CHAPTER SEVEN
-To Sunder-
The Sundering was the single most prominent event in the entirety of human history.
Its roots lay in the emergence of the first superhuman, Chinyere Nwachukwu, a fifteen-year-old Nigerian girl who gained the ability to breathe underwater after she nearly drowned in a neighbourhood pond in October of 2025. She died a week later, bounded and burnt alive under a pile of gasoline-soaked tyres set ablaze by her neighbours.
When later questioned, the hysterical villagers confessed they were fearful of falling victim to her "witchcraft", so they preemptively murdered her.
Her tragic demise, sparked by fear and misunderstanding, set a grim precedent. And, as if to reaffirm the bad omen, the superhumans that emerged afterwards quickly become subjects of fear and prejudice as their powers soon proved destabilizing to societal norms and power structures alike. What followed was a series of increasingly escalating instances of violence committed against paranormals by religious and political extremist groups. Paranormals were mindlessly slaughtered as quickly as they emerged.
At least until the emergence of Scorn.
All records of his real name and identity had long disappeared from history. Described as blue-eyed and charismatic, the paranormal was the first of many who were strong enough to fend for themselves in the face of sophisticated government-sponsored manhunts. With his stern, piercing gaze and outstanding oratory skills, Scorn rallied superhumans worldwide, reframing their status not as an inferior race to be prosecuted without restraint but as a superior species to be feared by their lesser.
And thus began the sundering of the human race.
Scorn's ideals spread like wildfire, igniting global rebellion. All over the world powerful paranormals emerged to lead the revolts against their oppressors. Within a few years, the tides had turned: Humans were now the ones massacred wholesale. With the governments of the world unable to grapple with the new reality of superhuman warfare they fell, and with them, the world fell into anarchy.
As of 2070, humanity had already experienced four near-mass extinction events. Nuclear war erupts between superhuman factions and the remnant of world governments, devastating large regions and leading to widespread environmental degradation and nuclear winter. In its wake, climate change accelerates unchecked, leading to an explosion of natural disasters and mass displacement.
Rogue sentient AI systems, developed for the sake of fighting wars, turn against their creators. Biotechnology advancements resulted in the proliferation of super viruses, engineered monstrosities, and mutant, hyper-predatory creatures that quickly replaced all natural ecosystems. Orbital pollution from the prior and ensuing wars murdered humanity's spacefaring dreams in its cradle while a swarm of weaponized, insectlike creatures controlled by a hostile, superintelligent, hive mind, ensured that no attempts may be made to rectify this issue.
With the world teetering on the verge of collapse, the surviving remnants of humanity at last reached a ceasefire agreement. This led to the formation of a unified government and the establishment of the Megalopolis of Almandine, which comprises six satellite states—Bridgewater, Penrose, Zaryansk, Ryōshinkoku, Lagos, and Jazirat al-Nur—all interconnected by six supermassive monorails.
It was October of the year 2145 when Christopher Newman looked out Roadman's cabin at the bustling crowd in the centre of the entertainment zone. SynthWave, the Casino Evelyn's kidnapper instructed him to visit, loomed ahead amid its towering brethren.
"Should I not return within the hour, inform Chief Anderson of the situation and request backup," he instructed before stepping out of the vehicle.
"Got ya, big man."
Expressionlessly, Chris stuffed his clenched fists in his jacket pockets, steeling his expression as he made his way toward the casino. Inside, the air crackled with the hum of neon and the faint scent of ozone. Rows of sleek, chrome-plated slot machines lined the walls, their screens alive with cascading symbols and flashing lights that mesmerized the ill and the foolish alike. At the centre of the lobby, a vast expanse of green baize beckoned. Beyond it, the bar and dance floor was a riot of light and sound, a cacophony of electronic beats and holographic displays that assaulted the corporal's senses.
"Excuse me," Chris said to the clerk at the end of the hall. "I'm here to see someone. I was told to speak with the clerks in the back and inquire about the 'Truck Park'."
"Mr. Newman?" the bored woman queried, and Chris nodded, prompting her to gesture towards a lone elevator in the rear. "Take that to the fifty-third floor."
Without a word, Chris complied, arriving at another lobby a few minutes later, where he encountered yet another clerk.
"Mr Newman?" asked the woman.
"Yes."
"Please take a seat. Your host will be with you shortly."
Chris stood by the wall-to-ceiling window, gazing out at the sprawling city below for three long minutes. Finally, one of the shut doors swung open, and another woman appeared, gesturing for him to enter. Obediently, Chris complied, surrendering himself to a thorough search at the hands of two Corpo goons before relinquishing his service weapon and cell phone.
Beyond the next set of doors lay a spacious bedroom, occupied by five individuals. Nearest to Chris stood a burly man. Unarmed. A contracted paranormal, most likely. The second figure presented a more puzzling image; his scuffed cybernetic legs and right arm hinted at a past marked by combat, their robust construction suggesting a professional grade. Sitting menacingly on the fellow's lap was a sawn-off shottie. The third occupant was easily recognizable to Chris: Nikos Greendale, renowned angel investor in numerous corporate ventures within the district and, notably, the husband of the beloved Local Heroine, Goldilocks.
The man, unfortunately, also happened to be Amelia's lover. Chris stared at the fellow for a drawn-out moment, taking a measure of his artificially perfected features, before turning to regard Amelia sitting in her bathrobe behind him. Chris ignored the disgusting stench of sex in the room as he finally settled his gaze on his sister. Evelyn sat lethargically beside the cybernetic fellow who had tossed his sole fleshy appendage over her shoulders.
"We finally meet!" Nikos declared with a smile. Chris turned back to regard the man, expressionless still.
"What happened to my sister?" Chris asked.
"She was sedated," the burly, possible paranormal to his left replied. The fellow's eyes were as lidded as Chris's, only out of boredom instead of homicidal rage. "Standard procedure, you ought to know that; stressed captives make horrible hostages."
Chris nodded in understanding before turning his attention back to the man lounging across from him. "What do you want?" he asked.
"You know what I want Mr. Newman," came Nikos' reply. "Drop this divorce matter and everything can go back to how it has always been."
"...Why does the state of my marriage concern you?" Chris asked instead. "I never indicated that I was going to make your indiscretions against your wife public, nor did I desire reparations for your previous slight against me. So, why not just leave me be?"
The man didn't reply, instead staring at Chris through narrowed eyes.
"...Is it Chloe's parentage that worries you?" Chris asked, having long pieced together the bits of information he had. "I wondered why Amelia deigned to bother me with such an odd request; dropping the false paternity claims? That was certainly odd ... You are scared. You fear that if I filed for a divorce on the basis of paternity fraud, the child's parentage would be investigated to ascertain her lineage and a simple cross-check with the database would expose you as a cheat… isn't that it?"
The fool's jaws hardened in response. "...And here I was thinking you were dim, Mr Newman," Nikos said in response. "Well, since you are so smart you ought to know what to do, right? You do understand I have the means to make your existence unbearable? Just do as I say and everything would be alright."
For a long moment, Chris simply stared at the man. Then he arched one brow in askance as he considered everyone in the room. "All this posturing and threats ... all to escape your spouse's ire?" Chris asked. Then, without waiting for a response, he shook his head, his expression downcast.
"Amelia," he sighed, properly regarding the woman for the first since he walked into the room, "I cannot believe you upended my life for someone like this. Beyond feeling betrayed, disgusted and enraged, I am most importantly, disappointed in you."
The corporal stared at her for a moment longer before suddenly backhanding the muscular bodyguard beside him. The fellow flew like a cannonball, crashing through the bathroom door and out of sight. Chris turned his attention to the other bodyguard, his pupils suddenly gaining a reflective amber hue and his sclera turning from sickly white to pitch black.
To give credit where credit was due, the cyborg reacted immediately, taking aim with his shotgun and pulling the trigger. Yet, with alarming ease, Chris sidestepped the armour-piercing slug shot his way. The fellow rose to his feet, cocking his gun in the same motion, but by the time the weapon was level again and aimed in Chris' direction, the corporal was already close enough to smell the adrenaline in his sweat.
With an arched brow, Chris batted aside the gun, sending the other shot off into the concrete wall behind him. His right arm shot out to grab his opponent by the throat. Squeezing, he stared as a set of two inch-long-obsidian claws pushed out from underneath his fingernails, popping them before extending to puncture the side of the Cyborg's neck.
"Wait—"
The corporal punched his head, sending blood and brain matter spattering on the curtains behind him.
Tossing aside the body, Chris turned his attention to Evelyn. With a relieved sigh, he confirmed she was merely unconscious; even the injuries on her face were no more than skin deep.
The sound of wood crunching underfoot brought Chris's attention back to the others in the vicinity. The other bodyguard emerged from the ruined bathroom with a flickering forcefield rippling in front of him. More footsteps entered the room and Chris's instincts flared. He had almost jumped out of the way before suddenly remembering Evelyn was in front of him. So, instead, he dropped to his feet, shielding her body with his. A split moment later, the telltale rapport of automatic gunfire rang out and white-hot pain blossomed in his back.
***
"What the fuck are you gawking for," Adea shouted at his employer as he emerged from the bathroom he had been backhanded into. The foolish man and his paramour hurriedly complied, falling in step behind him. Unsettled, Adea willed the forcefield layered on his skin to expand and form a protective cocoon around the pair as even more armed men poured into the hall to investigate the gunshots.
"Downed supe!" Adea informed them as he ushered his charges into an elevator. "Bruiser!"
"Why didn't you tell me the bastard was a fucking supe?" Nikos, his employer, screamed at the woman beside him. "Now everything is fucked! Fucked, you stupid bitch!"
"...I didn't know," the woman muttered, visibly shaken. "He never told me."
"...Fuck! ... Hey! Adea!"
"Yes, boss?" Adea replied, irritated.
"Are you certain he's dead?"
"Of course," the bodyguard scoffed. "Even if he's not, I doubt he'll survive three full mag dumps of 10mm rounds in the back for long, Sir. Shame he got Rupert though; the slimy bastard still owes me some money."
"...Are you certain?" the mistress repeated, hesitantly.
"Yes," Adea growled, his irritation finally leaking into his tone.
"...Then why do I still hear gunshots?"
The elevator fell silent. Mutedly, the noise of gunfire echoed into the enclosed cabin accompanied by what Adea quickly realised were faint screams.
The next moment, however, the noises abruptly stopped.