Origins #4: Justin

There was the boy. His target. He looked ordinary, a Secondary 6 on a bike cycling off to school. Justin watched him intently from that bench he sat on. If Justin killed that boy, and the many others he finds, he could live like that. A schoolboy. He could wear uniform, study, do normal things. He wondered if people enjoyed studying.

But was it worth it? Hundreds or more, slaughtered, for just one person’s escape? If Justin killed the boy, he wouldn’t be at school. His friends will wonder. His teachers will think he got kidnapped or something. And they would start a search. And a month later, he would be forgotten. It was… sad. Justin never felt compassion. He felt need. But now, emotion rose inside him.

He faltered. He could run. To somewhere far away. With his powers, he could practically do anything. That’s why they chose him. He was powerful. Then Justin thought of Michael. Number 412. He ran. He was killed. But Justin was stronger. Why not?

He started as a loud vibration stabbed his ears like a gunshot. He flicked open his cell phone. He took a breath and said, “Yeah?”

A cold voice whispered into his ear, slightly distorted by the bad signal.

“You have been warned.” The line went off. That was enough. His fear overcame uncertainty. Justin stared at his fingers. He had managed to control his power. About time he tried it on something that bites back. He was wearing a green v-neck and a pair of jeans. Flexible clothing.

He looked up. The student was gone. What’s his power, super speed? thought Justin. A creaking sound came to his hearing. He turned around.

Next moment, a thick steel pipe connected with Justin’s stomach, knocking him back ten feet.

The impact of the fall knocked his breath out, and he stayed there for a moment. Shaking his head, he stood up, then ducked as a chunk of stone from the sidewalk came flying at him. It shattered as it hit the electric pole behind Justin, showering him with stones and tar. He covered his eyes with his arms, then berated himself for blocking his view from the enemy.

Finally, the attack stopped. Justin looked over his bleeding hand. The boy came into view supporting a tree trunk on his shoulder as if it were a twig. Or a branch.

“I hate stalkers,” muttered the boy. “Especially idiots who have marks on their fingers.” Justin stared. He found out.

“Don’t you have one too?” Justin shot back.

“I suppose. But I don’t want to have anything to do with it. And if you’re here to kill me, forget it.” Justin smirked. The guy talks too cliche.

“What’s your name?” asked Justin.

“What for?” Justin shrugged.

“For fun.” The boy stared.

“…Brian.”

“Okay, Brian. I want you to know two things.” Justin held one finger up.

“One.” An electric pole uprooted itself form the ground, five feet from Brian.

“Our powers are really alike. I can lift things, too. Without my hands, of course.” Brian kept his ground, although sweat started to form on his neck, into his collar. The pole rotated itself til it faced Brian horizontally.

“Two.” Justin had a smirk on his face now. It was a confident, lazy smile. It fit his features perfectly. Their eyes met.

“My powers are stronger.”

The steel pole swung right at Brian, slamming into his back. He flew right at Justin. And right on cue, Justin sent Brian’s tree trunk swinging onto Brian. The crunch of Brian’s body crashing into the road was sickening. But it was a job well done. Justin turned to leave. He didn’t like to admire his handiwork.

“Hey!” Justin stopped. No way. Super strength, and super skin? Gritting his teeth, he spun round.

“You dropped this,” yelled Brian, his face bloody, but otherwise in perfect condition. Using the electric pole as a baseball bat, he swung hard at Justin’s head. A hand and two inches covered the distance between his face and the pole. He held it with all that telekinetical energy he had in his veins.

At that point, he realized he wasn’t strong enough to beat 500 people with weird powers.

Slowly curving his hand, he wrapped it around the pole, and stabbed it at Brian’s face. Screaming in pain, Brian backed off, clutching his injured head. Justin moved in for the killing move. Swinging it left and right, he pummeled Brian mercilessly. He could hear bones cracking, but he continued. At the thirteenth blow, he stopped.

What he saw was a bloody mass on the ground. Panting heavily, he moved his fingers around the body. Piles of bitumen from the broken road covered Brian and the depression left by the barrage of hits from the steel. He had killed someone. He took a life. Pant. The bitumen smoothened the road. Pant. Brian was buried under this road and no one’s going to find out. Pant. Justin looked at the Brian’s grave, dumbfounded. Then he smiled. His eyes widened. His mouth opened. He started to laugh. A snicker, marred by pathetic fear and glee. He dialed a number.

“He’s dead.”

“A messy job, and it took longer than I expected. But good work.”

“I will get stronger.”

“You do that.” The line cut. Justin lowered the cell. Yes, he would get stronger. He would be the strongest one among them all. He liked this feeling. He loved the way his power was being used. He liked killing. Maybe he didn’t need to run away. This could be fun. He walked away, leaving no trace of the already decaying body below the road.

The first kill was easier than he expected.