Real Fantasy

Real Fantasy - A short story by TR Earhart

In November 2015, the first superhuman was discovered. Rafael Ramirez, 20 years old, lived in Abasolo, Mexico. He had the ability to manipulate sand without touching it, as well as the ability to convert other matter into sand particles. The government caught wind of this and sent him a formal invitation to a private laboratory, where they would study him to discern the nature of his powers. Ramirez accepted.

It was discovered that he gained this ability from a type of radiation not native to Earth, which had briefly crossed paths with the planet. Only one known person had been affected, that being Ramirez. Those infused with this “cosmic radiation” would have the ability to manipulate reality in very specific ways, such as the mastery of sand, which Ramirez displayed. It was later discovered that Ramirez could turn living beings into sand, effectively killing them. After accidentally turning the right hand of an elderly scientist into nothing more than a pile of sand, Ramirez refused to participate in further experiments.

This information was leaked to the public by cyberterrorists in January 2016. The populace of the world divided itself into two sides. Side 1, the Warners, believed that these abilities should be removed, for they pose a major threat to any civilization. Side 2, the Accepters, believed that superhumans should be given the same rights as all others.

During 2016, political interviews and campaigns were swarmed with questions relating to superhumans, and each politician had something to say about it. Our protagonist of this story did not. At the time, he was 8 years old. All that went through his head was how the cosmic radiation that hit our planet was strikingly similar to the origin story of the Fantastic Four. He had dreams that the superhumans would become superheroes, eventually forming a team to combat demon aliens or something along those lines. These appropriately childish ideas partially came to exist. As superhumans started popping up from all sides of the globe, a good amount of them decided to indulge in vigilantism, occasionally to the dismay of their country’s government.

By 2025, new superhumans were still being created. Society was still unsure of how to treat them. Our protagonist remembers presenting a project in high school on how he wanted superhumans should be legally treated the same as any other person. Apparently, this presentation was so good, it got the woman who would become his wife to confess that her sister was a superhuman. One that could control the flow of time, no less.

But that was a long time ago. There’s been a lot of change.

Frederick stepped outside, limping a small bit. His hip had been aching since he woke up from a dreamless, unhealthily light slumber. He breathed the lukewarm air. Smoky, dusty, enough to make someone choke if they weren’t used to the environment. Out of boredom, he kicked some orange dust on the ground. He watched it float into the air. Looking at it, he had a view of the city. New York City. Destroyed. Broken. A haven for anyone who doesn’t want to involve themselves in World War III. What used to be towering skyscrapers are now piles of rubble, mostly shattered glass and concrete. The sky is usually a dull orange, reminding many of the apocalyptic scenario they face. However, it is night, meaning that the sky is a toxic shade of brown.

Frederick sat down on the dirty asphalt ground that used to be called Times Square. He was bombarded with flashbacks of the start of the war. Of course, every Batman has a Joker. Every Iron Man has a Thanos. Every heroic vigilante has a sociopathic rival. That is where Talib El-Hashem comes in. He is the one who clashed with another superhuman, one with an unknown power, right in the centre of New York City. El-Hashem had the ability to create portals from one point in space to another. He could travel from Paris to Las Vegas in the literal blink of an eye. He used this ability in the name of his God to destroy anyone who so much as doubted his religion. The Warners, mentioned earlier, knew that superhuman criminals would eventually cause irreversible damage. They were correct. The battle between El-Hashem and the unidentified superhuman demolished New York City in their clash. Frederick remembered playing a video game with a close friend as his tv automatically switched to the news channel, alerting billions about what was called the Decimation of New York.

Nobody knows why it began, but it is a historical fact that it ended with both of them shot dead by a police officer. A war finally sparked, between those for and against superhumans. America detested the idea of superhuman criminals and not only vowed to limit their freedom but also awarded the police officer in question. The United Kingdom opposed them by having their king make a public speech on how superhumans are like regular humans, they can choose to be good or bad.

Details after that were fuzzy. Frederick assumed that he had subconsciously chosen to blur out the gory details, such as the Eradication of China in 2038, or the Canadian Ban of Social Interaction in 2040. One way or another, civilizations around the world collapsed. Frederick didn’t dare venture out into the world, to find others like him. Firstly, he needed to stay where he was to shelter any visitors from other regions. He didn’t know of any other safe havens, outside from a few vague pieces of evidence that Russia, Mongolia and Kazakhstan had merged into one country, functioning as a “super safe haven”. Secondly, he was deathly afraid of the more violent Warners, those who would kidnap, torture and kill any superhuman, regardless of their alliance. He had heard plenty of stories of how people had escaped with little more than their lives from the “Collectors”, often at the cost of their closest friends and family. The Collectors never went into New York, for one reason or another, so Frederick believed he had to stay put.

“Fred?”

A serene voice soothed his soul, making all those frightful flashbacks fade. He turned around to greet his wife. Her face displayed curious, warm eyes, which Fred likened to frosty oceans. He put his hands through her silky hair. Despite both of them being in their late thirties, Frederick believed his wife to not look a day over 20. Well, at least he thought that they were in their late thirties. Time isn’t something people kept track of anymore.

“Hope. Good morning.”

He always liked her name. Hope. He thought that it was genuinely beautiful.

“What’s wrong? Are you thinking about… before all of this happened?”

“Yes, I… I am,” Frederick confessed, a small hint of embarrassment in his voice. He felt ashamed that he stayed tied to the past.

“It’s okay. I think about it a lot too.” Her beautiful smile shrunk into a frown. Frederick could see it in her eyes that she was recalling a particularly tragic moment. He knew exactly what she was remembering.

“Our emotions shouldn’t prevent us from continuing what’s right. We have to get supplies for the others,” spoke Frederick, attempting to divert the conversation.

“Liz is already getting food. She’ll be back later. Or earlier, depending on if her time travel theory works. It’s a shame that the crops are so far away.”

Liz is Hope’s sister. She is a superhuman, capable of reversing or accelerating time. Her ability is difficult to control, so she doesn’t use it often. Recently, she began to look into the idea of using her powers to travel through time, despite how ridiculous and sci-fi it may sound. She, alongside Hope, was also the first that Frederick told about his powers. Yes, Frederick is a superhuman, one with the power to create fire.

“We should get supplies for an extra bed. The new kid doesn’t have one yet.” Hope said, after an awkwardly long silence.

“Yes. I’ll try to find some at the Ikea ruins. It should only take an hour to get there and back. You can come if you want.” He replied.

“You know I won’t miss out an opportunity to go to Ikea.”

As soon as Frederick began to walk in the direction towards the ruined store, he grunted in pain. Clenching his teeth, he grabbed the right side of his hip, which was pulsing with pain. Hope immediately went to his side, looking worriedly at him.

“Oh my God, Fred… are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. My hip just hurts. I don’t know why.” Frederick assured.

“Maybe it’s best if I go it alone. You should go back to the others.”

Although he hated to leave his wife, the pain in his hip showed no signs of stopping. This is the drawback of growing older. He kissed Hope goodbye, and begrudgingly trudged back to his home. A somewhat poorly-constructed building that was about the size of a big restaurant. As he walked in, he was greeted with a smell similar to that of a wet dog. It shocked him how he remembered such a smell, even though it had been roughly 10 years since he’d seen anything remotely resembling a canine. He kept his shoes on as he walked through, in order to prevent his socks from getting wet from the semi-damp cardboard carpet that covered the floor. Ripped couches, chipped chairs and tables made out of the concrete of buildings populated the interior.

Speaking of population, a good portion of New York’s was right in front of him. Families, close together, hugging in desperation that it may bring them some semblance of happiness. Children and adolescents sitting by themselves, stripped of faith after witnessing the demise of their parents. A lot of these children were superhumans who miraculously escaped from Collectors. One of them sat alone, for his reptilian appearance unnerved many others. Superhuman abilities aren’t always just gifts, and this child, Raymond, was plagued by one of the worst curses possible. Yet despite his physical appearance, he was a personal favourite of Frederick’s.

Frederick slumped next to him, still gripping his aching hip. When Raymond first entered the safe haven’s headquarters, Frederick was one of the few to welcome him.

“Hey, Freddie.”

Raymond’s cat-like pupils darted to Frederick. His topaz eyes almost glowed in the dark. He was holding his scaly, neon green hands.

“When we gettin’ food?” He questioned.

“Soon enough. Liz will be back later.”

“Ah, yeah. I see.” Raymond’s mouth, one of the few parts of his body left uncovered by his condition, formed a sombre frown.

A moment of silence passed. The two just sat there, staring into space, until Frederick broke the deafening quietness.

“Are you alright? You seem quiet.”

“Nah, man… nah.” Raymond murmured.

“Are you…” Frederick hesitated before saying it, but he had to. “Are you thinking about your parents?”

“Yeah,” Raymond replied, without a hint of emotion in his words.

Raymond, like many others, viewed the death of his parents. It was about a month ago that they were hunted by a Collector and slaughtered. This particular Collector supposedly took pity on Raymond and gave him a 5-second head start. Thanks to the agility gained from his reptilian physiology, Raymond was capable of escaping.

“Hey man… I’m cold.”

Frederick didn’t even notice that Raymond was shivering. Of course. Reptiles are incredibly susceptible to the cold, especially compared to mammals.

Frederick utilized his aforementioned power of pyrokinesis to conjure a flame in his hand. It stung just a bit, but it did not burn. Despite the flame’s small size, its heat radiated throughout the room. Raymond sighed in relief and subtly smirked. He closed his eyes and relished in the comforting heat. Among his reptilian features was a lack of hair; his head sported not a single strand of hair, and his eyebrows and eyelashes were nonexistent. Though Frederick’s arm was beginning to get tired, he would not waver in delivering the heat to his friend. Others started to draw near; other children who desired to escape the cold. The shadows, though repulsed by the burning light, gave the room an eerie feel.

Over time, the aura of the room become sleepier. Some children had already fallen into a slumber, including Raymond. There was no real bedtime in New York, as the sky pollution made it so that day and night were identical. Frederick felt his eyelids getting heavier, as the fire in the palm of his hand flickered and sizzled. Eventually, it evaporated into steam, allowing the surrounding darkness to crawl back in. Frederick laid onto the soggy, cardboard carpet that covered the dirty concrete ground.

It began to rain. As soon as the first raindrop hit the ground, Frederick felt his eyelids gain the same weight as a million tons of titanium. The rain always relaxed him, no matter what. He closed his eyes and drifted into a doze.

At first, Frederick could not decipher if what he was hearing was a nightmare or a grim outcome of reality. He heard screams, shouted threats of gruff, adult voices, and gunshots. But then— BOOM. A bullet from some sort of sniper rifle shot the ground directly beneath Frederick’s right ear. He groaned in agony as the ringing in his year electrified his defenceless brain. He instinctively cupped his right hand over it and stood up, attempting to make sense of the confusion. A small hint of smoke made his eyes sting, ruining his vision for a moment.

He tried to wipe the smoke out of his eyes. It worked. He looked around him and saw families huddled together. Some were covering large spots of blood on their body… bullet wounds. He stared in front of him, horrified by his surroundings. A large wall of opaque ice abruptly formed and blocked out the entrance. Still stumbling from the ringing in his ears, he noticed that the ice wall was summoned by a superhuman adult woman with silver hair. She collapsed onto the floor in pain, grabbing her stomach. She was shot. She has little time left to live. Through the ice wall, Frederick squinted and saw blurry silhouettes. Men, wielding military-grade clothing and firearms. He could not analyze what they were doing through the ice. Suddenly, the wall exploded, intensifying the pain in his ears.

“Everybody put your hands up!” One shouted.

They each wore black soldier outfits. There was some sort of writing etched on their Kevlar vests, though Frederick could not read it. Sweat began to form on his nauseated head as he stood up straight and raised his hands into the air, showing no sign of resistance towards these attackers. They had black cloth and bulletproof goggles, masking any emotion that they may have. Those around Frederick that survived began to form the same position. Frederick felt his stomach feel akin to a black hole, absorbing and annihilating what little desire for life and survival he had left. He briefly turned his head to his left side, seeing his fellow survivors in the same defenceless stance. Some of them were standing above their fallen family. Some of them were standing in puddles of blood.

“Hey, you! Look at me!” Shouted one of the shooters. Frederick, scared for his life, snapped his view to who was speaking to him.

“Please, we don’t have anything, we just-“ Cried one of the children.

“DON’T TALK!”

The sickening boom of a gunshot shook the building. The fearless child fell to the floor, deceased. One of the adults, presumably the child’s mother, shrieked in emotional agony. Her pleas for peace were ignored as a bullet penetrated her forehead. Frederick resisted the urge to vomit, though he could not stop his stomach from churning.

In a split second decision to save his life, Frederick used his superhuman ability of pyrokinesis to generate an explosion, acting as a smokescreen. The loud bang worsened the ever-increasing pain in Frederick’s ear. It also knocked him back, augmenting the ache in his hip. Grunting due to his affliction, he used all his willpower to escape. What many did not know was that there was a secret escape route at the back of the building. Frederick was making his way there. He attempted to mentally block the screaming of his fellow superhumans but to no avail. What was worse was when they stopped screaming, not-so-coincidentally after a series of gunshots. Loud noises are agonizing, but silences burn your ears more than fire ever could.

Of course, Frederick’s journey outside of the building would be here with very descriptive details… but alas, Frederick could not recall his escape. It was all a rush, his mind locked in a primal, primitive mode where only one thought could form: survive. The pounding of his heart mixed with the adrenaline blocked out what emotions he would ordinarily be a victim to.

Eventually, he found himself shuddering in fear, hiding underneath some rubble. All these years and the rubble in New York from the destroyed buildings was never fixed up. It made good camouflage in dire situations. In the distance, Frederick heard some of the shooters shouting militaristic commands. He could’ve sworn he heard Raymond shrieking. What torture were they putting him through? Frederick laid under the rubble, halfway between falling asleep and being wide awake. He wanted to remain there all his life.

He waited.

And waited.

And he waited some more.

His mind just now began pondering what had occurred. He lost everything. When people say that they lost everything, it’s usually a hyperbolic statement, but Frederick quite literally lost everything. His home was infested by impetuous, hot-headed murderers. The families and children that had come to him for guidance and asylum were either kidnapped and to be tortured for the rest of their lives, sold as super-powered slaves, or shot dead with no hesitation or remorse. If Raymond was by some miracle left alive, he would be in grave danger until the day he dies. And Hope… Frederick’s eyes widened in suspenseful horror. He had not the slightest clue that Hope was safe. If Frederick believed in a God up above, he would pray for Hope.

Suddenly, he heard something. What sounded like an unusually slow patter of rain eventually cascaded into an onslaught of hurried footsteps. Frederick was alert, unsure if these were friends or foes.

“Where is he?!” Bellowed one of them.

“The footprints end here, boss. Is he a teleporter?”

“No, the freak makes fire. You think he’s hiding?”

The shooters. They were searching for Frederick and they would not stop until the hunt was over. One of them cocked their gun. Through a crevice in the rubble he was hiding under, he could see that they were slowly stalking their surroundings, sticking their guns in random directions where the ‘freak’ could potentially be located. The crack in the rubble made his predators barely visible, but he could see their all-black outfits and their menacing firearms. But suddenly, something bizarre happened. As they were searching around their environment, they suddenly slowed down and stopped. Completely. They made not a single motion. This was particularly irregular, but Frederick knew why they were doing this. It was not voluntary. Frederick lazily rose from the rubble, the pebbles and concrete pieces levitating in the air. Liz, the sister of Hope, stood there. White energy ripples emanated from her hands, which were stretched in front of her. The shooters contorted and shrivelled into little more than ashes. Frederick directed his gaze to Liz. Her eyes were bloodshot.

“Liz.”

“Frederick, I have to tell you… about Hope.”

Frederick’s heart stopped. His worst fear had become a reality. He knew what Liz was going to say, yet he never wanted to believe it.

“They didn’t… they couldn’t have-“

“She was killed, Frederick.” Liz struggled to speak. She was barely able to hold back her tears. Frederick sat down on the ground. He didn’t feel sadness per se. He felt a feeling that one could only describe as being lost. His eyes burned and stung, though no tear came out. His skin felt as if he was in a stove, yet the pain was dull and trapped in the background of his mind.

“Frederick?” Liz’s voice broke. Frederick did not speak back, however. Frederick spaced out, thinking about nothing. All he could really hear was his breathing. All other sounds, such as Liz’s shaky breaths, were soft static.

“Are you sure that she’s dead?” Frederick looked up, hopeless.

“Yes. I saw her body. The people who attacked the base, they traced her footsteps to find it.”

A lonesome tear creeped out of Frederick’s eye as he lowered his head, staring at the ground. A dissonant breeze lightly brushed Frederick’s hair.

Then there was silence.

Nothing. No emotion. No communication. Not even a shred of acceptance. Liz stood there, motionless. Frederick sat there, motionless. Anyone looking at them from afar may confuse them with statues. What was merely five minutes felt like a thousand years. Finally, after this eternity of gut-wrenching tranquillity, Liz spoke up.

“I have a way that we could bring her back.” Liz proposed.

Frederick’s head perked up as his breathing subtly accelerated. He stood up, looking at Liz straight in the eyes.

“My powers are based around time, right? So I’ve been testing if I could reverse time. It’s hard to do, but-“

“Do it. Bring her back.” Frederick ordered.

“I can’t. But what I can do is transport you through time. You can prevent the events that led to Hope being… killed, maybe even saving our base in the process. I don’t know what’ll happen, but-“

“I’m willing to do anything to save her life. She’s worth everything. Hope is the reason that I wake up in the morning.”

Frederick was filled with a sense of heroic obligation. He HAS to save Hope. He HAS to do what is right. For Hope, for Liz, for Raymond… Raymond is likely dead too, he thought. Any doubts that he could save everyone were overwhelmed by a longing for justice. His eyes glowed a hot orange as fire surged through his blood. Smoke began to pour from his orifices, causing him to choke a little.

“When you’re ready, Fred.”

“Do it. Now.”

Liz held her hands out, causing white ripples of temporal psychic energy to emanate from it. A familiar sight, for this happens whenever Liz manifests her abilities. Frederick felt lightheaded. No, he felt… light. His weight began to decrease as he slowly started to glow white.

“Wait, something’s wrong-” alerted a worried Liz, though the glowing did nothing but continue. Suddenly, Frederick was blinded by an ethereal light, so painful yet so enlightening and perfect. He felt the air around him sharpen, the scents around him becoming more… natural? And then everything cut to black.

He woke up on concrete. Clean white concrete, with not a single speck of rubble or dust on it. He heard the gasping of a whole crowd of civilians surrounding him. Frederick felt sore in every corner of his body, but he found the will to stand up when he realized something. The sky was a crisp blue. There were towering skyscrapers, all around. The road was speckled with concerned pedestrians. Frederick looked around in amazement. Was he dreaming? No, he wasn’t. He was witnessing a time long past.

“What… what year is it?” Frederick asked urgently.

“Uh… 2027? Ain’t that common knowledge?” A well-dressed man asked with a New Yorker accent.

Frederick covered his mouth to prevent an audible gasp. He had somehow been transported to before the war. He stared behind him, taking in the beautiful concrete jungle that New York once was, struck with awe and childlike wonder. That is until he began to ponder the gravity of what just happened. Liz presumably lost control over her abilities and accidentally sent him to 2027… the same year that World War III was sparked, if Frederick recollected correctly.

Out of nowhere, Frederick and the bystanders heard a noise. A noise that was distant and almost unnoticeable, yet continuously amplifying. Eventually, it caused every head in the vicinity to turn, to which they would find something rather unnatural. A glowing, violet-coloured ring. Inside of the ring was what Frederick thought was a photo of some dusty desert until a man covered head to toe with kevlar armour walked through. The bystanders around Frederick gasped and yelped, hastily backing away, but Frederick stood his ground.

“We received alerts of a major influx of temporal energy in this location exactly 20 minutes ago. And now, the cause of this energy has come into existence…” His muffled voice maintained a vaguely Arabic accent. It remained very sophisticated, very polite, yet bone-chilling.

“My theory was correct,” he continued, “for the cause of the energy was indeed a superhuman. I don’t wish to alarm you, but I have come to terminate you.”

Frederick grimaced with rage. He had come all this way, through time and space, to save the woman he loves more than anything in the world, only for his life to be challenged. He summoned fire from his arm, scaring off any bystanders near him. The swears and cries of many surrounded what would become a battlefield.

“What makes you think you have the skill, or the right, to kill me?” Frederick boasted, through gritted teeth.

“I have been given my abilities from Allah himself. I am deemed the worthiest of all humans on this Earth, while others gain their abilities via unbalanced probability. I do not just aim to perfect this world, I will perfect it.”

Frederick, out of instinct-based anger, shot a burst of fire at his enemy. He was launched through the portal that remained behind him. Frederick heard no sounds, smelt no scents, felt no feelings. He only felt raw emotion, which, even then, was barely describable. His opponent stood up and grabbed a gun previously out-of-sight and loaded it with ammo. Frederick felt his blood boil with fire, in both a figurative and a literal sense, and began to charge at his rival.

It brings me great pain to reveal to you that I, the narrator, do not have access to the details of the fight that ensued. The apocalypse that was attributable to World War III doesn’t have much information regarding the battle. The battle that caused the war in the first place, of course. All that the remaining humans knew was that two superhumans fought in New York City. A permanently unidentified fighter and a portal-generating terrorist named Talib El-Hashem. I don’t know much more than that. Society never discovered that time travel was possible, not before it collapsed at least, so nobody was able to discover that Frederick Alvey was the unknown superhuman. An individual that caused the accidental murder of hundreds of thousands, all because of an emotional domino effect and a terrorist.

Were you expecting a satisfying ending? You ask too much of the universe. Existence doesn’t operate like that. World War II, the most cataclysmic event in human history, ended with the main villain shooting himself. Alone. No build-up, no epic battle sequence beforehand. The end of Frederick’s short, fury-induced crusade ended with thousands of explosives raining from above, due to a gigantic portal made by El-Hashem. In a short burst of uncontrollable instinct, Frederick shot at the bombs. Maybe he was thinking that if they detonated in the air, they wouldn’t cause as much damage. Alas, New York was nearly completely demolished. Clouds of dust flooded the city. Frederick, barely alive, kept standing. Each moveset was shaky and uncertain. He looked over to his right arm… burnt to a crisp. It was in such a bad state that it could barely be considered a limb.

He heard the arrhythmic steps of someone behind him. He winced in pain as he turned around. A man dressed entirely in blue… a police officer. He was limping terribly.

“You… you killed everyone.”

Rain began to pour, showering the bleak city. The raindrops made Frederick’s injuries sting.

“It wasn’t-”

Frederick could not even finish his sentence before a sharp, tiny object pierced his skin and entered his body. His eyes were drawn to the officer’s hand. Although his vision blurred profusely, he could see the distinct shape and colour of a gun.

Frederick felt no pain as his new wound erupted with blood. He felt no pain as he effortlessly fell onto the ground. In his last moments, his vision distorted to complete darkness. Yet he could still hear and feel the crisp rain. It soothed and calmed him in his last moments. His actions were completely futile and useless, yet he still found a way to remain placid. And then nothing. The looming threat of warfare blossomed that day. It never stopped.