Human Superior

by C. S. Won

  A member of the press chimed in. “What makes you so certain it was neo-humans responsible for these attacks when so far both Homeland Security and the FBI have yet to conclude their investigations? The neo-human phenomenon has been with us for nearly six months now, and aside from small incidents here and there, they have been relatively peaceful. Helpful even, some would argue. Why would they suddenly engage in terroristic attacks? What reason could they possibly have in doing so? Is it not possible that these attacks could have been perpetuated by any number of terror groups that we’re familiar with? How are you so sure a neo-human is responsible?”

  Morgan scoffed. “What sort of asinine . . . ? Do you really believe these bombings were the work of some terrorist organization living in a sand cave in some godforsaken, third-world country? Pardon my language, but you need to get your head out of your ass, son. I have it on good authority that a neo-human was responsible. In fact, this same neo-human has already rallied a small but growing number of other neo-humans to his bloody and savage cause, all with the sole aim of causing great harm, which they have so far achieved—quite convincingly I might add. How long are we going to sit here and twiddle our thumbs before we finally decide we need to take a stand? How many more lives are we going to have to lose before we finally say enough is enough? Five hundred? A thousand? Tens of thousands? Neo-humans have declared war and we’ve done nothing but open the gates, so they can flood in and put us to the sword.”

  “So we simply have to take your word for it? You’ve made your stance on neo-humans quite clear in recent months, and many argue your rhetoric is discriminatory and bigoted. Why should we trust what you have to say when it’s clear you hold some sort of agenda against them?”

  “I feel like I’m speaking to a pack of fools. Discriminatory? When will you realize that we are nothing to these neo-humans? Compared to them, we’re a relic from the past—powerless and feeble. They’re the newer, more superior model. It takes a hundred of us just to equal one of them, and when more and more of them start to see that, and realize that they represent the next great step for humanity, then sooner or later they’re going to want to replace us, or at the very least subjugate us.”

  “What makes you think they’ll want to replace us?”

  “Why treat someone like your equal, when they’re not? They view us a burden, a weight around their ankles, and they’re starting to saw away at the chain. That is why it is prudent that we act now, so we do not live in a world where these superpowered nutjobs put our heads on the chopping block. We cannot allow ourselves to be bullied by these maniacs. We cannot simply hand ourselves over just because they demand it. We have to fight for our future and show them that we are not to be trifled with. If we don’t, then all is lost, and we will find ourselves living in a world our children will no longer recognize.”

  “And what type of action are you proposing?”

  “That’s for someone like the president to decide, but I think it’s clear what needs to be done. If I was him, I would have taken care of this problem—forcefully—a long time ago. That I can guarantee.”

  Jae wasn’t surprised by any of this. Morgan Duffy had been preaching his anti-neo-human agenda for months now, tireless in his efforts to spread fear among the American people about the imminent dangers of people like Jae. They’ll do this, Morgan always claimed. They’ll do that, he always shouted. On and on he went, ranting week in and week out in public appearances and op-ed pieces in major newspapers, convinced of a supposed neo-human invasion or coup, an event due any day now according to him.

  All crazy, loony, delusional talk, and if these same rantings came from some random nobody on the street, then he would have been outright ignored, shunned by society, and mocked by many. But Morgan Duffy wasn’t just some bum off the street; he was a well-known business magnate and billionaire. The elite of the elite. Unfair or not, his status afforded him a high amount of credibility. That meant that when he spoke, people took the time to listen. So while opinion was nearly unanimous that his viewpoints were a little out there, it was usually bookended with a, “well, he could be right. There’s always the possibility. After all, look at what some of these neo-humans can do. So it’s not entirely outside the realm of possibility something might happen.” A billionaire’s opinion was always given consideration, no matter how farfetched.

  But if there was one thing that worked against Morgan, it was his lack of proof. Aside from Adam Erste, there hadn’t been any other major incident involving neo-humans, nothing that put the fear in people at least, so it was easy for everyone to regard Morgan’s opinions as white noise. Morgan ranted, the world turned, and people went on with their days. But now, finally, six months later, it appeared Morgan had the smoking gun he was looking for with these two bombings, and even though it was all based on nothing but intuition and conjecture, it was only a matter of time before people decided they wanted to reach the same conclusion too. Jae hated it, not because he himself was a neo-human and didn’t want to be a target of public scrutiny, but because a suspect still hadn’t been identified yet, so pinning these attacks on a neo-human before the conclusion of any official investigation did no one any favors. It only brewed contempt and division, and the last thing the world needed was open conflict between man and neo-man. That was a powder keg everyone could do without, but for whatever reason Morgan Duffy yearned for a scapegoat, so he’d danced perilously close to outright accusation, a line he had just crossed.

  Was it possible that a neo-human was truly responsible for these bombings? Jae couldn’t completely rule it out, much as he hated to admit it. As Morgan so eloquently put it, neo-humans were still an unknown factor. Their numbers may be few, but their powers alone certainly made them capable as a threat—Jae’s episode with Adam convinced him of that much. So yes, maybe in a way some sort of solution or understanding had to be meted out sooner or later. But militaristic force, as Morgan implied with as much subtlety as a kick to the groin? Was that really the answer? Was the use of extraordinary measures justified in the face of extraordinary circumstances?

  Jae prayed that it wasn’t, but prayers had a tendency of being ignored, so he knew it didn’t really matter what he wanted. If the attacks continued, then sooner or later answers and blood would be demanded, and if someone like Morgan Duffy, who had his fingers coiled tight around various pressure points of the public and private sector, led that rally, then it was only a matter of when and where. With his money and connections, he could push for whatever he wanted—and that included war.

  Morgan’s conference suddenly went away, replaced by a rerun of an Atlanta Braves baseball game from the afternoon before. Mary Simpson set the remote down.

  “Thought I’d flip it to something a bit less topical,” she said.

  “Can’t say no to a Braves game,” Jae said.

  She gestured at his cup. “Are you trying to drink your coffee, or strangle it?”

  Jae pulled his hands away from his cup, leaving a hazy imprint of his hands ghosted on the ceramic. “Oh, sorry, didn’t realize.”

  “Something bothering you, hon?”

  “Just have a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

  Without asking, she refilled his cup with a hot, fresh batch. “We won’t let anyone do anything to you, darling. This city doesn’t abandon one of its own.”

  Jae took a sip of his drink. “You don’t need to worry about me, Mary. I—”

  “Neo-human scumbag.”

  The comment stuck in Jae like an arrow to the back. Turning to the source of the derision, he saw a squat, heavy-set man sitting in a booth by himself just behind him, throwing glances at Jae over the top of his newspaper. When he realized that Jae had heard him and was now staring right at him, the heckler shifted the newspaper to conceal his face—and the embarrassment tinting it red.

  Sighing, Jae turned back in his seat. “Thanks for the two cents, buddy.”

  “Don’t mind him, hon. Bob’s just having a bad day,” Mary said.
r />   “Aren’t we all?” Jae mumbled.

  Door hinges creaked, a bell jingled, and a lean, lanky black man entered the diner. Dressed in a long trench coat and an Arizona Diamondbacks baseball cap, he scanned the room, searching for suitable seating. A young boy, probably around ten or eleven and also adorned in a long coat and baseball cap, accompanied him. Mary rounded the counter and greeted her new customers.

  “Howdy. Table for two?” she asked.

  The man nodded. “Do you mind if we sit at the counter?”

  “You can sit wherever you like, hon.”

  The man thanked her and took a seat right next to Jae, much to his surprise. With so many empty seats available, why sit next to him? The boy, who Jae assumed was the man’s son due to their resemblance, slid in next to his father and wrinkled his nose, sniffing the air.

  The man took his cap off and tossed it on the counter. His boy did the same, and a small, well-rounded afro bloomed from his head. The man took a paper napkin from a nearby dispenser and patted his wet brow dry.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this heat,” the man said. His voice was deep and weary, with a baritone inflection.

  “Not wearing a coat might help,” Jae suggested.

  The man chuckled and shrugged his coat off, which was long enough to end around his knees, and draped it across the back of his seat. “True enough, but I like the protection a coat can provide. I feel like I’m wearing a suit of armor when I wear this thing.”

  “Expecting trouble?” Jae stirred his coffee.

  The man chuckled again. “Maybe. You can never be too sure nowadays, am I right?” He balled up his paper napkin and took another from the dispenser. “Weather here isn’t like how it is in Arizona. It’s hot out there for sure, but it’s a tolerable kind of heat. Dry, but not sticky. Out here though, woo boy, it’s ten times worse with the humidity. I take one step outside, and it’s like a damn sauna.”

  “You’re from Arizona?” Jae asked.

  “By way of Jersey. I moved to the desert for work.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “Newspaper. I was a reporter.”

  “Which paper?”

  “Just some small, no-name daily in the middle of nowhere. I doubt you’ve heard of it.” He stuck his hand out. “Clay Desmond.”

  Jae gently took the offered hand and shook it. “Jae Yeon.”

  Clay squinted at him. “Jae Yeon? I’ve heard of that name before. You’re the firefighter, right? The really strong guy? From the news?”

  Jae nodded. There was no point in hiding it. “That’s me.”

  “No wonder your grip was so strong!” Clay massaged his hand. Considering Jae had reached out with a slack hand, he couldn’t tell if Clay was joking or not.

  “Sixty-five smells,” the boy said.

  Jae looked at the kid. “What?”

  The boy sniffed the air. “Most of it is coming from the kitchen, but there’s a few unique odors coming from the dining area and the restrooms.”

  Jae looked at Clay. “What’s he talking about?”

  The boy opened his mouth to speak but Clay cleared his throat, interrupting him. “He just has a really sensitive sense of smell.” He patted the boy on his back. “I like to tell people that my son is part dog.”

  Jae raised an eyebrow.

  “This is Marlowe Desmond. Marlowe, say hello,” Clay commanded his son.

  “Hello.” Marlowe waved at Jae.

  Jae waved back, then pointed at Marlowe’s afro. “I like your hair.”

  “Thanks.” Marlowe ran a hand through the top of it. “By the way, I have great hearing too!” His ears began to wiggle. “The woman sitting alone in the corner is wondering how she’s going to make her student loan payments.” Marlowe swiveled in his seat, staring at the man that threw invective at Jae earlier. “The guy behind us is whispering some pretty mean things about you for some reason.” Marlowe gave him a cockeyed look before turning back in his seat. “There’s a radio in the kitchen playing a song . . . I don’t know what it is. Something about a dancing queen. Sounds old. I like it, though.” Marlowe perked up, looking surprised. “And two of the cooks are talking about smoking meth after their shift.” His jaw went slack. “We have druggies working here! Isn’t that illegal?”

  “That’s enough, boy. Stay quiet,” Clay said, giving his son a stern look. Marlowe lowered his eyes to the counter, muttering an apology.

  Jae looked at the door leading towards the kitchen and heard nothing, not even the radio. How did he know what the cooks were talking about? He looked at Marlowe, then at his father Clay, who was shifting around nervously.

  “Miss, I’m ready to order!” Clay called out. Mary emerged from the kitchen with pad and pencil in hand.

  “What’ll it be, hon?” she asked.

  “I’ll just have some scrambled eggs with toast, along with a cup of coffee. Marlowe, what do you want?”

  Marlowe thought it over. “Waffles! And some orange juice too, please. Also, tell your cooks not to do drugs. It’s not good for them.”

  Mary looked confused.

  “He’s just being funny, don’t mind him,” Clay said, forcing laughter.

  “Right . . . I’ll have your food out in a minute.” Mary disappeared back into the kitchen, and through the thickness of the walls Jae could barely hear her shouting the order to the cooks. If he had to strain just to hear her raise her voice, then how could this kid hear a private conversation between two people?

  Clay spoke up, grabbing at Jae’s attention. “Anyways, as I was saying, despite the weather, I think Atlanta is a great city.”

  Jae wondered if these two were like him—neo-humans. The father appeared normal, but the son piqued Jae’s interest with his odd behavior, and the fact that they chose to sit right next to him when there were so many empty seats available was a little suspicious. He thought better than asking though and decided to play along just to see what these two were up to.

  “Hell of a time to visit, with the bombing and all,” Jae said.

  “Oh, I came here well before the attacks began, so I was able to experience the untarnished beauty of this city firsthand before it all went to hell,” Clay said.

  “When?”

  “About a month ago. Makes me sad and angry to see what’s happened. I’ve been doing what I can to help out, volunteering and such.”

  “What brought you here in the first place?”

  “Same reason why I left Jersey for Arizona: opportunity. The paper I worked at ended up being a dead end, so I figured I’d head here for greener pastures.”

  “Are you looking to write for a newspaper again?”

  Clay shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “I guess you can say I fell out of love with it.” Clay circled his water in a slow rotation, the ice tinkling against the glass. His son stared at him. “Well, no, that’s not entirely true. I was forced to fall out of love with it.”

  “Forced?”

  “I was driven away by certain people who didn’t like what I was doing.”

  “Really? What did you do?”

  “Search for the truth.” Clay took a sip of his water. “I looked under one too many rocks and started asking the wrong questions, and apparently that was enough for some people to nervously pull at their collars.”

  “What kind of truth were you searching for?”

  “The kind that can get you in big trouble.”

  “Sounds like the good kind of truth, then.”

  “You don’t even know the half of it, friend.” Clay took another sip of his water. “Anyways, I ended up pulling out after it was all said and done. I was angry and upset about it at first, since the whole thing was largely out of my hands, but in hindsight I realized that maybe it wasn’t such a raw deal after all, because even though I was ousted for simply doing my job, I at least now have the freedom to do whatever I please. I don’t have to answer to nobody, anymore.”


  “So what’ll you do now, then?”

  Clay shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll start up a blog and talk about the truth that I was chasing after.”

  There was a loud crack of wood, sharp and sudden. Jae looked at the TV and saw a homerun being launched, the ball sailing into the right field stands.

  “Any regrets?” Jae asked.

  Clay shook his head. “Despite my cynicism, I still clamor for the truth. It’s what I shed blood for. I’ve lost much in my pursuit of it, and yet I still chase after it because, well . . .” He shrugged. “As they say, the truth will set you free, and who wouldn’t want to be free? Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Jae stared into his coffee, his muddy reflection staring back from its black surface. “The truth can be liberating.”

  “We all covet it, even if it ends up hurting us.”

  “Speaking for myself though, I think I covet something a little different.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Answers.”

  “I like answers too. Answers are the natural siblings to truth. And for what kind of questions are you seeking answers for?”

  “Are you familiar with the global thunderstorm that occurred over a year ago?”