Chapter 2 – Post Mortem
He's already pictured himself on the verge of death, but never from another point of view.
Most of his nightmares followed the same pattern: at some point in his youth, Andrew'd been stripped off his dreams and lulled by the desire to disappear forever. Losing his father caused him to lose faith in many things, especially in the hopes of living a healthy and happy life. It was no surprise that both his mother and older brother took advantage of his loneliness to instill fear in the following days. Lamb meets lions: The mental torture lasted for months. His scars live up to this day. Those months dragged on for years, years that came to an end and distorted the sweet image of the small child who had become a broken teenager and a grumpy adult all the same. They broke his spirits but his smarts came off unmatched.
Dying then was a wish he never sought to fulfill with his own hands despite courting death. Despite everything, he still had one ultimate goal: to become the best neurosurgeon in the country and, one day, to conquer the remaining 6 continents. It's safe to say he knew how it felt to imagine death, but he never found the courage to get so close.
The sirens of the ambulance receded as the vehicle got lost in turbulent streets. The distance between his floating self and the ground below should be enough to muffle that noise, yet it still hit him like a careless whisper. He was able to capture the radio talk that took place inside the van where his real body was cared for. Nurses discussed among themselves the erroneous condition of his heart rate and rapid blood loss. He frowned as he tried to keep up with the rest of the diagnosis, but as soon as the ambulance turned a corner on the next street, the voices disappeared, leaving behind a slight ringing in his ears.
— My God. My God!
No, the penny hadn't dropped yet. As much as he needed to get to the ground, he didn't know how to do so yet. His hovering body remained motionless despite his poor attempts to move sideways.
— Come on, Andrew, — he whispered, struggling to encourage himself to face this eerie situation. – You're alive, dressed as a legit cosplayer, floating like a balloon and clearly locked inside someone else's body.
He took a deep breath once, twice, thrice. He shook his head, blinked fast and pinched his ridiculously beefy biceps with the strength of fifty men, feeling only a brief tingling in return. To gain 20 pounds of pure muscle is quite acceptable when it comes to steroid advances, but to have superhuman strength bestowed upon him seemed too fanciful to be taken seriously.
— You've gotta be kidding me.
Usually he would blame the alcohol in his veins, his long work hours, surgeries that kept him up night and day. There were many excuses, most he had already overused, but none seemed to fit the current situation. He felt great, after all. No signals of hangover, fatigue or stress. He felt perfect.
In conclusion, Andrew Thurman was an idiot.
A delusional idiot, as if the former sentence wasn't enough.
Caught up in daydreams probably caused by comatose, Ade closed his eyes and rooted for a quick recovery. If this was just a dream, then everything would go back to normal as soon as his (real) body stirred awake. The faintest hint of acceptance made him sigh in a brief sense of relief, but a new issue soon took the place of the previous one.
What was he supposed to do while waiting for his acclaimed "resurrection"?
— Something tells me the first step involves learning to land.
He looked to his right, then to his left, then he looked down and, desperate, he looked up. He raised his arms and waved them at shoulder length, kicking his legs forward. That comic scene wouldn't have been so easily witnessed if it weren't for the audience in the building next door. Several windows opened - a likely response to the noise of the pep talk he had been having with himself - and from those windows, curious eyes and phone cameras peeked out to record the supernatural event.
One child in particular pointed at him, clinging to his mother's shirt, who seemed too busy videotaping the flying man.
— Mom! It's a superhero!
— Shhh, dear, don't point at the weirdo. — whispered the woman, absorbed in thoughts. — I bet this is an advertisement for one of those sci-fi movies that your father babbles about.
If this was a dream, surely it meant to make Andrew pay for his sins.
Unhappy with his mother's reaction, the little one waved enthusiastically. Ade found himself coerced to wave back, bringing a sheepish smile to the lips that didn't belong to him. Such simple moment, however laconic, soothed his agony almost immediately. It seemed enough to make him relax and fall 22 yards back.
— OOOOOHHH MY GOOOOOOD!!!
The bright side, which transpired between discovering how to land and how to control the power of flight, barely offered any encouragement. His arms and legs swayed so fast they became a gray, black and golden blur as his body succumbed to the laws of gravity. The sidewalk was getting closer and closer, but his fear of dying in such a stupid manner made his body freeze before reaching a pole. He had no desire to open his eyes, no matter how safe it was. He stood there for a while, covering his face with both hands, whispering prayers through gritted teeth while passersby murmured among themselves.
— This guy was flying. Did you see that?
— Yes, man, holy damn. And here I thought I was high.
New voices started to hop in the current questioning. The buzz soon reached the rest of the street while the sound of pictures being snapped bounced occasionally. Gasps of both fear and curiosity merged into one.
— Is he even human?
— He must be an alien. Do you watch History Channel?
— He's dressed like a superhero. This must be another one of Marvel's ad stunts.
— He has two M's on his chest, though! It's gotta be a Mike Meyers' thing!
Coerced by the fantastic scene, everyone clapped. R/thathappened. I was there, I was the pole.
Ade wanted to die.
Tired of setting stage for that sort of nonsense, he removed both hands from his face and cleared his throat to remind everyone that the subject in question was still alive and breathing. Once he returned to dry land, landing carefully on the balls of his feet, Andrew was faced with two dozen stares and the same number of phones pointed directly to his face.
His heart raced, unable to cope this crazy amount of attention, barely keeping him from speaking promptly. Distraught, he scratched the back of his head and gave the cameras a rushed "thumbs up".
— So? Which is it, son? — asked an old lady, waving her cane as if demanding an explanation.
That question baffled him more than the messy setup. He couldn't talk about something he hardly understood. Restless, Ade took a deep breath and clasped both hands together in prayer.
— So. Guys. Here's the thing — the silence he obtained was immediate; everyone was too curious to cause yet another hassle. — Mike Myers teamed up with Marvel...
ZOOM!
The panic that followed the last sentence led him to run the speed of 100 kilometers per hour. Those who stayed behind would soon find themselves left to dust, confused with the idea of a poster boy who didn't show interest in explaining further details of his own job. Hopefully he wouldn't be prosecuted for using big names as false advertising.
When suddenly reaching that same ambulance from before, running as if there was no tomorrow, he finally realized that his newest crisis guaranteed him another superpower.
It's only fair we started keeping track of them by now.
Flight ✓
Superspeed ✓
For someone who'd always skip leg day, his thighs pulled the marathon stunt with peak condition. Years running on treadmills would never prepare him as well as this crazy dream did in half an hour. Usain Bolt was nothing in comparison to Andrew Thurman.
Stretching his hands toward the vehicle's back doors, surprised by how easy it would be to open them with his bulging muscles, Andrew forced himself to use reason instead of emotion and ease on the high adrenaline levels. It was extremely important to have the paramedics take his body to the ICU - therefore, any violent approaches should be discarded and visits postponed instead of taken at a risky time. Lowering his arms, the hero wannabe slowed down once passing by the far corner of the main street. The idea now was to avoid being seen so as not to cause an uproar that would distract the medical team.
Luck was finally on his side: the municipal garden located in front of the hospital would soon come in handy. The tall, dark vegetation should be thick enough to keep him hidden in the shadows without losing sight from the buzzling sidewalk. Stopping behind a tree that barely hid his brawny body, Andrew spied on the paramedic team. The sirens then announced the arrival of an unexpected patient whose body got expertly removed from the ambulance.
— Code red! — Shouted a male nurse, checking the bandages that helped with blood stasis.
It didn't take too long for a commotion to form around the body, but Elijah's inevitable presence made Ade's eyes roll. The man pushed his way through the medical team, his eyes promptly widening when they came across the victim's face. His gestures became less robotic and more desperate. His formerly serious and assertive posture was overturned by an agitation that could very well be the consequence of remorse. From that same distance, Andrew could hear his father's best friend lisp orders for the nurses to take Dr. Thurman to the best surgery room available.
Flight ✓
Superspeed ✓
Superhearing ✓
— We told him we wouldn't cover an incidental traumatic experiment. We told him we wouldn't support his madness. We said what we said and what does the imbecile decide to do?
— Harm himself for the sake of science, — whispered the lunatic neurosurgeon, trying not to be frightened by Elijah's inevitable fury.
Not that he blamed him for losing his edge. He could hardly blame the director for all that mess after having his funding request denied.
Leaning against the trunk of the tree, Ade - or what's left of him - stared at the building ahead as his body disappeared into the side entrance.
It all happened so quickly he barely had the time to assimilate the trauma resulting from his exacerbated actions. Immersed in early memories, he could still hear the sound of his car tires skidding as he collided head-on with the back of the truck. The last thing he remembers seeing was his own amber eyes staring back at him in the rearview mirror. Besides that, all he had left were shallow sensations: the pain in his knuckles from when he gripped the steering wheel, the anxiety from anticipation, the shards of glass that peppered his face with deadly kisses, the extreme pressure on his brain when his head broke through the windshield. Finally, blood, and a lot of it. So much blood - blood everywhere.
Whatever got left in his memories were tales he was unwilling to revisit, especially while he was still trapped within a strangely legit wild dream. Its strong sense of reality surely deserved to be questioned.
Everything he'd lived so far seemed too real to be the fruit of his corrupted imagination, but he was too skeptical to give in despite curious enough not to let it go.
— Very well, Andrew. Come on now. You need to do something. No, you are going to do something.
Leaving his hiding place, Thurman headed towards the emergency lobby and trotted past the security barrier. It seemed like a good plan, you know? To enter his work environment without having a badge or an ID while looking and dressing like that.
Obviously his arrival was anything but welcome. The guards who were patrolling that sector approached him promptly and pulled out a taser each. It seemed no one was willing to take the presence of a cosplayer seriously.
— I'm sorry, sir, this is a restricted area.
Cool.
What differed this cosplayer from an average nerd is that he was too concerned with the physical state of his real self to put up with bureaucracies. Unfazed, in addition to being taller than the guards who threatened to escort him, Andrew decided to fold his arms and let the work do itself. He stood still like a statue until the guards decided to try and push him off. Keyword: try. His body didn't even sway in response to the shoving, which was mostly absorbed by his muscles.
— Boss, this is not working, — said a newbie whose reddened face gradually crumpled in a puzzled grimace. There were three men before him; three men trying to move a single guy that didn't even flinch.
— You can't come in here, superman! This is a damn hospital, not a Comic Con — Growled the chief, rubbing his forearm against his sweaty mustache.
— I know, sir. I want to come in, sir. You either step aside or keep on pushing, either way you'd best rest assured that I will not move a muscle-- and I have several.
Proud of himself for the latter comment, Andrew smirked and winked at a shy nurse who eagerly watched from a distance. It took them awhile to call upon two other squad members, who approached to check what the hell was going on at the emergency wing. Alas, both tried their best not to laugh at the intruder in question.
— He's Batman, look!
Another guard tugged on his cape, threatening to tear it in half. What was supposed to be a simple act of debauchery led Ade to act on pure instinct, moving his body in a 90 degree arc to slap the guy full on the chest. What he didn't expect was that this quick and simple blow would be enough to launch the man a few yards back until landing inside an open dumpster.
Flight ✓
Superspeed ✓
Superhearing ✓
Superstrength ✓
— Nice! — Andrew laughed, applauding his new achievement.
Sadly, no one joined the celebration. Specially not dumpster guy. He groaned like a kid.
— Call reinforcements, we have a gray code in the emergency room!
The nurse's startled cry brought him back to the terrifying reality. Gray code means aggressive conduct, something he had just demonstrated loud and clear. Well, he wasn't interested in staying there until the rest of the security team arrived. Raising his hands, Andrew ran around the room to avoid being tackled by half a dozen angry men who approached en masse. Quite a funny imagery to depict: half a dozen angry men chasing a cosplayer inside a hospital wing.
You must be thinking about how this could've been easily avoided. The truth is that Andrew Thurman is indeed an idiot, but his real body was dying in a surgery room a few floors up, so, given the circumstances, it's clear he was too desperate to try and find a way out of that madness.
— Gee, guys! Stop it! — He exclaimed, moving rapidly between empty seats and wheelchairs as he entered the waiting room — I have no way to explain this but I guarantee it's... uh... not what you think it is! Come on, please, get out of my way...
There was no time to lose. As much as foul words weighed on his conscience, Andrew was unable to utter any. His inability to swear was the least of his worries, for as he pushed a vase towards the security guards, the opening he had been waiting for seemed increasingly distant.
So that's where Elijah put his money all these years: investing on a security that was almost impossible to trespass. Almost.
Determined to keep him from advancing down the hospital hall, the squad members huddled around him. They no longer held tasers: guns of unknown caliber had been skillfully handled and aimed at his direction.
Hesitant, he quit resisting for his own sake and for the sake of the visitors who crowded across the room.
— You're the one getting outta here, big guy. — the chief shot him an impatient look. — Outta here and onto the nearest jail.
To be taken for a prisoner was out of the question. As stated earlier, he didn't have any IDs on him, much less a name for a body he hardly knew. His powers, which were not even his, were too unpredictable to be taken into account, and yet they manifested themselves as the only available resource. Taking a deep breath, Andrew looked around the waiting room and finally found some use for an empty row of chairs strategically placed in front of him.
— I'm too screwed to go to jail, sir. — he whispered, trying to buy some time for his next moves.
— You're too stoned to stay on the loose, boy.
Merciless, the man strode over, feeling his belt for a pair handcuffs. Ade watched him carefully, hoping that the rest of the team would follow suit – which actually happened as a matter of fact. Without further ado, he grabbed the armrest of the end chair and lifted the entire row over his shoulders, swirling it around his own axis to hit those who stood nearby.
— Aaaaaaand... strike!
He knocked them down one by one domino effect style, forcing the boss to release his handcuffs and try his luck with a well-aimed shot while dropping to the ground.
— What are you... ouch... waiting for?! Shoot his ass!
His escape was lulled by the sound of groans and insults. Then, of shots, screams and growls, but he didn't bother looking back. The projectiles that bounced off his broad back were, once again, the least of his worries.
Flight ✓
Superspeed ✓
Superhearing ✓
Superstrength ✓
Bulletproof ✓
He turned around the bustling corridors and smiled brightly at every patient whom he walked past. As scared as they were, there wasn't a single living soul who didn't turn back to watch him go. His long strides soon led him to the stairway, and for a brief moment he thought he had flown up the stairs. The way he lept past them was inhumanly efficient.
Murmurs soon reached the surgical wing, and many ignored the cries of nurses who pleaded for silence. The medical team itself whispered among themselves, skidding to the opposite direction when he ran towards them, chased by some of the guards who survived the previous attack.
— Stop that man! He's a danger to society! — shouted the head of security, holding his own arm to keep it from shaking as he leveled the gun at the unbreakable target.
— A danger to society? — Andrew scoffed, clearly offended. — What's your problem, man? I'm no raging monster!
Chaos spread through the main hall, which soon became too small for the crowd it carried. Surgeons and nurses avoided approaching the center of the commotion, frightened, but refused to evacuate due to worrying about the surgeries that were performed on the other side of the wall. Thurman finally recognized the seriousness of the situation.
Their restless presence was a threat to an environment that was to remain immaculate. Looking over his shoulder, he spotted a less aggressive face: the head nurse watched him attentively, and although she gripped her clipboard meaningfully, he decided to appeal to his co-worker's kindness.
— Joanne, — he called her by the name, casting a sincere pleading look. — Andrew Thurman, I need to know how Andrew--
— Dr. Thurman is currently unconscious and I would hope it to remain.
A deafening silence hung over the room when the director approached, squeezing between guards who slowly stepped aside to join the rest of the team. Joanne barely had any time to react to the inquiries of the man unknown. While Ade swallowed hard at the sound of Elijah's voice, the redhead quickly hid inside the nearest storage room.
Anxious, he took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fists, unable to face the man who quickly stood before him. Apparently acting with sheer indifference wasn't an appropriate behavior. Elijah wrinkled his nose and frowned, his tall stature not even a match for the man Thurman had become.
— How close are you to Andrew Thurman?
His eyes finally met the director's, who had been staring at him for some time. There were no functional words available for him to explain his situation, and since Elijah was one of the two people he couldn't lie to, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
— I... I am...
Nothing. Andrew couldn't think of anything implicit. He had no friends and his relationship with the rest of his relatives simply did not exist. The only person he considered family couldn't recognizing him, and even if he did, he was too busy seeking for an excuse to expel him from the hospital once and for all.
With no way out, Andrew finally surrendered. Despite having gained all these powers, he remained the same impotent boy as he'd always been.
—... I'm an idiot.
Flight ✓
Superspeed ✓
Superhearing ✓
Superstrength ✓
Bulletproof ✓
Super intelligence ✘