A New Beginning

Chapter One

My name is Roger Clemson and I’m a federally sought after felon with a shoot first warning on my head. I’m a Meta-Human, which means I have superpowers. A federal mandate, called the Hunter-Sanchez Act, requires I register with the Meta-Human Bureau. Since there exists no reliable way to detect a Meta-Human, I have decided against registering. If you see someone lift a car overhead, fly unaided, or shoot beams from their eyes, then you are sure they are a Meta-Human. Otherwise, we look just like everyone else. Most of the time, at least.

The resurgence into my hero life started as most days in Seattle, with dreary, cold, color-blurring rain. I stepped from the commuter train and lumbered through the damp, crowded streets of downtown. This wasn’t hard, I just followed the rest of the work zombies through the misty, cold air.

As I approached my building, three dark SUVs blew through an intersection. Luck allowed me to avoid the waves of flying water that collided with the walls. The SUVs stacked bumper to bumper in front of Wajowski Technical. That can’t be good, I muttered.

I stopped walking and stared as several dark-suited individuals streamed from the vehicles. Each one waved a hand-held device as they moved around the front of Wajowski. Even in the cool rain, sweat formed on my forehead and a shiver danced down my spine.

Someone bumped into me, shaking me out of the gawking trance. My lips moved and words rumbled low in my throat, eventually reaching my ears. What’s the Meta-Human Watch Group doing there?

Running into two or three handing out pamphlets or getting signatures on a petition wasn’t uncommon. Seeing them swarm a building wasn’t something that happened.

Craning my neck I noted Seattle's finest was nowhere to be seen. Whatever happened, the cops have come and gone. My eyes moved as if searching, then my brain hit the idea. The news! I went from outside to my desk in record time. Without even bothering to sit down, I called up the news site and stuffed my headphones over my head. The video link for the overnight report was on the top of the list. I stabbed the mouse with a finger, clicking the link for the video.

The reporter told how three armed security guards interrupted two people exhibiting Meta-Human abilities. He went on to say how the guards are lucky to be alive after a run in with the thieves. Then, he stated that the Meta-Humans left with state-of-the-art gene technology. A black and white clip from the security footage faded in showing two men in dark clothing. Lightning flashed from one of the man’s hands. Off to the side, the other overturned the large sentry desk with a single hand. The reporter came back on, saying the robbers were successful, but one of them was wounded. The reporter also alluded that the Meta-Humans were low powered. It was stated they were a three or four on the Hedabor scale and SPD Meta-Human Response Team would bring them in.

The Hunter-Sanchez Act passed ten years ago, which meant the thieves would be Dosed on sight. Most of us Meta-Humans kept a low profile. This was to keep the government, and those akin to the Meta-Human Watch Group, off our backs. Rocking the boat just didn’t work with a low profile.

These two idiots have stirred a hornet’s nest. My jaws and fingers hurt from the pressure I was exerting. It took several breaths of conditioned air for me to relax.

Why? I shook my head and sighed.

My email flashed and dinged with multiple requests. My day filled with fixing laptops, blocking sites, and running network cables to the newly created meeting rooms. I shoved the two Meta-Human thieves into the back seat of my mind while I worked.

Chapter Two

When lunch came, I took the opportunity to get my metro pass. The fresh air, after raining felt good, plus the walk stretched my legs.

Stepping inside of the Metro station, I moved to the line of five people. At this time of day, plus being close to the end of the month, I figured the line would be longer.

A television played the news but had the sound down. Instead, the text of what the newscasters said scrolled across the bottom of the screen. One news story ended, and the next one started.

It covered a body that washed up on shore near Jack Perry Memorial Park. From here I almost stopped paying attention. The next set of words kept my attention on the screen.

The body had a melted appearance, and the police weren’t able to identify the victim. The melted part seemed to fit as they were near the Duwamish Waterway. Perhaps a homeless person fell in and the water did what it did, soak it to the bones.

Advancing in the line, the words kept scrolling.

It mentioned another body, several weeks ago, at Terminal 105 Park. The text indicated the body was in a similar state, but it was a woman. Neither person had been identified.

The story drew the same conclusion I did and added the standard tag line. If anyone knew anything, call blah, blah, blah.

The Metro pass took longer than expected, so I was relegated to the vending machines for lunch. I lucked out and discovered they were recently stocked.

I managed to not think about the break-in over lunch. This was a good thing, so transitioning back to work mode went smooth.

It didn’t stay that way. As quitting time approached, my mind wandered back to what I knew about the break-in.

More information was what I needed, but I wasn't sure how to get it. Anything that brought out the Meta-Human Watch Group was a bad thing in my opinion. So with ten minutes to quitting time, I tried something. After clearing my desk I left the building and headed for Wajowski Technical.

A two-man construction crew repaired the wall, but there was still signs of Meta-Human power use. The cement had heavy scorch marks, and the rain hadn’t washed away the smell of burnt stuff. With lightning that smell hung around for a while. The area being repaired came to my chest. The blast that made it, possibly on the video, wasn’t that powerful. Barely enough to go through the wall. Maybe not as powerful as reported. I felt my brow shift as my eyes scanned the rest of the scene.

I didn’t see any MWG members out to hassle me so I walked into the building. The guards watched as I approached. One stood up, another shifted closer to the desk, and the third positioned his hand to the radio on his belt.

It was all I could do to keep my eyes focused on the front desk. Plastering a friendly smile on my face, I approached. Hey, I work over at Hammer-Smith Data across the way. I’m the IT slash security guy and everyone over there is nervous about what happened here. Could you give me some information so I can calm down the suits?

The guard behind the desk glanced at my lanyard and saw my badge. It had my name and picture on it and IT. He grinned as he looked at my face.

"The OFFICIAL word is that two alleged Meta-Humans broke in here and made off with some kind of gene-splicer mixer technology that was not fully functioning."

The guard glanced around the lobby with exaggerated movements. We, he pointed to the other two security guards, shot them, but they got away. Tell your suits not to worry. Seattle MRT has this now.

My face attempted to copy his toothy grin and sparkly eyes. Instead, I chuckled, waved, and said, Thanks. It’s good to know you were on the job.

A few feet out of the door, I did the excuse-me dance with another dark-suited person. She was looking at the device in her hand, so I took a large step to one side, and left her behind.

My brain formulated questions. Why would low powered Meta-Humans want a gene splicer? Did they work for someone else? Did they work for themselves? Were there more of them?

Forming answers to these questions was beyond the information I had.

Taking the steps down to the train platform, I spotted two MWG members. The dark suits they wore stood out in the land of casual work attire Seattle was well-known for. With a stack of pamphlets held in each hand, they reached out and handed one to anyone nearby, reciting a well rehearsed phase. Randomly a passerby would take one. I felt the smirk on my face when I passed a garbage can with a healthy dose of the pamphlets.

Darting towards the train, my body cleared the closing doors and I found a seat seconds before it pulled out. After the lurch, the steady clack and hum of the train faded to the background as my brain worked on this problem in earnest.

I have dealt with plenty of Meta-Human villains in the past. In my opinion, the majority of them didn’t have anywhere near the smarts to use gene technology on their own. There was the occasional scientist, but they rarely did their own dirty work. That meant these thieves were working for someone. Finding out who would be difficult, but not impossible.

I caught the reflection of the grimace on my face in the window. Who could I convince to help me? Would anyone help me? Is this worth it? Tinkerbelle. Now if she'll talk to me, I'm in business.

Do I want to be in business? Leave it to the cops! This was my voice of reason and safety.

They are woefully outmatched. My inner hero was coming out.

But they have Dosing pistols.

Yeah. They do have those. Both voices grew quiet with this one.

I hoped none of my speculations were true. Or even that this whole day was a dream. I could avoid calling Tink altogether and continue with my regular, boring life. There was always the chance that these rogue Meta-Humans wanted to steal gene technology to sell on the black market for profit. But this didn’t make sense as any Meta-Human that displayed their abilities all but directly asked to get Dosed. This would happen on the spot with no arrest, no trial, and no conviction. One auto-injecting dart and it would be done.

This meant no more powers. No Meta-Human abilities. Everything you had known your entire life would be changed. Forever.

Risking changing your life forever to get a few thousand dollars wasn’t something I wanted to do.

Chapter Three

The train stopped at my station, and I shambled to my car. A plan formulated as I drove the three miles to my house. Once in my living room, I pulled out my cell and searched for her name. The last smidgen of worry danced in my mind as I paused my finger over the dial button. It had been a long time since I talked to her. The argument with her father had been harsh, and I hadn’t picked sides. If anyone had or could get the information I needed to put this robbery thing to rest, it was Tinkerbelle.

Touching the button, I started the process.

The first ring didn’t even finish. Well, as I live and breathe, the Seattle Guardian. That was not a name I expected to see come across my display again. Ever. Her smooth, sarcastic voice oozed out of the phone as she emphasized the last word.

I took a deep breath. Hey, Tink. I know it’s been a while, but I need a favor.

The second of silence rang in my ear. So you don’t call me for nearly three years and when you do, it’s because you need something. A wince darted through me.

You’re right. I ran my fingers through my hair and turned to the open area of my living room. Look, I didn’t pick sides back then because both of you were right. You needed to live your own life and Travis needed to guide his daughter. Picking sides would have put me in an awkward situation which I didn’t want. I consider both of you family and I was there for both of you. Yes, I could have handled it better, and so both of you could have done things differently as well. Leaving that out there I hoped would at least make this conversation easier.

You can’t just call me and expect me to be passed that. She made a good point with this. I was left flapping like a sheet in the wind.

You were. I didn't have a leg to stand on with this and I knew it. Trying to soothe her would not work. She had to just work through this. My legs moved from a slow, steady sway, to full on pacing. They fell into the path I had worn into the dingy carpet over the years.

Gal-Tronix tried to take me over. Her tone had increased, and I was sure spit formed on her lips. And I don’t mean buy me out. I mean it tried to take me over.

You do damn good work. I could have told her to take it as a compliment. How else could you take it when a sentient AI that runs its own sovereign country tries to take you over. I kept my mouth shut. She was good, probably better than her father, but she rarely pushed herself.

And do not get me started on the federal contracts I couldn’t go for. That would have been bad. Working a government contract opens you up to things you don’t want to be opened to. Especially if you are a Meta-Human like us.

Pulling open my fridge, I grabbed a bottle of soda, my favorite stress drink. A flick of my thumb and the top flipped to the recycle bin. Yes, you were limited on some income fronts. I had to defend myself at this point. You could have called anytime and you know it.

OK. You’re right on that one. I see your point. Her pitch softened. Just so you know, I didn’t turn to the dark side.

I nodded and chimed in, That part I do know. I haven’t used your services, but word has gotten back to me from those who have. You may not be on the dark side, but you have worked a shade or two of gray and that isn't a bad thing. You’re running a business, not saving people’s lives. This I truly agreed with. Running a business always meant making difficult choices.

Her laugh tickled my ear. You see, that was something Dad never caught on to. I didn’t want to be a hero. There was no need or legal ability to do so. I just wanted to make a living doing what came natural to me. Trust me when I say, I have a good living going on. So good in fact, I can be picky about clients. Speaking of clients, what can I do for you?

I sighed and paced between my kitchen, dining, and living rooms. I’m sure you’ve seen the news. So far this has been kept local, but if it gets bigger and hits nationally, it could be a problem. Taking a sip of a soda I went on. It seems there were at least two Meta-Humans that broke into a local medical tech company and ripped off some non-functioning gear. At least that was the line I was fed. I’m hoping you can tell me if there is anyone who might be working in this area or trying to start something.

A whirring sound came from the phone, followed by a melodic humming. I don’t know of anyone working in this area. The people I deal with tend to keep on the legit side if even just barely.

This was good news as far as I was concerned. If you associate with the wrong crowd, you end up in the gutter with them. My parents would be proud.

My next sentence caught in my throat, but I forced it out because I needed to be sure. I needed to be careful what I asked for as I would get it. What about any low-powered Meta-Humans?

Nope. No one new. Her speedy reply allowed my body to downshift and slump in relaxation.

New. I focused on that word. It alluded to someone from after the Hunter-Sanchez Act. What do you mean by no one new?

I see what you’re going after. The sigh from my cellphone speaker was loud. I mean no one. No one new. No one old. No one. At least from my resources and the information I have or can get. I can dig, but it will take a while.

No. My shoulders slumped and I let out a breath. No need to do that.

There was a moment of silence and then she said, I do have the list of items taken from Wajowski Technical. She nailed the company name on the first try. She was good and fast too. They took more than one item, but most of it was minor things like power cords, batteries and stuff like that. The main item which should be noted is considered the state of the art for gene technology, is a Symadyne Gene Resequencer. A humming came over the speaker and I made every fourth word.

She cleared her throat. Per the spec, this thing should extract, mix and a few other things that are very high tech. What are flunkies doing with this?

My voice came out low. That's what I want to know.

Oh, I got something else. The words tumbled out of the phone in a higher pitch. It appears there is a scientist in this area that may have gone rogue. Six months ago a Dr. Bolesta went missing, so says the cleaning lady of his house.

The connection