morphs taking on the physical traits of the person or animal she touches. Regular form returns once her adrenaline levels normalize. The sample does not even have to be alive for her to change just organic based. With animal DNA, she transforms becoming a half-human, half-animal hybrid form. Strength, speed, endurance, and agility vary depending on the animal. The transformations seem to be extremely painful, but are easier as long as she remains within classes such as mammals, reptiles, and certain amphibians. The last recorded organic Elemental that attempted to assimilate bird DNA died due to complications of incompatibility; the same fatal results also appear to happen with all aquatic DNA. In addition, she can only assume one form at a time. The barbs in her fingertips retract and remain so once in a transformed state.”
“What about humans?” Graves carefully scanned her file with interest.
“The transformations seem to be much easier,” noted the doctor. “Slight changes take place turning her into the subject’s monozygotic or identical twin, although sex does not change when she comes into contact with male subjects. Height, weight, eye and skin color, as well as hair all change to match any subject she touches. What makes her extreme interesting is when she comes in contact with another EVO. She is capable of mimicking their abilities, not on an extremely high level as the subject she encounters, but enough to be quite formidable.”
A faint smile grew on Graves’ face.
“That’s very useful, what of her brother?” he asked.
“An inorganic Elemental,” the doctor said. “The barbs in his fingers are apparently stronger than his sister’s. When he touches noncarbon based materials such as wood, stone, or metal, his entire body transforms from the inside out taking on the same properties. His transformations appear to be painless. Strength, durability, and endurance also increase based on whatever he touches. His sister can duplicate his abilities when she touches him, however, he cannot do the same when it comes to her. It is also unclear why they react differently to carbon and noncarbon based materials.”
“Always thought twins were weird,” Graves huffed. “Even my brother’s set. Who’s the final member to our list?”
“Last we have Erica Champion,” Dr. Alexander projected the final applicant to the screen, “originally from San Francisco, California… age sixteen and a Promethean class eight EVO.”
“Wait, what age again?” Graves narrowed his eyes.
“Age sixteen,” Dr. Alexander reiterated. “A child prodigy diagnosed with autism, until the EVO virus infected her, curing her of her autism while granting her intelligence on a superhuman level with access to eighty percent of her mental capability. Her abilities include reading minds, telepathy, psychokinesis, extrasensory perception, and low-level telekinesis.”
“No recruiting of children,” Graves emitted with passive sternness. “They’re a pain when it comes to taking orders and a PR nightmare waiting to happen.”
“Actually, Ms. Champion is already on the payroll, sir,” informed Mendes. “She’s also known as Lady Tech.”
Graves leaned back in his seat for the first time, stunned by Mende’s news.
“She’s Lady Tech?” he pointed to the screen.
“The top anti-cyber terrorist in the agency responsible for re-firewalling all of the United States government’s security systems.” Mendes nodded. “Harvard graduate at the age of eleven with a masters in biology, biomechanics, biophysics, bionics, robotics, Aerodynamics, quantum physics, nuclear physics, atomic physics, astrophysics, cybernetics, computer science, and criminal law. She is also the top expert on EVOs. She volunteered to become a part of this group.”
“Her knowledge and intelligence would give this group an extreme advantage like none other, in addition to her technological advances,” Dr. Alexander interjected.
“Technological advances?” Secretary Graves asked with a spark in his eye.
“Ms. Champion holds several patents on fully functional combat ready applications that she is willing to share should she be picked for this group,” informed the doctor.
Graves narrowed his eyes while leaning back further in his seat as he tapped his chin.
“She’s in,” he sprang forward in his seat reversing his decision. “We’ll just keep her out of combat situations; focus her strictly on R&D. So this is the ‘best’ this country has to offer?”
“Those willing to take the offer,” said Mendes.
“God damn Bush,” Graves muttered, “he’s made it that even superhumans don’t want to be all that they can be. This bunch will have to do for now.”
“How do we proceed?” Mendes asked.
“Set up a base of operations for them,” Graves instructed, “Pick an old facility we no longer use. I don’t want them interacting with our regular kids.”
“As for training?” Mendes asked taking notes on his tablet. “Considering we’ve never trained EVOs for combat before.”
“Well, we’ve got that covered right here,” Graves pulled up Abraham Rogers’ profile again on his tablet. “The good sergeant also has experience as a drill sergeant. I don’t think he’ll have any problem whipping this crew into a lean mean fighting team.”
Mendes and Dr. Alexander’s eyes briefly met a
gain with concern before looking back at the Secretary of Defense.
“And I’m sure the brain child can provide whatever educational data needed to make them the best of the best.” Graves motioned to Lady Tech’s profile while addressing Dr. Alexander. “That’s how you balance the budget gentlemen. Get Rogers on-boarded and up to date first along with “Lady Tech” before you drag the rest of them in. I want the base and them assembled within three weeks time for orientation and training, and I want them combat ready in six months. Make it happen.”
Chapter 4
Alison Jefferies would be a statistic by tonight. She was already a statistic, being one of the 633,782 people across America who is homeless. She lost her job in the recession of 2008 along with her health benefits. Her unemployment wasn’t enough to cover the mortgage for her condominium despite selling her car and other possessions leading to foreclosure and her losing her home altogether. With no family in the state of New York she bounced from friend to friend’s house sleeping on their couch. They all gave her the same story as if reciting from a textbook. She could only stay for a week or two, after that she had to have a job to get back on her feet or find another place to stay. With no job prospects and wearing out all of the welcome of people she thought to be her friends, she spent her first night with what little possessions she had left on a bench in Central Park.
Almost five blocks away from where she used to work, she remembered the day she sat on one of the very same park benches eating lunch, only to get up in disgust as a vagrant sat down next to her. On that same night, she contemplated suicide, being a Catholic all be it not a steadfast one prevented her from taking her life. Within four years, she endured four muggings, two of them happening within a shelter, two physical assaults, and one sexual, also within a shelter. The hardened life on the streets put an additional twenty years on the thirty-two-year-old’s face and body in less than seven years.
Four days ago, Alison found herself caught in the middle of a freezing March downpour. Fear of the shelters kept her from seeking warmth and cover. She now sat huddled in the corner of a building on Park Avenue two blocks from her former employment dazed with a sickening cough and a heavy wheezing in her chest, all clear signs of full blown pneumonia.
Her eyes watered and snot ran from her nose as she cried out for help, but the difficulty of her breathing kept her voice small among the noise of the concrete jungle. She was now among the ignored. People walked by not even giving her a second glance as if she was a part of the trash on the street, while those who did acknowledge her tossed whatever spare change they had into her plastic cup. Clearly, not the assistance she was looking for.
Each attempt to breath became more painful. She would not last another cold night. By tomorrow, the police or cleaning crew would walk by and give her corpse a sharp kick ordering her to move. She doubted she would even get a proper burial. Slowly she closed her eyes accepting her fate and dreamed of better days. She dreamed of finding true love and children, things no longer in her future.
Teetering between the land of the dead and the living made her oblivious to world coming to a halt around her. Everyone else around her was forced to lift their heads as they witnessed an angel descend from the heavens.
An angel donned in a skintight blue and black two-piece running outfit.
Debris kicked up as vehicles both big and small shook from the powerful force of propulsion keeping her airborne as she hovered closer and closer to the streets of Manhattan. Two feet off, she canceled out the power landing on her cherry-toed bare feet. At the sight of cameras and other video recording devices aimed at her, her eyes blazed disrupting them with an electromagnetic pulse. The masses became invisible to her again as she walked with purpose to the only person that she felt warranted her attention. Now towering over a semi-conscious Alison, she knelt down gently touching her cheek.
“Hey… honey, are you with me?” Sophia asked.
The warmth of Sophia’s touch made Alison slowly open her eyes.
Immediately she believed she had passed on, beholding a woman whose glowing eyes were a bright warm blue color. However, she could still feel cold, the soreness of her throat from coughing, and the difficulty of breathing. She should not feel pain if she had passed on.
“You’ve come to take me… to the light?” Alison asked as tears fell from her eyes.
“No dear,” Sophia smiled.
“You’re not an angel?” Alison inquired.
“I’m a doctor,” Sophia responded, “And from what I can tell, you have a severe case of pneumonia… can you tell me how long you’ve been like this?”
“I… I don’t know” she got out between violent coughs, “Am I… am I… going to die?”
“Not on my watch,” reassured Sophia stroking her hair. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Alison…” she answered.
She could not remember the last time someone spent more than a minute with her. She knew she smelled putrid with snot and bile running from her nose and mouth, and yet this woman was stroking her thin, greasy black hair and dirt-ridden cheeks as if they had been friends for ages.
“Alison… would you like to come home with me,” Sophia got to the point extending an invitation, “so I can take care of you?”
“Till I get better?” Alison asked nodding in and out of consciousness.
“No… for as long as you’d like,” she answered.
She was conscious enough to hear the words “as long as you’d like.” She burst into tears hunching forward as the violent cough rang through her again allowing her only to nod her head. Without hesitation, Sophia scooped her up in her arms cradling her like a newborn.
Images of her late father holding her whenever she fell asleep in the back of his station wagon came to mind. She rested her weary head against Sophia’s bosom feeling warmth and a powerful heart.
As Sophia walked back to the center of the street ignoring the flabbergasted masses, she whispered into Alison’s ear, “Hold on tight… the take off is a little bit rough.”
She coiled her powerful legs causing the ground to shake underneath her before leaping into the air leaving a small crater where she stood. Once again, the powerful force that gave her flight erupted from the soles of her feet allowing her to ascend above the skyscrapers into the heavens above Manhattan. She would go slow adjusting to the precious cargo in her arms.
Alison Jefferies looked down, and saw that she was no longer one of the ignored. She was not a statistic. Those that looked up would remember her and this day.
Chapter 5
0800 hours—Marine Corps Mountain Warfare School located in Bridgeport, California—a tiny base in the midst of a huge national forest, founded during the Korean War to prepare Marines for mountain warfare. Later, mothballed during the Vietnam War when the Corps determined it was no longer needed.
A CH-46 Sea Knight helicopter disrupted the tranquil peace of the land as it descended on the once active base. Waiting for it to land was a party of ten standing next to a jet-black twin engine Sikorsky private helicopter.
Secretary of Defense Robert Graves, with arms folded behind his back, stared at the descending helicopter. He was flanked by Dr. Alexander and Executive Assistant Mendes, while his Department of Defense agents remained vigilant to ensure that the perimeter and his wellbeing were secure.
Sitting on the folding steps of the Sikorsky was a teenager in her own world with bright sea-blue dyed hair similar to a Japanese Anime character. Her hi-tech glasses, skintight bodysuit, and boots separated her from everyone else in the group as she fiddled around on what appeared to be a clear glass version of a computer tablet.
The Sea Knight powered down after a ten-point landing, the exit door opened as the folding steps lowered allowing the occupant inside to exit. Stepping out with a large military duffle bag in his grip, dressed in a standard issued Marine service uniform with the rank of Sergeant on his right breast, was a man who looked like he was not born, but forged out
of raw iron by God Himself.
His face showed his age, while his facial scars, especially the one across his left eye, revealed how he weathered a brutal world. Physically he looked as if he could bring down Everest. If the Marine Corps were the known pitbulls of the United States Military, Sergeant Abraham Arthur Rogers was one of the fathers that sired generations. Rogers stepped down from the helicopter marching with purpose over to the party waiting for him. He halted within respectful distance from the Secretary of Defense snapping a crisp salute as he reported for duty once again.
“Sergeant Rogers,” greeted Graves, “great to finally meet you soldier. Welcome to project Regulators. You already know Executive Assistant Mendes. This is Dr. Jason Alexander, lead geneticists and expert on the EVO virus and EVOs.”
“Sir, pleasure to be here,” answered Rogers with a gruff voice. “Are all the new recruits present?”
“Negative. Three of them will be here tomorrow at 1100 hours, we thought it best to get your orientation squared away before bringing them in,” Graves returned, getting down to business as well. “We’re looking on a six-month turn around on this Sergeant. We need a superhuman fighting force our nation can both respect and be proud of. In the meantime, allow me to introduce you to one of your new teammates who is currently here.”
Graves rolled his eyes as he attempted to introduce Rogers to the blue- haired young woman more interested in playing Candy Crush on her tablet than an introduction to Rogers.
“Ms. Eric Champion,” Graves cleared his throat, “also a lead geneticist and expert on the EVO virus and EVOs. In addition, she is also the lead tech specialist and strategist of this facility with a background in many other fields…”
“That would make Einstein himself look like a retard,” Ms. Champion blurted out while focusing on her game. “I also prefer to be called Lady Tech gramps, if you don’t mind.”
