《Pretty Modern》


 Snippet 1

    When I woke up that morning after a nightmarish memory from a century ago, it was a brisk November morning. I rose up without a sound, contemplative.


    Over the decades, I¡¯d gotten used to nightmares. They didn¡¯t show up as often as when I¡¯d been a younger monster, but they still happened. I tended to get a bit moody after such a nightmare but I tried to let it go this morning.


    Rising out of bed, I looked over at my alarm clock and let out a groan when I saw it was 3 in the morning. Damnit, I hated the nightmares that woke me up early. Over two hundred years and I¡¯m still cranky in the morning.


    I got out of bed and headed to the bathroom, lowering my head to avoid the top of the door, then taking a look at myself in the mirror.


    I hadn¡¯t changed much. Still eight feel tall, with my pale skin and black hair. I used to have sickly yellow skin, so I tried tanning, but apparently it had only made me look pale, something to do with my biology I assumed. My eyes shone an inhuman green, where before they had been white. I pressed a finger to my neck, where the faded scar lay around my throat, showing where my head had been attatched to the rest of me.


    I¡¯d gotted used my strange appearance so I quickly got to the business of showering, brushing my teeth, and all the other boring things one does while in the bathroom before changing into a shirt and some jeans and leaving my bedroom to the rest of my apartment.


    I lived in New York City now. It wasn¡¯t entirely by choice, as I¡¯d had to stowaway on a boat to get to the city while escaping a group of pursuers, but I¡¯d made a real home here. My apartment was small and cozy, my computer let me make a living without leaving the house, I had enough room to exercise, and food came by delivery. In many ways, I felt content as I walked over to my computer to sit down and start working.


    First, I had a commission to make a website for a small business in Arizona, just something their clients could find. It wasn¡¯t a big job, only something I¡¯d been working on for a few days, so I made some of the final adjustments to get it ready and complete. Just some quick coding and making sure it all looked right, which took a few hours while I listened to some music on Youtube.


    After sending it to be approved, I could focus on the things I was passionate about. I pulled out my drawing tablet and sketched aimlessly as I thought things over.


    It was coming up on my birthday soon. Combined with the nightmare I¡¯d had, I was feeling more morose than usual.


    But then, the day I was born was quite eventful.


    <hr>


    My first memory was a muffled one. I was born with eyes that barely see, ears that could barely hear, my limbs twitching sporadically. Pain filled me like it was the very blood in my veins. When I¡¯d awaken, it was with the feeling I would soon come to know was electricity shocking me, forcing my muscles to twitch, cooking me inside out. I screamed that day. My first noise was of pain and fear.


    I fell onto an ice cold stone floor as loud and muffled noises surrounded me. I saw, felt, heard, and smelt at the same time. I did not know it then, but the man resposible for my creation had ran away then, leaving me in that lab to die.


    I escaped from the University of Ingolstadt that night, and found my way to the woods. I found shade from the oppressive light of the sun in a forest, and eventually lay by the side of a brook, drinking from it when I was thirsty and eating some berries when I became hungry.


    I cried for the first time the next night. Just weeping, lost in the world, not understanding what anything was. I had no knowledge beyond what a baby comes into the world with, and all of my senses were dead.


    That was the first few days. Near blind and deaf, dressed in scraps of cloth I¡¯d managed to steal from the lab of my birth in some instinctive need for clothing, eating berries and drinking water. Soon though, I began to grow stronger. My senses sharpened until I could hear the birds and see the sun, feel the breeze. I tried to copy the singing of the birds, only to scare myself with my unnatural voice. It¡¯s gotten better, but I still have to work to sound human.


    I found a fire made by beggars and learned about the nature of flame the way any child does. By burning. It was not a fun way to learn.


    Soon though, I got hungry for more than berries and acorns. In search of real shelter and food, I found a hut, where I met my first human, an old man preparing breakfast.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    He looked at me, screamed, and ran for it.


    Learned to get used to that sort of reaction real quickly.


    I met more people afterward, and got more of the same reaction. Fear, anger, and hatred. I was other, so I must be a monster. Men and women gathered and threw stones at me, attacking me en masse as I cried out for help in my soundless roars of pain, before I escaped.


    Eventually making my way to an abandoned structure next to a cottage where a poor family lived. That was my first home. A cold and desolate place in the country, living on scraps and stealing firewood to survive.


    It was also my first time seeing what a family was. From a chink in my home, I could watch the comings and going of the family, see them work, play, and interact with each other. To them, they were poor. To me, they had everything in the world.


    Still, I was amazed to find that they were so kind, yet so sad. I tried to help. To cut them logs for firewood so they could stay warm, which led to them being happy, something that made me happy in turn. Of course, they had no idea who had done it, but it still felt good to help.


    I learned how to talk by watching them, learned how to read when the young son read to his blind father and pretty sister.


    I also found out what I looked like after looking in a pool. Not great. Nowadays, I know it was in the moments of my muscles. I was still learning how to shift my face, so I usually ended up looking posivtively hideous when combined with my strange eyes. I can mitigate it now, but I still tend to freak people out if I¡¯m not careful and don¡¯t hide my eyes.


    I¡¯m a monster. I¡¯m more comforable with the idea now. But then, it was a terrible blow. To realize that I had nothing, no one, that for all my great strength and speed, I was worth less than nothing in the world. That I would always have no one. No mother, no father, no siblings. Forever alone, a freak hated by everyone.


    And, in that loneliness, I mad a mistake. I became to invested in that small family. I learned everything about them, their histories, their personalities. I made their well being my own. I became a stalker in every way. I was young and stupid, and I tied my own being to people who had never met me.


    And I found Paradise Lost. I know better now to take the book with a grain of salt, but at the time, I considered it real history, and it effected me. The story of God, Adam, and Satan. I felt for Satan, for his envy, something I knew well.


    And then of course, there was the day I discovered that, in the clothes I¡¯d stolen, were the notes detailing how I was created. Those were the first time I realized I hadn¡¯t been created by a perfect God, but by a lowly man. Someone who was overambitious, if smart, who had tossed me aside.


    One day, desperate for a friend, I went up to the blind man and spoke to him. For just a moment, I had the companionship I had wished for my entire life. I was convinced that as long as I was kind and courteous, I could make friends. I could truly have a family.


    And at first, it was a dream come true. The old blind man comforted me, spoke to me, and let me feel just a bit of that kindness I¡¯d always wished. Of course, then I had to ruin it by admitting I¡¯d been stalking him, something that, in my ignorance, I hadn¡¯t thought was strange. Then his family came back, his son threw me out, and I was left alone once again. When I tried to return, hoping to state my case again, the family had left in horror.


    I know now why it had happened. Finding out some massive inhuman creature has been following you around is not a comforting prospect in the wonderful past I had been born in. But I wasn¡¯t magnanamous in those days. I ended up destroying their cottage, burning it to the ground.


    From there, my final dip into being a monster began. I killed my creators brother, and tried to force him to make a companion for me under threat of killing everyone else. He almost did it too. But just when it seemed like I would finally have someone Victor destroyed her before she could be brought to life, apparently horrified at the idea that we would create more like us.


    I dream about her. About the woman who could have understood me. Loved me. Maybe she would have hated me as well. I¡¯ll never know. But I dream of it.


    I worked, from then on, to turn my creator into the same lonely creature I had become. I killed his wife on his wedding day, his best friend, and more. I hounded him as he hounded me.


    Soon, we both reached the North Pole in our chase of each other. I was ready, prepared to kill my creator. Everything I¡¯d been working for, all of my hate and rage, focused on this man, this man who had abandoned me, who had whined and complained about my creation rather than showing me even the slightest hint of kindness. Finally, I could wrap my hands around his throat and kill him.


    And then he just died.


    It was kind of funny.


    And I was alone again.


    If I¡¯m skipping over this stuff, forgive me. Those early years of my youth, the wasted time on the hate I felt towards those I now can dismiss or ignore. I am now a better man I hope.


    In the end, I choose to disappear. To enter the cold wastes of the North Pole to die. I floated across the landscape on a raft of ice with the body of my creator by my side as I slowly made my way. I had no wish to do anything but die.


    I did not, obviously. I don¡¯t know why I didn¡¯t kill myself. Why I hunted for food and drank water, still pushing my way through the unforgiving land. Eventually, I reached land in Asia, somewhere in Northern Russia. I buried Victor Frankenstein in the cold dirt of that land, and kept on moving. I kept walking, ignoring civilization, ignoring the cold, hunting, scavenging, and walking.


    Soon though, I found a reason to live. But those early years still haunt me in so many ways.

 Snippet 2

    I blinked on realizing how lost in those old memories I¡¯d gotten, and looked at my drawing tablet to see that my idle drawing had been ruined by the random line and scratches I¡¯d left. I chuckled at my mistake, erasing the damage before continuing. Once I¡¯d cleaned it up, I continued, drawing it out. I¡¯d gotten good at art over the centuries, aiming for a more traditional artstyle, though recently I¡¯d gotten over my distaste to newer art styles to begin drawing digital. Despite my immortality and drive to learn more and more, it was only in recent years that I began to learn about the benefits of technology. Even coding, one of the things I used to support myself, was a reletively new skill for me.


    Still, I was getting better at it. The drawing was just a bit of fan art for practice, some comic characters fighting over a city, but it was a good way to stretch my skills. Once I was done with the basic sketch work, I put the tablet down and checked the clock.


    I had some time. A couple of hours. Good for a workout.


    I went into my workout room, which had been a guest room when I rented the apartment, and began to workout. Chest and back day meant lots of bench pressing and rows, and thankfully I¡¯d made enough money to afford the equipment. It took a lot of weight and reps to get me tired, especially as I¡¯d gotten stronger over the years, but I managed to get up a sweat. Something I was glad to note was normal sweat, as opposed to some form of ectoplasm.


    Working out, drawing, even the writing I did on the side, they were¡­ important. They reminded me I could improve in someways, feel stress and exhaustion, could fail. Could, in some way, be human. I was a monster, true, but I could rise above it. Maybe it was a dumb thought, but even an immortal is allowed a few of those.


    After a few rounds with the thousand pounds on my weight machines, I began the next part of my workout.


    First, I moved some of the furniture in my living room out of the way and began to shadow fight. My fighting style had been developed over decades, starting from the days when I found my first true friend. It had started with what is now called Ko-ry¨± or ¡°ancient martial arts¡±, though it been new when I learned it. After that, I¡¯d learned more and more, sometimes from a master willing to ignore my strange appearance, more often just from fighting off those attacking me for my appearance.


    I punched, kicked, and twisted, fighting invisible attackers, focusing on disabling blows at first, then shifting to killing blows. I no longer killed, not for years, but if necessary¡­


    My thoughts shifted to focus, discarding thought for movement. And as I moved, the lightning began to flow within me. The reason none of my electronics were in the living room was because of this. Over the years, as I became stronger, something¡­ developed, within me. In many ways, it was always inside me but only became apparent after I¡¯d turned twelve years of age.


    The pale white bolts of electricity began to flow out of my arms and legs, moving as I did. I punched my left fist, and the white lightning turned red for a brief instant. I focused as I sliced out with an uppercut, and the lightning shifted to green, splashing upwards against the ceiling on a spot I had covered in insulated material. I brought my hands together, put them to my waist as I crouched in a fighting stance. Lightning gathered in my palms, solidifying into a ball of powerful plasma. With a thrust, the ball flew out at incredible speed. Just before it hit a wall, I ¡®grabbed¡¯ it out of the air, my left fist clenched.


    There is no way to truly explain what it feels like to have the lightning. Over the years, I¡¯d become a fan of comics and other forms of fiction. At first, like many, I¡¯d disdained them, thinking of comic books and other media as something made for children. Foolishness. In the words of C.S. Lewis, ¡°When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.¡± I take those words to heart now when I begin to show disdain for some new form of media, science, or technology.


    Over the years, I¡¯d gained a lot of control over my powers using fiction and science to guide me. As soon as I realized I had the lightning that had given birth to me flowing in my heart, I¡¯d begun practicing, at the push of my first master. And feeling that power, the burning in my veins that warmed me to the point of scalding, just at the edge of hurting me. I could feel more of the lightning around me, from my computer and video game consoles in the other room, the various lines of power in the apartment around me, to the several city blocks beyond. In this new world, where electricity was king, I had access to more than I could ever want. I was stronger than ever. Not that I could do anything with it.


    If it wasn¡¯t for the internet of the modern world and the letters I sent to magazines and newspapers before that, being forced to hide my gifts would have grated. Now, I could send my thoughts out to the world, write stories, theories, reviews, and more, all anonymously. It wasn¡¯t perfect. But when the thought that I was obtaining all these skills with no one to share it with began to rage within me, I had something to let me fight.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    I smiled sadly. There I went, becoming meloncholy again. Here I was, with the power of lightning, a good home, and all these other gifts so many in the world couldn¡¯t have, the things I hadn¡¯t had, and I was feeling sorry for myself.


    I pulled the ball of lightning close to myself, twisting it through the air, adding more power to it, then absorbing it. I turned the power magnetic for just an instant, feeling it connect to the metal around me as it pulled all of it in, then turned it back before my spoons and knives started flying toward it.


    After some more practice, I stopped with a relaxed breath, sighing a bit. Working my muscles and powers always relaxed me, made me feel less pent up. I grabbed my towel and cleaned myself off, then made a phone call to the people I¡¯d been making the website for. It rang for a while as I strode around the apartment, before going to voice mail. Unworried, I called again, waiting patiently.


    Finally it answered and I briefly told them I¡¯d finished. They were a bit rude, but they still paid me for my work, and we were done.


    Then I called someone more personally important. She answered on the second ring, her voice bright and cheery.


    ¡°Mr. Sinraj! How are you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m quite well, Mrs. Daniels. I¡¯m calling about my previous request, if I¡¯m not bothering you of course?¡±


    She chuckled, sounding relaxed. I sat down at my chair and brought up a website belonging to Monarch, a company in Chicago that had started in Germany a few years ago, was dedicated to genetics, robotics, and other money making sciences.


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ve been doing some research on the company, like you asked. So far they¡¯re shady but they haven¡¯t been out and out illegal. What are you checking them for, anyway?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Seeing if they¡¯re doing anything crazy. Cloning, super-soldiers, bringing the dead back to life, that sort of thing,¡± I said as glibly as I could while bringing up an article.


    She chuckled at that. ¡°Well, so far there¡¯s nothing crazy. Monarch Industries, a company made in Germany, made their first profit with a chemical that can break down oil in sea water. Which, yay for the enviroment, if it wasn¡¯t for the fact it costs more than my kidneys for an ounce of the stuff. Only slightly exagerrating¡­¡± her voice took on a disappointed tone. ¡°I¡¯m going to do some more research but I haven¡¯t found anything crazy. Seems like these guys don¡¯t have what you were looking for. You know, you don¡¯t have to pay me for finding nothing?¡±


    I smiled. ¡°Depends. Sometimes, nothing is exactly what I want to find. Anyways, thank you again Mrs. Daniels.¡±


    ¡°Eliza, please,¡± she said warmly. ¡°I think I¡¯ve known you long enough by now.¡±


    ¡°Then call me Adam from now on,¡± I clicked on another link, bringing up another company I was interested in. ¡°Have a good day.¡±


    ¡°Same to you!¡± Mrs. Daniels hung up, leaving me to think.


    I¡¯d spent a lot of time on this, hiring private investigators, speaking to scientists, researchers, anyone who might know something, even a couple of fake psychics and mystics in my more desperate moments. Trying to find others like me, or like Victor at the least. People making something like me.


    I thought I¡¯d succeeded a few times. Found monsters across the world, even fought them, sometimes befriended them. But so far, even in this age of incredible oppulence and marvels, after over two hundred years, I was still alone.


    I had no idea how I felt about that. If I found a monster, would I find a family of my own? Or just one more person trying to hate me? Would I help someone making more of me, or stop them from making a killer? I liked to think I would treat such things on a case by case basis. But even with all my experience, all this time¡­ I don¡¯t know what I would truly do.


    Still, I searched. Mrs. Daniels, my latest ¡®partner¡¯ in my quest, lived in Chicago, and had an excellent reputation for private investigation, making her my choice to research Monarch. Yet, it had turned up another dead end. But, I had also made a friend in Daniels, who had proven to be far more bubbly than I was used to. I liked her. She would probably scream if she actually saw me but it was still nice to speak to her over the phone. She had a wife and two children that she spoke about constantly. I wondered what that was like.


    There I go again. Meloncholy. Well, it is my birthday after all.


    I spent a bit of time doing research on my new target, a company called JT International that was working on breast cancer cures. Nothing crazy, but I tended to look into as much as I could no matter how small the chances. After that, I cooked up some pizza, leftovers that had been delivered to me, then spent the rest of the day editing a book on the Second World War I had written. I was working under a pseudonym of course, and I couldn¡¯t reveal how much of my knowledge of the war came first-hand, let alone a few of the stranger projects I¡¯d had to shut down when I realized what the Nazi¡¯s had planned, but it was still a book I felt proud of. Once finished, I simply rested in my chair and played video games. Single player on one of my favorite RPG¡¯s, rather than a multiplayer game. I didn¡¯t feel like having a small child scream at me because I was better at games than he was.


    It was quiet, possibly even boring to some. But compared to other parts of my life, I was in heaven. Ending things by slaying a dragon, I turned off the console and went to bed, satisfied with my day.

 Snippet 3

    The next day, after doing some more coding work, I went through my workout again, then called for pizza.


    Thankfully, I¡¯d long since worked out a deal with a few of the delivery places around my apartment, something further helped by the modern convenience of delivery apps. I could finally have food sent to me without dealing with people.


    I paid with my account and waited patiently for the doorbell to ring, drinking some tea and reading a beat up old copy of one of my favorite novels in The Dresden Files series while I waited. Soon however, I found myself frowning and looking at the clock. The pizza place I had a deal with always prided itself on quick delivery. I¡¯d never had to wait longer than twenty minutes.


    It was about forty minutes in when I started to wonder what had gone wrong.


    Finally the doorbell rang.


    Annoyed, but not overly worried, I walked over to the door. According to the deal, the delivery would be left on my doorstep, with the deliverer gone, a generous tip already in their account. The owner, a man named Eddie, was one of the few people on Earth to see my face, and assumed that I had some sort of mutation as an explanation for my odd size and looks. He knew what I needed, he understood. That was the deal.


    So when the doorbell rang again as I came closer, I stopped in surprise. Frowning, I walked up and looked through the peephole.


    He was young, skinny, with pale white skin, black hair and green eyes. He looked bored, relaxed, my pizzas resting on one hand. He rang the bell again.


    ¡°Please leave the food on the door,¡± I said through the wood, confused.


    He scowled, then rang the bell again. ¡°Come on man, I need my tip!¡±


    What? ¡°What are you talking about? I sent a tip over my account. You¡¯ve already been paid.¡±


    ¡°Come on man, just open the door!¡± the young man rolled his eyes, looking annoyed. ¡°What are you, some weirdo? I need the money!¡±


    ¡°You. Have. The money,¡± I said slowly, trying to understand just what was wrong with this young man. ¡°Please, leave the pizza and go, Eddie should have told you about this.¡±


    He scowled, kicking my door. I clenched a fist, lightning surrounding it for a brief moment. ¡°Dude, open the damn door and give me my money!¡±


    ¡°...Sure thing,¡± I opened the door.


    ¡°Finally¡­ What the fuck!?¡±he dropped the pizza. I snatched the red bag out of the air, my movements sure and quick, glaring down at the young man.


    ¡°You were already paid. I¡¯m not sure why you were so insistent, if maybe you have no idea how exactly these transactions go now. But all I wanted, was my food,¡± I said sternly, keeping my voice calm and steady.


    ¡°What the hell are you!?¡± he stumbled back. I calmly took out my pizzas from the delivery bag and tossed it at him. He reacted as though I¡¯d thrown a live grenade.


    ¡°I was born this way. What¡¯s your excuse?¡± I opened the box and grunted at the destroyed ruins within. ¡°You wanted a tip for this? Did you flip the box a few times on your way here? Improve your driving and your attitude, please. Because unless you do, Eddie will most likely fire you soon.¡±


    When I looked up he was gone, screaming. I sighed. Now that was familiar.


    I took my destroyed pizza into my home and walked over to the phone, picking it up and calling Eddie. After a few tries while I rummaged in the box and salvaged a slice, I got an answer.


    ¡°Eddie¡¯s Pizza, Eddie speaking.


    ¡°Eddie, it¡¯s Adam,¡± I said simply, looking over my buffalo chicken slice. ¡°I had an issue with the delivery boy.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Eddie sounded surprised. ¡°I thought I sent Julie over.¡±


    I¡¯d met Julie. She was nice, though she still tended to avoid looking at me when she could afford it. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    ¡°It was a young man, with black hair. He demanded a tip at the door despite our deal, screamed profanity at me, kicked my door, and went screaming into the night, leaving me with destroyed pizza.¡±


    Eddie released an annoyed growl. ¡°Oh, him. He must have swiped the boxes. Kid keeps demanding a higher paycheck, but he¡¯s only been working here a month. He must have been trying to swipe an extra tip. I¡¯ll talk to him, fire him if I have too. Do you want your money back?¡±


    ¡°Who will be recieving the tip I sent?¡± the pizza slice was hot, but still delicious. Even destroyed, Eddie¡¯s Pizza came through.


    ¡°Julie,¡± Eddie said instantly. ¡°She was the one who was supposed to deliver anyway.¡±


    ¡°Then let her keep it. Just please make sure I don¡¯t have to deal with this again.¡±


    ¡°Consider it done, Adam. Sorry you had to deal with the kid,¡± Eddie said apologetically. ¡°Tell you what, free large on your next order, guaranteed.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Eddie. Have a good night,¡± I hung up the phone and stared at the pizza.


    Damn. I was hungry, but I also kept thinking about the kid. True, he was clearly an obnoxious person.


    In the modern age, I was free in a way I hadn¡¯t been before. People were less inclined to hate me for my strangeness, more tolerant of those with strange appearances. I could go outside and receive strange stares or possible police conversations, rather than outright attacks from mobs, speak to others on the internet or phone, even interact with a few of those who had managed to look beyond my appearance. No actual friends, not in decades, but a few acquaintances.


    But, in some ways, that young man was a reminder that I was still a freak. It was easy for me to say I was used to it by now, but it still scarred a bit, the sudden vicious reminder.


    I forced the dark thoughts down at last, sighing. In truth, his reaction was not that bad. I didn¡¯t truly care about his opinion. That was just the meloncholy. The week of November around my birthday always had me that way.


    Devouring my pizza, I got back to work before putting on a mindless action film to end the night. Something cheesy and funny that I didn¡¯t have to think about to enjoy. Best way to distract myself.


    A couple of days after that little incident, I got a call from Mrs. Daniels while I was working out again. Taking a moment to wipe down, I ended up missing it, but she called back again quickly. I answered the phone and walked over to my computer.


    ¡°Hello, Mrs. Da- I mean, Eliza. What did you-¡±


    ¡°Are you in Chicago?¡± Eliza sounded breathless, agitated, her words coming out in a tense hiss. ¡°Do you live here?¡±


    ¡°Chicago? No, I live in New York City,¡± I answered, confused. ¡°Eliza, what¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°Adam, I need to know, why did you hire me?¡± she asked. I could here the sounds of a city street around her, loud honking in the background. ¡°What were you looking for?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± I stopped, surprised at the question. ¡°Eliza, what happened?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m being followed,¡± ice-water might as well have poured down my body. ¡°Some guys in suits have been tracking me for some reason. Did you send them?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± I got up, trying to figure out what was going on. ¡°Eliza, hang up and tell the police about this.¡±


    ¡°And have them find out I¡¯ve been sneaking into a secret Monarch facility?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I asked, stunned. ¡°Mrs. Daniels, I never asked you to do that!¡±


    ¡°Why did you hire me!?¡± Eliza yelled. ¡°You wanted something to be found, and I think I found it!¡±


    I pulled the phone away from my ear, staring at it. I felt shock, elation, fear, all fill me. Was this it? Truly, the answer I had been looking for? Or the beginning of something horrific?


    I put the phone back to my ear in time to hear her talk again. ¡°- need to run again. These guys have showed again. Whatever you wanted, I¡¯m out. I¡¯ll send you your money back.¡±


    ¡°No, Eliza, please!¡± I yelled, trying to stay calm. ¡°What did you find!? What is Monarch doing!?¡±


    ¡°Goodbye, Adam,¡± she said simply, hanging up


    ¡°GODS DAMN YOU!¡±


    Lightning arced from body before I could control my, slamming into the wall and scorching the wall. I tossed the cell aside, screaming, then unleashed power on the same spot, tearing a hole in the wall. Ignoring the screams around me from the other apartments, I ran to my computer and frantically brought up my file on Monarch. Nothing. No sign of anything I¡¯d been looking for. Nothing in their public records, any of their patents¡­ Then it must have been deeper.


    I needed to find out more. I checked my bank accounts, figuring out how much I could spend.


    A plane ticket to Chicago, the earliest one I could get. I needed a hacker, someone even better with computers than I was, someone who might be able to dig deeper into the files. A guide, someone to show me around Chicago, especially after all the changes the city had been through since I was last there.


    I made my plans and purchases, activated my VPN, then hit the Deep web. To keep from over explaining, I sent a message and an offer for a hacker to aid me in trade for the accepted currency the group used. I¡¯d only done such a request a few times, but I had a good enough reputation among the group that I trusted I¡¯d have something soon.


    Then I called Eliza back, only to be sent to voicemail. Over and over I called, worried. I had a healthy respect for what a large group would do to keep a secret. Whatever they were doing, if they were having her followed, then I was going to assume the worst. Better that way.


    I called her over and over that day, getting nothing.


    The next day, I checked the news in Chicago.


    Eliza Daniels, age 34, died in her home today after overdosing on cocaine. She leaves her wife and young child¡­


    I flew out of New York the day after.

 Snippet 4

    Eliza overdosing on cocaine was obviously suspicious to me. Not because it was impossible. While I did like her, she wasn¡¯t necessarily incapable of holding secrets from me. I knew about her wife and child, about some of her experiences in private investigation, and a little about her life, but we weren¡¯t that close otherwise. For all I knew, she really did have an addiction that she had managed to keep hidden. Sad, but possible.


    Rather, it was the timing. For her to call me so agitated, worried about getting followed, then later show up just happening to have died of an overdose despite having no history for such a thing when I¡¯d looked into her, no arrests for possession or anything. Which was not impossible, but still extremely suspect.


    I was thinking about that while sitting in first class on the way to Chicago, developing a file for my investigation. I wasn¡¯t sitting in first class just to be fancy. It offered me seclusion, the guarantee of at least some form of good treatment in the form of customer service being naturally better towards those paying more, and, most importantly, leg room. Worth it¡¯s weight in gold when you¡¯re eight feet tall.


    I ignored the attendants as they based, trying not to be rude, but mostly focusing on using my laptop to work. I had several tabs open, as well as a document and a notepad on my lap. I worked quickly, compiling as much as I could.


    No one had gotten back to me on my hacking offer yet, so I was working off what I could get from a Google search spree. Which was not much.


    First, the information about Eliza Daniels was sparse. The death of a private investigator was not something that lit the world on fire, sad as it was. Still, I¡¯d learned some valuable information. She¡¯d been found in her home by her wife, lying on their floor in the bedroom, cocaine spilled across the floor. I brought up a photo.


    Eliza had spoken a few times about the other Mrs. Daniels. Jen Daniels, a young white woman with hair dyed purple and glasses was smiling in the photo I¡¯d found, arm in arm with her wife. Their child, a young man named Sammy, was cute, with brown eyes and skin, his smile bright as he hugged Eliza.


    My eyes searched Eliza¡¯s face. She was a little overweight, with short pixie cut hair, and a very kind smile, hugging her son tightly to her. She seemed happy. But of course, this was just a photograph.


    It occurred to me that I was actually very selfish. In the end, the reason I was flying to Chicago was my own burning questions. I cared for Eliza, but not more than one would for any casual acquaintance. In the end, there was a more personal reason I was going, and Eliza was a small concern compared to that. But then, that was the problem with being a monster. It''s hard to see beyond your own needs.


    I made a promise, looking at that photo, that whatever my own selfish needs, I would make sure to discover why Eliza had died, if anyone was behind it. And if someone was, I would kill them.


    With that promise, I saved the photo to the cloud so I could look at it on my cell phone as well, then switched to my tabs on Monarch.


    Nothing. They were a simple, small company that had started in Germany, then moved their facilities to Chicago. A few lawsuits, government contracts that were slightly suspect, some accusations of shady business dealings, even a conversation with one of their former employees who mentioned they were unkind to those who worked for them, but nothing insanely over the top. I even checked on the CEO, and she seemed to be rather normal.


    Except for the fact that Eliza was dead, after investigating the company, and after expressing her worries to me. I wasn''t blind to the idea of coincidence of course, and correlation isn''t always causation. But it was enough to start looking for anyone.


    Then there was the burning question. What had she found? Over the centuries, I''d seen some strange things. Fought a few of them even. Not a lot of those things were still around. This age of science and technology had force a lot into hiding. There was a reason why I didn''t have a facebook account and kept myself secret to all but a select few, though my love of pizza had led me to reveal myself to Eddie.


    But Eliza had found something in Monarch. Was it anything close to what I hoped/feared I would find? Or just a simple corporate secret?


    All of my speculation began to circle in on itself, the same questions rolling around and around in my mind until I was beginning to feel like I was going insane. I took a deep breath before gesturing to one of the attendants. He came over in his blue vest and gave me a very forced smile, trying not to look at me while also looking very hard.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°How can I help you?¡± he asked politely.


    ¡°May I have some coffee?¡± I asked him in turn. ¡°I understand it''s a bit early, but I could use the caffiene.¡±


    ¡°It''s no problem,¡± he said, making sure to smile a bit wider. ¡°I''ll be right back.¡±


    As he left, I looked out my window. Thinking, I reached out with my mind. The lightning in me stirred, but did not erupt, only heightening my awareness of the power around me. I touched my mind to the metal around me, the struts and walls, pressing gently to the wings. Then further out, to the sunlit clouds outside my window, filled with water vapor. I didn''t unleash anything, simply felt it as we flew on our way to Chicago. Even then, a single bolt of white light erupted in the far distance, and I pulled back myself.


    In Chicago, I got off the plane and rented a car, a simple four door sedan with plenty of room for me. It was the work of a few minutes to figure out the way to my destination, then driving on my way


    Chicago is one of a few cities that always fascinated me. America has a few cities like that in fact, cities that breath so deeply with history that it can be felt in every corner. New York, San Francisco, they had that spirit of the old mixing with the new. It wasn''t as strong as in cities across the sea, such as London or Hong Kong, but it was still obvious if you knew what to look for. The older buildings made of brick next to new structures of metal and glass, the signs marking historic moments, the beat up old neighborhoods. Chicago had a life to it that anyone could sense. It is no mistake that such cities often tend to be port towns. All the good and bad that came with that made the city fascinating to me.


    I drove through the city and headed to the suburbs. Soon I stopped in front of a house I''d only heard about. It didn''t take long to find parking, and I stood before it. The house was nice, if small, with a front lawn, porch, and some flowers in small boxes by the windows. I walked up to the door, hiding my nervousness as best I could, and knocked on the door to the house.


    No one answered it for a long while. I rang the doorbell, getting no answer.


    Frowning, I looked down at the door. It had two locks, one on the knob and the other a deadbolt. Nothing for any lockpick user with any experience to be able to open. I wasn¡¯t thinking of doing so myself, but I could see someone may have. Some small scratches at the edges of the locks could have been cause by those in the house, but the fact the scratches I saw were brand new with no other evidence, I came to the theory that someone had snuck in that way. Straight through the front door. Interesting.


    I walked over to the sidewalk and waited. Soon, a car drove over and parked before a woman and child came out. I slipped my sunglasses on to hide my odd eyes before walking up to them. As the woman was distracted with trying to get something out of it, the child noticed me, staring up at me while I walked over. I stopped a safe distance away from the pair.


    ¡°Mrs. Daniels? May I speak with you?¡± I asked.


    She looked up, then let out a small scream of surprise. She stared at me in horror, then slowly took a deep breath. ¡°I-I¡¯m so sorry, I just-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± I said, smiling. ¡°I¡¯m used to it.¡±


    She winced. ¡°Oh, god I¡¯m so sorry, I just¡­ I¡¯ve had a bad day,¡± the look on her face¡­ It was a familiar one. The look of someone who has suddenly lost everything. I¡¯d seen it on far too many faces. ¡°Who, um, who are you?¡±


    ¡°Adam Sinraj,¡± I said. ¡°I was a client of Eliza¡¯s.¡±


    Jen seemed to sink farther. ¡°Oh. I see.¡±


    I sighed. ¡°I promise, I¡¯m not here to, to ask for money back, or to attack you for some perceived slight. I considered Eliza a friend. I just want to know what happened to her.¡±


    Jen stared at me while her son looked between us. After a while, she reached into the car and pulled out a folder before gesturing to the house. ¡°Stay out here. I¡¯m going to get something.¡±


    ------


    I waited for around twenty minutes. Jen soon came out of the house holding a folder. She passed it to me. I didn¡¯t comment on the track marks on her face from recent crying, only taking the file.


    ¡°What is this?¡± I opened the file.


    ¡°It¡¯s everything she had on you,¡± she answered, crossing her arms and watching me flip through the pages. ¡°Adam Sinraj. She¡­ she was really interested in you. It¡¯s why she worked so hard on that case you gave her.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± I said simply, opening a few pages. No photos of me, but plenty of documents. Not impossible, considering my age. Even a normal person gained dozens of papers over a few years. Eliza had managed to find a few surprises however. Things that, taken together, revealed more about me than I felt comfortable, from my deviantart account, a novel I¡¯d written under another name¡­ there was far too much information.


    I put the folder away. ¡°Mrs. Daniels¡­ Eliza, the case she was working on for me-¡±


    ¡°The file is gone,¡± Jen scowled at me. ¡°I don¡¯t know what was on it, but all her research was gone after¡­¡± She hesitated, the devastation on her face replacing the scowl.


    ¡°...Thank you, for this,¡± I said at last. There was more I wanted to do, to possibly see inside the home. But I could tell that I was not helping. Jen wished to grieve. And I was just a monstrous reminder of her wife¡¯s death.


    I walked away, frowning.


    The file on Monarch was gone. That was enough proof, when added with the coincidence of Eliza¡¯s death and the scratches on the lock, for me to start an investigation.


    Monarch was hiding something. So it was time for me to start digging.

 Snippet 5

    In Chicago, Monarch had managed to pay a pretty penny for their own building. It was sleek and new, with a sloping roof of white tiles and shining glass windows. Opulence taken to it¡¯s logical limit. I stared at it from a coffee shop across the street, watching the people entering and exiting the building.


    The coffee shop I was in was full, but there was a circle of emptiness near where I sat. I didn¡¯t mind that overly much, though the constant stares in my direction were bothersome. I simply focused on what I was seeing.


    And what I was feeling. I reached out with the lightning, my power running along the concrete, touching the world around me. It was the work of moments, the literal time a lightning bolt flies, to reach into the Monarch building. There were six floors, and as much square footage as a large mansion would have.


    The lightning, however, revealed more. As I followed the lines of energy through the street and into the structure, they went up in the six story building, and below. Deep into the ground. At least three stories worth of space. It was too far for me to sense things any further, but¡­


    I put down my coffee and stepped out of the shop, ignoring the still full cup.


    The information I would need, such as the blueprints to the building and other things, was clearly going to be extremely tough to find. No one can just access the blueprints of a secretive building with impunity after all.


    Thankfully, I had other options.


    While I¡¯d learned to appreciate the near-magical wonder and menace of the internet, I¡¯d still learned a long time ago to trust the old ways. And thankfully, even though libraries weren¡¯t visited as often, they were still around, and still very useful.


    I read through dozens of newspapers, finding as much information as I could get. The library I¡¯d found thankfully had enough from the year that Monarch had gotten started. I worked through the papers, making notes as I went. At the same time, I checked the internet for similar information, working for two hours and writing down as much as I could.


    I was building a profile. Figuring out my target. I needed to understand Monarch, if they were indeed my enemies.


    Soon, I had a basic idea to start off with, the strong foundations of true information to build the rest of my case.


    Monarch had been founded a few years ago, in 1986, in Germany, with a chemical that could break down oil being their first breakthrough, information Eliza had already given me. The founder was a woman named Annabel Sands, and she was currently CEO. Not many photos of her could be found, but recently she¡¯d taken a photo with the mayor of Chicago. She was a tall woman, with pinched tight face, dark black hair that was tied in a tight ponytail and green eyes. I looked her over for a moment, then opened a tap to check out more. She had a Doctorate, had been working for years in labs before establishing her company, was rather renowned in her field, and had two children from her first husband and her second/current one.


    Monarch itself had been spoken of as being rather shady, from the way they¡¯d bought the land they were currently using, the mysterious way some of their competitors shut down, and the fact that they sometimes made massive breakthroughs in the field of genetics and chemistry with no warning.


    I collected all the information and put it away, leaving the library. Rather than driving, I went for a small walk. I was curious.


    The man who had been following me every since I left Eliza¡¯s house was no amateur. And yet, he had done nothing. He¡¯d stayed in the background, didn¡¯t eye me in any obvious way, and didn¡¯t seem willing to do anything to me. He simply followed me around, keeping his distance.


    The question was, did he work for Monarch? For all I knew, the man was working for someone else, or even just following me due to my strange appearance.


    Granted, I was only wearing a warm sweater and jeans, but my size and face makes me stick out of a crowd either way.


    I took a left into an alleyway, one with plenty of fire escapes. I took my phone out and put at a point in the center of the alleyway, turning on the video camera and resting it where it had a clear view and could pick up any sound easily enough. Reaching out a hand, I unleashed lightning, the bolt of white heat slamming into one of the fire escapes. The second I had control over the metal of the structure, I mentally forced the ladder to drop. It was one of a few powers the lightning in my soul gave me, the power to manipulate metal through the principles of electromagnetism. Then I ran up the ladder, going up as fast as I could, my nimble fingers driving me forward. Once at the top, I used my power to force the fire escape ladder to pull itself up, then turned to watch.


    My pursuer turned around the corner, only to blink at the empty alleyway.


    He was a big man, slightly overweight, wearing an expensive suit, sensible boots, and a nice watch. He was balding, but had a thick black mustache. He looked around, trying to find me, then ran towards the other end of the alley. Despite his heavy build, he managed to run quickly, apparently more fit then he appeared. I walked along the rooftop, following him calmly, my eyes on him. He reached the sidewalk on the other side, then cursed loud enough for me to hear, turning around. He took out a phone, quickly bringing up his contacts and calling someone.


    I leaned over and listened while also watching his lips. Lip reading. A damn useful skill.


    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s me,¡± he said as walked. ¡°Yeah, the guy disappeared on me¡­ No, I didn¡¯t catch a name. But he¡¯s huge. Gotta be eight feet. Ugly as hell too. We run a search on him we¡¯ll find him. What do you want to do then?¡±


    Yes, what did ¡®they¡¯ want to do? I watched as he silently listened.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°...What about the wife and kid? Should we kill them,¡± despite the fact I could hear him, I managed to read his lips perfectly.


    I didn¡¯t react as I watched him pace silently.


    ¡°Are you sure? Looks a bit suspicious after we took care of her.¡±


    Whoever was on the other line began to speak loud enough that I could hear it from the rooftop. The man winced, pulling his phone away from him. I couldn¡¯t hear how he responded, but I managed to read his lips.


    ¡°Okay, sure. He might end up returning to them anyway. I¡¯ll call you when it¡¯s done. Okay, bye¡­¡± He waited awkwardly. ¡°I mean, I was waiting for you to hang up. No it¡¯s cool. Talk to you later,¡± the man hung up, turning to walk away.


    I had already jumped off the roof. I fell four stories, the wind rushing past me. As he turned, I slammed into the ground, the concrete cratering beneath my feet and sending asphalt into the air. The man screamed in shock, reaching for his waist and pulling out a gun to fire.


    A focused burst of my power created an invisible magnetic barrier that sent the bullet he shot bending around me to slam into a wall. I swung a hand out and threw a weak bolt of lightning that sent the man shaking to his knees. I rose to my full height and walked towards him.


    The man was tough. He forced his shaking muscles and aimed his gun at me. I ripped the gun out of his hand and squeezed. The metal bent under my strength. He stared in shock, then reached into his jacket and swung out at me.


    I stepped aside as a metal baton whistled through the air. I caught the baton when it aimed at my head again. He smiled viciously and pressed a button on the baton. The battery on the batons handle sent power through the baton.


    I blinked lazily at him as thousands of volts entered my body, devoured by my unique chemistry. He stared, shocked.


    I pulled the baton out of his hand, grabbed him by the throat, and lifted him high above me.


    ¡°Now,¡± I growled, my voice crackling and booming with inhuman rage. I¡¯d been calm, but now I could feel it again. The anger. The hatred that had once led me to kill innocent men, women, and children across Europe. All of it, aimed at those who would hurt Jen and her son. ¡°Let¡¯s talk.¡±


    -------


    ¡°Fuck you,¡± the man said as I held him up.


    ¡°I¡¯d rather kill you,¡± I said simply.


    He glowered at me.


    Reaching into his pockets with one hand, I rummaged around, ignoring him as he struggled. He kicked me in the chest. I grabbed the offending leg and twisted.


    ¡°AAAUUUUGGH!¡±


    Ignoring his horrific scream and the snap of bone that had followed me breaking his leg, I went back to it and eventually pulled out a wallet. I flipped it open.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see¡­ Jaden Hofstetter. Age 38. You should really use this punch card, it¡¯s going to be outdated soon.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you, fuck you man!¡±


    ¡°Jaden, I¡¯m not being glib. It¡¯s financially responsible to use the punch cards to get a free product,¡± disgusted, I took the card for myself, as well as the cash inside. ¡°Now¡­ this card says you work for Monarch. Are they the ones who killed Eliza?¡±


    He didn¡¯t answer. I sighed in annoyance. ¡°Very well. I assume that your employers sent someone after Eliza¡¯s family.¡±


    His pupils dilated, his breath quickened. Hmm. Okay.


    I took his phone, his keys, and his shoes. Then I sent more electricity pouring through him. He screamed, loud and hard. Once done, I broke his other leg and both his arms before walking over to the phone I¡¯d left to record everything. A quick press to stop the recording, then I began to replay it. Soon, I reached the section where he was talking on the phone. It hadn¡¯t picked up everything perfectly, but he¡¯d been close enough for the phone to record the part where he¡¯d been given the order to kill Jen and Sammy.


    With that, I left him on the ground and walked away.


    It was for the sake of cruelty. I wanted to leave him as immobile and incapable of moving as possible, so he couldn¡¯t attack anyone else. I took out a burner phone and called 911 as I rushed to my car. Soon the line answered.


    ¡°911, what¡¯s your emergency?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I just found a man with his arms and legs broken in an alley. He needs help,¡± I said, reaching my car and climbing in.


    On the plus side, at least I¡¯d found out who had killed Eliza.


    Driving to Eliza¡¯s home was the work of minutes. I rushed through traffic and reached it just as night fell across the city. On arriving, I hopped out of my rented car, leaving the engine running and simply sprinting to her home.


    After some frantic knocking, Jen opened the door, looking surprised, then dismayed to see me. ¡°Oh. Hel-¡±


    ¡°Eliza was killed,¡± I said briskly, brushing past her to enter the house.


    ¡°What?¡± she was so stunned that she didn¡¯t even realize I¡¯d used my inhuman agility to breeze past her until I was in the house.


    ¡°E-Excuse me-!¡±


    ¡°The people who killed her have been following me, probably worried that I was continuing her investigation. When I shook their pursuit, they decided to attack you and Sammy.¡±


    ¡°W-What?¡± Jen looked stricken, not understanding.


    ¡°Go upstairs, take Sammy, hide in the bathtub,¡± I strode around the house, eyeing the windows and marking the points of entry.


    ¡°What the hell are you talking about!?¡± Jen finally screamed, rushing after me as I entered the kitchen. ¡°Get out of my house!¡±


    ¡°I have a recording,¡± I took out my phone and showed it to her. Soon, the video began to play.


    ¡°What about the wife and kid? Should we kill them?¡±


    The words were quiet, barely hearable. But Jen might as well have been hit by a hammer. She stared, uncomprehending.


    ¡°W¡­ I don¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°Jen,¡± I said softly as I could. She looked up at me, her hands going up to her face. ¡°They will be coming. I can stop them but you need to protect Sammy. Sammy is in danger. Go protect him.¡±


    ¡°H-How can I trust you?¡± Jen asked, her voice shaky.


    I felt a rush of sympathy. She had lost her wife barely a day ago. And now a monster had rushed into her life, pushing more fear onto her shoulders. Few could stand under such stress.


    ¡°You can¡¯t,¡± I admitted at last. ¡°But Eliza was kind to me. I will work to protect the ones she loves,¡± I took off my sweater and walked to the center of the house, my pale muscles shining beneath the lights around me. I stood there for a moment, holding my sweater. ¡°Go upstairs. Call the police. They should be here by the time it¡¯s over.¡±


    Jen stared at me, undecided.


    That was when the grenade was thrown into the window.


    ¡°Aaahhh!¡± Jen screamed.


    ¡°Go, now!¡± I shouted.


    Jen sprinted up the stairs as the grenade began to expel smoke. Ripping the sweater up, I wrapped my face in the torn shreds, covering my mouth and nostril as the smoke rose into the air and began to obscure everything. The tear gas began to burn my eyes but that was mild. Mustard gas was far more painful.


    Soon, men in dark clothes rushed into the home. I ducked into the smoke and got ready.