Chosen Different_Book 1

by Nat Kozinn

  He gets up and heads over to the edge of the roof. "A week from tonight be outside the Church of Cabot, eight p.m., sharp. I'm sure you'll be able to find the church. We'll do more talking then. I’m gonna be looking forward to it, that’s for sure. I can't wait to tell the Lord all about this. I hope He speaks to me soon. Don't worry, I'll tell Him all about you."

  Then he leaps what must be twenty-five feet to the next building. A few more jumps and he's out of sight. He is so very fast. He also seems to think he can speak to God, not exactly unique for a psychopath. What should I expect from someone who eats people?

  He was right about me needing time to reflect. I just read the words of a lunatic. There is no doubt about that. But even a broken clock is right twice a day. I'd be lying if I said Cabot, I mean “God,” didn’t make any compelling points. It is hard to imagine what wonders Chosen Sons—Differents—could accomplish if they were free to live for themselves instead of keeping humans alive… I push that thought out of my brain and hate myself for thinking it.

  I pick myself up and look around for a way down. Climbing isn't an option, not with my shattered hands and torn hamstring. I try the door on the roof, but it’s locked, of course. I wind up and slam into it with my shoulder. With my injured hamstring I can't generate much force, so the door holds. I do manage some damage to my rotator cuff. Good, I need more injuries.

  Three more slams with three more sets of bruises, and the door finally gives. I have to hope no one heard and called the cops. Lucky for me, the people who live here probably gave up on calling the police a long time ago. I head down the stairs as quickly as I can hobble.

  Once I’m out of the building, I pop on think.Net and find the closest Slug station, only three blocks away. I start hobbling. Even at this speed, I might actually make it back in time for work. Soon, that fantasy is shattered. I hear someone running up behind me. They sound like they are loaded down with all sorts of equipment. A police officer, but I don't dare turn around to look.

  I keep walking but stop using my limp. Walking that way kept me from causing further injury to my hamstring, but I'd rather have more healing to do later than have to try to explain my injuries now. Let’s just hope he doesn’t ask me to sign anything. I don’t think I can get either of my hands to work.

  "You! Stop right there or I'll shoot," the officer yells. He sounds nervous.

  "Don't shoot! I'll give you whatever you want,” I say and make my voice quiver with fear.

  "Turn around slowly, and keep your hands up."

  I start to turn, but stop myself. My face! I still have all the muscles relaxed. I still look like an old man. I still look like the vigilante. I start to tighten the muscles on my face, but it’ll take a few seconds. If I do it too fast the muscles might cramp and spasm and that'll make me look just as suspicious. I need to stall.

  "I told you to turn around!" the officer yells again.

  "Please don't hurt me. I haven't seen you. I don't know what you look like. You don't have to shoot me," I say trying to sound as pathetic as possible.

  "Sir, I am a police officer and I am ordering you to turn around right now."

  "Should I turn left or right?"

  "I don’t care, just turn around now, or you'll be sorry," the officer says and lowers his voice. He means it.

  I finally relent and turn around. I sure hope my face looks normal. The young officer sees me and relaxes a bit. I guess I managed it.

  "Okay, you can put your hands down," he says with an exhale.

  As I do that, I see his eyes focus on the D on my hand. He tightens back up like a coil.

  "Put your hands back up and don't move!" he says and points his gun right at my head.

  "Whatever you say, officer," I say and put my hands up.

  He stands there, trying to figure out what he should do. He's spared the decision when another older, gray haired officer runs up. He's out of breath.

  "Is it him? Is it him?" Older Cop asks.

  "Does he look like an old man to you?" Younger Cop answers.

  "I don't know. He's a Different. Maybe he can change or something,” Older Cop replies.

  "Check his tattoo."

  The older cop approaches me carefully.

  "Let me see your hand."

  I extend my hand for him to inspect. "I'm not a Morpher."

  I can see the older man struggle to read the text of my tattoo.

  “You got to come read this. All I can see is that he’s Gamma, the rest is too damn small,” the older cop says to the younger cop.

  “It says Gavin Stillman, Anthropomorphic Control,” I offer up.

  “What the hell is Anthropomorphic Control?” Older Cop asks.

  "How should I know? Never heard of it," Younger Cop answers

  "I can control certain systems in my body. For example, I can change the color of my urine." It's true, I can.

  "Gross. Didn't you hit the freak jackpot?" Older Cop says.

  "What are you doing around here so late at night? We're pretty far from Ultracorps employee housing," Younger Cops asks.

  What was I doing here, besides not hunting The Beast? I need to come up with an answer. I realize that I’m not that far from Becky’s house.

  "I was visiting my girlfriend. She lives a few blocks from here. I was just taking the long way back to the Slug."

  Please take my word for it. Please take my word for it.

  "You didn't see an old guy running, did you?" Older Cop asks. It seems like they bought my story.

  "No, I haven't seen anyone out here but you guys." That's true, I didn't see the old guy. "Are you looking for the vigilante?" I ask.

  "Maybe, what do you know about it?" Younger Cop asks.

  "Nothing, nothing. You just hear stories. They say he's been beating up drug dealers and saving people from muggers."

  "Maybe that’s what he used to be, but now he’s a cop killer. He killed two of us. We’re going to hunt him down no matter how many muggers he stopped," Younger Cop says.

  "”You guys sure about that? From what I heard he was trying to help you do your jobs. He didn’t sound like a cop killer,” I know it’s stupid before I say it but I do it anyway. I don’t like being called a freak.

  "What do you know? And speaking of doing our jobs, it's an awfully big coincidence that you're out here in the boonies on the same night we spot the vigilante. You wouldn't mind taking us back to your girlfriend's house, would you? To verify your story? We should be thorough, right?" Younger Cop asks.

  "Is that necessary, officer? It's so late, she's probably asleep by now. I'd rather not disturb her."

  "Oh sure, sure. That's no problem. We’ll just lock you up for the night. Once your girlfriend wakes up, she can come talk to us and get you out after a fun night in jail, or maybe two. That way, she can get all her beauty rest.”

  It’s not an empty threat, Differents don’t have many legal rights. He can just lock me up because he feels like it. While I’m rotting in the cell, maybe someone will figure out it’s not just a coincidence I’m out here. I am the same height and weight as the vigilante. It’s not a risk I’d like to take. I’ll just have to go to Becky's house and hope she covers for me.

  “I’ll take you to her,” I say.

  #

  Seven cops escort me to Becky's house. I guess they don't take any chances when it comes to Differents. They don't need so many. I've done so much more damage to my hamstring by walking on it I can barely move. If I couldn't ignore my nerve signals I'd be curled up in a ball, weeping.

  I wish I could have called Becky on think.Net and prepared her to cover for me, but the cops were watching me too closely. There is no way I could sink into the think.Net stare without them noticing. I’ve always meant to teach myself to logon without doing the stare. I think I could if I practiced, but now is not the time to try to learn.

  Five of the officers keep back while the two cops who caught me knock on the door with me beside them. If I ever felt fear, I would feel it rig
ht now.

  "This is the police. We're here to see Becky Carter. Open the door!" Older Cops says.

  I hear stirring from inside the house, but it takes a few minutes for anyone to come. I speed up time to make the wait less excruciating. Finally, Becky and her dad open the door.

  "Hello, officers, what can we do for you?" Mike asks.

  Becky and I make eye contact. I can see worry and confusion on her face. This would be the perfect time for telepathy to be my Differentiation, or maybe invisibility.

  "This Different says that he was with you tonight. Is that true?" Younger Cop asks.

  I can't make time move fast enough for that instant. The answer to this question will decide if I spend the rest of my life in prison.

  "Yes, officer. That's my boyfriend. He was here until just a few minutes ago. We were listening to Harvey Quinn on the radio," Becky says without skipping a beat. I can't even tell that she's lying.

  "What's a nice girl like you doing with a freak for a boyfriend?" The younger cop asks.

  "This is the Cabotist neighborhood. Whack jobs like her think it's their duty to mate with Differents," Older Cop answers for her.

  "That's disgusting," Younger Cop replies.

  "That it is, but unfortunately it's not illegal, even if it should be. Let's get out of here boys," Older Cop orders.

  The police head out saying vile things about Becky, her father and me. It's a lovely beginning to what is going to be an awful conversation. I see the look on Becky's face and start to wish I had just let them take me downtown.

  18

  My Chosen Sons must leave behind the lives they were born into. No matter their past creeds or allegiances, the Chosen now swear fealty to each other. Arm in arm is how the world will be rebuilt.

  Chosen Sons: 33

  The Beast cannot remember the last time he was so happy. The Lord had blessed him with a chance to atone for his sins, a chance to make things right. The Beast had saved a soul. Gavin had read the truth of Cabot with his own eyes. The Beast grins as he jumps away from Gavin on the rooftops.

  Gavin is not the same as other Chosen Sons. He had a mind of his own. By day, Gavin accepts society’s chains by working a job like all the other Differents. By night though, Gavin escapes that prison and follows his own path. The Beast respects Gavin's spirit even if his motives are misguided. He will be a fantastic Cabotist, maybe even a friend.

  The Beast is so full of gratitude, he is practically bursting. He does not care if he is far enough away from Gavin and the police to be safe. He needs to speak to the Lord. He has to know how happy God is to have a Chosen Son accept his place on the earth. He drops to his knees and prays.

  “Lord, thank you. Thank you for giving me a chance to make right for my sins. Thank you for letting me save one of my brother’s souls. I hope I pleased you. I hope I showed you that I deserve your love. Please God, tell me you’re happy. Tell me that I’ve done good.”

  The Beast waits for a response, but none comes. The euphoria he felt from showing Gavin Chosen Sons starts to fade. The Beast thinks back to his sins, back to what he is trying to atone for.

  #

  Tom wept with the dead OEC Agent laying besides him. It didn’t matter that she had tried to arrest Tom. That didn’t change the fact that Tom was a murderer. In an instant he had turned from a proud Chosen Son into to a filthy sinner. He had killed one of his own kind. He was damned. Tom lost control and the beast inside him took over. He ran out of the Metro Center, out of the entire Chicago MA, and into the wilderness. It took Tom just a day to run all the way out of what was old Illinois and into the barren plains of the Midwest.

  The Great Plains of the Midwest were not very full of life even before the Plagues. Now, they looked like the surface of the moon. He was forced to raid termite and ant nests in order to eke out an existence. He would choke down the larvae and know that it was part of his punishment.

  The wasteland was both a punishment and a prison. It kept Tom away from other Chosen Sons, and it made sure Tom would not be forced into sin again. Life in the plains was difficult, but Tom felt safe at least. He was wrong.

  The Office of Exceptional Cases was like any law enforcement branch and did not suffer lightly the death of one of their own. The OEC was not content with the news that Tom had fled the Chicago MA. They needed to apprehend Tom and make him pay for the death of Special Agent Gibbons. The OEC sent one of their very best field teams, Special Agents White and Rodriguez, who were to track and incapacitate Tom by any means necessary.

  Special Agent White was a Physically-Enhanced Chosen Son, a Strong-Man. The government considered Agent White the 17th strongest Strong-Man in existence, which was no small accomplishment. Agent White was significantly stronger than Tom, at least in terms of lifting weights in a gym.

  Special Agent Rodriguez was a Telepath trained for use in the field. She could focus her mental energies on one target with extreme results. She was capable of taking control of another person's body or even turning their mind "off"—killing them. She could also use her telepathy to track individuals.

  Despite this, tracking Tom proved difficult. Special Agent Rodriguez’s mind was developed to intercept and interpret human brainwaves. Out here in the plains, the beast in Tom had taken over. He thought more like an animal than a human. Special Agent Rodriguez was only able to pick up on Tom when he was deep in thought. When he went off to hunt, she would lose the trail. It took the agents several days to locate him.

  When they did, Tom had heard and smelled the pair coming from two miles away. Tom noticed that there was something different about how these two people smelled. Something in the scent reminded him of Special Agent Gibbons. Tom realized that he smelled his own kind.

  For an instant, Tom was happy. He was going to see some of his brothers. He ran towards them as fast as he could. Right before he got to them, he thought about why two Chosen Sons would be out in the middle of nowhere. These two were not coming to be Tom's friends. They were coming to hurt him.

  He turned to flee before they got too close, but an invisible blow from Special Agent Rodriguez knocked him down. He could not say what happened. He just suddenly felt the need to drop to his knees.

  "Stay on the ground and do not attempt to move. You are under arrest. If you do not cooperate, we will respond with deadly force. Do you understand what I've told you?" Special Agent Rodriguez said.

  "Personally, I hope you don't cooperate. Gibbons was a friend of mine. Monsters like you don't deserve life in a Tranq-dream," Special Agent White added.

  "I assume you two have not heard the word of our savior, Cabot..." Tom said, still on his knees.

  "Quiet! We are not here to listen to your ramblings. You'll have your day in court, which is more than you deserve. The one thing you can do right now is stay where you are and cooperate while we take you into custody. Any answer besides yes will result in the use of deadly force. There will not be any further warnings. Do you understand?" Special Agent Rodriguez asked.

  "My Chosen Sons must not fight. They must know that they all share in my love equally even if their blessings are unequal..."

  "That's it. Take this whacko out," Special Agent White said.

  "I'm trying, but it's not working. It's like I can only penetrate the surface of his mind. I can't kill him."

  "Music to my ears. You're going down the hard way, murderer!" Special Agent White said and charged at Tom.

  Special Agent Rodriguez's mental blow might not have been enough to kill Tom, but it did make it hard for Tom to think. It slowed him down, making it impossible to dodge Special Agent White's attack. The Strong-Man delivered a punch to Tom which knocked Tom 50 yards through the air.

  The blow hurt, but the distance from Special Agent Rodriguez allowed Tom's head to clear. When Special Agent White arrived to deliver the next hit, Tom was ready and dodged the clumsy Strong-Man's punch with ease. Tom delivered dozens of his own punches to White's head and mid-section. No one of the individual blo
ws were enough to damage Agent White, but the accumulation of punches eventually knocked the Strong-Man to the ground. Tom was simply too fast.

  Seeing a chance to escape, Tom turned to run, but his body was stopped again by a blow from Special Agent Rodriguez's mind. If Tom wanted to flee, he would have to deal with Agent Rodriguez. Tom turned and charged at the woman, planning to knock her out, nothing more. Special Agent Rodriguez saw a monster charging at her, and it filled her with terror. Tom looked like something from one of her childhood nightmares. She let go with a blast of mental energy that could have killed a dozen people.

  When Tom came to, he thought the blast had killed him. It had not. The beast in Tom had taken control, and Tom had torn out Special Agent Rodriguez's throat with his teeth. He could still taste her blood on his lips. Special Agent White was dead not too far away. There was no obvious wound to cause his death. Rodriguez had accidentally killed him with her blast. Tom knew that Special Agent White's death was his fault even if he had not actually done the deed.

  Tom cried out, “God! What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to keep from sinning? They were going to kill me! I didn’t want to hurt em. Lord, what did I do to deserve this punishment? Why did you make me, if all I do is suffer and make others suffer?”

  Tom didn’t get an answer. He started to shake with anger. All he wanted was to live in peace. Apparently that was too much to ask. If Tom was made just to cause suffering, it was time he made those who hunted him suffer. It was time for those government men to pay.

  19

  By the authority vested in me as President by the Constitution and statutes of the United States and in order to combat the unique threat to national security represented by the terrorist Different known as Cabot, all copies of the work entitled Chosen Sons by Cabot are ordered to be destroyed. Continued possession of the work will be considered a crime, punishable under the statutes created for public endangerment. Law enforcement officials are authorized to use whatever force is necessary in order to enforce this order.