CHAPTER 15

First Mission

            Pete was more or less pissed.

            It wasn’t fair. Finally, after all these years, something interesting was happening in his life, but that wasn’t the problem. No, it was the reason why his life was turned upside down. As it turned out, Pete’s entire existence wasn’t even real. It was a made up illusion, a mere fraction of a madman’s dream, and like a character in a book, Pete had no choice but to do exactly as the next word instructed. He was trapped, and the worst part about it was that he wasn’t even that great of a character. He was the mediocre puppet murderer, cursed to an untimely end, while the people that’d dragged him into this mess were supposed gods.

            Pete could hear their quiet footsteps as they followed close behind him. They walked along Fifth Avenue with an air of superiority, and it aggravated him. Of course, it was only Conner and Mina, and it was mostly their attitudes that annoyed him, but they’d always been like this. In school, Mina strutted about like the queen of the track field, using her abilities to her advantage. Conner was more laid back, but he was a renowned genius and was always being hit on by girls and guys alike. As gods, they had an unfair advantage, and their egos had passed the level of inflated ages ago.

            But what can I do about it? Pete thought. He had no real power without somebody controlling him—he’d already tried to run super fast and use the strength he’d gained from killing Stile Cortez, but it didn’t work anymore. Allen had somehow given him these abilities, and now because of Pete’s missing lung, he couldn’t even run fast enough to save his life. 

            Pete sighed. He felt pathetic and alone, but he couldn’t give up. Maybe if he helped them find Allen and bring an end to this strange mess, they’d leave him alone so he could do what needed to be done.

            Pete was heading north on Fifth Avenue from Grand Central Station, following his instincts and praying that they knew what they were doing. He was trying to find his brother, and although Pete didn’t know how to sense his location, he had a pretty good idea where Allen would go. The guy loved nature, especially on Earth, so maybe he’d spent the last eight days living as a hobo in Central Park.

             If he’s not there, I could always pretend like he’s running from us, Pete thought. He smiled and glanced into the window beside him, then he frowned. Damn I look like shit. Why did they let me leave the house like this?

            After what’d happened eight days ago, the streets weren’t nearly as crowded as they usually were, so Pete tended to stand out. While nearly everybody was dressed in wealthy attire, Pete wore his father’s too-large black shirt, sunglasses and an old baseball cap. He looked ridiculous, and because using biokinesis would alert Allen to their presence, they resorted to shaving Pete’s head until all his luscious brown hair was no more than half an inch long.

            He felt naked, manipulated and exposed, but there was nothing a puny halfblood Kinetic could do.

            In the distance, the great line of trees that made up the southern edge of Central Park was fast approaching, but Pete couldn’t just run inside like a puppy pointing the way. He wasn’t a dog, he was half human, and humans never had good instincts. So Pete crossed Fifty-Eighth Street and pretended to search the perimeter for his brother. He’d act like one of those fake psychics hunting down ghosts in a haunted house. It feels like the spirit is over here—but oh! It’s moved! My, what an angry spirit!

            He came to a stop outside the Apple Store on Fifth and peered over his sunglasses. The stream of eager shoppers didn’t seem to notice that he was there. “He’s gotta be somewhere around here,” Pete muttered. He glanced at the two gods, but they seemed preoccupied with their search.

            Pete pursed his lips and quickly scanned the area.

            There was a row of shops behind him, another row to his left, while the courtyard called the Plaza stood between him and yet another block of shops, and the greatest city park in the nation was planted proudly at his right. Where was Allen? Where should Pete turn next? There were so many people here it was frustrating. Of course, he should’ve expected this. Manhattan and its wealthy residents never rested even when a psycho murderer was on the loose.

            “Let’s just…” Pete hesitated. He looked from the park to the Plaza, then he returned to the park. “We need to cross the street. Come on.” 

            They jaywalked, but being hit in Manhattan was no big deal when the streetcars were moving at fifteen miles per hour. Pete lead them across the street, quick and eager to bring an end to this disaster, then he diagonally crossed the Plaza so he wouldn’t have to deal with the horse-drawn carriages along Fifty-Ninth. His location felt promising—did his subconscious mind truly know where Allen was? Pete ran across Fifty-Ninth Street before a taxi could speed up and came to a stop at the corner outside Central Park.

            He peered inside, his heart racing and his breath short from the brief jog. “He’s in the park,” he told the gods. “I don’t know where, but he’s inside, I just know it.” Pete turned around to face them. They were searching what they could see of the park.

            “Alright, Lassie, I guess we’ll just have to continue following you,” Conner said. He gestured towards the park entrance in the distance. “Go on. Lead the way.”

            Pete nodded. He was about to move along and head in that direction, but then he saw something gleam in the corner of his eye.

            It was the statue of the horseman and the angel in Grand Army Plaza just outside Central Park. Its bronze coating glistened in the morning sunlight, and in the plaza beneath it, entertainers beat on drums and blew into their flutes as three young women danced in the fashion of the Middle East.

            Pete’s heart raced.

            He didn’t recognize any of the girls, but seeing them made his left side ache and the hole in his chest sink deeper. He imagined himself cast into a black sea, paralyzed with only the moonlight to guide him, and the farther he sank into the dark abyss below, the dimmer the light became and the more hungry fish came out to play.

            A strong hand took hold of his shoulder, and Pete jumped.

            It was only Conner. “Excellent job, my friend,” he said. “For a minute there I didn’t think you knew what you were doing.”

            Pete frowned. What was he talking about? Was Allen someplace nearby? That was when he saw him, the flute player at the farthest end of the line. His hair was tied back in a long braid and he wore a strange looking hat, but that was definitely Allen. Pete wondered how he’d missed him.

            “It seems like he’s kept himself busy,” Mina muttered. She came up beside Pete. “Are you ready for this? We can’t do anything until we’re certain you’re ready.”

            Pete watched his brother, but the strange Kinetic-god-thing didn’t seem to notice Pete’s presence at all. It was odd. It looked like he was more preoccupied with watching the girls dance than protecting his life. And anyways, what was he doing with a group of Middle Eastern entertainers? He seemed to blend in nice, but Allen was, well, he was an alien. He didn’t even know what cars were before Pete explained them.

            But this is also Monaxia, Pete thought. He’s an evil god. He could’ve been pretending the entire time.

            Pete half smiled. He looked at Mina and nodded. “Yeah, I think I’m ready. It’s just…. You know, don’t kill me, okay? I’ve got this lung problem, and after that surgery I’m still kinda weak.”

            Mina beamed. “Oh, that won’t be a problem! Look.”

            She gently took his chin and touched her finger to his forehead. He was about to step back, confused by her strange actions, when suddenly the world around him warped like the reflection in a pond. One by one, the people and objects surrounding him and the plaza stopped moving. They were frozen in place, time stood still and the world became perfectly silent.

            So this was the power of a god.

            Pete was alarmed. “M-Mina—”

            “Shh, Pete. Look at this world and tell me this isn’t an illusion.”

            Pete briefly glanced around him. Everything remained impeccably motionless. “What do you mean? An illusion?”

            She shook her head. “This world is as real as any other, but what you perceive through your senses is only an illusion, something that your brain renders to make sense of the world it’s immersed in. The laws and basic natures that everyone here follows inhibits you, and your title as human has been holding you back. If you forget the buildings and the people around you, sound will reach your ears from thousands of miles away. Ignore the barriers of human conscious and you’ll hear their thoughts. And if the ground beneath your feet disappears, you’ll fly. Your gifts aren’t supernatural abilities, Pete. They’re the result of perceiving the world in a different manner. As I connect your mind to my own, you see how the world looks when I forget the laws of time. As gods, we don’t have to follow the same rules and limitations as the simpleminded.”

            She removed her finger from Pete’s forehead and turned to face Allen, a smile coating her amiable expression. Suddenly, time continued to move forward and the world returned to as it once was. “Anybody can become a god,” she said. “It just takes a bit of understanding.”

            Pete’s eyes widened. They were the exact words that Allen had spoken eight days ago at Charley’s Bar and Grill. Anybody could become a god, anybody could possess immense power and bend reality to their will. Did that make Pete a god if he could see people’s auras? No, that was stupid. He was a Kinetic, he was an immoral alien species that shouldn’t exist. He had gifts because the god Monaxia said so, and although anybody could become a god, it took a certain level of understanding, just as Mina had said.

            Pete was doomed. If instructing him on the ways of a god was Mina’s only method of advising him, then Pete had no hope in neutralizing his crazy ex-twin.

            “Alright, that makes sense,” Pete faintly muttered. “So then… what do you want me to do? I can’t exactly understand that nonsense in the blink of an eye. If I go after my brother—I mean Monaxia—and you can’t save me, I’m still dead.”

            Mina looked back at him with a grin. “Not exactly! You’ll be surprised at what humans are capable of when in danger.”

            Pete glowered. “What, you mean like how moms can lift cars off their injured children?”

            Mina giggled. “Yeah, something like that!”

            “If you two are done fraternizing, it’s time we make our move,” Conner said. He was just as dull and emotionless as ever. “Their performance is almost over and Allen will be leaving soon. What do you think, Mina? Should we send him in now or wait until the crowd clears?”

            Pete’s eyes widened. “Wait until the crowd clears! Like hell I’m attacking him in public.”

            “But that could take several minutes,” Mina said. “Allen could sense us before then. We’re lucky he hasn’t noticed us as it is.”

            “What! Mina, I can’t just—”

            “I agree,” Conner interrupted. He smirked and glared at Pete with his freaky pale eyes. “Get ready for some divine intervention, Pete. Plan B is a go!”

            Pete’s heart was pounding madly in his ears, and he was afraid he’d have a panic attack just thinking about it. Plan B? What happened to Plan A? Pete was supposed to become their mindless puppet so Allen couldn’t seize control and make Pete turn on them. Pete was going to capture Allen with the help of his god puppeteers and take him back to headquarters, and Plan B was… what even was Plan B? Pete couldn’t remember. As the seconds passed, he felt the control over his body and mind fade away as reality once again began to warp.

            The music was a muffled hum as the voices of the pedestrians melted into the background. His heart rate slowed, his breathing strengthened, and everything Pete saw or heard was focused on the god Monaxia.

            He took a slow, steady breath, and then the voice came.

            “Run, grab, right hook, kick, grab, hook, hook, bash, kill, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, end.”

            It was the same voice from before, the same commanding intone that sounded exactly like Pete himself, but he couldn’t fight it. It was just as much a part of him as his normal thoughts, and the intent that came with it drove him to obey every demand. He possessed no free will. Pete would fight and murder Monaxia, and once he was killed, all the gods in this corrupt world would finally leave him alone.

            Pete was lost in a dream. He ran, just as the voice instructed, and as his body moved quicker than ever before, his heart and single lung remained perfectly intact. They didn’t explode or combust under the pressure, and Pete didn’t falter in his actions to make sense of the strange phenomenon. This was normal, this was life, and there was no way he was going back now.

            Nobody seemed to notice Pete coming. He ran too fast, and when he appeared before Allen who stood closest to Fifth Avenue, nobody besides the incognito god turned their attention from the dancers.

            Allen’s eyes widened. He looked terrified, and immediately he stopped playing his flute to take a wary step back.

            Pete continued to follow orders. He closed the distance between them, grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and punched him right in the face. Allen was completely vulnerable. He stumbled back, a cry escaping his lips, and Pete spun around and kicked him before he could recover.

             It was perfect! Exactly according to plan. Allen flew back from the force of the blow and collided with the edge of the horseman statue. People were screaming now, but Pete didn’t care. He grabbed his brother before he could fall to the ground and punched him hard in the face.

            Or rather, well, he tried to punch him. When Pete threw his blow, Allen lifted his arm to block and countered with a jab in the face.

            Pain surged throughout his body, emerging from his left cheek and spiraling to the depths of his hollow chest. Immediately, Pete’s mind became clear. The fog lifted, and as Pete stumbled to catch his balance, he prepared for Allen’s next attack.

            But it never came.

            No, what happened next was inconceivable. Allen’s title as a god had been rightfully awarded, because somehow he’d managed to see through Pete’s attack and target the true culprit. Only seconds ago, Conner had been standing behind Pete with a gun in his hand. Allen saw this, pushed Pete out of the way with a powerful punch, then dodged the bullet that would’ve been planted into Pete’s back otherwise.

            Pete was appalled. He watched with wide eyes as Allen knocked the gun from Conner’s grasp, grabbed his face with his opposite hand and squeezed.

            His skull cracked, and Conner collapsed onto the floor.

            Pete’s mind was racing, and everywhere he looked, chaos emerged in the form of screaming pedestrians or splattered blood. Mina stood motionless in the crowd. A frail smile coated her lips, but her large, terrified eyes spoke the truth. She was mortified. Her beloved was twitching on the ground, his brain damaged, and the amount of pain he was experiencing was unfathomable.

            Pete turned to his brother. As the devil wiped the blood from his fingers with a white handkerchief, his lifeless blue eyes settled on Pete.

            Pete quickly held up his hands. “P-Please, I didn’t mean to! I was being controlled by—”

            “I am not a fool, brother,” Allen spat. “I know what happened. You allowed them to manipulate you and nearly ended both of our lives. Now come with me before the girl seizes you.”

            He grabbed Pete by the arm, his grasp surprisingly gentle, and in a matter of seconds, the world twisted and warped until all the colors and shapes reformed to create what appeared to be an empty apartment. He looked out the window and recognized a street from Harlem. The room was empty, and Allen seemed to be comfortable with it.

            Pete was anxious. He jerked his arm from Allen’s grasp and quickly backed away. “What the hell just happened? Did we just teleport?”

            Suddenly, Pete was terrified, mortified by what his brother would do to him. After saving him from Conner’s gun, would Allen murder Pete in an unoccupied apartment room? Pete’s once sharp mind was frozen with fear. He was usually able to escape from these types of situations, but for some reason his brain was dumb and he didn’t possess an ounce of confidence to save him.

            Pete backed away from his impassive brother, his knees trembling and his single lung overwhelmed. He was able to take three steps before his foot made contact with a wall. Allen approached him, calm and merciless. As Pete pressed himself against the wall, trying to stay as far away from him as possible, Allen lifted his hand and rested it against Pete’s chest.

            “You’ve been gone for over a week,” the god hissed. “And your lung…”

            Pete felt something hot burn the surface of his chest, and at once he was shocked from his stupor. Why was he acting so weak and pathetic? Sure, Allen wasn’t just any normal Kinetic—he was the vicious god Monaxia—but Pete had faced telekinetics, mind controllers, Kinetics that used voodoo-like dolls to cripple their prey. Allen wasn’t much different. Each Kinetic had a blind spot, and it just so happened that Pete knew Allen’s.

            Pete snapped his teeth together, bracing himself, then he lodged his head forward until it butted hard against Allen’s.

            Pain vibrated throughout his skull, a sharp pinch followed by a dull, throbbing ache. Of course, with Allen’s weak physique and low tolerance for pain, he stumbled back and grabbed his head.

            Pete bore through the agony. With clenched fists, he quickly backed up towards the door. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he growled. “You just killed a man. What makes you think I’ll let you do it again?”

            Allen hissed in pain. He looked up, scowling. “I was trying to heal you.”

            “And why the hell would you do that?”

            “Because my chest aches and scars have appeared in strange places.” He released one hand from his head and lifted his shirt. Pete couldn’t believe it. There were actually scars on his left side, two white marks identical to Pete’s. Could he really be innocent? Were his intentions pure? “You’re also my brother,” he quietly said, lowering his hands. “Your absence worried me, and… and after you killed that boy, I was afraid that—”

            Pete scowled. “After I killed that boy. You’re the one who was controlling me.”

            Allen’s eyes widened. He was silent, his mouth hanging open. After a few seconds passed,