Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Pope was flying without the benefit of a helicopter, airplane, or any other machine. He was soaring through the night sky propelled by sheer force of will. And it was amazing!

When he had awoken from his aerial combat dream, he had found himself pressed against the ceiling of his room with what felt like several G's of pressure. When Pope realized his situation, he gasped in surprise then started falling. But not towards the bed. Instead he was falling horizontally toward his open window. He fell through window before he could start screaming. He plunged towards the building across the street.

This is going to hurt, Pope thought as he neared the concrete tower. Just as he was about to crash into the building's façade, gravity seemed to take a left turn and he found himself falling over Central Park West, plunging in an arching parabola towards Turtle Pond. He landed in the chilly water with an enormous splash. As he looked at his apartment twenty-three stories up and several blocks away, he sat on the edge of the water and wondered What the hell just happened? And why am I not dead?

Was I falling? Sideways? Or was I ... flying? He pondered for several minutes then decided. I've got to try and see If I can do that again.

Pope reached his awareness out to feel the weight of Oran's body, the pull of the Earth. Then he tried to remember what it was like when the pull reversed in his bedroom. He tried to feel the attraction coming from the sky above. And just like that he was falling upwards.

The pull increased. Pope was accelerating upwards, building speed. In seconds he was higher than the tallest sky scrapers and approaching the low hanging clouds. He noticed Oran's body seemed to be surrounded by a visible energy nimbus. He tried varying the direction of the gravitational pull and found he could move in any direction he wanted. He flew through the clouds, using his enhanced vision to ensure he was in no danger of colliding with a hidden plane or other obstacle.

Once he was above the clouds, under the bright light of the crescent moon and stars he let out a shout of pure joy. At that burst of emotion, the nimbus surrounding him flared outwards into a brilliant corona of radiance that illuminated the tops of the clouds of miles.

Pope hung still in the night sky, panting, He looked down, easily seeing though the thick clouds and dark night. He saw the metropolitan area laid out below and used his years of experience flying both rotary and fixed wing aircraft to estimate his altitude as somewhere between 30,000 and 50,000 feet. While aware of the frigid temperature of the air around him, he was not uncomfortable. Nor was he noticing any effect from the reduced air pressure. I guess this is what Superman feels like ... Up, up, and away?

Looking down, Pope realized two things. All he was wearing was Oran's sleep shorts, and they were icing up after being soaked in the pond. He also saw that the exposed skin on Oran's chest, arms, and legs all seemed to have changed from a dusky golden tone to a blue so dark it was almost as black as the night sky above him. Is this an artifact of the low lighting and my adjusted vision? The energy field surrounding me? Or did I really change colors?

After an hour or so of flying, Pope was confident in his ability. He even practiced several touch and go landings in the Long Island Sound, well away from any possible observers. He found that he was both faster and more maneuverable than any aircraft he had ever flown. Finally, he decided he needed to get back to the apartment, lest Mariela discover him gone and worry needlessly. He flew high above the city and slowly lowered himself towards the penthouse. He had found that the fast he flew, the brighter, and likely more visible, his nimbus became. He did not want to attract any attention to himself or his apartment if he could avoid it.

As he floated past one of the tall glass structures so common in the architecture of the City's new buildings, he caught sight of his reflection. Holy shit! he thought. His skin was the dark blue everywhere. This was contrasted by his shocking white hair and white glowing eyes. He looked nothing like Oran.

As Pope floated closer to the building to examine his reflection, the glass in front of him shattered outwards as a body crashed through the window and into him. The impact knocked Pope back into the building behind him.

Everything seemed to slow down as his combat reflexes kicked in. In the past when he had experienced this sort of bizarre compression of time he knew it had been his perception adjusting to the adrenaline in his system He had no idea if his unknown powers could warp time like they seemed to be able to warp gravity and light. He kept his arms around the body that had collided with him. He noticed it was a young woman in a tight costume, looking somewhat familiar. She was bleeding, but conscious.

He looked in the direction from which she had come. He saw a whole that seemed to pierce the entire building. He followed the path of destruction with his telescopic vision and saw a battle underway in the middle of a broad avenue a block and a half away. A massive man, at least ten feet tall, as surrounded by a group of young costumed combatants. Pope could see the teens were trying to hold the giant back while they evacuated the bystanders, both on foot and in their vehicles.

The giant was not for being contained. He snatched up a car and brought it down on the back of a large teen in red who was trying to shelter an older couple from the mayhem.

"Crap ... This is really stupid." Pope muttered as he reversed gravity to launch himself towards the top of the steel and glass building in front of him.

As he was about to set the girl in his arms onto the roof she spoke for the first time. "What are you doing? I have to get back down there."

"What do you mean? It's crazy down there!" Pope argued.

"We've got to stop him, or at least hold him off while the civilians get away and maybe the Liberty Legion or someone else shows up." The young heroine shrugged her way out of Pope's grip and started flying down towards the altercation, jets of smoke and flames erupting from her feet to propel her.

"Wonderful!" Pope muttered then followed the girl. He saw the giant shrug off an attack by what looked like a giant armadillo and charge towards a line of police who were trying to move pedestrians to safety. He saw the girl slam into the giant. This slowed him down, but he was still closing on the cops. Pope snarled and flew down to join her. The former pilot tried to hit the massive man at the knees, hoping to take one out, causing him to fall. The impact jarred Pope, but had little effect on the giant.

Pope pushed against the giant's leg with all his strength, willing gravity to move him forward. Instead the giant smashed the girl down onto Pope, knocking them both into the pavement. As he felt his ribs crack from the impact, Pope unleashed a roar of pain and his nimbus pulsed. Energy flared out in all directions, battering buildings and knocking every person, super and civilian alike, off their feet. Many were tossed into the air like leaves on the wind. Even the giant was knocked for a loop, rolling away from Oran's body.

A young woman in green and black appeared next to Pope and gestured towards the airborne bystanders. Waves emanated from her hands that froze the civilians mid-air. "We're trying to save these people, bonehead, not blast them to bits!" she spat at Pope as she lowered the crowd gently to the ground. "Get with the program or go away."

"Amok!" the man-sized armadillo called then rolled into a ball and bowled into the giant that lay sprawled on the ground.

"Keep him down!" cried a young African-American man whose hands looked to be engulfed in black flames. He leapt at the fallen giant and struck three time in quick succession. The blows looked practiced and precise.

The large teen in red ripped a parking meter from the sidewalk and tried to shackle the giant's legs with the steel pole.

The blond girl Pope had caught launched herself at the growing dogpile. She thrust her hands towards the giant's face and her fists exploded like a pair of grenades.

A boy in a suit of what Oran's memories identified as powered armor sent a green laser spearing at the giant's chest from a shoulder mounted weapon.

Even the police looked like they wanted to get into the game and started looking to find clear shots with their shotguns and hand weapons.

Pope pulled Oran's body off the ground just before the giant decided he'd had enough of the attacks. With a roar that shattered windows for blocks the man-mountain surged to his feet. Thrashing his arms, he sent his attacking flying. They impacted the street and walls hard.

Watching these kids work so hard and then get tossed aside like so much garbage, Pope felt a flood of rage surge through Oran's body, causing him to rush towards the giant rather than moving away from the obvious danger. Pope's nimbus was pulsing again. This time he attempted to focus the energy discharge forwards towards the giant looming over him. He succeeded, unleashing an enormous blast that hurled the giant far into the night sky.

Pope was tempted to follow, hoping to finish the enemy off. But moans and cries of pain reminded him there were a number of casualties form the encounter, some of which he was likely responsible for. He looked around and saw the blond girl lifting a falling concrete block off of the giant armadillo. "Oddball!" she was crying. Pope moved over to help.

"What can I do?" he asked. He had training and experience dealing with combat injuries, but he was decades out of practice and had no first aid gear.

She looked up from the gently moaning figure on the ground. "You just took out Amok, more or less by yourself. The press are going to be all over you. Are you registered yet?"

Oran's memory supplied that supers were required to register with the government. "No," Pope answered.

"Then you need to get out of here, quick." She grabbed a card from a pouch. "Call me when you want to talk about this. It is always tough when you start out. And you chose a doozy for a first fight."

"Hey!" came a cry from one of the police officers.

"Get out of here, unless you are ready for your debut," the girl urged.

Pope grabbed the card then took off into the night sky. He had no real idea what was going on, but knew he was not ready for any "debut"!

What the hell was all that? He asked himself. This has to be a dream. His ribs and back were in enough pain that he did not think he was still asleep. That means this is all real. I have to accept that. Super powered teens and rampaging monsters are my new reality.

Pope decided it was past time that he returned to Oran's home. He had had enough excitement and discovery of one night. Maybe for a month or more. He hovered high above his apartment building, making sure no one was tracking or following him, and working to suppress his nimbus so he did not stand out in the sky. After five minutes he decided the coast was clear and started his slow decent.

Pope checked that there was no one on the patio and landed in the shadows near the apartment wall. His nimbus faded to nothing and Oran's skin returned to its original tone. For some reason his ribs hurt even more. He snuck back into the apartment and made his way to Oran's room. I've got a lot to consider.

Unfortunate he had no time for deliberation. Once in Oran's room he found a rather raucous alarm was blaring from the flat screen mounted on the wall at the foot of his bed.

!!!CLASS ONE ALERT!!!

AMOK HAS BEEN SIGHTED IN THE 100 BLOCK OF W84TH STREET. IF YOU ARE RECEIVING THIS ALERT YOU ARE IN THE DANGER RANGE AND MUST EVACUATE. SEEK SHELTER IN THE NEAREST CLASS ONE SHELTER.

REPEAT THIS IS A CLASS ONE ALERT! EVACUATE AND SEEK SHELTER IN THE NEAREST CLASS ONE SHELTER!

!!!CLASS ONE ALERT!!!

The message was repeating on a continuous loop. On Pope's pillow was a note from Oran's mother saying she and Tetyana had evacuated to the shelter in the basement of the apartment building. They expected to see him there.

Great. Now I've been missed. They know I was out of bed and not in the apartment. Pope thought frantically. He went to the elevator, only to find it locked with an electronic sign pointing to the nearest stairwell. He started down the twenty-three flights. He groaned as his ribs protested the abuse after the first ten floors. He almost slipped on a wet stair and the effort to catch himself wrenched his already painful injuries. By the time he made it all the way down he was moaning with each breath.

A couple of doormen wearing distinctive yellow hardhats with blue triangles and a white 'CP' in the center were posted at the door to the shelter. They urged Pope to get in quick then shut the door behind him. Oran's mother was waiting just inside the door and nodded as a woman with the same 'CP' hardhat checked his name off a list on her tablet.

"Where were you, baby?" Mariela demanded as she engulfed Pope in a tight hug.

"Arrgh!" he yelled as she squeezed his damaged ribs. He had played up the pain he was in to try to distract her from her question.

"What's wrong?" She held him at arm's length. Two people, a man and a woman started towards them from a side door.

"I slipped coming down the stairs. I think I banged up my back and ribs." Pope answered through clenched teeth.

"I'm the shelter medic," said the young black woman with a Jamaican accent with a Red Cross with the CP initials inside on her white lab coat. "You need to come with me." She and the older Asian man in a similar lab coat took an arm each and started leading him deeper into the shelter. Mariela started to protest then followed along silently.

Pope realized the space looked like an executive retreat than a bomb shelter. It boasted walls, lighting, and carpets subtly colored to create a comforting environment. The space was split in to numerous semiprivate seating areas with high-end, low-impact furniture. Several of the couches were conducive to temporary sleeping and there were a few bunk beds tucked away into darkened corners. Several large monitors displayed the news and government emergency information channels. The shelter sick bay, once they got to it, was well appointed and had several beds ready for casualties. Two were already occupied. A third medic, a middle aged Hispanic woman, was monitoring their status.

"Please sit here." The Jamaican pointed to a stool near several machines. "What is your name?"

"His name is Oran Bry. He's my son." Mariela answered for him. "He said he fell on the stairs."

"Did you hit your head?" the man asked as he wheeled a machine with two large vertical flat screens into place so he was bracketed between the screens.

"I don't think so, at least not at first." Pope was describing the injury he sustained when he was thrown to the pavement by Amok, "I landed on my back, pretty flat, though my head may have hit the concrete after my back took the brunt of the fall."

"Alright, let's take a look at these ribs." The woman medic turned on the device which seemed to be some sort of fluoroscope or portable x-ray machine. The screen in front of his chest showed his ribs. Mirrors were set up on the walls so that both he and the medic could see the back screen showing his spine and back as well. After a moment, the medic replied in her lilting accent. "Bruised, but not broken. Some damage on your front as well, but not as much."

"So, he's ok?" Oran's mother clarified.

"He'll need some painkillers, and some rest, but other than that he should be ok. I would ask that you keep an eye on his head. If he shows any nausea, dizziness, or headaches you should get him checked for concussion. For now, let him lie here until we get the all clear."

"Thanks," Pope said as they tucked him into one of the bay's beds. He took Oran's mother's hand and held it as they listened to one of the news monitors outside the sickbay.

**No more sign of the creature known as Amok. The teen heroes of Young Blood, along with the unknown blue-skinned teen appear to have ended this threat before too much damage was done. Authorities are asking for any information on the unidentified super involved in the incident. If you have any information please contact the NYPD Paranormal Response Unit or your local Department of Extraterrestrial and Metahuman Affairs office ...**

The broadcast was cut off by a short claxon andthe announcement that the Alert was over and people were free to leave theshelter. Oran's family, including Tetyana made their way back to theirapartment and spent the rest of the night in exhausted slumber.