Metamorphosis

This is what happens when you combine Par's grammar/steam-roll brain and my creativity/story ideas... if you don't like it, your taste is sausageful. - Gold

Chapter 1


The date was July 16, 2030, around 11:30 PM. Footsteps echoed loudly throughout the busy, corporate-styled hallways. Two men in dark business suits, one nearly six feet tall, the other less than five feet, walked side-by-side. Judging by their pace, they were clearly in a hurry, and the other men and women submissively lowering their heads as they quickly made way for the two suggested they were of elevated status. Another man in a white lab coat pushed his way through the crowd of employees until he was face-to-face with the businessmen.

"Mr. Phillips!" cried the man, panting slightly from his sprinting through the countless workers. He was a middle-aged man of medium height, and his greyish hair was thinning. "It's ready."

"I am aware, Mr. Pierce," replied the taller man in a deep, somewhat rough-sounding voice. "Mr. Stuart and I are on our way to the labs for just that."

"So the day has finally come," commented the short businessman.

"Indeed it has, sir," said Mr. Pierce, pulling his lab coat’s sleeves away from his hands. “The public awaits your gift to mankind."

The three headed on through the maze-like halls, taking lefts and rights here and there until they arrived upon a thick metal door labeled "LEVEL 5 LABS. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY." Mr. Pierce held out an ID card and inserted it into a slot next to the door, which made an unlocking sound. In they went, finding themselves in a brightly lit, white corridor with more metal doors lining the sides. Each door had a long window next to it, allowing the trio of men to see into the labs. The rooms contained a variety of unusual experiments, from large weapons covered with bright blue lights to dark, bulky animals staring their captors down with black, soulless eyes. Mr. Phillips had no interest in these at the moment, however, and simply continued on down the long hallway with his subordinates. They immediately stopped next to a door labeled "D-3151420-181512. PROCEED WITH CAUTION." They entered.

"Turn it on," Phillips ordered to Pierce and the other scientists in the room. "It's time."

As instructed, the workers began fiddling with the buttons and switches on a large device in the middle of the lab; a red light flashed on each side, and three antennas rose out of it.

"The signal’s up," Pierce announced.

"Splendid. Now, how do I use it?" the tall man inquired.

"I'll show you." Mr. Pierce motioned his hand for Mr. Phillips to approach. He walked around the machine and faced the control panel in front of him and the scientist. "Select location, options, intensity." He pointed at the many gadgets built into the machine. "The closest device to the target location will receive a signal and begin the process. Await results in an hour or so."

"It's really that simple?" asked Mr. Phillips.

"Yessir. You want sunshine and daisies all across America? Just a couple clicks and button pressing and you've got it. Melting glaciers? Not a problem, at least for a while."

"How about a mass of tornadoes in the Middle East?" Phillips raised an eyebrow curiously, giving Pierce a reassuring smile.

"...I suppose, but I don't see what you'd need that for." At this point, Pierce began to feel a little nervous, and began to scratch his bald head.

"Everything, my friend," replied Phillips. He slicked back his medium, black hair and did just that.

Mr. Pierce's eyes widened as he read what his superior was entering into the device. Just as they had discussed only seconds ago, Phillips was sending commands for places all across the world—Japan, Paris, Iraq, and countless more—to be targeted by all sorts of disasters, from great storms to tornadoes.

"Sir, what are you doing?" the scientist asked, his voice just as shaky as his legs at this point.

"Bestowing my great gift to mankind, of course," Phillips answered, grinning ear-to-ear, "order and protection under our sole leadership."

The businessman continued entering commands into the device, sending signals across the world to the many weather-controlling machines he had built up over the years. Pierce quietly backed up before sidling behind Phillips. In one final, desperate act to stop his employer before it was too late, he lunged, only to find two small but rough hands firmly gripping his wrists. The short man, Mr. Stuart, had caught him, and half a second later, he flung him backwards against the wall behind him, produced a gun, and fired a single shot into the scientist's head. Mr. Phillips didn't even bother to turn around; he simply continued to play with his favorite new toy.

"Let Mr. Pierce serve as an example, gentlemen," Stuart growled, addressing the other scientists, who were gaping at the sight of their dead colleague. "Stay out of the way."

Within the next hour, the changes could already be felt. As predicted, storms had been conjured up all over the world, but what Phillips didn't expect was that his targets weren't the only ones affected. The instant he realized this, the building's alarm sounded off, prompting him to sprint out of the lab and leave the machine in the care of his bodyguards. He ran into the hallways to find himself in the middle of a thick crowd of panicking workers, whom he shoved out of the way as he headed to one of the building's many large windows. It was a disaster. Lightning struck the ground everywhere he looked. Tornadoes plowed across the city of Lexington, Kentucky, demolishing everything in their path and ripping apart structures as they passed by. Large groups of people ran through the streets in an attempt to escape the cataclysm, but only a few managed to get indoors—anyone else who couldn't was swept up in the violent storm. Phillips could've sworn he wet himself as he stood on in absolute horror, gazing helplessly at the city crumbling before him.

Jeremy awoke to the deafening thunder and crashing outside his house. He had been staying the night at his old home in Kansas City, Kansas, enjoying the summer away from college. His parents—or rather, his adoptive ones, for his real ones died years ago—had headed back home. A few friends of his were the only remaining guests, now sleeping in the guest room and the living room downstairs, drunk out of their minds from a party they had only hours ago. They were celebrating the activation of Phillips's new device and looked forward to seeing the results the following day, hoping he enjoyed rainy days as much as they did—in fact, that mutual passion was how they all became friends. People tend to make a big deal out of small things like that.

They had never been so wrong in their lives, and only Jeremy would be around to know it.

He staggered out of his room, still somewhat intoxicated. Downstairs he went, where he happened upon something shocking enough to make him aware of his surroundings again. The living room was completely obliterated, with chunks of furniture scattered about. The walls were red from blood, and whatever was left of Jeremy's friends was either buried under pieces of the room or out in the front yard.

"Son of a bitch…" Jeremy muttered under his breath, nearly fainting. He hunched over and pressed his hand against the wall beside him as he vomited.

As he regained his composure, part of the ceiling collapsed, sending bits of drywall to the floor next to him. The ground quaked, and he was briefly blinded by a flash of lightning; the next thing he knew, he was darting into the house's basement and slamming shut the door to the shelter he and his father installed. It was often used as a place of solitude whenever Jeremy was in distress, and from this point on would have a new purpose. He fell forward and lied sprawled on the floor, and then all went dark.

Chapter 2


The year was 2038. The world was in shambles. Only a few cities—specifically, the most technologically advanced ones prior to the worldwide disaster—were doing well, if “well” was a proper way to describe it. After all, the entire world as we knew it had been hit by a great storm only a few years ago, tearing it apart and killing millions, if not billions. Society had crumbled, and it would be quite some time before it would be able to get back on its feet. The wealthy seemed to become the most abundant, building weather-resistant domes for shelter during the storm.

Jeremy paced around his makeshift lab, which was pretty much just the bunker under his house with some lab equipment—stolen, homemade, or bought. A large beaker sat on a table on the far side of the room, filled halfway with a dark green liquid that smelled like burnt plastic. It was unpleasant, but Jeremy had gotten used to it by now.

“New log, February 4th, 2038,” Jeremy said into an old recorder. “Effects of project are improving, but still unsatisfactory. Attempted to adapt to my surroundings through the same old water method; I was able to last slightly longer with my head submerged, but gills did not develop and I was, again, forced to stop.” As he said this, he poured a white powder into the beaker and stirred carefully. “I’ve continued to look into my father’s research, and I am certain I have finally rectified all of the remaining problems; this time, it should work.”

A few years back, shortly after the month-long storm, Jeremy needed to restock on supplies after finally running out. When he retrieved enough food to last him a while, nostalgia took over and he ended up looking around the remains of his house; he did not expect to find a stash of files hidden away under the floorboards, which had come loose and were accidentally kicked out of place. Even more surprisingly, the files were made under his father’s name and detailed research on some sort of serum that could improve one’s adaptive abilities. For example, being submerged underwater could allow one to temporarily grow gills, or thicken to reduce the effects of fire for a while.

“I see why Dad had me sent to so many science classes,” Jeremy continued. “He was getting into some deep shit—something about these guys in the government trying to take over the world. Yeah, I don’t understand either. Whatever happened, I’m going to find out when I complete this.”

Ever since he began working on the serum, Jeremy had been meeting failure after failure; this was going to be harder than he thought. For his first trial, he jumped into the Atlantic Ocean in the hopes of growing gills. This ultimately failed, and Jeremy continued to have these results up to this point. Fortunately, it seemed to be improving, considering the fact that he was able to stay underwater longer than usual. Today was the day.

“Alright, here goes nothing,” he sighed, holding up the beaker. Ignoring the awful odor, Jeremy slowly drank the green liquid before he began to shudder. His mouth felt like it was on fire, and he felt a powerful urge to throw up. He wanted something—soda, bread, anything—as long as it would wash down the horrible taste.

“Still tastes like piss,” Jeremy gagged into the recorder. “I’ll wait about an hour or so before testing effects, so stay tuned.”

He lied down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, thinking. He couldn’t get the thought of his father’s involvement with the people apparently responsible for the world’s instability out of his head. All he could think of was what his father must’ve went through to keep his research safe, and what it could mean in the future. After about an hour, he snapped back to reality and exited the bunker, making his way upstairs to the wreckage of his old living room. A large, dented trash can filled to the brim with water sat on the shredded rug.

Jeremy approached the tub and got down on his knees. He stared down into his reflection in the water; after so long, he had gotten quite rugged, with his formerly short hair growing down to his neck and a thick 5 o’clock shadow on his once clean-shaven face. Out of all the things he acquired over the years, he could never find himself a shaving razor, and any attempt to cut his hair only made him look even messier.

“I could really use a shower,” he mumbled to himself. With little hesitation, he stripped down and submerged himself under the water, slowly exhaling. He continued to sit in that position despite feeling numb from the coldness of the water—nothing was going to interrupt him.

Minutes passed. Hours. Not once did he feel the need to come up for air. He just sat there, grinning victoriously. Then he rubbed his neck with his hands, and felt an unusual texture. Satisfied with the results so far, Jeremy rose up out of the water, dried off his hands, and snatched up his old camera. He pointed the lens at one side of his neck and snapped a photo before doing the same with the other side. Upon viewing the pictures, he realized that he had grown gills. Overwhelmed with excitement and relief, Jeremy set the camera down and climbed out of the trash can, drying the rest of his body on the rug. He then put his clothes back on and sat down, absorbing what just happened.

Holding the recorder up to his mouth, he took a few more moments before finally saying in a trembling voice, “Success. It actually worked. I’m going to continue experimenting, testing the serum against different stimuli. In the meantime, I think it’s time to learn more about my father.”

It was now 2049. Over the past eleven years, society had begun to rebuild itself. Many different men, equipped only with charisma, rose up from the ashes of humanity, uniting the separated cities of their respective countries before agreeing to join forces. Well, so it seemed. These united colonies across the world were only as good as the world allowed them to be. The world, well... the world being the wealthy.

Those in financial power were now in true power. They bought, bullied, or negotiated their way out of any situation, taking what was left of the food, water, and resources. Private "islands" constructed of steel covered the earth's oceans, advancing in technology and finances as the word "tax" meant nothing to anyone on their own slab of metal. These personally-owned money-making machines held all of the food, energy, and oil that their respective owners wanted. On the soil, however, there was another tale being told. Poverty stretched across North America, only a few major cities managing healthy economies. Even then, the storm's damage remained on earth.

Jeremy stood over the man he had just knocked out, then proceeded to drag him off into a nearby closet. He knelt down and sifted through the man’s suit, finding a security card in one of his pockets. He got back to his feet and quietly snuck back out of the closet, making his way across a dimly lit, corporate-styled hallway. Jeremy held out the security card and inserted it into a slot beside a metal door; an unlocking sound was heard as the door slid open, granting him access.

Jeremy looked left-to-right, examining the massive room of shelves he found himself in. The shelf-filled aisle in front of the door was labeled “A”, and the one to the right “B”, and so on all the way down. Jeremy headed on until he reached aisle “M”, then investigated the shelves there until he came across a box with “MILES, MATTHEW” printed onto it. Without haste, he ripped the box open and sifted through its contents, discovering files and a few smaller boxes that were securely locked.

“One step closer, Dad,” Jeremy whispered to himself. As he said this, a bullet whizzed by, missing his head by half an inch and surprising him enough to jump back, almost flinging the box into the air.

“You there, halt!” shouted a bald man in a black suit, pointing a gun at Jeremy.

There was no time to lose; Jeremy flung one of the lighter boxes from a shelf at the man, who quickly ducked under the object as it hit the floor with a loud crash. As this happened, Jeremy shoved the box through the empty space between two of the shelves and dove in, adjusting his body size slightly to fit through. Sliding into the aisle on the other side, he ducked, dodging another bullet that was sent through the shelves. Picking up the box, he sprinted out of the aisle and slammed it into the guard’s face as he passed him, fleeing the storage room. An alarm sounded throughout the building, blaring deafeningly.

Jeremy did not stop or look back. All that mattered now was getting the hell out of there. He had what he needed; now he just had to keep it that way. If worse came to worse, he still had his strength. The occasional guard would come running around a corner, only to be shoved into a wall or hit in the head with the heavy box Jeremy was carrying. Overall, things were looking good so far as he darted out of the building, the sound of hovering autoshuttles reminding him that anonymity meant security.

Suddenly, he was tackled by a tall, obese man wearing the same black suit as his colleagues. Dropping the box, Jeremy spun around and slammed his fist towards the man’s face, only to be caught and kicked in the shin by a powerful foot. He stooped over and took the chance to punch his assailant in the gut before kneeing him in the groin, then picked up the box again and took off running. The other guards had caught up to him by now, though, and they tackled him as well. One confiscated the box while another beat him with a baton.

''This is it. This is the end,'' Jeremy thought. They’re going to kill me and leave me by the side of the road, like some mugging gone wrong.

A black car pulled up by the commotion as two of the suited men suddenly turned on the rest, pushing and punching and kicking their colleagues. They produced handguns from their jackets and shot the others dead. Clearly, these men were trained better than their dead-just-about-now counterparts. Well, that, or they just used the element of surprise. One of them picked up the box and loaded it into the car via the passenger window while another examined Jeremy’s injuries.

“What the hell was all that about?!” Jeremy demanded to know, grasping his bleeding nose with one hand.

“I apologize for the interruption, Mr. Miles, but you’re much more valuable to us alive than on tomorrow morning’s news,” replied a voice from the back seat, whose window opened up to reveal a darkened figure. The voice sounded commanding and confident, with a bit of an English accent. It also appeared to be coming from a device, like a phone put on speaker. “If you would, please manage to make use of your perfectly-able legs and step into the car so my friends don’t have to help you with that too.”

He slowly climbed back to his feet, observing his surroundings. Another man in a suit had gotten out of the passenger seat of the vehicle and began loading the others into the trunk. The guy who took the box sprayed the blood on the sidewalk with a blue colored liquid. A third—the man who examined his injuries seconds ago—was carefully watching him. With no other choice, Jeremy reluctantly pulled open the back seat’s door in front of him and got in. The man who was watching him followed, blocking off Jeremy’s other side. After all the bodies were in the trunk, the man who handled them got into the passenger seat, while the last disappeared into the shadows. The car took off, its doors making a loud locking sound. The dark figure to Jeremy’s left held a cell phone up to his face.

“He’s in.”

“Excellent,” replied the voice over the phone. “I’m looking forward to getting well acquainted with Mr. Miles.”

The phone’s bright screen flickered off as the man hung up. He grabbed something off the door—Jeremy didn’t know what, as it was quite dark and his eyes surprisingly hadn’t yet adapted to it—and stuck it into his neck. His vision began to blur as he felt numb and unable to move.

Correction: this is the end, Jeremy thought. ''I’m going to disappear just like Dad. They’re going to perform experiments on me, and no one will ever know.''

Jeremy felt lightheaded, and everything went black. He swore he dreamed of a man elegantly feeding pieces of fish to his dog...

Chapter 3
Jeremy’s eyes shot open and he flung himself forward, almost tripping as he leapt. As it turned out, he had been put in a wheelchair by the men who kidnapped him, and had not expected to stick his foot inside one of the wheels. He still felt groggy from just waking up and felt a strong urge to lie down and fall asleep. Much to his relief, a sturdy hand caught him as he fell forward, stopping him from landing flat on his face.

“Whoa! Just relax, Mr. Miles,” said a somewhat high-pitched voice.

By now, Jeremy’s vision was clear again; he felt like he knew where he was, but at the same time had no idea.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“Take a good look around, Mr. Miles. You tell me,” replied the man with the high-pitched voice. He was a little pale in complexion and wore tiny spectacles and a dark suit. Not many people were taller than Jeremy—this guy was one of the few exceptions, although Jeremy could always just adapt to make himself taller. He didn't want to give away his abilities, though, and he also avoided pissing people off when possible.

As instructed, Jeremy looked around to get an idea of where he was. He stood inside of a large, circular room with a white floor and ceiling, both of which shined brightly in the sunlight passing through the windows. The room was circular in shape, and there was no wall—just a triangle-patterned window that stretched across the entire circumference. Then he remembered the accents of some of the men who kidnapped him, including the one talking to him over the phone. The latter—who sounded English—had to be in charge of the whole thing, and it was clear Jeremy had been out for a long time, given that it was now daylight.

“What day is it again?” asked Jeremy.

“Errr, Monday,” said the suited man.

It was Saturday night when Jeremy got kidnapped. Unless he was being transported somewhere pretty far from home, these people wouldn’t have had to keep him unconscious for so long. He had to be out of the country, especially with the men’s accents and the shape of this building. He knew of only one place that fit those criteria.

“Huh, I always wanted to go here,” Jeremy remarked. “Either I was just being kidnapped by a bunch of stereotypical British assholes, or we’re in the Gherkin Building in London.”

“Correct,” replied the man, giving a pleased smile and pushing his spectacles back up to his eyes. “Let me show you to my employer—he's been looking forward to meeting you... just... don't overstay your welcome. Name’s Martin, by the way.”

“You’re more pleasant than the guys who brought me here, Martin,” said Jeremy. “Perhaps you can tell me why I’m here.”

“Only that we’re on your side, and we would really like to help you,” Martin answered vaguely. “Please follow me—the boss will tell you everything.”

“Side?" Jeremy asked, without receiving a response. He addressed the second thing Martin said, "I don’t suppose I have much of a choice.”

“You are quite perceptive.” Martin grinned without looking to Jeremy, leading him out of the room and into a hallway. There was a series of paths, staircases, doors, and even a few elevators existing alongside each other within the towering structure. A few workers were using computers, communicators, or experimenting, though there wasn't a large crowd. The inside of the building was mostly white with tones of gray and some light blues and greens.Most of it seemed new; the original structure was probably seriously damaged in the storms. Only one elevator seemed to be working, though, and that's where Martin took him. The elevator ride was quite awkward, with Martin staring to his front and smiling the entire time while Jeremy just gave him a confused expression.

After the elevator reached the second-to-top floor, the two walked side-by-side across the room to a staircase. Martin—still pushing the wheelchair—left it beside another suited man, who stood on alert and carefully surveyed the room. At the top of the staircase was a polished walkway, which the two proceeded to walk across before heading up yet another set of stairs.

They now stood inside a hallway, with rooms to their left, right, and front. The middle room itself was somewhat smaller than the previous, with a circular blue-tiled floor and many chairs and tables. The glass window that ran about the Gherkin Building (which could be seen from each of the rooms) was more cone-like here, due to this being the top floor. To the left, two men were fiddling with a hologram behind one desk, and a third was in the center room, building some sort of machine. The center room was quite small, while the room to the right seemed the largest - the main use of the top floor. In it was a long, wooden desk decorated with a small blue lamp shining a white-colored light, a few papers/notebooks, a closed laptop, a bottle of hand sanitizer, a glass of ice water and an opened container of cashews. Behind it was a black swivel chair that was turned around to face the windows. In the chair sat a man staring out into the city of London, which was still quite torn apart.

“Mr. Nolan, Mr. Miles has arrived,” said Martin.

“Thank you,” replied the man by the window. All Jeremy could make out on him was a dark suit—which was clearly quite the fashion trend around here—as well as greying hair and the temples of glasses behind his ears. The man was a little shorter than him and, once he stood up from his chair, leaned on a cane held firmly in his hand.

Martin turned around and proceeded back down the staircase. The men working with the holograms said nothing; they didn’t even acknowledge Jeremy’s existence.

“I take it you were the guy on the phone,” Jeremy remarked. “You sure know how to make a good first impression.”

“There is no need for sarcasm here, Jeremy, I'll handle that.” replied Nolan, producing a smile mid-sentence. “There was no time to get you to cooperate any other way, and I doubt you would’ve listened to anything besides..." he frowned, opened a drawer on his desk to fetch a small mint-flavored gum, and handed it to Jeremy before finishing his sentence "...force. Your breath's terrible, by the way."

“Fair enough, point made,” Jeremy muttered, taking the gum and stuffing it in his pocket while the gray-haired man wasn't looking before adapting to retract his teeth into his gums, clearing out the bacteria before moving them back into position as he spoke “So why did you bring me here? What importance do I possess?”

“Decades ago, your parents died in a mysterious weather-related disaster,” Mr. Nolan began to explain. “Anybody else would’ve just said, ‘Shit happens,’ and moved on." At this point, Mr. Nolan had walked to the doorway of his room. He shut the doors, using his cane to swiftly swirl around and face Jeremy. "But not you, especially after a similar disaster hits, this time across the entire world. Those files you found on your father only proved further that this was no... coincidence.”

“How do you know about that?” Jeremy inquired. By now, he didn’t know what to think of his host.

“A few contacts of mine saw a young man of your description going in and out of your house, and I had somewhat of an idea on your father’s involvement with the disaster at the time,” said Mr. Nolan. “One of said contacts investigated the matter further and saw you working on something, but we didn’t think much of it.” He nearly lost his balance, quickly managing to adjust his cane to avoid falling. “A few years later, I caught wind of a man with that same description—albeit older and… hairier—demonstrating unusual abilities, such as diving underwater and not coming up for air, or having a heightened resistance to fire. After that, I just had to put two and two together.”

“So you’re aware of my adaptive capabilities,” Jeremy said. “You’re clearly not trying to experiment on me to learn about them, otherwise I probably wouldn’t be talking to you. What exactly is so important about what I can do, then?”

“Well, you see, we have a mutual enemy,” Nolan continued. Then he turned around; he was somewhere in his fifties and possessed facial hair—a thin, grey mustache and an equally thin, grey beard. His eyes were hazel in color, and his short hair was kept up in the front.

“And who would that be?”

“Have you been living underground? The only enemy out there, of course,” Nolan replied sarcastically.

“You weren't wrong about being in charge of the sarcasm” Jeremy commented.

“As I was saying,” Nolan continued, shooting Jeremy a brief glare, “the organization you have been hunting. My contacts and I have been preparing to take them down for their crimes.”

“Wait... hunting? What do you mean? I've hunted no one." Jeremy said. Mr. Nolan semi-violently handed Jeremy a file consisting of several documents.

"Derlan Industries... you were just raiding their storage, were you not?" Nolan asked, a smile creeping up on his but disappearing shortly after.

"They knew a lot about what Dad was doing... I just wanted information. I'm not hunting anyone." Jeremy explained.

"My dear boy, do you even know who they are?" Nolan asked, and Jeremy shook his head.

"They're a science company?" Jeremy shrugged.

"My dear... perhaps you're not as intelligent as I first thought." Nolan sighed. "Remind me again why I shouldn't just toss you out of this window? You'd just adapt to survive, wouldn't you?" He chuckled to himself, "If you didn't, then you wouldn't be worth much to me then would you?"

"Wait, hold on a minute!" Jeremy raised his voice. "What?"

"What do you know of the storms that plagued the earth ___ years ago?"

"I know that the government was trying to control the weather and something went wrong... they rushed the project, causing the accident." Jeremy replied. Nolan smirked.

"Very well then... you seem as though you have everything figured out!" Mr. Nolan turned to the side.

"You still haven’t answered my question,” said Jeremy. “Why am I so important to all this?”

"You see, Jeremy, our world is not at peace. It would seem as though after an accidental worldwide disaster, people would learn to... well," he used his cane to squash an insect on the ground as he said this, "shut their traps and get along."

"Communities are working to rebuild the world." Jeremy pointed out, "look at this building, for example."

"That may be true... but while the poor live off of stale apples, those with wealth sit in their floating domes and live better than they ever did before the disaster."

"Yes, the rich are always going to be living better than the rest of us... what's your point? Why does this matter?"

"They've sent the population on a road that ends at a cliff... that cliff leads to extinction. Permanent extinction." Nolan turned to Jeremy as he munched on a cashew.

"What?" Jeremy was lost at this point, half-listening to Mr. Nolan and half-reading the document he had been handed on Derlan Industries.

"Look, the point is... it doesn't look good for the people five, four, maybe even three centuries ahead of us. We've a hurricane to our rudder and rocks to our bow. The future is... bleak." Nolan squinted his eyes as he spoke.

"So... what do we do about it?" Jeremy asked, still confused.

"Well, we can only do what we are capable of doing as human beings... the question is, how much influence can a human being have?"

"I don't follow."

"Nature has a funny way of handling... rocks." he crunched another cashew in his teeth. "... and other disturbances, obstacles, and.... unbalances. When something grows too large, the other things around it... adapt," he gave Jeremy a raised eyebrow which seemed to agitate him, "to overcome it. Where things are uneven, if left uneven, there will be an antidote to counter the problem."

"So... eh?" Jeremy was still confused.

"You are probably convinced that your powers are unique. That you’re the only one with special abilities,” replied Nolan. “In a way, that is true; indeed, I know of nobody else who can suddenly adapt to their environment, but there are people out there with certain… powers.” As he said this, he proceeded to make his way across the room towards a cabinet, carefully balancing himself with his cane. “Unlike you, they didn’t develop them through super-charged adrenals; some got them from, say, being struck by lightning, for example. Other people can do extraordinary things. I believe that a group of individuals with such powers could make more of a difference than guns and speeches, especially with the power this government has. You can adapt to overcome the obstacle that is currently upon us - oppression.”

"Wait... so there are others out there with abilities? If so, why aren't you out there talking to them? Why me? I can't really do much in terms of fighting." Jeremy said.

"Yes, but you see, Jeremy, from the moment I started studying you, I knew I'd found someone special. I heard a monk speak of you before." Nolan grabbed a seemingly more hidden file out of his cabinet than the one from his desk, then locked the cabinet.

"Perhaps we'd met before?" Jeremy asked.

"Have you ever been to the forests of Japan?" Nolan asked, and Jeremy shook his head. "I thought not. No, you haven't met him... but he spoke of someone with your description. Well, he didn't speak of you, really... he prophesied about you!" He faked a smile. "Granted, most of what comes out of the lunatic's mind is madness, but he was specific about this... and you meet the description perfectly."

"Wait... so, some Japanese dude someone knew about me, and that makes me important? This sounds quite far-fetched, Mr. Nolan." Jeremy said in a serious tone.

"Yes, a Japanese monk who can teleport in the blink of an eye told me that a man would give himself powers, have a parent involved in the disaster and be able to breathe underwater." Nolan said, making his way toward Jeremy, his cane steadying his walk. "We want you to become part of our team." Mr. Nolan handed Jeremy the document, where he read about a man who had super intelligence, a woman who could see through anything, and a man who defined every meaning of the word "hot."

"Look, I'm sorry... but I can't help you. I'm not a superhero, and I generally work alone." Jeremy seemed disturbed by the document. "I'll learn about my abilities on my own time, not with some team."

"Are you sure that's your actual brain talking, and not your emotions barricading you from something you don't quite understand?" Richard gave him a stern glare.

"I appreciate your offer, but I just want to learn about my father's work and what I can do. After that, maybe I'll look into your whole saving the world thing. I'm not the special person you think I am." Jeremy turned away, holding back his regret as he looked to exit the room - he did want to be a part of this, he was just too scared to. This stuff didn't make much sense to him, and it was all a bit above his level of comfort.

"Well, my dear friend..." Richard sort of 'stomped' his cane down, catching Jeremy's attention as he gave him an intimidating stare, "with that attitude, you'll accomplish nothing, your social life will be virtually nonexistent, you will fail at each and every one of any goals you attempt to achieve, you'll have no income, your life will amount to practically NOTHING, and you will DIE IN A BOX!"

"Wh-" Jeremy seemed startled at Richard's burst of irritation. It didn't occur to him that this guy might actually give a damn about something more than his personal entertainment and... cashew nuts. "What exactly would I gain so much from being a part of this?"

"Well, to be dramatic... your purpose." Nolan tossed a small hologram cube at him. Jeremy pressed it, and an old message played. A hairy, dirty, man in bright pink, blue, and green clothes stood in the message.

"WAIT!" The man shouted. "Aaaaah..... DIZT! NUR! Auhm..... auhm..... auhm.... auhmmmmmm. OHMI! This is important... a boy, err, no, not a bay, errrrrrrrrm.... a young man! yes! A young man whose ancestor..., no, not even ancestor, his PARENT died due to his involvement in the accident! He GAVE HIMSELF ABILITIES! Yes! I don't know how... but he wasn't given powers, somehow he manipulated science to allow himself to... do things.... like breathe underwater! He'll save us all..." the message ended. Jeremy looked surprised.

"You actually were telling the truth." Jeremy said.

"I do that quite a lot! Yet people are always so surprised..." Nolan smirked. "So tell me, Jeremy... will you help us?"

“An interesting proposition... apparently I actually mean something." Jeremy didn't quite know how to respond. "If it gives me closure to my parents' deaths... I'll help you."

“Splendid,” Nolan sighed with relief. “By the way, you can call me Richard.”

“Think I’ll just stick with ‘Mr. Nolan’,” replied Jeremy. “Now, could you direct me to the nearest bathroom? I could really use a shower… and haircut.” As Jeremy said this, Richard walked up to him, leaned down close to him and said softly,

"and a toothbrush." Richard reached his hand in Jeremy's pocket and grabbed the mint gum before sticking it in his own pocket and walking away. "Not everyone has retractable teeth, Mr. Miles."