The Unstoppable (Chapter five)

The Unstoppable

Chapter Five: Bits and Pieces


I didn't particularly want to die.

I definitely did not want to smash into the ground at high velocity and get pulverized to bits. The idea held no appeal to me. It's not that I wanted to fall, it was was that I couldn't figure out how the heck I was supposed to fly.

The office buildings were rushing by in a blur, all the windows running together into straight, continuous lines. I was slightly tempted to flap my arms like wings, but I didn't see that accomplishing much. But I knew there had to be a way, had to be.

I refused to entertain the other notion, that the man from the diner was crazy, and I couldn't fly at all. If that was the case, I would die in mere seconds. As the world grew larger and began to take on sharper definition, I gave up trying to concentrate, to push it.

I closed my eyes and forced myself to picture a bird, a giant bird of prey like an eagle or a condor. I imagined it gliding through the sky effortlessly. I focused on nothing but that feeling, that graceful weightlessness. In my head, clouds surround me as I float, thoughtlessly airborn. Neither flapping of wings nor mental exertion take place.

Just flight.

The loud blare of a semi-truck's air horn woke me from my day dream.

I was flying!

I'd stopped eight feet off the ground, only to narrowly miss getting hit by a truck. I managed to swerve in midair, but with my focus completely lost, I tumbled out of the air and right into an unoccupied table sitting outside a restaurant. The metal bent, and the top came disconnected from the legs. I could hear the patrons gasping but I saw nothing as the umbrella that had been firmly affixed inside the table had folded in on me.

Stumbling to my feet, I brushed the tattered remains of my clothes to little effect. They were still tattered remains. I glanced around, running a hand through my hair. Restaurant goers had dropped their conversations to stare. A waitress in the middle of pouring water from a pitcher was overflowing a glass.

I raised a hand and waved it towards them, as if brushing away their potential concern. "No worries...I'm fine. It's all good. I do stuff like that all the time. Parcour, you know?" And then I limped away, slipping past the wrought iron gate without a second glance back, trying my best to look as if falling out of the sky and hurtling into tables really was a normal, everyday thing for me...

---

It didn't take them long to find me.

This is probably at least partly due to the fact that I didn't even try to hide. I just sauntered along the sidewalk barefoot and half naked down one of the broad avenues of lovely Chicago.

People stared.

I knew from scoping out my reflection in a store window that I looked like I'd caught the wrong end of airplane turbine. My hair stuck out every which way, like I'd stuck my finger in an electrical socket. My shirt was all but gone, clinging to life by a few bare threads. And potentially most striking of all, every bit of bare skin was stained with blood, sweat, dust, and scorch marks.

About five minutes after my descent from the heavens, a black van pulled up beside me (with no markings of any kind, naturally). What windows it had were mirrored, keeping me from seeing even the driver. I turned towards it and waited patiently. A side door opened and six men in black suits and black shades armed all but literally to the teeth emerged from the darkness within, training six black rifles on my chest.

Not interested in fighting any more, I threw both hands up in the air. One of them beckoned me inside and I obediently entered the van. In an instant, I was roughly pushed into a sitting position. The door slammed closed and with a roar from the engine we were off.

I'm pretty sure they broke the speed limit.

I tried to rise and was pushed down again and strapped in. The cushion beneath me bounced and vibrated as the van tore through downtown. I could make out very little of the darkness, but I could roughly figure out where everyone was. Two sat on either side of me, and four more were somewhere behind us.

Dazzling light entered in as some sort of blanket or cloth was pushed aside. From the front passenger seat, the man from the diner leaned around his chair.
"Quite a day for you, isn't it." Not a question. "I should probably apologize for chucking you out that window, I didn't realize you were a neophyte. How long have you known about your powers?"

I thought for a moment, remembering the power surge at the hospital. Had that been me? I wasn't sure I wanted to be too free with details just yet. Did I want them to know I wasn't who everyone thought I was?

"Since I woke up this morning." Was all I said. The words came out hoarse, and I realized I was more exhausted than I thought. But I didn't see myself sleeping anytime soon, with my mind so awake.

"Well," the man said, seeming to read my mind, "You should probably sleep now. My name's Timothy Melville, but most people call me the Ferret. You'll find out why sooner or later..."

"I don't think I could sleep now," I responded, trying to look him in the eye despite all the light coming in from behind him.

"Oh, ho ho," He chuckled, "I wasn't asking. "You'll sleep now."

The man to my right began to stir. I heard more than saw him taking off a glove. He placed a hand against my neck, and suddenly the floor of the van seemed to rush up to meet me. I stayed strapped in where I was, but all the muted colors in the vehicle began to blur together, sending me spinning into darkness at dizzying speed.

But I had no time to be disoriented, for I did indeed sleep.

---

White lights.

Once more a florescent glow greeted my eyes as I awoke.

But this time it wasn't the lights alone that shone white, the whole room gleamed with it. I sat up, studying my colorless surroundings. I was in a laboratory. The very thought sent a shiver down my spine. Machines of unknown purpose loomed all around me, filling three sides of the room. The last side held only glass, and a large automatic door that led further into the lab.

The one thing I'd been afraid of most. Being poked and prodded and pulled apart. And yet, I seemed to be intact. Not even so much as an IV mark in my arm. My skin was clean, not a trace of the battle left to stain it. My old clothes were gone, too. Replaced with a simple white hospital gown.

I stretched out my left arm and studied it. Eleven years ago, the car wreck had left a slender white scar on the underside of my forearm. I'd all but forgotten about it, as I'd tried to forget everything about that night, but I had to know.

And so I turned my arm over, peering closely and found...

Nothing. My arm was blank as slate, the lightly tanned skin entirely unmarred.

Could it be possible? The other life, the car accidents, Kate, Texas, was it all a dream? And Adam Blackpool himself, born January 12 1985, was he real? Was I really Tom Anderson, born on the seventh of July 1986?

Somewhere in the distance, a door chirped. Footsteps sounded. Someone was coming for me, I knew it. The noise interrupted my musings, bringing me back to the present. I still didn't know whether the people who had taken me were my benefactors, or my captors.

I thought about playing dead and lying back down, but figured that would be foolish. They were probably on their way because they saw me sit up.

Muffled voices began to reach me, sounding like two people having a conversation. "Did you hear what the Ferret said about him?" A male voice questioned. "Everything about him... the charts, beyond the scale of anything he's..." I couldn't quite make out everything, but the voice sounded excited about whatever he was referring to. "...almost gave the Ferret a heart attack, and he says his head is still buzzing..."

A female voice spoke, in lower tones. Too quiet for me to understand. Her intonation sounded slightly familiar, although I couldn't quite place it.

After a moment the man spoke again, his voice growing more heated as he went on. "...of such a thing? Regeneration, telekinesis, psy... fire, ice, lightning, possibly even shapeshifting!"

The woman said something then, it sounded like an addition or correction to his list.

Were they talking about me? How could they possibly know so much?

And ice?

They lowered their voices suddenly, even further. As if passing someone they were afraid would overhear. When I heard them again they were within sight. But there were three of them. Two men and a woman. The woman seemed to be in the lead. She waved her hand at the door and it opened on command.

"...what we're here to find out," she said, as if in response to something. She spoke sharply, her stance and mannerisms severe. Everything about her seemed knife-like. Her words seemed more meant for cutting than for communication, ready and willing to inflict pain. Harsh Retorts and demeaning insults, to belittle the opponent. And the opponent, in this case, was everyone she spoke to. Ever.

Even so, with a frown fixed on her face along with glasses she'd never needed, and hair a shade to dark, I recognized her instantly. Her face had haunted me from the back of my mind ever since I'd woken up.

Kate.

And yet, not Kate.

Her eyes were dark and icy. I saw nothing of the woman I'd fallen in love with inside them. My body began to grow cold, as if the temperature were plummeting. Kate-But-Not-Kate barely spared me a second glance, walking over to a machine a few feet from my bed to study a monitor of some kind. All the while I couldn't take my eyes off her, barely noticed the other two men in the room.

"What? Why are you staring at me?" she snarled. She turned to one of her companions and spoke loudly. "My God, I think the Ferret's picked up a retard."

For the first time, I turned my eyes to study the other occupants of the room. One had dark hair and what seemed to be a fairly brash, outgoing demeanor. He'd been quiet thus far only because he was studying me with eyes the size of the full moon. Some manner of misplaced adoration?

And the other one had green skin.

How did I miss that?

And it wasn't even pale green, like he'd been a little seasick lately or something. He was fairly bright, almost neon green, and he had strikingly lizard-like features. Eyes a little too far apart, face a little unnaturally narrow and pointed. Despite even this, I found my eyes drawn back to Kate again and again. I saw the other two men only in brief glimpses.

"Look," Kate-Not-Kate snapped, drawing my attention back to her, "I don't know if you've got a mental imbalance, or if your mother's the only woman you've ever laid eyes on, but if you keep staring at me, I swear to God we're gonna have problems, and by we I mean you. And by problems I mean you probably won't be having children."

It was as if someone had pulled out my heart while I wasn't looking, thrusting an icy hand in my chest. It left nothing but a lingering cold, an emptiness. How could this be?

Two years.

If the dates I'd been seeing on every clock and calender were true, it'd been two years since the car wreck. I wondered if that distance was real to her, if she'd been through terrible suffering all this time. And yet, she didn't seem to recognize me at all. What could account for such a change? Amnesia? But she seemed like a completely different person.

"I finally found the nerve and voice to speak. "Don't you...remember me, Kate?"

"Kate? Who is Kate? My name is Sabrina. Trust me, this is the first time we've seen each other. I would remember meeting a moron like you. I just met you and I already can't stand you." She adjusted the dark frame of her glasses and typed something into her computer. Both of the men waited by the door.

Guards, I realized. She really was the one in charge here. Once again I found myself sizing them up. I wondered what powers they had, and whether mine compared at all. If they had powers. How ridiculous to assume that everyone had such superpowers! But I couldn’t help it, my mind leapt towards the notion quickly, more apt to assume the supernatural than the normal, the rational.

I sighed. I wanted to know what was going on. I was tempted to ask what gave them the right to apprehend me, but remembered a few certain office buildings that would condemn me pretty handily. Before I could find the right words to ask for an explanation, for the coma, for my superpowers, for the way the world seemed to have been turned upside down, “Sabrina” spoke.

“I’m going to say this as slow as possible so you can understand me. If I need to anunciate better, just let me know. You’re not Spiderman, you’re not Superman, and this is no comic book, but you’ve got superpowers. Class 4. It's called being a vell. It comes from Latin, I believe. The original initiative was called Project Velle."

"Twelve years ago, the government started tracking people like you and me. It was then, back in 1996, that people with…abilities started turning up in large numbers. It’s thought there might have been others, earlier than that, but nobody really knows. There’s certainly nothing scientific on record.”

She walked over to a sink set into the wall to my left and filled a slender glass to the brim with water. She handed it to me along with two pills. "Swallow this." Was all she said. I took the glass and the pills but hesitated. "They're an immunization. Everyone has to take them. You'll find out why later." Not seeing the point in objecting now, I swallowed them with a brief sip of water. Without looking at me, she walked back to her computer and began her explanation anew.

“Now, you may wonder, ‘how is the government keeping this a secret?’ The simple answer is, they’re not. They don't have to. Nobody really wants this to go public. Nobody wants to be labeled as a freak, or ripped apart for science, or get their face plastered all over the news. Every once in awhile we have an incident here or there, but we never let them get very far. The world is suspicious of us, but it isn't sure what to believe."

While she spoke, I found myself staring at the glass in my hand. I traced my finger along the rim, trying to will the water to grow colder, to freeze. Nothing. If anything the liquid grew a bit warmer in proximity to my skin.

"Technically speaking though, we don't exist. We operate within several government outfits, but we're not tied exclusively or run by any of them. The FBI, CIA, NSA, we work for them all where necessary. But we're our own entity. We have a directer, we have agents, and we have missions, and fieldwork. And laboratories. We just don't have a name."

I opened my mouth to object, but I could think of nothing to say. I wanted to deny it as the ridiculous notion it was, but how could I, after what I'd been through? Sabrina waited patiently, turning back to her monitor to clack something on the keyboard.

"What...what happens now?" I stuttered. I'd always thought myself bright enough, but I couldn't help feeling like the dumbest person on earth. I just couldn't keep up.

"Simple. There are five classes of ability. You're a class four, second from the top. But you're also a mobilus. That means you probably have about three months to live. For the rest of your short life, we're going to feed you, clothe you, train you, and give you work..."

"And then, sooner or later...you are beyond a shadow of a doubt going to die."