Vs Reality

by Blake Northcott

  A moment passes and gravity takes hold.

  They fall.

  Everything crashes down in a disturbing symphony of cracked bone, shattered glass and twisting metal. The police officers bounce nearly two feet when they impact, their limbs audibly snapping, torsos bending and contorting. Heinreich lands awkwardly on the edge of the car, spine-first; a disturbing fall that would paralyze or kill a normal man.

  The giant needs only a moment before stumbling back to his feet. Pressing on his chin he snaps his neck back into place, and repairs his dislocated shoulder with a tug of his own wrist and a sharp pop. He’s bleeding from a gash across his forehead, but appears otherwise unfazed.

  Dia and Cole look on from the entrance of the alley, peering around the corner.

  Brodie leans against the wall for support, spent and exhausted. He blinks a few times and reveals a glowing red sparkle; thick pillars of charcoal-black smoke billow from beneath his eyelids. “You’re up, bro,” he says weakly, barely able to keep his body upright.

  “What the hell was that shit?” Cole shouts, shocked and confused. “You dropped the police officers from the goddamned sky! That wasn’t part of the plan.” He turns to Dia and then back to Brodie. “Was it? Was that part of the plan?”

  Brodie shakes his head. “This isn’t an exact science, bro. It was the best I could do.”

  “Just relax, and take a couple deep breaths. The plan is working. I’ll be here for you as back-up, and Paige is in place.” She takes him by the shoulders and squeezes them. “Now get out there and make it count. You only have one shot at this.”

  Cole pulls the small blue pill from his pocket and hesitates, just for a second, before popping it into his mouth. He swallows, dry and painful, feeling the capsule’s thin membrane dissolve as it streaks down his throat, spilling the liquid into his system.

  Dia nods. “It’ll happen quick. Let it. Just let it take over.”

  Cole’s eyelids feel heavy all of a sudden like they want to close, and he doesn’t fight the urge. He twitches, shoulders jerking, muscles burning. The nerves in his fingertips catch fire. The heat travels from his fingers through his forearms, up through his biceps, expanding, bulging with veins. Then it shoots through his shoulders, chest and neck, all pulsing with the unbridled power he’d only just become accustomed to, but now craves more than anything else in the world. His eyes snap open and his tattoo has returned, coiling down his bicep.

  He flashes Dia a smile and rounds the corner, breaking into a full sprint – a gallop – moving unnaturally fast. His strides are in fast-forward, his feet barely touching the ground.

  Heinreich is blindsided. He assaults the massive German with a barrage of blistering punches, shattering his orbital bone and loosening his molars and snapping the hinge of his jaw. Each fist colliding with his face is like a baseball bat traveling at a hundred miles per hour, and does just as much damage. Unable to sustain the barrage, Heinreich crumples, collapsing into a blood soaked mess, half-conscious at Cole’s feet.

  On his hands and knees the giant reaches out, clawing fecklessly at the air.

  Cole takes a few steps backwards. He runs at his target and kicks the side of the skull, his shin bone connecting solidly with Heinreich’s temple. The loud, crushing blow sends him spiraling across the parking lot like a discarded soda can.

  The feeling of empathy that Cole had experienced for the fallen peacekeepers just a few moments ago is long gone, miles away; he’s overcome with a much more powerful and primal emotion: rage. Not anger, and not the desire for revenge, but the sensation that he wants to destroy anyone who dares step into his path. To eviscerate them, to punish them for daring to challenge his presence. Cole doesn’t know whether it’s the Muse coursing through his veins or the rush of adrenaline from intense physical combat, but the anger swelling inside him is unlike anything he’d felt before. It’s gasoline dousing an open flame, and he’s reveling in it.

  Goto emerges from the warehouse door to investigate the commotion. He seems uncharacteristically hurried and panicked. He pauses for a moment and then steps back to shield his face with his forearm; the police car explodes, sending broken glass and shards of metal screaming in every direction.

  Cole ducks to avoid the flying debris. Part of an engine narrowly misses the back of his head, rolling to a stop across the parking lot.

  The burnt-out remains of the cruiser are engulfed in flame, illuminating the dim parking lot with a sharp orange glow.

  Squinting against the light of the flames, Goto notices the bodies scattered amidst the carnage: two bulbous police officers look as if they’d jumped from a nearby rooftop, and his partner lays face down in a puddle of water; beaten, bloodied, utterly pulverized.

  He throws open his jacket and draws the silver handgun from his holster, leveling it towards Cole.

  I’m fast, Cole thinks, feet rooted in place, but I’m not that fast. He tries to calculate his next move, mind racing from one possible scenario to the next. Pulsing with confidence, even in this wildly irrational moment he doubts that he can reach Goto before his finger constricts. Muscles twitching, fists clenched, his every thought is dripping in violence. As his heart rate increases he’s barely able to restrain himself.

  Goto stares down at his weapon, the metallic surface glowing red-hot, inexplicably beginning to bend. The barrel sags, dripping and melting into shiny globs on the pavement below.

  Paige stands by a dumpster at the edge of the parking lot, focusing intently, her eyes aflame. A faint purple pulse spirals around her extended fingers.

  Discarding the melted remains of his weapon with a frustrated grunt, Goto reaches out towards Paige, twisting his hand in the air. It’s the motion Cole had seen before; eyes focused, arm extended, fingers twisting an invisible valve. A heartbeat passes and Paige clutches her head, eyes rolling to whites. She drops to her knees, screaming, convulsing, arching her back as spikes of agony pierce her brain.

  Dia and Cole run to her aid, dropping to their knees at her side, but there’s nothing they can do. The damage has been done. Paige coughs and rolls to her side, spattering the pavement with crimson.

  Amid the distraction, Goto tears a small metallic device from his jacket no larger than a pocket watch. He pulls a tab from each side and extends the device into a large flexible hoop. He tosses it at the ground by his feet. It hums with power. The hoop rattles, shakes, and then bursts forth with a beam of energy that extends into the sky, stretching into the clouds like a high-powered floodlight, casting an oval of light onto the dark clouds overhead. He throws himself into the opening and disappears with a wild electric buzz.

  As the light begins to fade Cole sprints towards the opening. He abandons all sense of reason; he came to the warehouse to rescue his friend, but now, somehow, this simple mission has become a deeply personal vendetta. He wants Goto to pay the same way that Heinreich did. He wants to see him battered, lying in a pool of his own blood.

  Cole jumps into the glowing light and disappears.

  Dia screams his name but it’s too late.

  Paige looks up at her sister, eyes half closed. “I’m all right,” she whispers painfully; it’s all she can manage. “Just go.”

  Dia quickly nods, and without a word she dashes towards the flickering light, pulling a knife from her belt as she runs. With the flick of her wrist the blade saws through her leather wraps, slicing her tender skin beneath. She dives in to the portal head-first. The light dies with the pop of a flash bulb, and then sizzles out of existence. All that remains are charred lengths of metal and a large black circle where the portal closed, scorching the pavement and turning the surrounding area to charcoal.

  Multicolored streaks bend and sway, curling into the mouth of a pulsing funnel. Dia and Cole find themselves tumbling downward – or upward, it’s impossible to tell – spinning out of control like helpless children caught in a powerful undertow. Nearly a minute passes and they emerge from an opening in the sky, landing face-first into warm, white
sand. It feels like they’ve fallen for several miles, but their landing was soft, almost controlled.

  They slowly regain their footing and dust off their clothes. They find themselves standing in a vast desert, perfectly flat and never-ending, stretching forever in every direction. Everything is hazy and surreal; sharp fragments of a memory half-forgotten from a bad dream the night before. A few random trees, cracked and lifeless, dot the surrounding landscape, and tumbleweeds bounce gently along the sand. A crisp light pours from all directions, bathing the landscape in a perpetual brightness that eliminates every shadow. This entire world is bright and overexposed, like a yellowed photograph left to bake in the sun.

  “Why did you follow me down here?” Cole asks, continuing to dust the sand off the front of his shirt with both hands.

  “I don’t know,” Dia moans. “I was just asking myself that same question.” She brushes the platinum locks from her face. The bright yellow light is nearly washing her out, giving her blond hair and pale skin a ghost-like quality, but her sparkling blue eyes seem to radiate with even more electricity against the harsh glow. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?” she shouts. “What if I’d never made it through the portal? How were you planning to get out of here?” She glances around, squinting into the never-ending horizon. “Wherever the hell ‘here’ is?”

  “I guess I didn’t plan that far ahead,” he replies through labored breaths. He’s enjoying the new physique, but this much muscle mass is difficult to move around. It’s exhausting, like wearing a suit of armor.

  “So where is Goto?” Dia asks, crinkling her nose.

  “I’m quite sorry,” a voice calls out. It’s an affected British accent, but it doesn’t belong to Goto.

  They spin to find a towering man just a few arm’s lengths away. They’d just looked in that direction, Cole thinks; he was just gazing out in that direction and saw nothing. Just sand, flat and sprawling, no end in sight. And now he’s here.

  The imposing figure offers a charming smile and spreads his arms wide; calm, inviting, and more than a little unnerving. “I’m sorry, Miss Davenport, but for you and your associate here, this is the end of the line. Access to The Basement is limited strictly to my employees.” His smile widens and he motions around him. “But welcome to my Backyard.”

  Chapter Fourteen – Relent

  The Backyard

  The ominous figure stands perfectly still with his hands casually resting in his pockets. Apparently unfazed by the heat, not a single bead of sweat has formed on his brow despite the rising temperature.

  “Who is this guy?” Cole asks in a hushed tone as he leans towards Dia, not really sure why he’s whispering.

  “I was just wondering that myself,” Dia replies, equally quiet. “But if he’s the guy that I think he might be, I have a feeling that we should be running away…kind of now-ish.”

  The man is dark-skinned, broad, and has very pronounced features; a long pointed nose, intense almond-shaped eyes and razor-sharp cheek bones, but the most striking feature is his head: he’s shaved bald with a swirling tribal tattoo inked on the back of his scalp, a thicket of wavy spikes wrapping around his ears and extending down his neck. He’s attired like a wealthy business man; his black suit and flaming red tie are perfectly tailored to match his imposing frame. His outfit is completed by heavy hoop earrings, thick gold rings, and an oversized gold watch – a very distinctive design, not unlike Goto’s.

  Cold and calculated, the man waits for his unannounced visitors to respond.

  “So…” Cole says, “this is weird.”

  “So, Mister…Cole, is it? We haven’t been formally introduced, you and I, although I know you’re familiar with some of my Collectors.” The man removes his right hand from his pocket and extends it towards Cole and Dia, taking a few measured steps in their direction. “My name is Govinda, and I’m the Director of Operations here at the Global Liberty Initiative.” His voice is unnaturally deep and resonates like a thunderclap, echoing as if it’s coming from every direction at once.

  Cole stands his ground. He slowly crosses his arms in a clear display of defiance. He’s not sure how Govinda knows his name, but that’s the least of his concerns at the moment.

  With his gesture of goodwill being rebuffed, Govinda returns to a stationary position and returns his hand to his pocket.

  Cole cocks an eyebrow, trailing his gaze up Govinda’s suit and back to his shoes. “Nice suit…Armani?”

  Govinda touches the hem of his suit jacket, rubbing the fabric in between his thumb and index finger. “Ah, not quite. It’s custom made, actually. I was recently in Westminster so I stopped by Savile Row. Apparently that’s where Clinton gets his tailoring done, so I had to see for myself if their lofty reputation was warranted.”

  Cole remains rigid, expressionless. “Sweet. If I ever get a job that requires a suit I’ll definitely check them out.”

  An awkward moment floats by as the tension continues to hang in the air. Donovan can still feel the Muse pumping through his body; elevating his heart rate and causing a repeated muscle twitch in his chest and biceps. His hands ball into tight fists, knuckles cracking. His teeth grind like a tightening vise.

  “Well,” Govinda replies, spreading his hands wide, “Mister Cole, I’m assuming you didn’t risk life and limb by throwing yourself through a pan-dimensional gateway just to talk about men’s fashion.”

  “No. I came to do this.” Without warning Cole lunges forward and throws a jumping right cross, aimed squarely at Govinda’s sizable jaw line.

  His target remains planted in place. Govinda doesn’t even flinch. He stands perfectly still, ridiculously calm and unconcerned.

  Cole’s fist collides with a wall of electricity just inches from Govinda’s face. He bounces backwards, landing awkwardly on his side. It was as if he slammed into a transparent barrier made of concrete.

  “I’m sorry Mister Cole,” Govinda says, with a tone so apologetic it nearly passed for sincere. “I should have explained something before we got off on the wrong foot. The Backyard is a custom-designed space that bridges your dimension with our facility. It works as a safeguard to stop any would-be intruders from following my employees through, and gaining unauthorized access to The Basement.”

  Govinda gestures to the landscape, as if he’s actually admiring the eerie expanse. “At the moment, you can think of this as a sanctuary: a safe place where two parties can come together for friendly negotiations. No violence, no aggression, and no foul language.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Cole responds angrily, rubbing the arch of his back as he lumbers to his feet.

  “Well,” Govinda shrugs, “the language thing is more of a guideline, but we strongly discourage it.”

  “You’re going to have to do something about this violence policy because I’m suddenly in the mood to kill you.” Cole tightens his fists once again and lowers his chin.

  Dia slowly places her hand on Cole’s arm, wrapping one finger at a time around his shoulder. She squeezes gently and pulls, just a bit, indicating that they should relent, but he doesn’t move a muscle. She can almost feel the fury permeating from his pores, emanating like a heat wave.

  “Ah, I see.” Govinda reaches down and casually adjusts his watch, twisting a gold dial until it locks in place and gives off a series of short beeps. “If you’re in the mood for a violent outburst you’ll have to wait three minutes, starting…now. I’m having the shields lowered and the process takes some time, but I’m sure we can think of something to talk about while we wait.”

  Dia’s feelings of apprehension suddenly elevate to a chest-tightening panic.

  “So I’m curious,” Govinda asks, bringing one hand to his chin, “why on Earth would you ever want to kill me?”

  “You mean aside from the kidnapping and torture and generally being an evil sonofabitch?”

  “Is that what your new friends have been telling you?” he says, once again feigning a look of concern. “I think
you’ve got the wrong impression of the work we’re doing here, Mister Cole.”

  “Tell me about it.” Donovan’s anger swells as the gold watch blips steadily in the silence of the desert, methodically counting down with each passing second.

  2:31,

  2:30,

  2:29…

  “People around the world are manifesting at random,” he explains. “They’re scared, confused, and completely out of control. We’re simply taking the necessary steps in order to offer them the assistance they so badly require. What are your new friends doing to help others like them, Mister Cole? And why are you so quick to trust them?”

  Dia’s eyes dart nervously between Govinda and Cole, now squeezing his shoulder with an increased sense of urgency. A cold bead of sweat rolls down her neck, streaking her back.

  2:11,

  2:10,

  2:09…

  Cole shrugs. “So you’re an evil super villain and a philanthropist. I have to hand it to you, Govinda, I didn’t see this one coming. I was going to beat you to a bloody pulp, but as it turns out you’re just running a harmless charity.”

  “Please,” Govinda says sharply, his voice dripping in condescension. “Don’t be naïve, Mister Cole: this is The United States of America. There’s no such thing as a non-profit organization.”

  Dia folds her arms, trying to convey a calm demeanor, but her mind races. She knows that she’s seen this man before, somewhere, but she can’t piece it together. Buried in the deepest corner of her subconscious she can almost hear the faint echo of Govinda’s distinctive voice. She can vaguely recall the dark piercing eyes that bore a hole through you if you catch their gaze. The fragments are there, scattered and tossed into a messy pile…she just can’t assemble them.