The Origin

by Youkey, Wilette

  John’s nose flared as he thought of his unjust dismissal as the needle pierced his skin repeatedly. The pain of the tattooing process magnified the sting of betrayal so that he flinched and hung his head, trying not to cry.

  “How long will this take to finish?” he said to the artist who was wielding the vibrating needle.

  The woman leaned back and surveyed the temporary blue print, the final section of his massive tribal tattoo that she was in the process of tracing over. “Hmm, it’s a pretty large design, so I’m guessing, um, three or four hours?”

  John sighed. He stared at the framed pictures of celebrities that had visited the establishment, resigned to spending the rest of the night at the tattoo parlor. But then again, he had nowhere else to be in the morning now that he was without employment. The only other variable, his girlfriend Natasha, would not be back for a few more days as she attended a wedding in California. The night was his own, unfortunately, with only his thoughts and the pain to keep him company.

  “This is an interesting design. Did you do it yourself?”

  “No. Well, my twin brother and I came up with it. I’ve just never gotten around to having it finished,” he said, thinking of the times spent dreaming up the perfect Maori-inspired tattoo and drawing on each other with a Sharpie. One particular night, they had been looking through a library book when his brother had come up with the idea of designing an enormous tattoo that, when standing side by side, spanned both their chests and shoulders.

  “It will be epic!” Rapata had said, starting to sketch on a piece of paper. “So when we’re together, it makes one design.”

  Rapata was the one born with vision and John with the drive. Together they were an unstoppable force, up until Rapata’s dying breath.

  “Taku parata,” John said under his breath, the tears pooling in his eyes. “I ngaro tau.”

  The stinging on his skin momentarily stopped. “What was that?”

  He wiped at his face with his free arm. “Nothing. I’m just looking forward to the final reveal.”

  The stinging pain continued. “You’re going to look amazing once this is done,” she said, her voice a rasping monotone. “As long as you stay beefy, the tattoo will look awesome. You’ll totally look like a fearsome warrior.”

  John sniffed appreciatively. “Thank you. I’m actually a descendant of the Maori warrior Hone Heke.”

  “For real? Are you going to get the face tattoos as well? What are those called?”

  “A moko.” He paused, looking at his hazy reflection in the window. “I don’t think anyone would ever hire me again if I had a moko.”

  Nevertheless, he thought with a faint smile, even if I don’t entirely look the part, it will still be warrior’s blood that will burn in my veins as I exact revenge.

  * * * * *

  A few short months after he had come to the aid of the woman and her trapped baby, Daniel came to discover a whole new fantastic ability. He was on his way back to the dorms from a late Philosophy class when he heard shouting and laughing inside a house that he knew to be empty and on the market.

  What he discovered inside were three teenage boys and one girl, all furiously scrawling on the walls with different colors of spray paint. They were so busy laughing and carrying on that, at first, they didn’t notice Daniel standing in the doorway of the living room.

  “Hey!” Daniel had to shout to be heard, and as he did, his voice bounced off the bare walls, echoing throughout the empty house.

  All four teens stopped short, their fingers still poised on the can nozzles as they finally noticed Daniel. For a few heartbeats, they all stared at each other, all frozen in place. Finally, the vandals broke out of their trance, dropped their cans, and ran.

  Daniel, who could have rounded the group up in less than a minute, gave them a chance to run. He loved to give chase; running was the only one of his abilities that he ever allowed himself to enjoy without guilt or fear of consequence.

  “Five, four, three, two, one.” And with a wry smile, he took off.

  Only another five seconds elapsed before Daniel caught up with the vandals as they jumped over the chain link fence that bordered the properties. Propelled by an extra burst of speed, Daniel grabbed hold of the fence and vaulted over. On his way up, his middle finger caught in the wire and he heard the telltale crunch of a broken finger.

  He cursed as a sharp pain shot up his hand but kept on with the pursuit. He had suffered a few broken fingers in high school before – mostly when he had caught the football awkwardly – and the pain of this injury was nothing new to him. Still, a broken middle finger meant that he’d have trouble writing for a few months and would have to spend time at the computer lab to finish his homework and papers.

  Quickly deciding that he didn’t need all four delinquents, Daniel caught the slowest runner, a kid who was short and slightly pudgy, and dragged him to the nearest police station to confess and name his accomplices.

  Afterwards, as Daniel made his way back to the dorms, he remembered the annoying fact that he’d broken a finger. But as he unfurled both his fists, he realized that none of his fingers actually ached. He scratched his head and mentally retraced his steps as he gave chase; the middle finger of his right hand had definitely been the one caught in the fence. Why then did it not only feel fine, but also moved with ease? Had he just imagined the cracking sound of the bone and the strange angle his finger had contorted?

  What if…

  With a pounding heart, he stopped and rummaged in his backpack to retrieve a Swiss Army knife. His fingers shook as he held the tip of the knife against the pad of his thumb and slowly pushed.

  He cursed when the skin broke and a line of blood surfaced. “Dammit, that hurts,” he said and wiped his thumb against the leg of his jeans. When next he examined his thumb, the thin line of blood began to coagulate and, thirty seconds later, the cut completely vanished. With his heart pounding right through his shirt, Daniel cut into the palm of his hand and watched as he infringed on the laws of nature once again.

  “That’s not possible,” he said, his breath held.

  Afterward, he lay in bed for a long time, unable to shut his mind off long enough to fall asleep as a whole world of possibilities opened up before his eyes. With the ability to heal rapidly, he could push the limits; he could run into burning buildings, fight an armed assailant, jump from a great height. For one wild moment, he wondered if he could also survive being shot, but quickly dismissed the ludicrous thought. He was no Superman, after all.

  * * * * *

  Clad in his dark uniform, Daniel prowled around the dark corners of lower Manhattan. Even though he was alert, he couldn’t help but think of Olivia grinding her hips into his. He was defenseless, he understood that now. Olivia’s power over him was too great, her grip on his mind already too tight. He just hoped his heart could heal at all when she inevitably left him for someone better. He was not an oblivious fool; he could clearly see that she was in a whole different league, as though they’re not even the same species, and never ever do you see an angelfish fraternizing with a moray eel.

  He was still walking around in a sour mood, daring any unfortunate criminal to cross his path, when he encountered a man and a woman arguing underneath a street lamp. The woman glanced his way with a look of alarm, and a second later, the man grabbed her by the shoulders and began to shake her violently.

  “Let me go!” she cried out, her head lolling around.

  “Give me my money, bitch!” He extended an arm and landed an open-palmed slap on her face.

  Daniel’s nose flared. He had seen many things in New York, had witnessed many depraved acts of violence in the few months he’d lived there, and though he was not naïve enough to think that all victims were blameless, he could not stand idly by and watch a man beating on a woman. His adopted parents had made sure of that.

  With thoughts of Olivia lingering in the back of his mind, he pulled the balaclava over his face and sprinted to the couple. H
e grabbed the man’s wrist just as he was raising it to strike the woman again. “Don’t!” he warned.

  The man turned to Daniel, his angular face illuminated by the streetlamp as a menacing smile spread on his face. “You are so predictable,” he said and disappeared.

  Daniel’s fist closed around air and he stumbled back, looking at the woman for answers. “What the…”

  “You’d better catch him,” she said with a small smile before the man reappeared with a sharp pop ten yards away.

  The man pointed at Daniel and beckoned him closer with a curled finger. “Come get me, Black Hero.”

  Alarm bells rang in the back of Daniel’s head but he chose to ignore the voice that told him something was not quite right. He gave chase, intent on capturing the man and asking him about his ability to teleport. Just as Daniel reached the man, he disappeared again, and a second later, materialized down the street with another pop.

  “Will you just stop?” Daniel shouted in exasperation and ran once more.

  A wild chase ensued, the man popping in and out of view and Daniel feeling like he was playing an abnormal game of tag, and continued into a dark, derelict building filled with towering rows of rusting shipping crates.

  The inner alarm bells rang once more, screaming “Trap! Trap! Trap!” but again, Daniel chose to forsake the voice of reason to satisfy his curiosity. He was strong, fast and healed rapidly; what was the worst that could happen to him?

  Just when Daniel lost sight of his target, he heard the telltale pop near the back of the building. Like stalking prey, he ran silently towards the noise and came upon an open area partially illuminated by moonlight that came pouring in through the high glass windows.

  The man, who was tall and slim, leaned against a crate casually, and Daniel noticed his red leather jacket for the first time, so dark in color it was almost black. “Good of you to come,” he said.

  Daniel opened his mouth to ask about the man’s intriguing ability, but a cold voice from behind spoke first. “The Black Hero, I presume?”

  Daniel spun on his heel and came face to face with a man a few inches shorter than he, who had dark hair slicked back into a ponytail and an equally dark mustache, the rest of his face hidden by the shadows.

  “So what are you, the mob boss or something?” Daniel asked, crossing his arms across his chest. The situation reminded him of a scene out of a comic book; he almost expected to see a dozen men stepping out of the shadows with rifles pointed his way.

  A moment later, as if summoned by Daniel’s imagination, a dozen men stepped out of the shadows, with rifles pointed his way.

  Oh shit.

  Daniel felt the first trickle of worry down his spine, realizing that his arrogance was about to land him in a whole world of hurt. He could count on one finger the number of times he’d been shot and, though it obviously hadn’t killed him, it had hurt like hell. Besides, he had no idea if he could actually die from being shot repeatedly. Every comic book hero had a weakness, after all, so it would make sense that Daniel would have his kryptonite too, however banal it turned out to be.

  “What do you have against me?” Daniel asked the group. The heat rose to his face and he wished he could take his balaclava off, but he couldn’t risk revealing his identity, not to this criminal, not to anybody.

  The ponytailed man walked around Daniel like a panther, relaxed and secure in his control. “You, my friend, have hurt many of my men and you have hampered my business with your do-gooding. And I have to confess, I am no fan of the Boy Scouts.”

  “Do you have something against being a good Samaritan?” Daniel asked, hoping to keep Ponytail talking while he figured out an exit strategy.

  The man flicked the air dismissively with his long fingers. “Eh, it’s just so… cliché.”

  “So is being an evil drug lord.”

  Ponytail shrugged. “You’re probably right,” he said casually. “Here’s another cliché for you: this town ain’t big enough for the both of us.”

  Any other time, Daniel might have found the banter amusing. Any other time when a dozen guns weren’t pointing at his balls, that was.

  One underling walked towards the boss and handed him a gun, maybe a Magnum or some other brand of hand cannon. Daniel gulped. He was no gun connoisseur, but judging from the size of that barrel, he guessed it would leave a huge freaking hole in its wake. Sure he was fast, but could he outrun bullets? Moreover, was it better to stand his ground like a man and be shot in the face, or run like a coward and be shot in the back? Either option really didn’t hold much appeal.

  “You’re somewhat of a underground legend in New York, did you know?” Ponytail said with a gleaming smile, pointing the gun directly at Daniel’s chest. “Jocko tells me you’re fast and really strong.”

  “Jocko,” Daniel said under his breath. If he ever got out of this alive, he would hunt that son of a bitch down and skin him for being such a tattletale.

  “Is this true?”

  Daniel pursed his lips and nodded, seeing no point in lying now.

  “So, I have a proposition for you, Mr. Hero. And keep in mind that I don’t often extend such magnanimous invitations.” He cocked his head and rolled his eyes. “My niece gave me a Word of the Day toilet paper.”

  Somebody snickered in the darkness and brought Ponytail back on focus. “As I was saying, I want you to join us. With powers like yours, we can rule Manhattan.”

  It was Daniel’s turn to roll his eyes. “Seriously?” he said with unconcealed sarcasm. “You want me to become one of the bad guys and undo all of what I’ve done in the past few months? For money?”

  “Actually, yes. We’ve done the research and one hundred percent of our test subjects gladly took the offer when faced with the end of my gun,” he said and chambered a round. “So now that you know the correct answer, I will ask you again: will you join my team and become wealthy and powerful beyond your wildest imagination? We could be kings.”

  Daniel lifted his chin in defiance. “Fuck no.”

  “How poetic,” Ponytail said and pulled the trigger.

  Daniel fell to his knees; the stab of pain from the bullet piercing his stomach was unlike anything he’d ever known. After a few shallow breaths, he struggled back to his feet. If he was going to die, he would do so with dignity. He managed to stand before another bullet clobbered him in the shoulder, then beneath the breastbone, and another in the thigh.

  Man, he’s a lousy shot, was Daniel’s last thought before he lost all consciousness.

  6 | ROUSING THE SEER

  Coral Marie Diaz had no idea what hit her. She was fast asleep when all of a sudden, she bolted upright in bed, sweat beads gathering on her upper lip as she fought to catch her breath. She had had another vision – this much she knew – but it felt different, unusual. Normally, she would remember the dream in the morning and try to piece together the hazy puzzle pieces until it made sense. Never before had she awakened right after the vision; never before had she felt what was destined to happen.

  A change was to come.

  She took a deep breath and lay back on her pillow, looking up at the ceiling as the afterimages played before her eyes once more. A starving man drinking coffee at Johann’s Diner, his skin crackling as if electricity was running through his veins. She would shake his hand and sit with him, but what they would talk about, she didn’t know.

  Coral wished her visions were more detailed but that was not the way her gift of clairvoyance worked. Since the emergence of her very first vision at age five, she had only ever seen images and sometimes words. Back then she had dismissed the dreams, until the day one had come true and the boy from across the street had been run over after getting off the school bus. Coral had come running out of the house after hearing screams and had recognized immediately the vivid rainbow of the dark blue Ford, the yellow school bus, and the spreading red on the grey asphalt. Coral hadn’t seen much more of the accident as her foster mom, Annette, had ordered her to go back inside,
but she had already known how it would end. She had foreseen the heartbreaking image of a lifeless Tommy, his mother screaming hysterically as she cradled him in her arms. Annette, though she tried, had not shielded Coral from seeing the worst of the grisly scene. Not when the little girl had already dreamed it all the night before.

  Of course, neither Annette nor her husband, Chris, had believed her when she tried to tell them about the dreams. No matter how many times Coral had tried, she had been rebuffed time and again and told that she was but a fanciful daydreamer. Not long after, she was transferred to another foster family on the grounds of bad behavior, a reason that she decided she would come to abide by.

  Coral’s mouth puckered at the memory of her childhood. Though she was lucky that no harm or abuse had ever come her way, at least, not in the care of foster parents, she however grew up with the knowledge that nobody wanted her, the strange Mexican girl with weak eyes and the graphic imagination.

  Coral rose from the bed to take a shower, hoping wildly that the man in her vision would be the beginning of a new chapter in her life. Maybe the vision had been for her benefit, signaling that her time to be valued has finally arrived. She certainly hoped so. She could use a change in her life right about now.

  * * * * *

  Daniel came to with a jerk.

  His first instinct was to shout, but his mouth was full of water. He tried to blink the fuzziness away as he looked around at the dark, murky environment. He couldn’t see much beyond his nose, but judging from his murderer’s lack of originality, he was pretty certain he was at the bottom of the Hudson River.