by Evan Currie
“That would make some sense, if they’re gathering data from these events,” Pierson nodded, “Treating them like experiments, even?”
“Experiments on people, in some of the largest cities on the planet,” Isaacs growled, “That’s not an experiment, Colonel. That’s an act of war.”
Pierson certainly wasn’t going to disagree with him on that, and opted not to say anything for the moment. The General was certainly correct from his point of view, which coincided well enough with hers, that of the US Government and, she suspected, the rest of the world as well. Whether the target considered it an act of war or not, she couldn’t tell, but that was irrelevant really.
At this point, war had been declared regardless, after all.
*****
Berlin
Hale grunted as he tanked a heavy blow to the jaw, letting it land in order to get the puncher close enough for him to respond. He jabbed out with his left, connected with the target’s sternum, then brought his right fist around in a cross that shook the fast mover before he could retreat in following a hit and run pattern he’d used earlier in the fight.
The target went down to one knee, so Hale put him on his back with a knee to the face before moving on to the next.
The GSG9 squad had drawn off two of the gang, not that he was actually all that happy about it despite being grateful for their courage and dedication to duty. He was far more likely to survive whatever this group of changed had to offer than any of the police were, and he’d prefer they not get themselves torched, pounded into a pulp, exploded, or whatever other tricks they might encounter.
So far most of the changed had a limited power set, as it were, but those limitations were… in his experience… more to do with the time they’d had to experiment than any actual limits. He himself had been working out all sorts of things with his abilities, usually pushed by necessity, and he expected that was true of the others as well.
He was sure that the group he was currently brawling with were capable of far more than they were showing, though they probably weren’t aware of it. That was mostly a good thing, as it allowed him to hold back significantly and not worry about punching someone through an occupied building or something similar.
However it did mean that the show was lacking some of the… heh… punch it might otherwise have had.
Pierson hasn’t contacted me to tell me the target is moving yet, though, so I guess we’re doing alright.
He briefly accelerated to the left, blurring slightly as he avoided a charge from a reasonably fast if somewhat amateurish opponent. He didn’t have time to give the man a name, as he had others, but it didn’t seem to matter as he tripped him up and sent him sprawling into the fountain at the center of the plaza hard. Head struck cement hard enough to crack the cement, a visible seam of water pooling through and leaking to the brick below.
Another down, for the moment at least.
That thought turned out to be distracting at the wrong time, Hale was struck from behind and sent skidding to the ground. He turned the skid into a roll and used the momentum to bring him back to his feet as his attacker followed up.
Hale intercepted an axe handle blow over his head, flexing at the knees to absorb the energy, bringing the blow to a stop as the man glared at him briefly.
Briefly because another attack from the side caught Hale and threw him violently to the left, tumbling until he hit a stone wall with a solid crack. He got to his feet again, just as three came in at once.
Hale got his arms up, tight in to his body with his head ducked in to give him maximum protection to his head and ribs as the blows rained down.
He spotted an opening and swung for the fences, as it were, connecting with a crack both of bone and the sound barrier being shattered, and one of the three was blown away on a ballistic trajectory. Unfortunately another filled the gap an instant later.
Hale considered lifting off, but decided to keep the fight engaged rather than breaking away. He was hoping that he could center the focus of the target, keep it in place by giving it a show. The only thing Hale wasn’t sure about was whether this was enough of one to keep its interest.
He was confined, for the moment, to a boxing stance with his back to a stone wall. That gave the enemy only so much room they could close on him from, and so he only had to really protect his twelve, two, and ten o’clock positions. For that, the boxing form worked perfectly, letting him take the blows on his arms more than his head or torso, and return with swift jabs that were blinding even at normal speeds.
Now, all he had to do was figure out how to get even more attention focused on himself.
*****
USSOCOM Bunker, Virginia
“I think more people are watching this fight than have ever watched anything simultaneously in history,” The NRO officer said, glancing over to where his counterpart from the NSA was checking the compilation of their feeds.
She agreed with a nod, “Even 9/11 didn’t have this many viewers live, though mostly because no one had enough time to really understand what the hell they were looking at as it happened. We’ve got repeater feeds in the tens of thousands over the internet, including the Dark Web, and right now we’ve tabulated unique viewers over two billion.”
“Holy crap.”
The NSA analyst nodded. Two billion views wasn’t impossible in the modern scheme of things, but two billion live viewers? That was unheard of.
“He needs to win.”
The two looked at each other, then back over their shoulders to where Colonel Pierson was standing.
“Excuse me, Ma’am?” The NRO officer asked, confused.
“I didn’t realize how public it really was,” Pierson said with a scowl on her face. “Hale is putting on a show, but he needs to win. It has to be a rout. Excuse me.”
The Army colonel walked away from the recon desks, leaving the two watch officers to exchange confused glances, neither quite certain what the colonel had been talking about.
*****
Berlin
Alex ducked left, feeling the flow of time slow around him.
It was almost like a drug, he realized. Like he was high on something, higher than he’d ever experienced before in his life… and he’d experienced a fair amount. It wasn’t a drug high, though. He knew those. The floating sensation of morphiates, the odd disconnected feeling of pot, the hazy blur of alcohol… none of them really matched up to what he felt when he really let his power out.
Time slowed, or he sped up. Honestly it was a coin flip as to which it might be, but he supposed it made more sense that he sped up than the inverse. The idea that his power was somehow affecting one of the universal constants, well that was just crazy.
He hoped.
The punch crawled past him on his right as he finished that train of thought and wrenched his brain back to the moment. It was hard, really hard, to keep focus he found. When the world crawled, it felt like his mind just wanted to run around in every direction, bouncing off the walls and…
Damn it. I did it again.
Hale reached up, looping his arm around the punch that had been aimed at him, bringing the offending limb into a submission hold, and then he twisted. He kept his strength down, and his speed, just enough to not tear the man’s arm out or something, but he felt the bone break. Alex let go after about a quarter spin, leaving the man in mid air as he flew off toward the next target.
It would be so easy, he thought, just to live like this.
His whole life, in this wonderland where his brain felt… supercharged… and his body was just itching to do whatever he could imagine.
He was beginning to hate having to slow down.
Hale did it anyway.
The world sped up, he heard a scream and a crash behind him as his previous attacker was thrown headfirst into the closest building .
Hale sighed.
“Is this really the best you have?” He asked as the group all managed to turn to see where he’d moved to. “W
e’re supposed to be putting on a show here.”
*****
Benjamin Ahlid growled at the arrogance of the bastard in military camouflage in front of him.
Oh, he knew of the man.
The whole damn world knew of the ‘Marine’ by this point. The flying American, going around the world, solving the world’s problems like he was some godlike figure.
It was blasphemy, that was what it was.
Benjamin had watched the news of the flying man fighting those worthless thugs on the American streets, and he knew then in his heart that he was seeing the work of Eblis, spitting in the face of Allah the Almighty.
He had hated seeing such things, but there had been no end of it. The only thing anyone seemed to care about was the actions of the unclean. The Americans, then the Chinese… both uncouth barbaric infidels.
Then, his own awakening.
The horror… no, the Awe he remembered, being in the presence of Allah’s true power… then the realization that he had been granted the ability to counter those unclean devils blessed by Eblis. How humbled he’d felt, and determined to bring the Jihad to the infidels… until the world was cleansed in fire.
Benjamin had found his purpose.
And it had brought him here, to this point in time, facing the man who had begun it all.
He felt the fires burn in his veins as the American treated them like toys, distractions to be played with until it was time to discard the playthings and move on to adult matters. The insult would not leave him as he watched one of his fellows be tossed casually into a wall, a blur of motion the only indication that the American had even bothered to take action at all.
The fire in his blood burned hotter, Benjamin saw red for a moment… then his sight tinged blue, and finally white as he felt the world seem to slow between the ticks of the clock and suddenly he could see the American in motion again rather than an Allah be damned blur at the most.
The American lunged across the plaza, aiming for someone… Ben didn’t know who, didn’t really care. He saw his opportunity and flowed forward to intercept.
The sheer pleasure he felt at the surprise, shock, and pain on the American’s face when he was intercepted and thrown aside… that feeling was sublime. Benjamin knew then what the approval of Allah truly felt like.
He flowed again, twisting in the air as he followed the American’s flight toward the wall the other had just struck… and scowled as the American twisted himself in mid-air and arced around without hitting anything.
“Nice hit!” The American told him, grinning as he flew in. “You’re looking a little… pale, though. Are you eating well?”
Ben scowled, confused.
What was the American talking abou-
He looked down at himself, and saw only white. Not the pale pasty white of the locals skin, instead it was a sparkling, gleaming white… like the rare snowfall that had covered the pyramids exactly twice in his life. A more pure image he’d neve-
Benjamin was still musing over the purity of snow when the fist plowed into his face and he was blown back across the plaza, pure sparkling stars visible in his eyes.
Ouch.
He righted himself after a dozen or so meters, shaking away the shock and pain of the blow, and found himself glowering right at the American again.
How dare that barbaric infidel interrupt him as he was contemplating the beauty of Allah’s grace!?
Ben snarled, barely noting that the sound he made was like an angry crackling fire… a forge fire, spitting molten metal. He ignored it as he flowed across the plaza, striking at the American, who dodged away like it was some sort of game!
“Hold still, Infidel!”
The American shot him a look, the sort one gave a particularly stupid child.
“You’re kidding, right?”
That only served to infuriate him more.
Benjamin Ahlid determined then that he would make the American burn, if it were the very last thing he managed to do.
So willed Allah.
*****
Hale ducked out of the way of the next attack, barely slipping under the oddly fluid motions that seemed accompanied by some sort of heat release he couldn’t quite figure out. The man wasn’t on fire or anything, which was something Hale had seen before, but there was something going on that was similar enough.
His BDUs were fire retarded and heat resistant, specifically because of his previous experiences, but he wasn’t certain how long they’d hold up to direct contact so he keep out of direct contact while he tried to figure out his next move.
The man, he was mentally dubbing him Efrit, was severely pissed off and looking to wage a one man holy war. That was actually fine with Hale, he had a mission and this was looking like a good way to check off some of the operational parameters that went with it.
He ducked around another attack, countering with jabs intended more to test the enemy’s defenses than actually inflict any real damage. Primarily, he wanted to know how badly he was going to burn himself by laying hands on Ifrit, but Hale was also keeping an eye open for any new problems he might be walking into.
Or running, as the case may be.
Luckily Ifrit, while angry as hell, wasn’t displaying any powers he couldn’t deal with. The heat was more a danger to his clothes and general decency, of which Hale had precious little to begin with, than to his health. He’d taken on a Dragon, fire had little hold over him since that, all things considered.
So far, Hale had noted that none of the superhumans he’d encountered thus far were of similar power levels to himself or China’s Dragon. That was, mostly, a good thing of course. He didn’t want to wage a serious war with superhuman powers in downtown Berlin, or any major city.
It did pose a problem, however.
Why are there more Superhumans here, but none showing the higher level powers we’ve seen at previous sites?
*****
The probe watched with something akin to pleasure as the web approached completion.
The experiment to this point had been an unqualified success.
Destruction where the altered life appeared exceeded all expectations and calculations. Damage to local infrastructure, and general damage to the mentality of the locals themselves, were well and above the most optimistic of calculations. In less than a single stellar cycle of the local planet, calculations indicated that any attempts for the local life to intentionally spread beyond this one world had been crippled by no less than seventy per cent.
That was a gain of almost thirty local stellar cycles.
The convocation would need more time, of course. Breaking away an extermination fleet was no easy task, not this far out from the center of controlled space.
It was a very good start, however.
A start that the probe fully intended to see expanded.
The probe sent of a query to the convocation, requesting authorization to deploy the final phase of it’s cidoforming protocols.
Now, all it had to do was wait… and watch.
*****
Chapter 7
Berlin
“Fascinating.”
“Bloody good popcorn, mate.”
“Would you two be silent, I’m trying to watch.”
The three were perched on the top of a building, not far from the plaza that was the center of a rather impressive bit of fighting that was not normally seen outside a blockbuster film. They were sitting on the edge of the towering building, legs dangling over, each with a soda and a bucket of popcorn that had the logo of the nearby theater embossed on the containers.
“He is rather impressive, more so in person,” The first speaker said, tossing a few kernels of the salty treat into his mouth. “How many more do we have to throw at him?”
The third, a woman with long black hair, sighed and rolled her eyes.
“Enough,” She said firmly. “Not that it matters, I suppose. I wonder why he’s here, though? The whole damn world seems to be burning. Why is HE
in Berlin?”
Left unspoken was the question she really wanted to have answered.
Why was the Marine invading her territory?
The first man shrugged, gesturing to open a ragged tear in space that he reached through to produce a bag of candy as the tear vanished.
“I’m quite certain I have no idea,” He said, tearing open the bag. “Milk dud?”
“Thanks mate,” The second man grinned, grabbing a handful as the woman shook her head.
“No, thank you,” She said dryly, leaning forward suddenly.
“Ooh, that had to hurt.” The second man said, chuckling as they watched the Marine get punched through a bus.
“Not nearly enough,” The woman said as he tore his way free, using pieces of the bus as weapons to hold off the burning skin of his current foe. She sighed, “I suppose it’s time to up the game. Malcolm?”
The second man, Malcolm, looked over eager. “Now?”
“Now.”
“I have just the group,” He giggled, clapping his hands before he pushed himself off the edge of the building, freefalling away for a few dozen feet before suddenly vanishing, leaving only a puff of smoke in his wake.
“You do know, of course,” The First man said with a tired sigh, “that he is going to cause this to get completely out of hand, right, Tessa?”
Tessa smiled thinly, “Oh, I believe that is exactly what I’m counting on.”
She took a piece of popcorn from her bag, popping it in her mouth casually. She frowned a moment later, “Pitr?”
“Yes?”
“Do they have pretzels at the theatre?”
Pitr frowned, “No, I don’t believe so. However, I know a nice shop nearby. Salted?”
“With butter, please.”
“Of course.”
A gesture tore open another hole in reality, and Tessa returned her focus to the fight as Pitr reached through for pretzels.
*****
Hale spat fire.
Literally.
It tasted oddly of gunsmoke, leaving him grimacing from the bitter taste and, more importantly, the fact that little bits of Ifrit had broke off from that punch and found their way into his mouth.