Chapter 34: Mark's Dark Deed

"Did you say everything, Mark?" Jenny questioned, concerned, seated in the transport as they travelled across the motorway, heading back to base.

"Yeah." He dimly smiled, "They can rest now." Finishing with a tone of finality.

Understanding, they settled into silence as the car accelerated with the convoy, cars pushed aside by sirens blasting into the mid-day winter storm.

An hour later, just past twelve, they arrived back at the facility, the rain as unceasing as earlier. Driving into space, they stopped, the police falling behind and returning to the station. Exiting the car, Jenny and Barak joined him, walking inside, finally free of the rain and the burden of the umbrella.

"We need a meeting later, Mark." Barak spoke, "The press conference is tomorrow. We'll give you a few hours, but duty calls."

"Alright. Just let me know." He responded quickly before muttering, "I'm going to do what I put off."

Having said that, he walked away abruptly, leaving the baffled brigadiers to look at each other with concerned gazes before departing for their jobs.

Mark crossed the large, wide-open square, umbrella opened and soaked within seconds, he arrived at the northern structure. The blood had been cleaned; remnants of the destruction were barely noticeable, but some still lingered. The memory of cleaving the demons apart flashed by, shaking his head to be rid of it.

Heading inside, he ignored any wandering personnel, their wary stares still present. Entering the medical ward, he beelined straight for Jeremy's bed. Standing beside the soldier, the man lying still, with only one eye socket remaining, the other a disgusting mesh of sewn skin and painful oncomings of scars.

What remained of the left side of his face was a mangled mess of flesh, dressed to the best of the doctor's abilities. It looked to be healing, likely an E-Pill or medical miracle used. Even still, and despite the drugs, the pain in his eye was noticeable. Unmoving, Jeremy lay motionless, his single eye shakily gazing into Mark's voids. There was a very slight smile on his face as he recognised him.

"Uhh, I thorgt you forgot me." The wounded man spoke, a mixture of a slur, lisp and rasp. The words were almost intelligible, even for the device, hardly managing to pick it up.

"No, I... felt... You're in this state because I didn't take action. I was too passive. Your... f-"

"Not... fault." He whispered before coughing heavily, "... You're just a kid. I..." Coughing again, almost on the verge of puking blood, "... I no... signed up for. Ugh."

Mark rubbed his hand along his chin and mouth, the older man's state making him uncomfortable, "I'm sorry. I won't let this happen again. To anyone."

An eerie laugh came out, his vocal cords straining as half his mouth ceased to function correctly, "Good... luck. Can't... protect every on."

Sighing, he responded in turn, "I can try. At least I won't be faulted for not attempting."

"... You did. Face... bruised. Story of... big... man." Jeremy garbled, taking longer pauses as he started flinching heavily.

Touching the outside of his eye, he felt nothing, despite the bruise being vaguely yellowish, "Hmm. It's almost gone?" Mark muttered before speaking to Jeremy, "Monster... would be the word I use. That thing gave its humanity away long before I met it."

"Monster? Sound... denial." Jeremy mumbled, "You go... need... rest."

Grimly smiling, Mark said his parting as he got up, "Get well soon, Jeremy."

Looking back, he shook his head before continuing on into the hallway. Unsure of what to be doing, with no particular job or goal till the evening, Mark presumed the best course of action would be to practice his control. Arriving at his quarters, opening a plain door, he lay on the bed.

In a mixture of excitement and sadness, his time monotonous despite his findings, he spent the next hours in a machine-like pattern. Mark passed the time, constantly lifting objects, hoping for a possibility of increasing his limit by a reasonable degree. And, hour after hour, object after object, his limit increased. Moving the tablet, roughly six hundred grams, throughout the air relatively comfortably, he tried the second object he could pick up. Grasping the desk lamp, a weight Mark presumed to be around a kilo or two, he beckoned it towards him. The exertion was immense, bordering on pain. However, it was momentous, causing him to smile lightly, thinking about all the items and structures he could one day wield.

Achieving what he wanted, night set upon the British Isles as the winter chill turned falling rain into light snow and frozen puddles. The darkness came early, clocks only turning half six; the sky flooded with dark clouds. Looking out the window, he thought about the funeral, the woman calling him a demon spawn, colluding with evil gods. Amelia had talked about her mother a few times; he'd even visited with his stepmother, ending in a ruckus.

Knowing the location, he thought for a moment. The woman had told him an opinion, unfiltered through fear, underlying ambition and kindness. A potential public opinion. A religious one, at least. Everyone on the base treated him on a pedestal: it wasn't his fault, it wouldn't be a problem, it never was – for anything. So many excuses. But perhaps she could explain what she meant, explain what her theories and conspiracies supposed. He also wanted an apology. Her words against his father were unnecessary, especially considering the occasion. He would not be harmed in a short stop.

'I need to be confident. Assured in myself. Let's... pay a visit.'

Leaving his room, out of the residential building and into an obscured, darkened area with no one viewing, he shot off silently into the sky. A silver moon hung behind the clouds, shining upon him as he landed outside the woman's house. Snow fell lightly, not settling due to the earlier rain.

He knocked on the door, the lights switched on, hoping she would be alone. It opened slowly, timidly, before peeping eyes locked upon his figure.

"You! What the fuck are you doing!? Here to slander or beg for an apology like your father? Why do you stare at the device? Are you deaf or something?" The woman spat, venom attached to her mocking words.

Huffing lightly, he spoke short and snappy, "Actually, yes. I am deaf. And I am here for an apology. I also want to know what you meant by theories online... something about being selling my soul?"

She snorted, "As feeble and pathetic as your father. All the same, your family. You will not get an apology from me as I know the truth! I've read it! I've heard it! The church speaks the words of God. You're a demon, the devil in disguise! Nothing but an abomination that needs to be put down like Frank. Like you put down all those people at the hospital!"

'Shit. The public knows? Or is it conjecture?'

"My dad was a good man, Freya." Mark hissed, "I am no demon or devil. Unlike you, I care for others besides my family. I would not needlessly kill people. Heh, this is why Amelia never listened. You're a religious nut job."

She opened the door fully, placing herself on the first step from the door, towering a fair distance above him, "And you... are a monster." She squeezed through her teeth, "Your family weren't worthy of my daughter. Perhaps you are as stupid as your relatives and the little girl, Alice was it?"

He sneered unconsciously, frowning as she noticed, "Ah! I still can't believe my daughter ruined her marriage for your father. And then she had the little shit. Good riddance they all burned... If only my daughter wasn't such a fool..." She finished, slight tears falling from her eyes.

"You should be careful, old woman. My father had his faults, but Alice had none. Do not disrespect her. Why come to the funeral if all you would do is scream like a mad woman? And you don't even say sorry and forget Jake. You say I'm the hellspawn."

"Alice had her faults by being born to your dad. She would have turned as rotten as the rest of you. I've lost everything because of your family!"

"You're insane, blinded by religion and prejudice. The world lost a lot that day, despite your pretensions. At least my visit taught me something." He sighed, the woman a lost cause despite loosely being part of his extended relations.

She grabbed his arm, seeing his intentions to leave, "I cannot wait for everyone to see you for what you are! I'm just glad Alice didn't grow up, to be as pathetic as your father. My daughter's only mistakes were getting with him and having that cretin of a child. Oh, and we can't forget the other bitch who died. The slut who clung to your family like-"

He sneered consciously this time, her words causing his eyes to flare, not expecting to involve Elise. Seeing she would not let go, still intent on continuing, he did what a normal person would do. He pushed her away. Except, unlike normal people, his strength flung her into the doorsteps, her neck snapping violently, hanging off the final step to the door.

He stood there, staggered, his black eyes locked upon the still body, her eyes still slightly moving from what he presumed to be after-death signals. His pupils started shaking, realizing the extent of what he'd done. Right on the eve of his announcement. Mark looked around, wary of witnesses, seeing none, and the house not displaying any movement.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he catapulted into the air, fleeing as fast as he could as his thoughts jumbled together.

BZZT! BZZT!

Frowning at the vibration in his hand, he timidly stared at the tablet for a few seconds. Mustering the courage, he opened it, noticing two notifications from a pre-allocated contact, Barak. Mark read them rapidly, unsure of their contents.

[Pre-press conference meeting in 10. This is important. Saying the wrong thing could have indescribable ramifications.]

'Shit!' He thought guiltily, 'At least they don't know.'

[It's in the main operations room.]

'Shit, shit, fuck! What have I done? I... I'm a murderer.' Mark brooded, rubbing his mouth and chin with increasing aggression, "Fuck, man! Why did she mention her? Stupid fucking bitch!" Needlessly crying out.

Flying above the base after a short journey, he shakily landed in a secluded spot beside the admin building. Patting himself down and checking for signs of what just happened, he walked to the room, trying to calm himself and put on false bravado.

Entering the operations room, his fingers flexed uncontrollably. A door was finally affixed to the frame as a group awaited his entrance. He greeted them as calmly as he could muster.

"Hey, guys." Mark shakily voiced to the group, a mixture of men and women, including Jenny and Barak.

"Sit down, Mark." Barak spoke, bemused at his nervousness, seated with his broken leg resting upon a padded stool as he gestured towards the surrounding individuals, "These are the press team. They're going to run you through everything you should explicitly state, things you shouldn't state. That kind of thing."

Taking a moment to ponder, his thoughts tumultuous, reading the lines of text, he replied slowly, "Right... So I presume it's going to be s- scripted then? I can't give my own thoughts?"

A woman confidently spoke, interrupting Jenny before she could begin, "Hi, I'm the senior press advisor for the Defence Secretary. We thought it best to... organise the conference, rather than make it fluid. There's a lot of information that would be detrimental to yourself and Britain if released. Couple that with your inexperience; some things are better left unsaid."

"Ok." He uttered, "Like what?"

"Are you sure?" Jenny questioned her colleagues, getting a positive affirmation.

Mark frowned, slightly confused before the primary press advisor articulated her words, "He'll need to know. Now, your... scuffle in Ireland. It resulted in four civilian casualties, millions in damages – environmental mainly – and dozens of civilians with varying degrees of injury."

"... People died? How? Unless you mean those in the house..." Mark stuttered, his mind reeling as guilt piled on, his hands starting to shake.

"Unfortunately, no. Those three perished in a unique fire, not of your making. Currently, we are aiming it at the unknown enemy. The four we're talking about are mainly elderly who died from various circumstances." She stopped, pondering her words before continuing, "Two died from the shockwaves. They were quite frail, sadly. One drowned after being knocked unconscious into a stream, and another is missing, presumably falling into the sea."

Grimacing from the revelation, the mere after-effects of the fight, killing innocents, "Fuck."

He noticed the woman shaking slightly, sweat steadily rising out her pores. Seeing her state, her eyes flickering as if contemplating how to express the next section, Barak interrupted, saying it straight.

"Mark. Regarding your house, you are to say it was a gas explosion. This triggered your abilities from the experience. In this next section, you are going to need to be careful."

"W- What do you mean?" Mark uttered.

"The hospital is pretty damning for you. 138 people passed, potentially more still from injury. It was witnessed by over 300 people. You're... going to need to explicitly state how this happened. Additionally, they will certainly mention it, but roughly 1/3 of those who passed away were children."

"What? Y-, N-, that. How?" Mark stuttered and slurred, his thoughts becoming more chaotic and confusing. A crack in his psyche from nearly a week ago resurfaced. The guilt, so much death surrounding him. It is too much to bear. He couldn't do it. Everything was going wrong, no matter his actions. They all went horribly awry, cursed to a fate, not of his choosing.

"Accidentally, a children's ward was hit." Barak slowly articulated before rapidly interjecting, "Now, we know it's not your fault. You panicked, you were scared, and you had just gone through a traumatic experience. But it happened, and the public will want answers, and the press will ask."

"I killed children?" He rhetorically muttered, neither listening nor reading anything. His knees were shaking like his hands, eyes fixed on the floor.

'It's not my fault. I'm not a monster. P- People die. Humans die. It's normal.' Mark consoled himself, 'They were just unlucky... that's all. Wrong place, wrong time.'

"It wasn't your fault, Mark. We're going to be truthful here. You had no control of your powers, combined with recent trauma, panic, and sadness culminated in the incident." Jenny kindly voiced to him.

The crack grew wider, reading the words, causing him to snort. The same old rhetoric. The same old bullshit. Sugar-coating everything. It made him sick. People die, Mark told himself; they just die in different ways. Why should he care? It made him weak. He needed to be strong. For the world. For justice. For Humanity. To make his family proud.

Finally peering at the various concerned and frightened faces, his eyes turned dull, "We're done here. Run me through it tomorrow. I'm not in the mood."

Walking out, he left the stunned soldiers and press advisors to themselves. Jenny was the first to speak, her tone serious and worried.

"W- What the fuck just happened? M- Maybe we underestim... misunderstood his mental state. I mean, he lost his family only a week ago, and the funeral was today. Who planned this!?" She shouted, looking towards Barak.

"It wasn't me! The Cabinet arranged this-" He clarified in defence.

"You work for the Cabinet!" She hissed, wobbling as she did so, stabilising herself on her crutches.

"You agreed, Jenny." The female press advisor countered, "He'll come around, surely."

"Better hope so. He looked like he turned unbothered. I can't think of anything worse than an uncaring superman flying around. I want to live for the next few decades." Jenny stated, the room falling into silence.

Hidden from view, covered by his hand, Barak smiled. A momentous occasion. The birth of a leader. The birth... of a god.