Chosen Different (Book 2): Different Strong

by Nat Kozinn

  He assumes a stance with his hands open and separated and his feet a few inches apart. I recognize it as jujitsu—score one for all that time studying fighting videos on think.Net. Jujitsu is designed to use an opponent’s own strength against him. A good choice for fighting me.

  I take a boxing stance, hands close together and upright. I want him to think I don’t really know what I’m doing. I throw a big clumsy right cross. As expected, he dodges it and moves in close to flip me on his hip, which is the right move if you’re fighting an opponent who doesn’t know what they’re doing, but that’s not me. I pull back my right cross and stick my elbow out. My elbow catches him in the back of the head, forcing him forward. I throw my own hip out and use my other hand to flip him over. He lands on his stomach with a thud. I try to drop down on his back with my knee, but he rolls out of the way before I can deliver the blow.

  We both stand back up, although he’s a bit slower than before. My elbow to the head rang his bell. We circle each other again, like two lions fighting for control of the pride. He assumes a stance similar to my boxer pose, but with his feet further forward than they should be. What is he doing?

  He makes the first move this time. He throws a left that is an obvious feint. I prepare to catch the coming punch from his right hand, but instead he kicks me in the left shin, a good move if I felt pain. He follows that up with a roundhouse kick which I partially block, but it still bruises my kidney a bit. I shove him back. Now I know what style he’s using, Muay Thai Fighting, kickboxing. That means all his punches will be for show; that stance is all about hitting with the kicks.

  He throws a left cross, which is just to set up his kick. The punch hits my already broken nose. He doesn’t realize that pain doesn’t affect me. Then he throws the right legged roundhouse kick I was waiting for. I let it hit me in the side, then wrap my left arm around his leg, pinning his leg to me. I pummel him with a flurry of right hooks. He puts his right arm up, and I hit it like a martial arts master breaking a board. I feel the bone break under my fist. Another blow knocks out his tooth. Finally, he plants his left leg and pulls himself free, but he falls backwards. He hits the back of his head on the concrete.

  I let him stand back up; I’m enjoying this. I like to imagine that each blow I land is a form of justice for all his victims. There are still a lot of dead bodies to atone for, including Victor. I take a stance and wave for him to come at me, like Bruce Lee in “Enter the Dragon”.

  To my surprise, he maintains his Muay Thai stance. He comes at me throwing a left hook towards my stomach. I get ready to absorb the punch again so I can react to his real blow, only something goes wrong. His left hook tears a hole in my side. As he pulls his hand back, he opens up a deep gash in my right thigh. I hit him with a straight right cross to the sternum, which pushes him back.

  I slow down time and take a good look at his left hand. He’s got a small knife that he’s holding upside-down. It might have been small, but it still tore apart my insides. He managed to get deep enough to knick my kidney and large intestine. I have to cut off blood flow from the area. On top of that, he mutilated my thigh muscle. I route my blood around the wound, but that isn’t going to make my leg any stronger.

  I didn’t anticipate how well armed he’d be. It occurs to me that he drew me into a martial arts fight because he knew I’d get caught up in my desire to show off my skills. Maybe he does know me better than I give him credit for. He charges at me, swinging his knife like a tornado. I slow down time to a crawl, but with my mangled thigh I’m moving like molasses and can’t get out of the way. I just have enough time to see where the knife is going to cut me. I use my arms to deflect stabs headed towards something vital, but within a few seconds my arms have been torn to shreds. I try to throw a desperate punch, but he dodges it with ease and takes the opportunity to slice my patellar tendon in the knee of what was my good leg.

  I drop to a kneel. This is how I’m going to die. I managed to defeat The Beast, one of the most powerful Differents who has ever lived, but I’m going to be killed by a regular man with a knife.

  “I’m sorry, kid,” William says as he prepares to deliver the coups de grâce.

  This time, a loud boom stops him. It comes from the gun I had been shooting. William’s gun, but it is Maria who put a bullet in his leg. William joins me in a forced kneel, just a few feet away.

  “If you move a freaking muscle, I’m blowing you straight to hell,” Maria says.

  William whirls around and throws his knife at Maria. He misses. She pulls the trigger, but there aren’t any bullets. William reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small object. I try to dive at him, but my mangled body moves too slowly.

  “Watch out, he’s got another flash bang!” I cry out.

  William throws the grenade down to the ground, hard. Maria and I close our eyes, waiting for a flash that doesn’t come. Instead I hear a loud hissing. William disappears into a cloud of smoke. This guy is carrying a whole battalion’s worth of weaponry. I hear a thud and someone crumples to the ground.

  “Maria, he’s getting away, can you see him?” I ask.

  I don’t get an answer.

  “Maria, are you okay?” Still no answer. I only hear William limping away as fast as he can. No one’s chasing him.

  I fumble around, trying to figure out what’s going on, but I don’t get my answer until the smoke starts to clear. Then I see a sight I wish I could erase from my vision. Maria is lying on the ground, out cold. She’s in the fetal position with blood streaming out of bullet wound in her abdomen, a bullet I put there. I have to get her help.

  23

  It seems crass to write about sports at a time like this, but it is still my duty as a reporter. Just three months after the Danny Libdo Tragedy which decimated the Minneapolis Metro Area, we were once again reminded of the true depth and scope of the loss. Devastated by the death of his wife and child, William “Billy the Kid” Jefferson announced his retirement from the league while also thanking his fans for their support. Though the loss of a sports star does not compare to millions of lives lost in the accident, the announcement helps underscore the permanent scar left on our nation. When the National Basketball League restarts next season, it, like this country, will be far from whole.

  “William Jefferson Announces Retirement from Professional Basketball” by Roger Burns, Minneapolis StarTribune

  October 12th

  Sit-ups: 0

  Pushups: 0

  Pull-ups: 0

  Running: 0

  Diet: 1,715 Calories, 129 grams protein, 193 gram carbohydrates, 47 grams fat.

  Sleep: 6:11

  Funds: $7,125.00

  Ammo Count: 156 rounds 7N1, 265 rounds 9mm, 11 Stun Grenades, 11 Smoke Grenades, 12 Standard Grenades.

  Activities: Eliminated Target 25, Injured target 26.

  Target Notes: Eliminated Target 25, Victor, with a single shot from Dragunov Rifle. Engaged with Target 26, Gavin. Target suffered gunshot wound, shrapnel injuries, and severe lacerations from blade. I was forced to retreat after intervention of a female L.A.P.D. officer.

  Personal Notes: Suffered gunshot wound to the thigh and broken right arm. Managed to get the bullet out of my thigh, but both injuries will slow me down for weeks. Also possibility that the injured L.A.P.D. officer will keep after me. Not clear if she survived the encounter. Need to beef up my defenses using the explosives provided by Money Man. Injuries push back timeline for implementing final plan, but delay will not cause major disruptions. Money Man still won’t like it.

  Mental State: Need to rest for weeks, which means no working out. Might go insane. Will attempt to take up meditation again.

  24

  There are many questions and few answers in the death of OEC agent and infamous former baseball player, Victor Campos. What we do know is that the agent was shot and killed far outside the bounds of the Los Angeles Metro Area. What we don’t know is why he was out there, who killed him, or if the suspect has been apprehend
ed. Thus far, the OEC office has been either unwilling or unable to shed any light on the subject. On the heels of the Beckett’s Square tragedy, this death is another black mark on the OEC Field Office Program.

  “Confusion Abounds in the Death of OEC Agent” by Roberta Clemens, Los Angeles Times

  I collapse at the front entrance to the hospital. I’ve made it as far as I can go and lost as much blood as the human body can stand. I couldn’t cut off the blood flow to my wounds because it would have slowed me down too much. I had to stop and drink a puddle on my way here so I could keep producing plasma, to mix with the white blood cells, red blood cells, and platelets I’m generating to create replacement blood. I’m still managing my immune system to have it kill off all the bacteria that was living in that tiny swamp.

  “Help!” I scream at the top of my lungs.

  I look over at Maria, who’s lying a in a pile next to me. She looks deathly pale. She might have less blood in her body than I do. I feel for a pulse on her neck. It’s faint, but it’s there. She needs fluids and she needs them now.

  “Somebody help! A police officer needs help!” I yell again.

  #

  This is the second funeral I’ve ever been to, and it’s my second this week. I’m lucky I was allowed to attend. Captain Murphy had to call in what was probably the last favor he has left from the powers that be. I’m supposed to be locked in the OEC office twenty-four hours a day while I await my hearing, where they will no doubt send me back to prison. It’s for the best. I proved I’m not hero material. I only beat The Beast because he didn’t want to kill me; he wanted to convert me. Even still, I needed what was essentially a magic knife to stand a chance. Now I know that when push comes to shove, a normal human man can beat me.

  There are plenty of police officers here to make sure I can’t make a make a break for it, even if I was up for more adventures. Although, supposedly, they’re here to show support for a fallen brother in arms. They might not have been huge fans of the OEC, but Victor was law enforcement, and that makes him a brother of sorts.

  It’s a good thing the police are here; otherwise it would just be Linda, Captain Murphy, and me. Victor didn’t have any family and Maria is still recovering from the bullet I put in her gut. Another of my failures. There’s a big crowd outside the cemetery, but they’re all from the press. I’d love to believe they’re all waiting to do a story on an accomplished government agent who died in service to the nation, but I’m guessing the reporters really want one more chance to rehash the story of Victor Campos: liar, cheater, and World Series tainter. Maybe the last paragraph will say something about how he turned his life around and served the OEC.

  Victor deserves better than this. He deserved better than being shot in the back of the head by a serial killer I was chasing. I should be the one lying in a wooden box with half my face missing. I was the idiot who thought I was strong enough to fix the whole world. I was the moron who led us right into a trap. If I had listened to everyone who told me it wasn’t my job to hunt Billy the Kid, Victor would still be alive.

  This isn’t the first time someone I know has been hurt because of my fantasies about being a hero. Becky’s father died and she barely survived all because I was delusional enough to imagine I could take on The Beast. If I hadn’t gone after him, he would have stayed in the shadows, feeding on the old and sick. Now, my insistence on going after Billy the Kid has left Maria lying in a hospital bed and Victor waiting to be put in the ground.

  I deserve to be locked up. I’m the worst kind of dangerous, the dangerous who gets good people hurt and killed because of my stupidity. I should have stayed working in the lab as a fast food taste tester. There I might have actually saved some lives catching tainted food or cancerous additives. All I’ve ever accomplished by trying to be a hero is spreading misery.

  I feel a mind trying to push itself into my head. It’s Linda. Why is she talking to me telepathically when I’m five feet away from her? I let her in anyway.

  >>>Gavin, there’s someone here who wants to speak with you.

  <<
  >>>Look at the line of officers in front of you.

  I look over the line of cops standing around the casket. One of them does look familiar, despite his moustache. He gives me a wink when he sees me staring.

  <<
  >>>It is, and I do. Now why don’t you two have a chat? Pretend I’m not here.

  >>>Hey Gavin, I’m going to assume you put it all together and figured out Linda and I know each other from back in the day when we both worked on think.Net. I was her surrogate son before you. How about that Meat Sauce, huh? Haven’t you wondered how I’ve been able to find you after we stopped our meetings? The problem with your total control of your brain or whatever you’ve got is that it keeps your mind from wondering. That question should have occurred to you.

  <<
  >>>You should be suspicious of everyone. Take our new Governor, Lewis Khan, for instance.

  <<
  >>>Okay mister smarty pants, then I suppose you also know what Governor Khan has been doing with all that bribe money. Fancy suits and ladies of the night? That’s what typical corrupt politicians spend it on, and that’s all he is, right?

  <<
  >>>It wasn’t easy to figure it all out. Khan owns three grocery stores and a medical practice. All of these businesses have seen a sudden boom in sales, and for some reason, all those new sales are in cash. Really, none of this is surprising, your standard money laundering scheme. Where it gets interesting is when you try to figure out where the money went after it got laundered. See, each of these companies has started ordering some strange chemicals. The convenience stores have started ordering Sodium Benzoate and Potassium Nitrate. Those can be used as preservatives, but if mixed with a few other ingredients that could be picked up in any industrial supply warehouse, they—

  <<
  >>>You never let me have any fun. You know, it’s perfectly natural for a person to want credit for all their hard work… Khan has been using his companies to buy chemicals to make bombs, lots of them. He was likely responsible for the bomb that blew up your old lab.

  <<
  >>>Well I doubt Khan was out there placing bombs himself. He’s a little old and overweight to be a hands-on kind of bad guy.

  <<
  >>>Speaking of crazy, the medical center Khan owns has massive quantities of virtually every psychological drug on the planet, and the facility doesn’t employ any psychiatrists. There was even a healthy supply of most every street drug in existence. Radical doctors at that facility. You know mixing those drugs incorrectly could result in psychotic behavior, like the behavior we saw from those demented Differents you stopped. And Linda tells me you couldn’t figure out how anyone knew to target the Regenerator who had her family kidnapped. Stacey’s status as a former OEC agent was classified. Guess who has access to complete files of every Different in the Metro Area? It starts with a Governor.

  <<ere must be another explanation.

  >>>Gavin, you’re falling into the trap many highly rational people fall into, assuming everyone thinks like you. Some people do things that don’t make rational sense. You’re assuming Khan’s primary goal in life is power. Usually a safe assumption for politicians, but maybe his motivation is to stop the Different “menace.” Is it really crazier than a basketball star faking his death so he can return years later to start murdering Differents? Do you only believe in insane conspiracies that you figure out for yourself?

  <<
  >>>Maybe, but my guess is she fell into the same trap as you did, assuming people are rational. You two share that weakness. Trying to figure out Nita is not a productive road to go down anyway. It’s like a dog trying to figure out what humans do. I’m sure to them it looks like we waste a whole bunch of time on non-eating related activities.

  <<
  >>>Oh, that one’s easy. It’s because it’s the truth.

  <<
  >>>A normal human being who was a world class athlete and renowned for having an incomparable work ethic and will to win. A normal man who killed dozens of other Differents over the last few months including your totally badass partner. In fact, you’re the only Different who is still standing after crossing paths with that normal human. And that’s considering that you aren’t even close to getting the most out of your abilities.

  <<