Non occurrit parentibus-LXXI

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DATE:1st of August, the 70th year after the Coronation

LOCATION: Concord Metropolis

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I took a deep breath, the sharp scent of wheat filling my lungs, and tried to steady my nerves. Survival came first. The quiet countryside stretched out around me, the endless golden fields glowing under the sun. Emily's choice to teleport us here wasn't arbitrary—there was logic to it, even if I didn't want to admit it. Between Mike's farm and the Heart family estate, this place offered the closest semblance of safety I could hope for.

Still, it wasn't comforting.

The thought of going to the Heart family estate made me grimace. If Mike had already been caught—or worse—then walking into this place could be a trap. But I didn't have many options. Mike's cabin was compromised, and his farm was bare of any supplies. Alice's apartment? Not even worth considering.

I glanced at Emily's SIM card, clutched tightly in my hand. She had made the decision for me. I didn't have the luxury to question her reasoning, not now.

I shook off the lingering doubts and started toward the farmhouse.

As I walked, I looked down at myself—the coat I'd taken from Dumas was stiff with dried blood, stained from the chaos at the base. It felt heavy on my shoulders, the evidence of everything I'd done weighing me down. I couldn't afford to keep it. My fingerprints were all over it, and leaving it intact would be a foolish mistake. I'd need to burn it the first chance I got.

The silos came into view first, their metal surfaces gleaming in the sun. The wooden farmhouse stood not far behind, nestled in the middle of the sprawling fields. The scene was almost picturesque—peaceful, idyllic even. It was a sharp contrast to the blood-soaked chaos I'd just escaped.

The summer heat was oppressive, the air thick and heavy, but it didn't bother me. I couldn't sweat—not anymore. Another cruel irony of what I'd become.

I reached the edge of the property and stopped for a moment, taking in the familiar sight of the Heart family home. The countryside had always been quiet, but this kind of silence felt different. Unnatural, maybe.

I adjusted the coat on my shoulders, the weight of Emily's SIM card in my hand grounding me. Survival. That was all this was about now. No point in hesitating.

I strode forward, toward the house, leaving the wheat fields behind.

I reached the porch, the air around the countryside house still and quiet. My hand lazily grabbed the doorknob as I paused, peeling off my bloodstained coat. I bunched it into a ball, not wanting to track any mess inside. Stepping through the doorway, I glanced around the interior.

It hadn't changed since the funeral. The walls carried that same faded warmth, the furniture still arranged the way it had been, though dust had started to settle in the corners. I didn't bother to recall the details from back then—what was the point? The house was just a remnant of someone else's grief.

I wandered toward the kitchen, the faint scent of something sweet in the air. There she was—Kevin's mother, bustling near the counter. She looked up, surprised to see me standing there.

"Oh, it's you Will!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying the familiar tone of a country woman, one who had seen sixty years but bore them lightly.

Before I could respond, she wiped her hands on a towel and offered me a slice of cheesecake. Not my thing, but declining felt too callous. I accepted, pretending to appreciate the gesture as I sat at the table.

"It's been a while since we've seen you around here," she said, her eyes flicking to my disheveled appearance. "What brings you all the way out to the countryside?"

I rubbed the back of my neck, my mind scrambling for an excuse. Before I could say anything, her expression shifted, her voice dropping to a half-whisper, full of awe.

"Wait… are you out here for hero work?"

I froze for a moment, then played into her assumption, letting a faint smile creep onto my face. "Something like that," I said, keeping my tone ambiguous.

Her face lit up, and she placed a hand on her chest. "Oh, it's so wonderful, what you do as Aionis. The world needs more people like you—heroes who really care."

The irony stung, but I kept my mask firmly in place. I nodded solemnly. "Thank you. It means a lot."

After a beat, I glanced around. "Actually… I lost my phone, and my ride's out of commission. Would it be alright if I borrowed a phone to make a quick call?"

She brightened at the request, eager to help. "Of course! There's a phone in the living room—on the wall by the bookshelf." She gestured toward the doorway.

As I got up to head toward the living room, she chuckled, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. "You know, Sarah talks about you all the time. She's so fond of you."

I paused, my hand brushing against the doorway.

"I dare say we should all have a family dinner sometime," she continued, her tone light, but there was a certain hopefulness behind it.

I forced a small smile, nodding politely. "That sounds lovely," I said, knowing full well it was impossible.

Some things were better left unsaid.

I grabbed the phone and stared at it for a moment, my mind racing with options. Mike? No, absolutely not. We had an agreement to contact each other only through specific, untraceable methods if things went south. Calling him now would only jeopardize both of us, and he'd be furious if I broke protocol.

Alice? Even less likely. Whatever we had was fractured beyond repair. She probably wouldn't even pick up, and if she did, it wouldn't be to help me.

That left two options: the professor or Sarah.

Sarah... I hesitated, considering her. She had always admired me in a strange, uncomfortable way, fixating on traits she couldn't replicate herself. But admiration had its limits. If Alice had told her what I'd done—everything I'd done—then admiration might have already turned to hatred. If that were the case, calling Sarah would be signing my death warrant. She wouldn't hesitate to track me down and end me herself.

The professor, then.

I dialed his number, a strange and unnecessarily long string of digits, etched into my memory. Each press of a button felt heavier than the last, as if the line itself carried the weight of what I was about to do. I held the receiver to my ear and waited, pondering my next move while the dial tone droned on.

Finally, his voice came through, low and groggy, as if I'd woken him up from some deeply important nap.

"What?" he muttered, clearly unimpressed by the interruption.

"The phone's destroyed," I said bluntly, keeping my tone neutral.

There was a long pause. "Destroyed? That's... unfortunate." His words were slow, deliberate. "Can't geo-locate it now."

I froze, caught off guard by his admission. He could geo-locate it at any time? I forced myself not to dwell on that, sidestepping the revelation. "We need to meet," I suggested instead.

He didn't argue, though his voice remained disinterested. "Fine. You know where to find me. Come by anytime."

Then, without warning, he ended the call.

I let out a sigh and placed the receiver back into its slot on the wall. The professor was my best bet, but now a new problem loomed in front of me.

How was I supposed to get a car?

I stared blankly at the room for a moment, weighing my options. Do I really swallow my pride and call Sarah? Could I risk it?

My hand hovered near the phone again, reluctant. Damn it, the professor might be waiting, but I had to figure this out first.

I let myself sink deeper into the couch, my mind spinning from everything that had happened. My hands rested on my knees as I leaned forward, trying to make sense of it all. The weight of the events I'd just endured was pressing hard against my chest, but I had no time to process it.

As I sat there, Kevin's mother entered the living room, her apron still tied around her waist. She glanced at me briefly before picking up the remote. "It's time for my cooking show," she announced, her tone light but firm, as though that was the only thing that mattered in the world.

I barely acknowledged her, lost in my thoughts. But as she flicked through the channels, a sudden flash of color caught my eye. Something uncanny, something alien.

"Wait," I said sharply, sitting up straighter. "Turn it back."

Kevin's mother hesitated, giving me a curious look before flipping back a channel. There it was—a news report. The screen showed an otherworldly man, standing before a row of microphones. His presence was magnetic and deeply unsettling.

It was Matthew D.A.

Even through the screen, he didn't look right. A humanoid shape, sure, but his skin was spectral, shimmering and glowing as though he weren't made of flesh but some translucent, otherworldly material. Surrounding him was a neon aura—one that some people called angelic. To me, it felt eldritch, wrong in ways that were hard to articulate.

The broadcast explained that one of his factories had been sacked by the Combine gang. The camera panned over charred wreckage and police tape before cutting back to Matthew, who spoke with calm precision.

His voice was smooth, calculated, and eerily calm. "This unfortunate attack highlights the necessity for stronger partnerships between private corporations and the hero agencies. While the damage is regrettable, we will recover. Our commitment to innovation remains unshaken."

It was the way he spoke, the way he moved—too perfect, too fluid. It wasn't human.

Everyone knew, even if no one said it outright. Matthew D.A. was an alien.

Five years ago, an alien warship had tried to occupy Concord. It wasn't an invasion in the traditional sense—they didn't send soldiers or drop bombs right away. Instead, they sent androids and gave an ultimatum. Surrender or face annihilation. Their warship carried bombs, supposedly powerful enough to level cities.

UltraMan had intervened, of course. He flew to space, tore through the android forces, and damaged the ship so severely they were forced to retreat. The reports claimed that UltraMan was even hit with one of those bombs and survived unscathed.

The aftermath, though, was murky. It was said that Matthew D.A. had been living in Concord long before the invasion as a diplomat, supposedly trying to prepare humanity for the occupation. Whether he was a loyalist who failed his mission or an exile who found purpose on Earth, no one knew for sure.

Some claimed it was all slander spread by his rivals—Silvian Morris and the late Donn. After all, UltraMan was the only one who saw the aliens' faces. But I believed the rumors.

Matthew didn't act human. He didn't think human.

Officially, every product his company sold—pharmaceutical breakthroughs, revolutionary petroleum technology, advanced weaponry, even watches and telephones—was credited to him. Not a team, not a department. Just Matthew.

No one could be that prolific, that successful in so many different fields. Unless they weren't human.

"Crazy, huh?" Kevin's mother muttered, glancing at the screen. She didn't wait for a response before changing the channel back to her cooking show.

I leaned back, folding my arms. A factory sacked by the Combine gang. What were the hero agencies doing about it?

This was the kind of politics I hated—the constant tug-of-war between private corporations, gang interference, and hero agency inefficiency. Factories burned, livelihoods destroyed, and people like Matthew D.A. made speeches about "innovation" while the rest cleaned up the mess.

I had an idea. I remember seeing an old car outside, maybe I could use it.

I went back inside and asked my "aunt" about it. She nodded, recalling the car. "Oh, that old thing? Only my husband knows where the keys are. He's out in the field working right now."

"Where exactly?" I pressed, trying to mask my urgency.

Sensing my need to leave, she pointed toward a dirt path leading into the fields beyond the farmhouse. "Just follow that road; you'll see his tractor eventually."

I thanked her, slipped on the coat, and said a quick goodbye. It felt strange, saying goodbye to her. It was like I was leaving a life that wasn't mine.

The dirt path stretched ahead, winding through open farmland, dotted with patches of wildflowers and the occasional scarecrow. After walking a few kilometers, I spotted the tractor, its engine chugging steadily as it rolled over the uneven ground.

I waited for it to stop, catching my "uncle's" attention with a wave. He climbed out, wiping his hands on his overalls, and approached with a strong, calloused handshake.

"Well, if it isn't the city slicker! What brings you all the way out here?" His voice was warm, with a tinge of surprise.

"I... got stranded," I said, keeping my explanation vague. "I need to borrow the car to get to the city. It's important."

He frowned slightly, scratching his head. "I could drive you there myself if it's that urgent."

I shook my head quickly. "It's not the city. It's... a secret location. I don't want to put you in danger."

He gave me a curious look, but something about the way I said it must have convinced him. With a sigh, he nodded. "Alright, then. The key's in the nightstand drawer, in our bedroom."

"Thank you," I said, turning to leave.

As I walked away, he called after me. "You should visit us sometime. Really visit, you know?"

I glanced back, offering him a brief smile. "I will."

But I knew it was a lie.

I took a moment to let his words sink in, nodding politely before heading back along the dirt path. The countryside stretched out before me, quiet and serene, in stark contrast to the chaos that had consumed my life. For a fleeting second, I felt a pang of guilt for dragging my "uncle" into this, even peripherally. But there wasn't time to dwell on it.

The farmhouse came into view again, and I hurried inside, offering a brief, distracted smile to my "aunt," who was busy tidying up. I made my way to their bedroom, careful not to disturb anything else, and opened the nightstand.

There it was: a single, worn key with an old leather fob attached. I pocketed it quickly and stepped out of the room, stopping just long enough to let my "aunt" know I'd be taking the car. She nodded, her face a mix of concern and understanding, but didn't press for details.

As I stepped outside again, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the fields. I followed the dirt path to the far side of the property, where the old car rested, its body caked in a layer of dust and rust. It was a relic of a bygone era, but it looked functional.

Sliding into the driver's seat, I inserted the key and turned it. The engine sputtered and groaned before roaring to life, a sound that filled me with a surprising sense of relief. The interior smelled faintly of oil and damp fabric, but I didn't care. It would do.

I pulled the car onto the road, the tires crunching over the gravel, and began the drive toward the city. The distant horizon loomed ahead, but my thoughts were elsewhere.-*-*-*-*-*