Chapter 22: Fatima, the Mad Scientist

Tiredly sighing, Mark shuffled his way under the seventy-odd-tonne tank, the rain soaking his clothes. It was awkward getting under, but once he had, he lifted it above him as swiftly as the barbell yesterday. He held it for roughly a minute before he got affirmation from Fatima in which he clumsily placed the tank onto the ground, removing himself from it's bottom.

"Wow... wow! Amazing, Mark!" Fatima exclaimed, "Your strength is far beyond anything we envisioned. We need to go bigger, heavier. Maybe a building? No... that would be too hard."

"I think you're overthinking, Fatima." Mark said, "A building is in no way feasible."

"No, no, no, no. Mark, you do not understand." The woman chided, "Your flight makes no sense, scientifically, so why would it be improbable you do not have other powers? Perhaps telekinesis or, at least, a form of it."

He stared at the scientist, covered by an overhead fabric tent. Shaking the water out of his hair, Mark huffed and approached the Middle Eastern woman.

'How many more tests? Ugh...'

"Why would I have telekinesis? Where is the correlation?" Mark asked.

"Come inside, Mark; stop standing in the rain." Fatima hastily uttered, "Have you ever thought about how 'superpowers' work?"

"I mean, no... I don't think so?"

"Neither have I. But, as of last night, now I have. Obviously, most powers do not work in reality; there is no logical conclusion to things like laser eyes, mind powers, at least, as far as we know."

"Your point?" Mark spoke, sitting on a wet chair.

"My point is that most superpowers just would not physically work without extra... stuff. How does a superhero hold a building? They do not. Telekinesis does. Someone with your... aptitude would be stronger than the material; you would go through the building instead of holding it."

"That's surprising." Mark hummed, "So I can't pick up a building?"

"Probably not, at least one that is not a box and has spread-out structural integrity. The same applies for vehicles and the like; a tank is fine, a plane... well, I would advise not trying."

"So to do so, I would need telekinesis or another ability? That is what you are saying?"

"Mhm." Fatima positively hummed, "You would require what the internet calls: Tactile Telekinesis. Or any other form, but that is what is used by the famous comic book characters."

"So a sense of touch form of telekinesis?"

"Exactly! Either consciously or subconsciously, the building will not crumble, and I want to test it. If you have it, it opens the doors to more... possibilities. If not, a shame, but at least you know your limitations."

"Limitations, huh." Mark muttered.

"You are not dishearted, are you? Everything has limitations, Mark; it is the way of the world. But, whilst I do not dare to presume your limits, perhaps you may break that convention. Perhaps."

"So no saving falling buildings or hijacked planes, then? Like the movies."

"Hmm, well, probably not. It is highly determined by things like material, strength, density or where you lift. A highly risky business, if you ask me. On the plus side, lawsuits will be uncommon."

"That... was a bit dark." Mark uttered.

"True, though. Pretty idiotic to sue a living superhuman, although people are."

"I think the world has gotten smarter; there's less of a herd mentality besides the One Nation Movement."

The scientist laughed, "Do not be naive, Mark. People are stupid, more so in a large collective. When they inevitably discover your existence, they will either vilify you for everything and anything or praise you as God given form. Humans are fickle; they will change with the tide of public opinion. Like sheep."

"I suppose I can agree we are fickle, but I believe in the good of people." Mark sighed, "Despite the political climate nowadays."

Fatima turned to him, gazing into his eyes as she tilted her head. She looked deep in thought before huffing.

"The good of people, huh." She spoke, "Where was the noise during the Occupation? What about this 'outrage' at the Afghan bombings? People only half-heartedly make a fuss of things that matter; very few people are good people, Mark."

Mark shrugged, "Sounds like a completely different perspective. We will never agree; politics has drilled that into me."

"I think we will, Mark, sooner than you think. When the public knows, they will question you; scrutinise and observe you. Why did you not save that plane? Why do you not stop this war? Why do you not support my politician? It will go on and on..."

"I don't believe that will happen." He scoffed.

"Hide from it, run from it; the masses will force their opinions on you. There is nothing you can do. In my opinion, you are above us, the superior specimen. I have worked my whole life trying to understand our purpose, to advance humanity. I believe you may help not just me, but everyone understand their purpose."

Mark cringed, "I believe you're being too forward. I'm not some... great beacon of understanding; I'm just some normal guy who lost everything!"

"Even from our little time together, I believe you are special, Mark. I want to create a better society that lacks all our negative traits. And you could be the answer."

He rubbed his forehead, "Are we done? No offence, but I don't want to be your 'answer'. I... I want to help people, repay my crimes, but to be what you suggest... It wouldn't help."

"Perhaps not now, Mark. But in the future, when you learn, experience and suffer, you will."

Mark sighed, exasperated, "Are we done? It's eight, and I'd like to speak to Barak."

The scientist glanced up, the thunder rumbling in the dark skies as rain poured. She pouted her lips and hummed.

"I suppose so." She said, annoyed, "I will be in the lab if you need me."

Fatima smiled, the once friendly, if not slightly manic smile, now coming off as disturbed and creepy. Mark shook his head as he thought about their conversation.

'Crazy woman.'

As he walked through the bright, white corridors, he came across a soldier. The man had delivered him to the Brigadier this morning, yet despite the occasion, Mark grew to like the guy as they spoke.

"Hey, Jeremy." Mark said, "Are you not on duty any more?"

Jeremy's eyebrow rose, "We're always on duty, Mark. Just a matter of if we have a gun in hand and armour equipped."

"That sounds like a chore, but I suppose the military is a lifestyle and a job."

The man shrugged, "Some like it, some don't; it is what it is. Anyways, I got to go; Fatima enlisted me into testing some stuff and... I would rather not be late for the crazy woman's 'seminar'."

"Fair enough, I'll let you go." Mark uttered, holding back a chuckle.

The soldier disappeared down the hallway, Mark leaving the science section and into the open space between the four main buildings, one in each cardinal direction. Crossing the area, taking wide berths over growing puddles, he arrived at the primary building that held all the administration and operations rooms.

Entering inside, he travelled the same route he took when he came with Barak to the reception. Behind a circular desk was the same receptionist, busy at work. Mark stood nearby for a few seconds, unable to get the woman's attention, before he lightly knocked, cracks erupting from the wood.

His eyes widened as he gaped, looking at the blonde woman as her gaze went back and forth between the desk and Mark.

"Hi... erm, sorry." Mark sheepishly apologised.

"H- Hi." She spoke, "You don't need to worry about the desk; we've... been informed, at least loosely."

"Right." He whispered before coughing, "You wouldn't happen to know where Barak is? Sorry, the Brigadier who always wears a suit and shades-"

"Ah, the Servitor. He should be in either the operations room or with the Commander in her office. You know the way to them?"

Her voice was pleasant with faint charm and innocence, easing Mark's nerves after the small incident.

"The operations rooms? No idea; I do for the offices."

The receptionist hummed and then shrugged, "There should be nobody coming here within the hour, so I can take you?"

"Sure."

Stepping out from the desk, she closed it before beckoning him to follow. Her eyes vertically scanned his figure as she frowned, entering another section of the building.

"You seem like you want to ask something." Mark said, "You can ask."

She blushed, "Sorry... I didn't mean to stare. It's just, apparently, you caused a bit of a stir this morning, a bit of apprehension. I also got a memo... it said you were superhuman; my friends said you were flying... it's just..."

"Surreal? Strange? Scary? Yeah, I know. I kinda don't really know anything myself. I can only hope you guys help."

"Is that the reason you broke the roof? Is it hard to control?"

"Ehhh, no, I... had a bad dream, I guess. It was an accident, a momentary panic kinda thing. Sorry about my bad manners, but what was your name?"

"I'm Millie; I'm surprised you asked; not too many visitors here ask for my name." She sighed, "Must've been a pretty nasty dream to get you up there, huh."

Mark's thoughts trailed to the dream, or rather, the vision. His forehead creased, the lines getting deeper and more pronounced as he pondered about it. The receptionist coughed a moment later, waking him.

"Sorry, I got distracted." He spoke, "Erm, yeah, I guess I would label it bad. Perhaps confusing would be a better word."

"Well, I hope you understand it." Millie responded, "We're here."

They had stopped outside of a door aptly labelled the 'Operations Room One', guarded by a usually stoic soldier. Unlike the other guards, his eyes widened as his pupils dilated; the tangy smell of sweat reached Mark's nostrils. Mark noticed, but said nothing yet his facial expression did not adhere to his commands, slightly grimacing.

"It seems John already knows about you." Millie said, inspecting the soldier, "Anyways, the Brigadier should be in there; if not, ask Jenny upstairs."

Millie smiled goodbye as she left the hallway, leaving the sweating soldier and Mark beside the door.

"Thanks." Mark muttered, "Am I allowed inside? I'm looking for Barak, the Brigadier? Suited guy."

The soldier, John, swallowed and then coughed, composing himself.

"Erm, yes, I believe you're allowed inside. I'm... not exactly sure about the exact procedure for you, so you might get removed? It- It's nice to finally meet you. I- I saw you flying earlier; this morning."

Mark winced, "Nice to meet you, John, right?" He got a nod, "You should... er, I don't know if it's my place to say but erm, calm down? You look very nervous."

"Ah, yes, sorry. It's just... a human flying? I don't think many people can react too calmly." John shakily laughed, "You caused such a ruckus that even the SAS arrival wasn't paid any attention; usually so combative."

"Yeah... it seems everyone feels that way. Can I...?"

"Sure." John spoke, opening the door.

Mark entered the room, a vast array of computers, holograms and televisions blaring news, events and pictures; technology was crammed everywhere. It was relatively big, his figure having to manoeuvre around a table as he approached Barak, the area slowly falling quiet, all eyes on him.

The Asshole, Barak, noticed the silence as he glanced at everyone dismissively, tutting as he loudly grunted.

"You all got the memo." The man sternly said, "Get back to work; you don't get paid to stare; he's not going to bite. So, what can I do for you, Mark?"