Caped (Book 1): The Burdens of Fate (20 page)

The last thing I need is to give the military a
reason for one of those drones they've got buzzing around up there to zero in
on my house. They've been tapping phones and reading e-mails for a while now,
now we have eavesdropping by their drones to worry about. Not that they could
tie us to the kidnappings in the first place, but you can never be too sure.

At least my new guests aren't living here. Nor
are they complete strangers, but I'm sure we'd share nothing more than a
friendly nod if we passed on the street.

I've already written about Raphael and Luis,
but there were a couple new faces Raphael's managed to bring into the fold.
Yuri Dyakov is the extremely light on his feet Russian college student that
took far too much work to track down and talk to than I'd ever willingly spend
my time doing; Julius Klein, is a quiet, immensely strong, thirty year old,
balding German, who works at the Lurssen shipyard, and also happens to be one
of those rare nocs that can change form. Telan Mehra, the family man with the
optic blasts; an American born Hindi that relocated to New Delhi after
finishing med school, a very vocal activist in the growing social instability
in the country. And finally Naim Tariq, a twenty-something Muslim with the
ability to create and manipulate a black oil-like substance; don't know much about
him except he was apparently very active during the Arab Spring in Egypt.

But that's enough
exposition,
the fact of the matter is they're educated people and held intelligent
conversations. Speaking of the pro's and cons of various political systems,
fascism, Marxism, communism, monarchs, etc. Conversations on evolution and intelligent
design, pointing out the flaws and strength of both in ways I was fully capable
of understanding, but had never given thought to.

They were strangers in my home, but respectful
of that fact. Almost all of them held a bachelors degree or at least made an
attempt at higher education. And after being stuck in a room with them for
several hours I, or rather
we
, gained a better understanding of why we
were approached.

The door to the basement came to slow close,
ending with a louder than normal click as the bolt slid into position. This is
what weeks of unscheduled house calls, taboo conversations, and subtle
intimidation has lead to. For five hours she reiterated and clarified all the
minor details of her plan, easily proving to be the competent leader of troops
I'd imagine her to be.

Her speech was intoxicating, a lengthy rant of
pure genius drilling in exactly how the current system has failed. How the love
of money, and the blind protection of those with it, has rotted global
economics to its core. The world is slowly dying and our petty national
allegiances are killing us, when in reality we must understand that we are all
one people striving to coexist on the same planet in peaceful harmony. That
technological suppression from fearful governments is damming a brutal river of
change that's capable of curing every ailment, and providing bountiful
resources for every man, woman, and child. She ended with a rousing monologue
about teamwork and victory, and we were abuzz with energy as we cheered and clapped
in a rousing excitement that shook the house and raged loud enough to reach the
neighbors.

We were ready, not just seduced by an ephemeral
high brought about by rowdy emotions, the facts were spread out before us.
Before Nena left she asked us to stay and meditate on our objective, to will
the universe to create the desired outcome.

And so we did, the seven of us sitting there in
silent focus, akin to a prayer. You could feel the energy filling the room, so
much so that I tried to reach out and touch it, to feel the resistance of my
hand as it moved through it. Yuri was the first to leave the table, followed
shortly after by the Raphael, and a domino effect of the others afterwards.

When I got upstairs everyone was talking
quietly to each other. Julius, Luis, and Yuri, in the living room; Nena, Naim,
and I, conversing in the kitchen; and Raphael off in the corner by the front
door taking an important phone call. When his call ended he rallied everyone
for a quick exit. They each placed a hand on his arm, and just as quickly, they
were gone.

Yuri stuck around for a more formal parting but
I soon had my house, almost, to myself again. In the rare instances Nena slept,
she slept long and hard. I appreciated the time to spend with my wife, though
sparse those moments are.

Thursday came and I left for work. I was
detached from my surroundings the entire day, productive only to the point
where I didn't raise attention. When I got home I took my wife on a date, made
love to her and went over the plans before going to bed. On Friday I woke up
early to make her an extraordinary breakfast in bed, and after work we caught a
lift to New York
to see a play on Broadway.

However, Saturday was a different beast
altogether; I was out of bed by 7am EST and in Chicago within the hour. The eight of us
walked by the targeted area, casually passing by at a distance. Nobody pointed
a finger or stared for more than a couple of seconds. We walked down

Luis strolled out to the center of Millennium Plaza, a messy crowd of people shuffling
to and from on their lunch breaks; businessmen, teenagers, tourists, and
families. He walked right into the center with his gallon of gasoline and an
attention grabbing "I am human too!" sign. He was the center of
attention, and it was the performance of the century. The beginning of our
revolution; history books will speak of this moment, this man, for centuries to
come, and how he ushered in a new age of human history. Peaceful, enlightened,
and caring.

Leaning the sign against a post, he unscrewed
the top of the canister. A few had already caught on, screaming for the police.
But it was too late. He drenched himself in it, quickly pulling out his lighter
and becoming the light of a revolution as dozens looked on in horror. He did
not scream, he did not wince, he didn't even make a sound save for the
crackling of his clothes as they turned to cinder.

After half a minute his lifeless mass slumped
over and thumped down onto the ground, still burning. When the gasps and shock
subsided and to the bewilderment of the entire crowd, he sat back up.

"I'm human too, and I am the flame of
anger burning in each of you!"

It wasn't long before the police, camera crews,
and paparazzi were swarming the place like ants to a picnic. However, we were
waiting for the bigger fish to arrive...

–
4/25
–

Michael Serna
-

Have you ever wondered what power Superman
thinks is cool? If he'd like a power ring, or telepathy? Maybe he doesn't, but
I know that Ivan has one of the coolest powers ever. If he's hungry, bam! He
makes himself a sandwich. If he's cold, bam! Makes himself a coat. Needs a car?
Bam! Needs a boat? Bam! ...How is that not one of the coolest abilities ever?

Almost everything on this island was made by
Ivan. Sure, it may have been Thomas' idea but it's without a doubt Ivan's
creation, and that's amazing.

So, with the sun having risen higher into the
sky, our families and friends had gone off to explore the island by themselves
while we, the original eight and Kaylie's mom, sat and spoke more in-depth on
things growing increasingly more relevant.

How will we tackle this?

Public, or private? Perhaps private only to the
general public? Does this ragtag group need media attention for our efforts,
possibly causing mass panic on a global scale, or do we stay back and operate
in shadow? But that brings up the problem of escalation. If we start forming a
group this maniac may form one as well, and who knows what abilities he'll have
on his side.

Our initial call is to
"save the
world,"
a phrase so commonly used the true weight of it's been lost,
but does that give reason to ignore the plight of the ordinary man? What level
of emergency deserves our attention? Street level, city, national, global? The
answer ties directly into how public, if any, we are willing to be.

Do we recruit new members, if so, how many? Do
we train, and if so, how? So many questions, all begging for an answer.

Buuut, that wasn't the greatest part of my
day...
Edward Otep
-

Left field. Never been much of a baseball fan
but fuck left field and anything that comes from there. It's amazing that, even
though I can see the future, I'm still getting blindsided. I don't like it, it
vexes me greatly. I can't be sure if each day will bring about the next big
thing, and not the good type of
big thing
. The bad type, the
very
bad type.

I can barely remember what we were speaking on
before the big debacle that is now Chicago
exploded in our faces, but I do know it was inconsequential. Yes we need to
train, what death fearing fool facing the end of everything wouldn't physically
and mentally ready themselves?

We've got our set of challenges, and they'll be
much easier if we're all on the same page, but our job becomes much more
difficult when on any given day we could face an ambush; and me, the one who's
supposed to protect us against that, is reduced to the usefulness of a magic
eight ball. I feel as if I'm giving out educated guesses instead of concrete
predictions. It's infuriating.

We were mid-discussion in the main hall when
the alert popped up followed by the live feed from a local news station. The
burning man. And I'm soon experiencing the quick shifting and unsettling
feeling that came over me the night before Los Angeles, not a good sign.

It will forever be my burden to be the bearer
of bad news. I let them know, which quickly changed their mood. No reference to
L.A. will ever
be a good thing. The main difference is, I didn't see this coming, so I was
equally as terrified and far less prepared. I had a pretty decent heads-up
then, now I was dealing with a couple minutes, if I was lucky.

Was this the main event, judgment day already?
I couldn't be sure, but I was sure that the burning man wasn't going to be the
small confined event I'd originally foreseen. Those people were in danger.

The choice was before us, we could sit here and
watch it play out; countless lives lost, buildings slumped over or reduced to
piles of rubble, and Chicago
lessened to nothing more than a horrid expanse of land.

That's not sugar coating it. Los Angeles was panicked civilians barely
aware of their abilities. What I saw was an organized assault on an urban
populous. Watch that unfold knowing you could've made a difference and try
sleeping with a good conscience.

But nobody's too eager to play hero when their
life is on the line.

Alvin
was first to volunteer, no surprise there, and
luckily for us Michael's borderline insane when it comes to playing hero. He
volunteered so fast I would actually wager he has a genuine death wish. But the
surprise of the day goes to Prisca, who I'd honestly assumed too fragile to
want to get her boots dirty. Not doubting she wants to help, just figured the
fine print read, "
Only if necessary."

Yet I couldn't shake an awkward unsettling
feeling, something was still wrong. Alvin
couldn't go, it wasn't safe for him. I blurted it out without notice, a purely
instinctual act. Everyone immediately looked to me for an explanation which I
couldn't offer; it was just a feeling, and luckily one I've learned to trust.

Understandably, they were confused. Alvin is hands-down the
single most powerful individual within the group, if it wasn't safe for him how
could anyone feel safe? I wasn't sure, and fortunately it was only Alvin. Laurie volunteered
to go in Alvin's
place, but Thomas quickly warned against putting all our cards on the table.
Especially when facing an unknown threat. Logical, but terrifying all the same.
That left only Michael and Prisca. I wasn't too excited, but if something was
going to be done that's what we had to work with.

To my surprise, Iris didn't say much, just told
him not to go if he wasn't sure he was coming back. She knows him best, guess
there wasn't much she could do but watch him jump blind into the fire. Later I
asked her why she didn't try to stop him; she gave me a look that I clearly
read as anger. I'm sure she has a lot to say to me, I dragged him into this;
but she didn't answer.

He placed a tender kiss on her lips, leaving
her alone and worried, and walked to us with the overconfident swagger of an
athlete. Prisca was nervous and shaking about the whole flying aspect, Michael
told her to close her eyes and count to fifty. The ceiling was barely open
before they were through it like a bat out of hell. There should have been a
sonic boom but there wasn't. Boy was he moving. I had no idea he was that fast.

A few brief moment's passed, with everyone
rushing to the conference table to watch on the large displays hanging from the
ceiling, while I retreated inwards to offer foresight and warnings.

In an instant the streets and plaza overflowed
with hundreds of bodies, frantically scattering in every direction. Perhaps if
you were there in person you'd have caught a glimpse of a man, but the sixty
frames per second from the news cameras saw nothing of him.