Different Strong

by Nat Kozinn

  I move in on him. You know what they say, fifth time’s a charm. Then I make myself believe it’s true. I imagine myself knocking his smug face to the ground. I slow down my perception of time as much as I can. Victor still moves a lot faster than I do, but at least I have a moment to think about what painfully slow move I can try to pull off. I decide to throw the first punch this time, a right cross. Victor's always telling me to seize the initiative. He knocks away my punch with a swipe of his arm. I knew he'd do that, so my real move was a kick to his left shin, which lands beautifully. He lets out an exhale of pain and drops his hands, leaving his chin open.

  I try to catch him with a left uppercut, I send signals to all the right muscles to contract and expand in perfect timing, crafting a beautiful punch, but he's so damned fast he dodges it like I'm moving in slow motion. Whenever I almost score some points he likes to put me in my place, so now he’ll come at me hard. He's going to lead with his left; he always does even though he's a righty. Instead of waiting for it and being too slow to react, I lunge at his left side. Sure enough, he throws a quick left jab, but since I'm already moving towards his fist, the punch doesn't have any force behind it and glances off my shoulder. The missed punch leaves me an opening, which I exploit with an open palm strike to Victor's nose, stunning him, and follow it up with a leg sweep, knocking him to the ground with a thud.

  That's the upside to these training exercises. When I do get lucky and manage to land a blow, I get to hit with full strength. Victor is tough enough to take it. It helps work out some of my frustration. Victor picks himself up off the floor. He gives me a big grin, trying to show it’s all in good fun, but I can tell he’s in a little pain. Poker faces don't work on experts in human anatomy.

  "Nice work, Gavin. See what believing does for you? It could be time to up my exertion level. You might be ready for ten percent strength,” Victor says to steal my thunder. “Now don't you see why this training is worth it? You need experience that think.Net articles and old kung-fu movies can't give you."

  He's right. I am learning from these actual fights. I can learn the moves and proper form on think.Net, but I can't learn how to read my opponent. I can’t learn how to adapt to unexpected situations. I know how to throw a beautiful left hook; I just don’t know when to throw it. I don’t want admit that to Victor, though. Good thing I have the perfect excuse for changing the subject.

  “Do you mind if I ask you something? I was looking through old OEC records, you know because I don’t have much to do at night. Anyway, I read about this case outside of old Santa Fe. You took down a really powerful Strong-Man who had been causing havoc in the Non-Assisted area,” I say.

  “Yeah, I remember. What’s the question?”

  “I guess I was wondering how you took him down. The file said he was in the upper echelons of strength, maybe top twenty all time, which, no offense, is much stronger than you. So how did you do it?”

  “I started with believing I could win. Then I came up with a plan and executed. He was stronger than me, but he wasn’t faster. I moved in and hit him, then retreated before he could grab me. It took a long time, hours in fact, but I was patient and picked my spots. Eventually, I wore him down. It’s a good lesson for you. You’re not all that quick or powerful, but you’re smart and you can use that extra time thing you do to formulate a proper strategy. Devise a path to victory, and then do whatever it takes to stay on the path,” Victor says shaking his finger to emphasize his point.

  “I’ll try to remember that. What ended up happening to the Strong-Man?”

  “He died. The Army moved in and tried to sedate him, but they ended up overdoing it. Turns out determining the proper Tranq dosage for a two thousand pound man is pretty complicated. I’d love to say I was broken up about it, but the guy was scum. He did some horrible things in Santa Fe,” Victor says. I watch him for signs that he’s lying, but there’s nothing. He maintains eye contact and his heart rate remains stable.

  “Are you sure that’s what happened? Did you actually see him die?” I ask.

  “I saw the body. Why are you asking me this? What do you think happened?” Victor asks while giving me a cross eyed look.

  I'm spared from having to come up with a lie because Captain Murphy walks into the training area.

  "Time to hop to it boys. We've got a call, and it's a big one. Linda wasn't able to get much information, but there's a killer Different on the loose. Victim was murdered on Vermont and Melrose. Metro Area police are already there waiting for you. Here's our chance to show what we can do," Captain Murphy tells us excitedly.

  #

  We walk down the dark street in anxious silence. Victor and I have barely said a word to each other since Captain Murphy told us about the call. We changed into our blue/grey army-style uniforms, fueled up the P-Train, rode it to the closest point, engaged the lever to remove the train from the rails and attach it to a support column, climbed down and started walking, all without saying a word about what we are going to do. Victor is just as nervous as I am even though he’s got a lot more experience. He may have taken down killers before, but none since he’s been stationed in Los Angeles. We’ve only gone after petty thieves and drugs dealers, which barely count as criminals in the Metro Area these days. Now we’ve finally got the chance to show our stuff.

  The destination comes into view. Three cops in uniform stand in front of a fenced-off alley. I can tell something is wrong right away, I mean besides the dead body. The cops seem calm. I can see a pretty young Hispanic police officer, and she's standing with a relaxed posture. If there’s a killer Different on the loose, I would expect the cops to be freaking out. There should be more of them here too.

  "I’m sure I don't have to tell you to keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking," Victor says under his breath.

  "I know. The cops hate me," I reply.

  I might be a hero to the people of Los Angeles for stopping The Beast, but the cops remember me as the punk who broke the law and got away with it. I had to hit a few of them back when I was being a vigilante, in self defense of course. I don't think I caused any serious injuries; I tried to be careful. But even still, people who assault cops don’t usually get hailed as heroes.

  We walk up to the female officer. She is beautiful, especially for a beat cop, with almond eyes and pink cheeks. She is also shockingly small. She must be incredibly tough to deal with scum at her weight class.

  "We're here to see Detective Rose," Victor says.

  The cop doesn't say anything. She points her thumb down the alley. We follow the thumb, and right in the center of the alley we get to the body. It's covered by a sheet. A heavyset man in an overcoat and a fedora is resting on the wall beside the corpse. He's in a think.Net stare. We’ve met him before. He was at the hospital to officially arrest the Speedster after I almost killed the kid.

  "Excuse me? Detective Rose?" Victor asks.

  Detective Rose holds up his hand signaling he needs another minute. He doesn't seem stressed. He's leaning casually on the side of the building. Something is definitely not right. No one is acting how they should be if there is a Different murderer on the loose.

  I take a quick stock of the alley. It's a good place for a killing. The buildings on either side are of uneven height so there are lots shadows to stay hidden. It would also make it hard for any witness to get a good look. Detective Rose finishes his think.Net call wearing a giant grin. His eyes regain their focus and take stock of Victor and me. His smile turns upside down and there’s a flash of what looks like panic in his eyes.

  "You two again? What do you want? What are you doing here?" Detective Rose demands.

  "We received a call about a victim killed by a Different," Victor says.

  The detective stops and takes a deep calming breath before he answers. When he speaks, the panic has disappeared from his face. “Beep! Wrong!” Rose says, like this is a quiz show. “It was a Different killed. Not a Different killer. Regular old stabbing, as in not you
r job. Somebody messed up downtown.”

  "A Different killed? Who was he?" I ask. Despite Victor's best effort, his evil eye stare can't hurt me.

  “A nobody," Detective Rose answers dismissively.

  "How was he killed? Were there any witnesses?" I ask.

  “I know you can’t wait to grab some more headlines, Beast Slayer, but this isn’t your job. It’s mine. Now you and the guy who ruined baseball can go take a walk,” Detective Rose says and points his finger out of the alley.

  That’ll show Victor for thinking he’s more popular than I am. People don’t like cop assaulters, but they also don’t like guys who cheat at their favorite pastime. Ruining baseball is not a path to popularity in America.

  Victor and I look at each other. He shrugs.

  "False alarm, I guess. Let's head back to base. I'll call Captain Murphy on the way and let him know. At least we'll still have time to finish our training session when we get back," Victor says. He's trying to play it cool, but I can tell he's disappointed. He is ready for some real action. We both are.

  “He was pleasant,” I say to Victor as we head out of the alley.

  “A real peach.”

  As we get to the perimeter of the crime scene, we pass the gorgeous female officer. She gives us a pssst.

  “Yes ma’am?” Victor responds.

  The officer gestures with her hands that we should keep our voices down. I focus in on her name badge. M. Vazquez.

  “This isn’t the first one,” she whispers.

  “What do you mean?” Victor asks.

  “This isn’t the first dead Different. There have been a lot of Differents killed in this precinct. I found another body a week ago, and it’s the same story for a lot of cops on the beat around here. It’s never anyone important, so nobody is taking it seriously. I think someone is targeting Differents,” she replies.

  “Like a serial killer?” I ask.

  “I don’t know because the murders never get investigated. My own captain said I was being crazy.”

  “It does sound a little crazy. You’d need some big cojones to target Differents as victims,” I say.

  “And imagine the balls it takes to want to hunt that killer,” she replies, deadpan.

  “Why are you telling us this?” Victor asks.

  “I thought you might care, being as you have something in common with all the victims. And maybe you can do something about the fact that my department is ignoring these cases.”

  “Do you have any leads?” I ask.

  “Thank you for bringing this to our attention,” Victor says, cutting off the officer before she can answer. “I will be sure to raise the issue with my superiors. Have a nice day Officer Vazquez.”

  Then he nods at me to leave and we walk away. I want to stay and ask her more questions, but Victor is not having it. It occurs to me that I was recently reminded to follow orders.

  “Maria,” Officer Vazquez says before we get too far away.

  We turn around, and Victor asks, “Excuse me?”

  “My name is Maria,” Maria says, and she’s looking right at me.

  #

  I haven’t been back to Ultracorps employee housing since before my fight with The Beast. While I was in jail, they took everything I owned in my apartment at the Barracks and put it in storage. It wasn’t much, a few clothes and some knick-knacks from my childhood. They brought it all to my new apartment/jail cell at the OEC office.

  Of course, they forgot my father’s pocket watch. At least, that’s what I told Captain Murphy. I’ve seen him fingering a watch of his own that he keeps at his desk. I figured it would be the right heartstring to pull for permission to go to the housing complex early in the morning. I have to get there before 9AM while Gary’s still working the elevator

  My lie worked even better than I hoped. Captain Murphy’s eyes teared up and put his hand on my shoulder and told me to look as hard as I could for the watch. Then he said if I needed the whole day, he’d look the other way. There’s no doubt that I should be feeling shame for that. I’m lucky I don’t have to feel emotions I don’t want to experience. I can’t say I’m proud of the lie, though.

  I head into the main lobby of the complex. The same unpleasant woman who worked the desk when I lived here is still on the job, Theresa. Captain Murphy bought my story, but he might not be the only one keeping track of me. It’s best I maintain the lie as well as I can. I approach and see she’s in the think.Net stare. She was always on think.Net every time I walked by.

  “Excuse me,” I say.

  She comes out of her think.Net stare and looks at me. She doesn’t say anything. She goes into the more traditional stare right at me.

  “My name is Gavin Stillman. I used to live in Tower 3...”

  “It’s you!” she says excitedly. She’s got a look on her face like she finally realized something. “You’re The Beast Slayer!”

  “Yeah that’s me. Like I said, I used to live here…”

  “I can’t believe you’re here. No one is going to believe me. Wait!” she shrieks.

  She picks up a small mirror from her desk and runs to stand next to me.

  “Do you mind if I snap a think.Net Memory so I have proof you were actually here?” she asks excitedly.

  “Sure, go nuts,”

  She spends some time getting her mirror in the right position, and then she goes into the think.Net stare. The Telepaths of think.Net will record the last visual image her brain received. Now all her friends will be able to log on think.Net and see a picture taken with her eyes. If she wants to spend twenty times as much, she can have a short video. She comes out of the stare.

  “Thank you! Thank you!” she yells and runs back behind her desk. “Now, how can I help you?”

  “As I said, I used to live in Tower 3, and I’ve lost my father’s pocket watch.”

  “I can’t believe you’re really here. It’s so brave what you did, saving all those people, going up against that monster. I’m so glad they let you out of jail.”

  “Thanks for the kind words,” I reply with a smile. I’m lucky I always have to choose to smile. Otherwise my smile might seem forced. Or, maybe that means my smile always seems forced?

  “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re sick of people fawning all over you. I’ve never met anyone famous before.”

  “That’s all right. I was asking about my father’s pocket watch. It may have been left it my old apartment. Do you have some sort of lost and found?”

  “No, we don’t. But I’m glad you found me anyway,” she says back with a smile.

  I think she’s flirting with me. It hasn’t happened to me much, so I can’t be sure. If she is, she’s only doing it because I’m a famous hero… which I guess isn’t such a bad reason. But I don’t have time to worry about this now. I’m here for a specific purpose, not to boost my ego.

  “Do you mind if I go up to my old apartment and check?” I say flatly, ignoring her flirt.

  “Sure, go right ahead. You just have to tell me if you’re free on Friday night?”

  “Sorry. I’m flattered, but I’m also still on parole. I’m allowed here because I talked them into letting me look for my father’s watch. Maybe once I’m a free man,” I say. Now that is one good excuse.

  “A shame,” she says and goes back into her think.Net stare.

  I walk by her desk and out the exit that leads to the rest of the employee housing complex. I have to remind myself that it’s people like her who saved me. I was rotting away in jail, waiting for a trial where I was going to be found guilty, because I completely was. Lucky for me, some of the citizens I saved from The Beast spoke up in my defense. The press picked up the story and soon I was being called “The Beast Slayer.” There were rallies, protests, and letter writing campaigns, all urging for me to be pardoned.

  It worked. Soon the governor joined my side, he needed a popular issue to cover the fact that he was in charge when The Beast slaughtered hundreds. He pressured the federal government to
offer me the parole deal. I even get paid enough to cover my Cost of Living Obligations from Section 26, barely.

  There are seven towers in the Barracks, all surrounded by luscious green landscaping and even a pool. I never really appreciated how nice this place was. I resented being forced to live here. Now, I have some perspective on how bad living arrangements can get. It sure beats being locked in an office.

  I make my way to Tower 3 and its forty oval-shaped stories, arranged to maximize the number of balconies. I miss having a balcony. My office/jail hardly gets any sunlight at all. I have to spend twenty minutes every morning pressed up against the window in the bathroom so I can get enough sunlight to produce the Vitamin D my body needs.

  I check the time on think.Net 8:52AM. Perfect, Gary should be finishing up his shift operating the elevator. I head into my old building and onto the elevator. I hit the button for the fortieth floor. I bet that gets Gary thinking. There’s no way my old roommate Nick is out and about this early. He goes back to sleep right after he does his wakeup call to the city. No one besides Nick and I have ever lived on the fortieth floor. Gary starts pulling me up.

  The elevator gets to the fortieth floor and the doors open up. I don’t get off though. Instead, I yell up.

  “Gary! It’s me, Gavin. Can we talk?” I ask.

  Suddenly, the doors close and the elevator drops like a stone. I am going way too fast. Did he drop me? I slow down time to try to come up with a plan, but before I can think of one the elevator comes to an abrupt halt. I’m jolted into the air so hard I almost hit the ceiling. If I was a normal human, I would have lost my lunch. I might have deserved that.

  The elevator comes back to the first floor and stops. I hit the button for the fortieth floor, but nothing happens. Looks like Gary wants me to take the stairs as further punishment. I do just that. Even with regulating my blood’s oxygen absorption and breathing, I’m still a bit winded when I get to the top floor.

  I head to the maintenance room. I try the door, but it doesn’t budge. It isn’t locked. Gary must be holding it closed. I’ll be able to force it open as soon as I become stronger than a freight train.