Human Superior

by C. S. Won

  “How deep does this go? Does the president know?” Jae asked.

  “I don’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he did,” Clay said. “But go on, take a look.”

  Jae opened the folder.

  He saw a photograph. In it, a grey-skinned man, naked and bloodied, with his mouth stretched open in a scream, was lying flat against a metal slab. Leather restraints wrapped around his joints pinned him down, but it appeared he was resisting, with his back arched in strain and blue, forking veins bulging in his arms and neck. Three men dressed in lab coats stood around him, scribbling away at clipboards, observing the man fight a losing battle for freedom. They made no attempt to alleviate him of his pain, letting him knead his bounded ankles and wrists into raw, bloody knots. Over in a corner, draped in shadows and sitting on a stool, was a man in a black suit, looking grim as he nibbled away at a half-burnt cigarette. He had something clipped in the pocket of his jacket, an ID tag maybe, but it was too small for Jae to make out. A timestamp on the bottom right corner read: 03/17/1993 14:35:21.

  “What the hell is this?” Jae asked.

  “Keep going, there’s more,” Clay said.

  Jae flipped to the next photo and nearly dropped the entire folder. A man with four arms sat alone in a padded cell, wearing crisp, pressed khakis, and a clean, white tank top, with two additional holes cut out of the sides to accommodate his new arms. He stared up at the camera, mouth set in a straight line, eyes thinned into piercing slits, the faint hint of hazel pupils peeking through his tapered gaze. His hair was cut short at the sides, with the top pulled back into a smooth fade, and lean muscles packed his body in sinewy streaks. Two arms were folded across his chest, while the bottom two sat in his lap, joined at the hands. It was a very artistic photograph, the light hitting the man at all the right angles. He didn’t seem to be in any pain like the one from the previous photo either; rather, he had a look of contentment settled over his face. A timestamp at the bottom right read: 01/14/2004 11:54:32.

  “He was the first success. Their breakthrough,” Clay said.

  “Breakthrough?” Jae asked.

  “Keep looking.”

  Jae turned to the next picture. A fresh-faced young woman, looking not a day older than 18, with dimpled red cheeks and wind-swept hair, stood outside in the sun, a finger raised and pointed towards the clouds in the sky. Jae traced the path of her finger and saw five concrete blocks floating over the girl’s head, spread out into the shape of a circle, spinning round and round just above her reach. A group of men and women, all dressed in white lab coats, stood a good length away from the girl, some of them gawking at the floating blocks. A timestamp in the corner read: 07/21/2005 15:57:13.

  “The man in the first photo, and a few others in that stack, were failures—experiments gone horribly wrong. The man with the four arms was their first real success, but it was not the result they were looking for. It was too mundane and boring. They wanted something more lavish and extraordinary, which they eventually got with the girl with the telekinetic powers,” Clay said.

  Jae flipped through the rest of the pictures, and each one depicted a different neo-human doing different things. When he got to the last photograph, he closed the folder and contemplated what he just saw.

  “The government experimented on people to give them powers.” Jae looked at Clay. “Is that it?”

  “Correct,” Clay said.

  “How is that possible?”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t know the exact details. Despite your brother’s willingness to give me classified information, he was surprisingly not as forthcoming with the specifics, refusing to provide any sort of context for the photographs. In fact, he was very cryptic and theatrical about the whole thing, always telling me that the answers I seek will come in due time.”

  “Why?”

  “My guess is that he either didn’t fully trust me yet with that kind of information, or he wanted to make a spectacle of it for whatever reason and keep me in suspense. I honestly don’t know.”

  “So then, if the government somehow figured out a way to give people special powers, then . . . were they the ones who caused the storm? Did they give us our powers?”

  “That’s the assumption. Only they have the cachet to pull a stunt like this.”

  “But that doesn’t make any sense.” Jae shuffled through the photographs again. “Ignoring the fact that the government was somehow able to create a global, man-made lightning storm, why would they endow us with these powers, then turn around and cast aspersions against us?”

  “Aspersions?”

  “You have Morgan Duffy, a billionaire with known political ties and rumored to have presidential aspirations, asking the American people to bear arms and go to war against us, and a lot of politicians have come forward in agreement with him. And while the president may seem more sympathetic and measured with his response, why bequeath us with these abilities if they were going to end up fighting against us? Why risk it?”

  “It could be rogue elements within the government who gave us our powers, or it might have been an experiment gone wrong. I don’t know. There are many layers to our government, some of it hidden and in the dark, so it wouldn’t surprise me if a number of our politicians didn’t know either. The same goes for Morgan Duffy. Despite his known ties to Washington, he’s essentially an outsider, and he characterizes himself as such. He might just be as ignorant as the rest of them. But you still make an excellent point: the government is a lot of things, and charitable is not one of them. I, too, find it hard to believe that they’ll willingly empower millions of people like this. It’s hard to see the upside in that.”

  Jae shifted through the photos one more time. “If the bomber turns out to be a neo-human, and it was the government who gave him his powers, then my god, the backlash would be immeasurable.”

  “That might be one reason why they’re desperate to keep me silent.”

  “Dad.” Marlowe turned from the window. “Someone’s coming.”

  Clay stood. “The stalker? There’s no way. How can—”

  “It’s not the stalker.” Marlowe looked out the window again. “It’s someone different. A woman. She’s alone.”

  “A woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is she a threat?”

  “Her heart is racing and her body temperature is very high. She’s speeding in her car, trying to get here as fast as she can.” Marlowe looked at his father. “And she’s pissed. Very, very pissed.”

  “Then she’s a threat.”

  “But she’s not coming for us.” Marlowe turned to look at Jae. “She’s coming for you.”

  “Me?” Jae asked.

  Marlowe nodded. “She said your name, and not in a very nice way.”

  “Are you expecting company?” Clay asked Jae.

  “No,” Jae said.

  “Get your things Marlowe, we’re leaving.” Clay unfurled his coat, ready to put it on.

  “Wait, where are you going?” Jae asked.

  “Away from here.”

  “I thought you came to me for protection? Why seek me out but then run at the first sign of danger?”

  “Something is not right. A woman? If you’re not expecting company, then who is she?”

  “I don’t know, but you heard your kid. She’s here for me, not you.”

  “Here she is,” Marlowe said.

  Jae went next to him and peered through the window. A blue Toyota Camry pulled up on the curb of his front lawn, the front right wheel edging onto the grass. Her windows were tinted so it was difficult to make out who the woman was, but Marlowe was right in saying she was alone, as Jae couldn’t see anyone else in the car.

  Jae put a hand on Marlowe’s shoulder. “Clay, take your son back into the kitchen. If things get messy, go invisible and run.”

  “But—”

  “Just go.”

  Clay came over and escorted his son towards the kitchen. Jae set the curtain back and went into a crouch next t
o the front door. He heard her car door opening and closing, her shoes clicking on the pavement, measured and methodical, louder and louder until they came to a stop just outside his front door. After a moment she rang the doorbell. That caught him by surprise. What professional killer would make their presence known like that? Where was the stealth and covertness? This woman was making no effort to conceal herself. Was she really a threat?

  The doorbell rang again.

  Only one way to find out.

  Jae opened the door. She was a petite woman, fit and slender, radiating a sun-toned hue. She had long, shimmering brunette hair roped into a ponytail. Her attire was casual, jeans and a blouse, not a business suit like he was expecting, and she carried nothing threatening that he could see: no suitcase, no bag, and no visible weapons.

  “Are you Jae Yeon?” she asked. She spoke with a notable southern drawl.

  “Yes,” Jae said, somewhat surprised that she knew his name. “Can I help you with something?”

  “You don’t remember me?”

  Remember her? He looked at her, but nothing came to him. I know this girl? “I’m sorry, I don’t. Who are you?”

  “We went to high school together, way back when.”

  Jae flashed back to his teenage years, but nothing about this woman turned up in his memories. “We did?”

  She sighed. “I figured you wouldn’t remember. You were a senior and I was a freshman, so we never really hung out. I think we exchanged maybe two words during my whole time there.”

  Jae wanted to laugh. This was the grave threat Marlowe warned him about? A schoolmate from yesteryear? How could Marlowe mistake a girl Jae went to school with as a threat? She looked harmless. There was nothing dangerous about her. Marlowe had him worked up all for nothing. Guess his intuition isn’t as sharp as he thought it was.

  It was a little strange, though. Why would a girl Jae didn’t really know from high school suddenly appear out of nowhere?

  “I think you knew my brother though, he was in your grade,” she said.

  “Really? What was his name?” Jae asked.

  She lifted her hand, fingers outstretched towards him. “Adam Erste.” Electricity crackled between the spaces of her fingers. “My name is Andrea Erste. I’m his sister.”

  Electricity stabbed Jae in the chest.

  Chapter Four

  The smell of burnt flesh clung to the air—a terrible, unforgettable smell. It conjured up memories Jae wished he could purge, memories that reminded him of his many failures—Adam burning in the apartment. The charred body of his former chief. Madeline cold and lifeless in his arms, a ring of burns circling her throat.

  Jae groped at his chest, searching for the pain, and felt a sticky wetness kissing his fingertips, hot to the touch. He rolled over onto his side and tried to prop himself up on an elbow, but the agony was too magnificent. It nearly suffocated him, choking away his strength. He wilted against the ground, drowning, gasping for air. He heard someone shouting his name. A familiar voice. Clay. That idiot. What is he doing? I told him to run.

  “You killed my brother.”

  Jae looked up and saw an avatar of indignation. Arcs of surging electricity curled up the woman’s arms, coating them in a bright, indigo spark. Fury and rage were the expressions she wore, with her teeth bared, her eyes wide, her nose flared, and her face lit blue by the power she wielded.

  Adam’s sister. Jae couldn’t believe it.

  “You’re a murderer!”

  Jae managed to hoist himself back onto his elbows, his teeth gritted as he tried to take a breath in, his chest screaming in pain. He looked back up at his assailant, the electricity crackling off her skin in a frightening, wild display, flaring across the living room and leaving behind black, smoking trails. He put a hand to his chest, a futile attempt to mend his wound, and felt his own lifeblood pressing against his palm. Andrea took a step forward and unleashed a quick torrent of electricity, slamming him in the face.

  “You’re going to pay for what you did.”

  It felt like a thousand little needles stabbing him all at once. The distinct stench of smoke swirled around him. Jae tried to stand but was put back down with another jolt of electricity. The world went white for a singular moment.

  “Stay down, monster!”

  Monster. Jae realized why Marlowe was afraid now. While her powers were formidable, it was the fact that she was driven by the clarity of vengeance that made her more terrifying, for there was no motive stronger than revenge. He would know, because it was all he wanted after they had buried Madeline. Despite already have beaten Adam, breaking his body, and leaving him a crumpled mess, he still wanted more, and his desire for more almost consumed him. In a way he could relate to Andrea’s fury—even sympathize with it.

  Jae sat up and looked at his attacker, at that sprawl of hate writhing across her face. Perhaps this was his punishment for being such a passive coward, his sentence for allowing the unnecessary loss of innocent life when he had every opportunity to prevent it. Maybe this woman was the manifestation of the retribution that he so deserved. And why not? He had been given such an incredible gift—the gift of unrivaled and tremendous strength—and he had squandered it completely and utterly, letting it go to waste while he failed to protect the people he loved the most. If this was to be his penalty for his unwillingness to do what was necessary, then so be it. It was what he deserved.

  “Finish it,” Jae said.

  Andrea took a step back. That took her by surprise. He could see her trying to harden her resolve again, her face twisting in pained expressions, but that single blip of uncertainty had halted her, and now she was unsure, irresolute.

  “I didn’t kill your brother,” Jae said. It hurt to speak. “But if you think I did, then kill me.”

  “Liar!” That appeared to bring the fire back, and she jutted forward with her hands out, electricity shrieking, ready to strike. Jae closed his eyes, ready for annihilation, but when it did not come, he opened his eyes and saw her hands hovering inches away from his face. Pure, raw electricity sizzled between her fingertips, bright and intense. Andrea was grunting, clearly struggling with what to do, and Jae could almost sense the battle she waged in her head, a tempest of indecision whirling like a tornado. Perhaps she had come expecting a fight and not someone who was ready to die.

  “I wanted to kill Adam, and I almost did. One more tweak, one more squeeze, one more punch, and he would have been dead. I had every reason in the world to do it too . . . but I couldn’t.” Jae lowered his arms. Even after everything Adam had done, even after all the atrocities he had committed, Jae couldn’t take his life. That abyss he was staring into, that deep, dark hole filled with nothing but rage and anger, that bottomless pit whispering promises that it would never let go once it had him—it frightened him. It made him fearful of what it could do to him, so he backed away and left Adam as he was, despite every sinuous strand of his body urging him otherwise.

  “You left him to die in that fire. You may as well have killed him yourself,” Andrea said.

  “Fire can’t hurt him. He is fire.”

  “You think you can wiggle your way out of this?”

  “We fought before in the midst of a burning restaurant, and in the aftermath his body couldn’t be found in the wreckage. He showed up a week later, free of any injury.”

  “You lie!” She pulled her hand back into a fist, ready to administer another blow.

  “Stop!” Marlowe stepped out from the kitchen. Clay was behind him, trying to pull him back in, but Marlowe resisted.

  “What are you doing? Get out of here!” Jae said.

  “He didn’t kill your brother!” Marlowe told Andrea.

  Confused, she turned to Marlowe. “Who are you?”

  “He’s telling you the truth! He didn’t kill your brother.”

  “What . . . ? How do you know? Were you there?” She stabbed the air between them, keeping the boy at bay.

  “He really hates your brother, but he d
idn’t kill him.” Marlowe looked at Jae. “He wanted to, but in the end he didn’t.”

  “Of course you would say that, you’re his friend. You’ll do anything to protect this murderer. You’re just—”

  “His voice was strong when he told you that he didn’t kill him. It was calm . . . and firm. His heartbeat and his pulse didn’t increase either, and his body temperature stayed the same. Liars can’t do that. That means Jae is telling the truth.”

  “But . . .” The electricity from Andrea’s hands began to wane.

  “And also,” Marlowe went on, nodding at Andrea. “Even though you’re pissed, I can tell you’re unsure too, because you know you’re not a killer either. I can feel your doubt right here.” He tapped at his chest, indicating where the heart was. “Deep down you’re scared, and I bet you feel like you’re being pulled in two different directions, one where you want to avenge your brother, and another where you wish there was a different way. And I can tell you, there is a different way, where you leave Jae alone. He didn’t kill your brother.”

  Andrea slumped against the wall, shaking her head. “How . . . ?”

  Clay stepped forward, tentative. “He’s a neo-human. We all are.” He patted his son on the head. “And he has an uncanny knack for knowing the truth.”

  Andrea, looking even more confused, stared at Clay. She slid to the ground and buried her face into her hands. “But no body was found.”

  Jae gritted his teeth as he stood, his breath rasping as the pain traveled through his body. He made his way over to her, dragging his heavy legs behind him, and knelt next to her, working slowly into it, meeting her gaze when she looked up at him.

  “I won’t lie to you and say that he’s definitely alive, because I can’t be a hundred percent sure, but the fact that no body was found tells me he’s out there, somewhere,” Jae said.