Absolute Control is Available to read on
Fic Fun.com
Follow the link below to read the full book
http://www.ficfun.com/novel/1841657-Absolute-Control.html
|
The Digital Age - the age where a man or woman cannot disappear. Every day you are on camera, every day you update your status or tweet your daily progress. Your information is shared, inspected and hacked by more people that you are aware of. Do you feel like an individual anymore? Do you feel like you have privacy, that you are free? Probably not, maybe you feel more like a statistic, a commercial target, a subtly brainwashed drone of government, business and society. But how could you ever escape the CCTV, the Chip-n-Pin, the licenses? You can't, not with technology watching you everywhere you go. But what if you could ignore Technology? One boy have discovered that he can. His brain grants him access to the only computer that really matters, the human mind. No matter how much technology there is he no longer has to go through it, just the humans who are in control. However there are dangers to his new powers that even he isn't aware of.
Absolute Control is about a 15 year old boy named Michael who discovers that he has telepathic powers (mind reading, suggestion etc). He uses this powers for his own ends, bypassing all the social norms and rules of society and feeling liberated by his new found freedom. However when he is bullied at school he lashes out with his powers and puts three bullies in a coma. He’s approached by a General in Her Majesty's armed forces and is offered the chance to be trained to use his gifts for the good of his country. In return the incident involving the other three youths will be hushed up. This story, which I hope will become a series of books, explores escapism from the world we currently live in, where our identities can be stolen and our travels can be traced. Essentially a modern day human is trapped in the civilisation he is born into, their lives catalogued. Absolute Control explores the possibility of being free of restraint utterly within a thrilling action adventure. |
|
The sequel to Absolute Control is being posted a chapter at a time on FicFun.com. Follow the link below to continue reading this series. http://www.ficfun.com/novel/1884493-Dangerous-Secrets.html |
PROLOGUE
The metal crate, with roughly drilled air holes in its sides, shook as the creature within tried to tear its way out. Claws, that had dulled from the beast’s constant attempts to scratch itself free, sometimes found the holes and they poked out, reaching for those who had imprisoned it.
Every so often a fanged mouth would appear near the larger gaps, and the hot breath of the animal would condense in the cold air, as it snarled in bestial rage.
When one area of the crate failed to budge it checked another corner of its small cell. The chains that were wrapped around the box rattled and the little prison shook on its pallet as the animal paced and lashed out against its confinement.
The crate currently occupied one half of a lift descending into the earth. It was not heading straight down like a normal lift. It was the width of a tennis court and moving down a steep angular shaft. Metal ropes and weights didn’t lower it from the surface, instead gears and spokes rumbled beneath the platform, driving it deeper underground.
In the other half of the small descending space, a squad of men in urban camo gear had a mixture of guns pointed at it. Some of the weapons had large gas canisters where their stocks should have been, the others were sharp edged means of death, with curled magazines.
Every man cocked his gun, and their tense muscles relaxed when they all heard the reassuring mechanical action that meant their weapons were ready to defend them.
There were more lethal guns trained on the crate than non-lethal ones.
The deep growls the beast inside made when it knocked against the crate echoed in the lift.
While most of the soldiers jumped at each attempt by the creature to escape and raised their guns, their superior officer, General Reynolds, kept his eyes forward and continued to stand straight and tall, with his arms clasped behind his back.
Unlike his subordinates he wore his olive coloured, army dress uniform, which was immaculately ironed and full of award ribbons. The General puffed out his chest, putting the ribbons front and centre. He was a tall, powerfully built man. No hair at all peaked out from underneath the cap he wore and aged, green, blurry tattoos curled out from under his collar and up his neck. Wrap-around sunglasses obscured his eyes.
He was flanked by a captain and a sergeant who were wearing ordinary camo gear.
The Captain had a certain rat like quality to him. He had a pointed face and narrow eyes as well as large front teeth. His small eyes darted around and he was hunched over. You could imagine him starting to eat a biscuit with both hands, holding it up to his mouth and gnawing at it.
However the man merely yawned, in full view of his commanding officer.
The Sergeant stood with his back straight and muscles tense, as stiffly as it was possible for a human being to do so, as if he was on a parade ground. He had an otherwise handsome face, spoiled by an expression of complete and utter boredom. He stared straight ahead with a glazed look over his green eyes. The noise of the beast in the nearby cage failed to illicit a reaction.
“Use the tranquiliser guns only, we need it alive,” The General said to his jumpy soldiers.
“Yes sir,” they all mumbled.
The lift ‘pinged’ its arrival at the desired floor.
The doors retracted, revealing a corridor of concrete, bathed only in the light from the lift.
General Reynolds turned his head slightly and looked at the lift’s screen, it said 25 UGND, 25 floors beneath the surface.
He held out his hand and the sergeant handed him a small torch from one of his pockets.
General Reynolds flicked it on and played the light over the walls until the beam found a junction box on the wall. The Sergeant then stepped past his superior officer, opened the box. Inside was a rusted lever and with grunt of effort the Non-com raised it upwards.
Long florescent lights flickered into life, clinking like breaking glass as the power came on. They were dull at first, but soon they brightened up as electricity long since absent from their wires flowed throughout the complex.
Corridors of dirty grey concrete were illuminated in yellow light. They wound through the earth several hundred meters underground, their floors thick with dust.
Radiation signs hung on the walls, equipment was exposed, not hidden behind decoration and numbers indicated each place of significance, it was a cold sterile environment.
Stencilled on the wall right outside the lift was white bold letters that said ARMY, and next to that was a faded logo of a lion standing on a crown bisected by two swords. The General had a similar enamelled badge on his peaked cap.
The General smiled and nodded in approval at the décor which was familiar to him. However when the brightening lights revealed its dilapidated condition. The signs were either peeling off the wall or hanging on rusted screws. The pipes were corroded and various wet patches were everywhere on the walls, ceilings and floor. The General’s shoulders sagged a little.
The General breathed in, his nostrils flared as he took in air, then his nose wrinkled at the smell.
“What a dump,” the Captain commented. “The air tastes like concrete dust.”
“Make sure the ventilation systems are repaired at once,” the General ordered.
“Maybe we should set up operations somewhere else?” the captain proffered.
“This is the best we can do as a base - for now,” Reynolds said, scowling at the decaying decoration that was all around him. “Soon we will obtain more funding, and then everything will change,” he continued, and walked away from the lift and down the various corridors, his shoes splattering in the shallow green puddles as he went.
The soldiers he left in his wake started unloading the crate holding the beast and other boxes stacked inside the lift.
“The animals will be sealed on this level, and the other vital areas must be secured against our young guests before they arrive.” The General held his hand up and a group of soldiers carrying a crate stopped beside him and stood to attention. The General opened the crate and examined what was inside. It was filled with dark Styrofoam, which supported and protected several bands of metal. Those on the left had blue flashing lights embedded in them, those on the right red. “Remove Prospero and secure it in my office, Barrier however must be ready to be transported whenever a new a student is found.”
“Yes sir,” the rat faced officer said, who then motioned to the other soldiers to continue doing their jobs.
“This place needs a lot of work in order for it to meet our needs. Research areas and dorms need to be built, and we only have a small window of opportunity to get ready for the operation,” the General said. “We’ve been given three months.”
The General and his entourage strolled through the base. The General poked his head into every room and either nodded or shook his head at what he saw.
The biggest room he entered was taller than it was wide, and cylindrical. The General stood at the base of the room and looked upwards. The top was not lit, however there was slit in the roof in the shape of a cross, small slithers of light poked through. It was at least one hundred metres above his head. A droplet of water fell the length of the room and hit the floor by the polished shoes of the General. He looked down and examined his shoes, and the scorched floor, which was charred black and covered in soot.
The falling water made the room sound like a cave, he heard flapping and squeaking high above him.
“How did you find this place?” the captain asked.
“I was made redundant years ago, after the fall of the wall,” The General replied, “One of my first postings. Of course it was in better condition in those days.”
“Hidden and ignored?” the captain asked.
“Hidden and forgotten, the sergeant made sure of that, I’m the only who remembers it now.”
The General took one last look upwards, then left the room continuing to move from room to room inspecting the old facility.
One room he entered was filled with large microscopes, a hospital bed, with several soft chairs and computers still covered in dust sheets.
A man with curly black hair was typing at one of the computers through the dust sheets. His fingers moved fast and frantically across the keyboard.
The General entered the room and stopped silently, but when the sergeant clicked his heels together as he stood to attention, the man, who was wearing a lab coat, jerked around and backed away.
He clutched his heart and fell back towards the computer mashing the keyboard and writing gibberish.
“General,” he said, breathing heavily, “I thought you were one of the animals.”
“The animals aren’t wearing shoes Professor Hawthorne,” The General said.
“I was just writing you an e-mail about them. I cannot work on this level,” the man stated.
“Professor, I want you to study both our young guests and the animals you requested, this space is a large work area, close to all of them.”
“I cannot work on the same level as a lion,” the man said. “Or a Hydra.” The man added and his face paled at the mention of such a creature.
“The Hydra is secure and can’t hurt you unless you hurt it.”
“You want me to experiment on it, don’t you? It’s going to see me as a threat, you know it will,” the professor warned.
The General waved his hand, as if swatting an imaginary fly. “The sergeant will help you break its defences then you sedate it, I don’t see the problem.”
“What about the lion? I’m mostly all alone on this level. What do I do if it breaks free, I’m not feeding it.”
“Professor the science I’m giving you an opportunity to do is ground-breaking, and I’m spending a lot of money on it. I want results fast, and proximity will help that goal.”
“I don’t want to be down here,” the man said.
“You’re safe professor.”
“If the wimp wants to work one floor up, we should move him, can’t have him having a heart attack at every little sound while he’s supposed to be working,” the captain said.
The General sighed.
“Let’s talk about more important things,” he said.
The scientist shook his finger at the General “yes, yes you’ve denied my request for a phycologist to be present,” and he pointed at his computer screen currently showing his inbox.
“There is no one I can give security clearance to,” the General replied.
“I need to know what their mental state is, any psychological conditions they may have. It will affect their abilities.”
“You’re smart, you can work those things out yourself,” the captain remarked and yawned.
“I’m a biology professor, specialising in many fields. But if you want this done properly, I need a phycologist,” the professor said, keeping his eyes locked on the General and not even glancing towards the captain.
“Security is paramount professor.”
“Can’t the sergeant erase memories? Bring me a phycologist who is good and then we get rid of him when I have what I need?”
The General looked at the captain, who shrugged, “it could work,” the captain responded.
“Then we’ll bring one in.” The General then looked long and hard at the scientist. “I’m surprised you suggested this Hawthorne, and you objected to so many of my methods when I first recruited you.”
The scientist looked away then went back to his computer.
“I’ve learned so much,” he said. “We’ve only just cracked open the nucleus of this cell, we’re about to take out and decode a DNA chain of possibilities.”
“Which is what I want. Now enough e-mails and get your lab in working order.”
The General turned away and left the room as did the sergeant and finally the captain, who smirked at the scientist, who flinched, before following his superior officer.
“Captain, go back to our list of phycologists and find the best, then hire them,” the General said.
“What do we tell them?” the captain asked.
“Tell them everything, the sergeant will take it from their minds in any case,” the General said.
Soldiers joined them and gave the General paper work to peruse.
Screaming from down one of corridors made everyone turn at once towards the noise.
The cry was full of pain and terror.
“W – wh – what was that?” Professor Hawthorne cried out from his room.
As the primal noise tingled everyone’s spines, heavy footfalls could be heard thundering their way down the corridors of the base.
“What is…?” the General began to ask his soldiers.
He and everyone else was then shocked into silent horror, apart from the Sergeant who didn’t even flinch, when a full grown male lion bounded around a nearby corner. It stopped when it saw the General and his soldiers, and bared its long sharp teeth.
The lion shook its mane of dirty brown hair and opened its mouth wide to roar at the soldiers. In the narrow confines of the corridors it looked far bigger than an ordinary lion.
After he managed to find his voice the General was able to stammer “Ser – Sergeant…”
“Kill it,” the Captain barked.
The Sergeant stepped forward as all the other soldiers backed up behind him. The lion charged straight at the nom-con. It was a terrifying sight, usually glimpsed behind thick glass at a zoo, not from ten metres away. Its claws and mouth were covered in blood and its yellow eyes gleamed, locked onto the soldier standing in its way. Massive muscles rippled under the golden fur as it ran.
In comparison the Sergeant was Bambi.
The soldier stepped forward with his right foot leading then raised his hands.
The lion reacted in the most astonishing manner. One moment its evil eyes were wide as it closed on the sergeant and its jaws were opening wider. Then it suddenly dug its heels into the concrete floor throwing up dust and leaving ten scratch marks in its wake. The beast actually yelped and tripped over itself, slamming its head into stone. It folded up and fell at the sergeant’s feet.
The animal raised its head and stared into the eyes of the sergeant, who merely cocked his head to one side.
The lion appeared to gasp, as something unseen was exchanged between beast and man.
Its massive lungs let out one final long breath of air, then its body sagged and its flickering tail dropped to the floor.
The Sergeant then stepped out of his stance and stood to attention, without showing any pride or satisfaction, and most surprisingly of all no fear.
More soldiers came from around the same corner the lion had come from with their guns raised and aimed at the lion’s corpse.
“I’m moving my stuff,” Professor Hawthorne said, when he saw the dead big cat.
“Sir, we’re sorry the cage broke and the lion killed Lieutenant Williams,” one of the soldiers reported.
The General stepped up to the sergeant’s side and looked down at the animal, “What a shame…” he uttered.
Everyone was silent at this tragic news.
“….we needed this creature,” he finished. He glanced at the sergeant who was motionless beside him then turned his attention to the Captain.
“Captain take the Sergeant with you and talk to our benefactor Chancellor Clarke, he is objecting to some of my demands,” The General said as the soldiers started dragging the lion away.
“If he is uncooperative?” the Captain asked.
The General turned his head briefly to the Sergeant, then back to the Captain, “have Russell talk to him instead, remind him what will happen to his family if he fails to deliver.”
“Yes sir.” The Captain said and smiled. “I hope he is uncooperative.”
“Clarke could ruin everything if he grows a backbone and refuses us, his objections cannot be aired to the rest of the Cabinet. Silence him, and this country will be ours.”
CHAPTER 1
Hearing Voices
It was 7:30pm, and Michael put his pen down on his desk closed his exercise book and GCSE text book and sighed.
His deskside lamp cast sharp, dark shadows over his bedroom, and his phone played his latest downloads in the background. The pen he had put down rolled along the desk and fell to the floor, Michael made no move to pick it up, there was no point.
Done, he thought to himself, at last.
He still had hours left of the evening, and he swept his gaze across the room looking for inspiration. He peered at a pile of Blu-rays next to his TV. Then he looked at his phone and saw lists of WhatsApp and Snapchat messages from his friends.
He mused on his options.
Instead he thought, No, it’s time for bed.
He went to the bathroom across the landing from his room and brushed his teeth. As he locked eyes with the dark haired, fifteen year boy he saw in the mirror, he read his own mind.
Time to start dreaming.
The brush rattled as he threw it like a dart into the pot containing the other brushes belonging to his family. He spat the foam in his mouth into the sink, wiping away the residue with his arm and not stopping to use a towel. He went back to his room, changed for bed in twenty seconds and leapt onto his mattress. He rested his head on the pillow, with a smile on his face.
He curled up within his sheets and tried to empty his mind, hoping to drift off to sleep as soon as possible.
He tried to relax, slow his breathing and block out all stimulus. He took a deep breath and smelled the freshly washed sheets that covered his bed. He ignored the ticking of the clock on his wall and the humming from his laptop as it charged on his desk.
As always he didn’t register the transition from consciousness to unconsciousness, he just suddenly found himself flying over the local park.
And he knew right away that he was asleep and dreaming.
He noticed that everything was black and white. That odd trees and buildings had been added to the park, his brain unable to properly replicate it. Also the edges of his vison were faded.
Michael knew he was dreaming.
And he savoured it.
Every night for the past two weeks he had woken up inside his own dream, then taken control. It was a new ability, a skill he hadn’t possessed before.
He flew over the park, over his town then on into London. He moved between buildings and looked down on the people below. He noticed that some buildings were incomplete or their structure veered off the standard pattern. Michael wondered if it was because he had never really seen those buildings before.
He also noticed that he didn’t feel the air or the sound of the city. But then again he remembered that dreams very rarely came with sound.
This was why he now looked forward to going to sleep every night, why he shunned other normal pursuits. Here he didn’t have to live in the world boarded by reality, here he could do anything.
He stopped in mid-air and thought to himself, nothing on Earth is like this, and he thought why do I have to wake up?
This he knew was called lucid dreaming, the ability to be aware he was no longer awake or in the real world.
Michael flew around some more and as he admired the sights his eyes also darted around, watching for something else he had discovered in his dreams recently.
Then he saw it, something he was calling the Crossover, and he flew towards it. The world around him started to fade to white, as if he was reaching the edge of the known universe. Michael flew onwards as fast as he could without pause, even as the vast emptiness started to smother him as he approached.
He looked over his shoulder and saw his dream becoming smaller behind him. He looked forward again and saw another dot growing and blossoming into another new world.
He found himself flying down the streets of New York. Aliens were everywhere, a giant green monster leapt through the air in front of him, and beneath a tower with Stark written on it in huge glowing letters, was his little brother dressed like Thor and throwing lightning everywhere.
Michael did not however think he was still dreaming in his own head, he was now in his brother’s.
He knew or sensed somehow, but through a haze of sleepiness, that he had switched dreams, somehow he had left his own head and moved into his sibling’s.
He joined the fight alongside the other Avengers and as Michael fought off an alien with its own gun, he felt pressure on the sides of his head like his ears were getting ready to hear something. His internal clock went mad and he knew what was about to happen and woke up, right before his own alarm started to wail next to his bed.
He stared at the clock trying to hold onto the dream switching he had just experienced.
The noise it emitted however made him scrunch up his eyes in pain. He slammed down the snoozer button with his palm and heard a comforting click inside, as it went silent.
He turned over and covered his head with his sheet, to block out the early morning sun piercing his window. He closed his eyes trying to slip back into his dream.
For a moment he managed to doze off into it again.
Then the memories of the dream slipped away and were gone.
He turned over again and stared at the clock using the five minutes of snooze time to comprehend what had happened to him.
Once again he had crossed dreams.
Amazing, he thought to himself.
Of course he knew it shouldn’t have been all that amazing. He knew that dreams are usually so distorted and jumbled that it was impossible to tell when one had ended and another had begun.
However the control he exercised every time he sank into his mattress at night, was something he had never done before, and the control was only increasing and lengthening.
It had took a little longer however for him to realise that the second strange thing about his dreams was that it was not two of his dreams, but one of his and one belonging to someone else.
It felt like diving into a swimming pool. That transition from dry to soaked, the warm to cold and the need to come up for air, because the world didn’t seem right, it wasn’t where you belonged.
He was certain of it, certain that this was what was happening.
What did it mean?
How am I doing this?
I can’t wait to do it again! He thought.
•
Michael managed to rouse himself from his slumber when his alarm ended his brief snoozing, and with an energy drink.
He stumbled downstairs and poured cereal into his bowl, missing it several times in his stupor.
When his brother, a little boy of thirteen years with blond hair, who had a round chubby face with electric blue eyes consistent with his energetic personality joined him, he quizzed his younger sibling on his dream.
His brother described how he, the mighty Thor, had defeated the aliens, “then you showed up,” his brother shot at him.
“Did I help?” Michael asked.
“Not really you were frightened the whole time.”
“That’s not what I remember,” Michael said.
“You weren’t there,” his brother argued, spooning cornflakes into his mouth and dribbling milk back into the bowl.
Michael now had his proof, all doubt of his abilities were erased from his mind.
He then wolfed down his cereal, added crumpets to his diet and downed his orange juice then went upstairs.
He changed quickly into his school uniform, then he took some time to look on the internet.
He typed Dream Walking.
The search engine spewed out thousands of responses.
“New Age Spirit Walking, You Are Pure Thought, The Physic Power of Crystals,” Michael read out loud from the list his computer displayed. He practically backed away from the computer with one eye-browed raised.
“Hippie nonsense,” he cursed.
Michael leaned back in his chair and scratched his head.
His fingers swept over the keyboard and instead he tried Dream Switching.
This time millions of responses came back to him.
He sighed and spun on his desk chair, letting out a long breath of air. He went around three hundred and sixty degrees, returned to the keyboard and just searched Wikipedia for scientific explanations of dreams. The articles he found did not explain how he was able to do what he could do.
He was the first to dream-switch.
Was he on some sort of dream Wi-Fi, or just dreaming the same dream because of shared experiences, Michael loved the Avengers just as much as his brother? These were questions he didn’t have an answer for yet.
Michael wondered what he should do about it. Was telling someone the best option? He doubted anyone would believe him.
He checked his watch, 8:30am, almost time for school.
He crossed the hall and he went into his parent’s room where he stepped in front of their full length mirror.
He checked himself over, making sure he was presentable, that his school uniform wasn’t out of place and he that had done his tie properly. He was satisfied but also he felt compelled to stare at the fifteen year old looking back at him. Michael would always describe himself as a completely average guy. Not too tall or short, not fat or thin, his hair was dark and short and his eyes were green. His average nature showed up in his life as his grades at school were all C’s, his clothes were all medium sized and he played centre midfield for his local football team.
However he couldn’t describe himself as average anymore, now he had a unique power and he wondered what use he could put it too.
“Michael if you want that lift to school hurry up,” his mum shouted.
“Be down in a second,” he called back as he finished off his school tie.
He took another look in the mirror and adjusted his hair. He then bounded down the stairs.
His mum was waiting for him, fiddling with her keys while she stared into space. She had the radio on, which was currently broadcasting the news into the hallway. “The Prime Minster leaked proposals from the Budget earlier this morning, the already unpopular Budget will be voted on in three months. Chancellor Clarke stated the benefits of …”
Next to her, rocking his head from side to side, was his little brother John. The little boy wore a back pack almost as big as he was, and he strolled around the hall playing with things that caught his fancy, killing time.
Michael’s footsteps on the stairs woke up his mum from her day dreaming and she peered up at him, “have you got everything?” she asked, then she switched the radio off.
“Yes,” he replied reaching the bottom step and looking his mum in the face. She was still taller than him with soft features and curly hair.
“You took your time getting ready,” John said in his high pitched voice.
“At least I don’t have to do any beauty treatment,” Michael replied reaching out to ruffle his brother’s hair, which had been gelled meticulously into something resembling a hedgehog.
“Get off!” his brother said, batting away Michael’s hand who sniggered at his brother’s discomfort.
“Speak properly,” Michael told him.
“Ok, quiet you two, I don’t want to be late for work and you’re lucky I’m leaving now or you would both have to walk,” their mother said to them, pointing with her finger as she did so. She then opened the door, “lock up on your way out.”
Michael pulled out his keys and shoved his brother out of the house and locked the door behind him while his mum opened the car and started it up.
“I’m in the front,” John said, and opened the passenger door.
“No I am!” Michael said pushing his brother aside.
“Michael in the back,” his mother ordered.
“What!?”
“Ha ha,” John laughed.
Michael scowled at his brother and retaliated by messing up his brother’s hair again, then wiping the residual gel on his hand onto his brother’s blazer.
“Oi,” John shouted as Michael got in the back of the car leaving the kid to sort out the mess he had created.
“You do have everything don’t you?” his mum asked again as they all strapped themselves in.
“Yes,” Michael said getting into the car.
“Yes,” said John.
His mother turned around in her chair to face Michael in the back, “have you made your choices yet?” she asked as Michael closed his door.
“No.”
His mother sighed, “It’s ok, take your time dear it’s an important decision,” and she started up the car.
•
As they drove along Michael stared out of his window. White clouds filled a rich blue sky and the sun shining brightly, he had the feeling it was going to be a good day to match the beautiful weather.
The ‘choices’ his mother had mentioned hadn’t even been on his mind before she had brought it up, but now he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
The summer term of his tenth year in high school was almost over. In his eleventh he would be finishing off his GCSE’s, and then he would have to choose what AS-levels he wanted to do. He found it hard to believe his parents were pressuring him to think about them now. His GCSE’s were already too hard, he was struggling in mock exams. He didn’t want to think about the next step, which must be even harder.
The only thing about AS-levels he was focused on was that he would be studying fewer subjects, which meant more free time. Michael was already sure he wanted to do history and English but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to do either biology or geography.
Whatever he did he certainly didn’t want to be bored for another two years doing subjects he didn’t like, and having at least one that he would have to drop. All this thinking must be hurting his brain since now his skull was throbbing with pain.
“Hmm hum, hum her hum hum ha,” his brother hummed, a repetitive grating attempt to form a tune.
It was so annoying that Michael cracked his neck in irritation. “Stop that humming,” Michael finally blurted out, “It’s awful.”
“I was not humming?” his brother said.
“I can hear you!” Michael replied.
“I wasn’t, and even if I was I can hum if I want,” John said.
“Be quite the both you,” their mum ordered.
Michael huffed and went back to looking at the world passing by, ignoring his brother’s lies as his headache worsened.
“Michael should do a Maths AS - Level and become an accountant like his father,” he heard a voice say.
He turned from his window to look at his mum, “what was that mum?” he asked, “Were you speaking to me?”
“I didn’t say anything dear,” she replied.
“Yeah you did, you think I should do a Maths AS-level,” Michael rubbed his head as the headache increased. “Look you and dad have to stop going about this, it’s a year away I don’t really want to think about this stuff yet.”
She turned to him with a strange look on her face “I was thinking you should do Maths but I didn’t say anything,” she said, and then she turned her attention back to the road, “how did he know what I was thinking? He’s treating his AS - Levels too causally, remind him it’s important to get his future in order,” he heard her say.
“Sorry, I know it’s important,” Michael mumbled in reply.
“It is importa...” she stopped when she realised he had gotten ahead of her, “do not take this flippantly Michael.”
“I’m not, I heard you say I have to get my future in order,” he said.
“Don’t say anything more, he’s not listening right now,” she heard.
“I am listening,” he replied.
His mum gave him another strange look.
•
The car pulled in at the top of the hill that led down to the school gates. “I’ll just drop you both off here it’s easier to turn around,” his mum said.
Michael sighed at having to walk and he took his seat belt off and fished his ruck sack from the back seat.
“That’s fine,” he replied and looked at his watch “we’re early anyway,” and he opened his door and stepped out. Passing by were other students on their way to school, a few gave him a nod, one stayed behind to wait for him.
His brother made his own way out of the car and looked around for anyone he knew.
“See you later,” Michael said to his mum, but before he could close the door she leaned over from her seat, “you can choose whatever you want to do for AS - Level, both me and your father will be proud of you, but we would like you to consider Mathematics it’s a very useful subject, you could even be an accountant like your father,” she said.
Michael was stunned and confused by her by her remark, one that she had already made.
“Walk with your brother down to school,” his mum added.
“He’s old enough to make it to school on his own,” Michael complained.
“Please Michael,” she said wearily.
Michael huffed and closed the car door.
“What was that?” said his friend Bill who was shorter than him with long blond hair and glasses.
“Nothing Bill and get a haircut,” Michael said, with a smile.
“Shut and get some style,” Bill replied “come on I want to sit down in the form room and chill before the first lesson this morning,” he said.
“Let’s go John,” Michael said to his brother.
John followed behind his brother and Bill as they strolled down the hill towards the school passing through the school’s main gate.
Michael looked back at his mum’s car that was halfway through a 3 point turn.
Why did she say those things, and in such a weird way? He asked himself, I hope she’s alright.
He looked away.
Maybe it’s me, maybe I’m the odd one?
CHAPTER 2
Cheating
Mr Wright, and no matter what you said always was, strolled up and down in front of the class, he was a tall balding man, who was boring everyone with the history of the English Civil War with his drawling voice.
Michael sat with his head to one side, supported by his right arm with half closed eyes.
He looked around the class and noticed that everyone was either slouched in his chair or resting their heads on their hands as Mr Wright droned on about the trial of Charles 1st and Cromwell’s protectorate.
“Hey,” Bill said.
Michael slowly turned to face him as they were both sat at the same table, after he checked to make sure Mr Wright hadn’t heard nor was looking in his direction, he answered. “What?” he whispered.
“What’s a Puritan?” Bill asked, referring to Mr Wright who had just started talking about Cromwell’s religious beliefs.
“Very strict Christians, at the time they didn’t like Catholics,” Michael whispered back.
“Why are we bothering with this stuff any way it was like three centuries ago?” Bill complained.
Michael raised a finger into the air and looked down his nose at Bill, “Yet still relevant,” he replied in a mock drawling voice, in an imitation of Mr Wright’s. They both sniggered.
“Michael, are you listening?” the teacher suddenly said, directing his complete attention at Michael as did the rest of the class.
He felt his face heat up under the gaze of the all his fellow students and his teacher. Although he could bore all the legs of a centipede Mr Wright could fix you with a stare that could immobilise a heard of stampeding rhinos. This stare was allied with the man’s huge eyes brows and horn rimmed glasses. Michael had to resist the urge to cringe away from his visage.
“Yes sir,” Michael replied to his earlier question.
“Good, then tell the class who took over the protectorate after Cromwell’s death?” and he crossed his arms and smiled in satisfaction. He understood how to punish a student who wasn’t paying attention and that was by embarrassing them in front of the whole class.
This time he may have succeeded, Michael sat there sweating and tried to peer down at his text book, which was open before him, for the answer.
“Don’t look at your books,” Mr Wright ordered.
He started looking around in case someone in the class was wording it to him, but no one was offering any help. Then he heard Mr Wright say, “Huh, teenagers! They should pay attention if they want to pass this class, and Michael should know that it was Cromwell’s son Richard in 1658.”
Michael turned back to face the teacher and noticed that just as he finished talking, that his lips weren’t moving.
Then even more weirdly he practically repeated his own words, “Well if Michael had been listening then he would have known that it was Cromwell’s son Richard who became Lord Protector in 1658,” Mr Wright said, then continued to drone on about the effect the civil war had on British social life.
Michael sat there in bemusement the only one in the class who apparently noticed Mr Wright’s odd behaviour. Why did he repeat himself? Michael thought and he rubbed his head realising his headache had returned and now just as suddenly, was subsiding.
“Sorry my fault,” Bill said to him.
“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, thinking about what had just happened.
“Now I know you’re bored,” Mr Wright said.
Finally he realises, Michael thought to himself, loudly.
“What was that Michael?” the teacher asked.
“Err nothing,” Michael replied, why is he picking on me? He thought loudly again.
“I’m not picking on you, but this is important history for you to learn,” he went on.
“But sir…” Christopher, a lanky boy in the back row, began, “what’s this got to do with us?”
Mr Wright took a deep breath, Michael realised this was going to be a long answer and cursed Christopher for asking. “When the civil war was over Cromwell was essentially a dictator deciding what laws to implement without a vote from parliament. Thankfully his government ended and parliament was recalled, and that parliament is essential for the democracy we have today, it stops any one person from deciding what the law should be, who is exempt from it and where the money should go.”
“Money?” said one student perking up at the mention of the only word in that answer that might meant anything to a fifteen year old.
“MP’s in parliament can direct huge amounts of money to the right places or the wrong places, such as their bank accounts,” Mr Wright said with a smiled. Only the smart students who read the news chuckled in response.
“Now who can tell what significant calendar event did Cromwell cancel?”
“This is an easy one for them even they should be able to guess it was Christmas,” Mr Wright’s voice said in Michael’s head.
Michael was dead sure that he had heard that and that the teacher’s lips did not move, why is Wright doing ventriloquism? He thought to himself. Michael looked around at the class and realised they had not heard it and were all looking around waiting for someone to answer the question.
“Sir?”
“Yes Christopher?”
“Bonfire night?”
“No.”
“Neek.” Michael heard someone say again without his ears getting it first. “I know sir it’s the Premiership final,” Jake another ventured
Michael and the rest of the class laughed while Mr Wright stared at Jake as if he had just insulted his mom.
Jake looked around and smiled at the laughing students, “Or Maybe the Ashes,” he added.
The laughter stopped.
“He killed it,” every student said at once, but no mouths opened to form the words.
Mr Wright was bright red and glaring at Jake with his arms crossed.
“Sir I know it’s Christmas,” Michael said to save Jake from retribution.
The teacher’s angry glare focused on Michael for a moment until he realised he got the answer he was looking for, and the slight made against him was forgotten.
“Yes thank you Michael, at least someone’s got some intelligence,” Mr Wright said.
“Neek,” Michael heard again in his head, but it was loud and clear.
“I am not a Neek he said turning round to the student behind him, a chubby and annoying boy called Harry.
“I didn’t say anything?” Harry replied.
“You did I heard you,” Michael shot back.
“I didn’t say anything!” Harry countered his voice rising slightly.
“Alright shut up,” Mr Wright called out, he was losing control of the class and it was time to regain some authority over it again. “Take out your text books and copy pages 13-17.”
The room filled with the moans of thirty students in no rush to do the work. They all opened their books, turning each page slowly as if they weighed a ton.
Michael didn’t immediately open his text book he just stared out into space wondering what the heck was going on and why he was hearing things, and why people were hearing him think out loud.
•
Finally the bell sounded, but before that had even happened, every student in the class was well on their way out, packing up their books and pens after the teacher had stopped waffling about British history.
“Are you alright?” Bill asked.
“Fine,” Michael lied, he was rubbing his head which was pounding away in his skull. He toyed with the thought of making it a big thing then maybe he could go home from school early. “It’s nothing,” he added.
“Let’s go to the cafeteria it’s break time and I need some sugar,” Bill said.
“Yeah let’s go,” Michael replied throwing his bag over his shoulder and they both strolled out of the class.
“Bill did you notice anything strange during that class?”
“Only you not knowing something about history, and Mr Wright letting you off the hook so easily, no nothing weird,” he answered and he brought his bag around from his back and started shifting through it as they strolled away from the humanities block and around the English hut.
“Why do you ask?” Bill said.
“Just something Mr Wright did during class,” Michael said, squinting as the sun suddenly came out from behind a cloud.
“Mr Wright is weird he talks about history like it’s the greatest thing since the invention of the wheel or the ipod,” Bill answered who was still shifting through his bag.
“It’s just that…what are you doing?” Michael asked.
“My bag feels suspiciously light,” Bill answered and this time he peered into it, “hell I forgot my history text book, meet you in the cafeteria buy me a donut,” he said and he turned around to go back to the Humanities block.
“Sure thing,” Michael said.
Michael continued on strolling around the corner of the block, he knew the route so well he didn’t look up as he took his mobile phone out and started flicking through his text messages. He knew he was entering the main playground when he heard the voices of his fellow students, hundreds of them talking about classes, or nights out all mixed with general laughter. Michael then looked up and noticed for the first time that the playground was empty; the other classes hadn’t even finished yet, he was the only one in the entire area. Michael double checked, he could still hear the students, but as he looked around again he saw that no one was there.
“What the hell?” Michael said.
Suddenly the doors to classrooms all around the playground opened and streaming out from the various blocks were pupils from all the year groups. As they spread across the playground Michael heard their screams and shouts and banter as clearly as he had before.
He passed by groups of students and just like Mr Wright they spoke without moving their lips.
“He’s telling that joke again,” one student appeared to say. “We heard this before,” the same student then said to his friend.
“That test we just had went really well,” another student boasted, without moving his lips “I felt really good about that test,” He said to his friends, this time without the ventriloquism, “no doubt I just got 90%.”
Michael continued to walk through the crowd, every student was doing same thing speaking without even opening their mouths.
He then realised what was going on.
He actually gasped and put his hands to his mouth when the full implications hit him. He then smiled and almost laughed in joy until his caught himself, and tried to regain some composer while around his peers.
I can’t believe this, I have something no one else has, I have a power, he thought.
He started staring at people, from a distance so they wouldn’t know. Focusing on those who voices he knew. Across the playground he saw a freckled boy from another form group.
Michael gazed at his head, and heard his voice in his head.
“I can’t believe I put two different shoes this morning,” the student thought.
Michael looked down at his feet and saw that the student really had worn two different shoes to school. He would remember that and bring it up later today if the boy annoyed him.
He turned his attention to another boy called Terry, his lip curled upwards in disgust.
“Put Barry down, make him feel small, get a laugh form everyone else,” the boy thought.
Michael frowned and thought out loud, “You’re scum Terry.” He laughed when he saw Terry spin around with wide eyes.
Michael looked away and mixed with the crowd so Terry didn’t know he had thought/said it. It had felt good to get some revenge on him like that, he planned to say other things to him in the future, without him knowing.
“There’s Michael, but where’s my donut,” he heard Bill say.
Michael turned around and there was Bill strolling through the crowd. “Where’s my donut?” Bill asked.
“Bill, think of a number?” Michael said.
“What?” Bill replied.
“Think of a number.”
“45732 wait? Why am bothering with this?” Bill thought.
“What was the number?” Michael asked.
“45732,” Bill responded with a confused expression, “what..?”
Michael stopped listening at that point, There’s no doubt I can hear what people are thinking, he thought to himself. I can read minds.
“What’s going on?” Bill asked.
How am I doing this, this doesn’t happen in real life, Michael thought to himself. He wondered if he should be scared, but he realised this was cool. He actually had a super power and a useful one.
“What’s going on?” Bill asked again.
This then explained his strange dreams. When he was asleep he was somehow connecting to people wirelessly, reading their minds and therefore taking part in their dreams.
He wondered if he should tell Bill, No, this was his power! Any fear or doubt he had was suddenly eclipsed by the possibilities this power afforded him. He could tell when someone was lying, keeping secrets, he could know everything.
He still didn’t believe it though.
“Bill think of another number, longer than the last,” he requested.
Bill blinked and sneered at his friend in response to the strange questions. However his mind still produced an answer “867957439389,” Bill thought.
“86795743989?” Michael asked.
“How are you doing that?” Bill asked.
Michael panicked, he could tell his friend the truth and even prove it.
“It’s just a trick I learned off a guy on YouTube,” he replied. It’s nothing, nothing at all.”
This my power! He thought again, I’m not ready to share it yet.
He tuned out anything his best friend said after that, he was already thinking how to put this new ability to good use.
•
During break time Michael stood with some of his closest friends in their usual place outside the science block. Bill was with him as well as Neil who was taller than him with spiky hair, Aaron who wasn’t taller than him but was stockier, and Nick, and who against all school rules and got away with it, had cut a Mohawk into his ginger hair.
A conversation was going on between them about the football last night and Michael was listening intently, but not in the usual way.
“Why doesn’t he move on, his team lost, he should build a bridge and get over it, hmm that’s funny I should say that and get a laugh,” Michael heard Bill thinking.
“Build a bridge and get over it Aaron, your team lost,” Michael said before Bill could get a word in.
The group laughed at Michael’s joke, Bill and Aaron scowled at him.
“Good one, Michael,” Neil said in his head.
“Cheers Neil,” Michael said without realising he hadn’t said anything.
“Eh I didn’t say anything,” said Neil.
“Oh right of course,” Michael said, and looked away as his face went red.
“Anyway it was all the manager’s fault and what do you know about football Michael?” Aaron said.
Damn he’s right, Michael thought, although he played football he had next to no interest in watching it.
“If you’re such an expert why not tell us who scored in last night’s match,” Aaron shot back.
Michael smiled back and heard, “He won’t know it’s Goddard, Shadrake and Bianchi.”
“Ahem,” he began, “it was…I believe…Goddard, Shadrake and Bianchi,” Michael replied
Aaron’s jaw dropped, the others laughed. “Ha Hah you got done man,” Nick said.
Michael inwardly sighed in relief, already this little trick was proving incredibly useful.
•
After break time Michael and Bill sat down for their next lesson, Maths. Michael was smiling broadly, strolling with confidence in a lesson he was normally terrible at. Today though he knew there was no way he could get an answer wrong and he didn’t even have to do any work.
“No let’s sit over there,” he said to Bill, who was already heading towards their usual seat.
Bill looked to where Michael was pointing. It was to a table behind which two students were already bent over their desks looking through their thick textbooks. They were pointing at sums and smiling, even practicing a few despite the fact the teacher hadn’t ordered as such.
Michael shivered uncontrollably at the thought of someone being that into maths.
“Behind Hibbins and Parish, they’re nerds,” Bill said.
“I know,” Michael said.
He went and sat where he wanted. Bill rolled his head back and sighed, but eventually followed.
“Right,” said the maths teacher Mr Morgan, his belly wobbled as he swung around to face his class. “Long Multiplication and division, we are doing this again in the run up to your mocks. Let’s start with a few from your text books, SHUT UP FULLER,” he shouted to a student at the back of the class, “now then page 345 section one 421 multiplied by 76.”
Michael sat motionless in his chair while the rest of the class, well most of the class, worked out the calculation in silence. He was hearing quite a lot. To him it sounded like the students were chatting away despite the fact they were saying nothing, just thinking. He was listening for a distinctive voice one that would have the answer and even though it came into his head without registering in his ears, sounded exactly like its owner who wore a brace.
“31996,” he ‘heard’ in a slurred voice.
Before the owner could raise his hand Michael said out loud, “31996.”
“Correct Michael,” the teacher said and brought his hands together in joy, “but hand up next time. Ok something harder 6864 divided by 176.”
Michael listened for the answer.
“39.”
And again before the person who had worked it out could say it, Michael got there first.
“39,” Michael said.
“Hand Michael,” the teacher said.
Michael didn’t care, in fact he was beaming.
School had just got a lot easier for him. He sat back in his chair draped his arms over the sides and was relieved when he realised that now his GSCE’s were going to be a breeze. All he would have to do is sit there and let the smart kids give him all the answers.
He allowed himself a giddy little laugh.
“THAT WAS PATTERSON,” Mr Morgan screamed in his head.
“Sorry sir,” Michael called out and sat up straight.
Mr Morgan’s mouth was open, but Michael had crossed the line first, “oh right, err, yes,” he stuttered.
Michael sat back, now he knew he could avoid punishments as well.
•
The next lesson was in the sports hall. The games teacher was in the corner pumping up footballs while the students arranged goal posts. The hall echoed with the sound of trainers scuffing the varnished surface.
The class had already been divided into two teams in the changing room. As Michael’s team set their goal, they discussed positons.
“You guys go in defence,” Bill motioned towards four weedy students wearing glasses and standing awkwardly in a little clique.
Several students claimed positions up front.
Michael frowned as he set one corner of the goal’s netting in place.
“I was hoping for volleyball,” he said to Bill.
“Never mind, you going in midfield?”
“Yes, wait…No,” Michael said.
“Huh,” Bill uttered.
“I’ll take goal,” Michael said.
“You! Want to play in Goal?” Bill said.
“Yes,” Michael replied.
“You never play in goal, just mid-field,” Bill said.
“Watch and learn my friend you’ll be impressed,” Michael replied.
The class was split into two teams and the game began. Michael stood in the goal mouth leaning against the post with his arms cross, he smiled at the rest of the team as if he was the only one in on a joke.
His fellow players raised their eyebrows at his behaviour.
“Don’t let anything in,” one shouted.
Michael waved his hand at him as if brushing off a fly.
The opposing team’s first attempt to score happened within the first minute of the game, with the strikers receiving a good pass from the left wing almost immediately after kick off.
“Michael pull yourself together,” bellowed the P.E teacher who was like an army drill sergeant, a massive man who wore a tracksuit one size to small, that wrapped tightly around his toned muscles.
Michael wasn’t paying attention to him, instead he was focusing on the student who currently had the ball and had just dribbled it past two other pupils and was making for a shot on goal. The student was one Michael knew well, a very tall and a heavily built student who had a very deep voice, which he was listening for.
He stepped off the goal line, but with his arms still crossed.
“Top right corner now,” he heard the boy think in his head.
Michael tensed his legs and started moving, stretching out his arms and splaying his hands out.
The rest of the class cheered as Michael made a stunning leap towards the top corner and caught the ball. When he hit the ground he styled out his magnificent save with a roll.
“Well done Michael,” the teacher called out.
The student who had made the attempt on goal just stood there hunched over and mouth open. He then turned away to return to his position on the pitch, glaring at Michael as he walked back towards his team in disgust, cursing to himself.
Michael in the meantime bathed in the glory he received. The nerds on his team sprayed him with spit through their braces as they praised his save. His detractors on the team had had all their doubts crushed and were congratulating him as if it was their idea for him to be in goal in the first place.
“Why aren’t you always in goal?” one remarked.
Because I didn’t know I could read minds, Michael thought to himself.
The PE teacher blew his whistle and waved his hands wildly to get people back to their positions.
In the next stage of the game a dirty fowl by one of his teammates gave the opposition a penalty and another shot at goal.
Michael focused on the opponent taking the penalty. “Go left but look right and trick Michael,” he heard in his brain. The student started moving towards the ball, so Michael side stepped to the right. “He’s taking the bait,” the student thought.
Michael smiled again, waited until the boy was committed to the shot, and then moved to the left. “What?” the boy thought, but it was too late and the shot played right into Michael’s hands.
The cheer from his teammates was louder than before. The teacher, along with the opposition team, was silent and stunned by what had just happened.
Michael sought out high fives, fist bumps and hugs from the team.
“What a save eh,” he cried out, and he got a Hu-Rah from his team.
I am going to like being this good at everything.
The metal crate, with roughly drilled air holes in its sides, shook as the creature within tried to tear its way out. Claws, that had dulled from the beast’s constant attempts to scratch itself free, sometimes found the holes and they poked out, reaching for those who had imprisoned it.
Every so often a fanged mouth would appear near the larger gaps, and the hot breath of the animal would condense in the cold air, as it snarled in bestial rage.
When one area of the crate failed to budge it checked another corner of its small cell. The chains that were wrapped around the box rattled and the little prison shook on its pallet as the animal paced and lashed out against its confinement.
The crate currently occupied one half of a lift descending into the earth. It was not heading straight down like a normal lift. It was the width of a tennis court and moving down a steep angular shaft. Metal ropes and weights didn’t lower it from the surface, instead gears and spokes rumbled beneath the platform, driving it deeper underground.
In the other half of the small descending space, a squad of men in urban camo gear had a mixture of guns pointed at it. Some of the weapons had large gas canisters where their stocks should have been, the others were sharp edged means of death, with curled magazines.
Every man cocked his gun, and their tense muscles relaxed when they all heard the reassuring mechanical action that meant their weapons were ready to defend them.
There were more lethal guns trained on the crate than non-lethal ones.
The deep growls the beast inside made when it knocked against the crate echoed in the lift.
While most of the soldiers jumped at each attempt by the creature to escape and raised their guns, their superior officer, General Reynolds, kept his eyes forward and continued to stand straight and tall, with his arms clasped behind his back.
Unlike his subordinates he wore his olive coloured, army dress uniform, which was immaculately ironed and full of award ribbons. The General puffed out his chest, putting the ribbons front and centre. He was a tall, powerfully built man. No hair at all peaked out from underneath the cap he wore and aged, green, blurry tattoos curled out from under his collar and up his neck. Wrap-around sunglasses obscured his eyes.
He was flanked by a captain and a sergeant who were wearing ordinary camo gear.
The Captain had a certain rat like quality to him. He had a pointed face and narrow eyes as well as large front teeth. His small eyes darted around and he was hunched over. You could imagine him starting to eat a biscuit with both hands, holding it up to his mouth and gnawing at it.
However the man merely yawned, in full view of his commanding officer.
The Sergeant stood with his back straight and muscles tense, as stiffly as it was possible for a human being to do so, as if he was on a parade ground. He had an otherwise handsome face, spoiled by an expression of complete and utter boredom. He stared straight ahead with a glazed look over his green eyes. The noise of the beast in the nearby cage failed to illicit a reaction.
“Use the tranquiliser guns only, we need it alive,” The General said to his jumpy soldiers.
“Yes sir,” they all mumbled.
The lift ‘pinged’ its arrival at the desired floor.
The doors retracted, revealing a corridor of concrete, bathed only in the light from the lift.
General Reynolds turned his head slightly and looked at the lift’s screen, it said 25 UGND, 25 floors beneath the surface.
He held out his hand and the sergeant handed him a small torch from one of his pockets.
General Reynolds flicked it on and played the light over the walls until the beam found a junction box on the wall. The Sergeant then stepped past his superior officer, opened the box. Inside was a rusted lever and with grunt of effort the Non-com raised it upwards.
Long florescent lights flickered into life, clinking like breaking glass as the power came on. They were dull at first, but soon they brightened up as electricity long since absent from their wires flowed throughout the complex.
Corridors of dirty grey concrete were illuminated in yellow light. They wound through the earth several hundred meters underground, their floors thick with dust.
Radiation signs hung on the walls, equipment was exposed, not hidden behind decoration and numbers indicated each place of significance, it was a cold sterile environment.
Stencilled on the wall right outside the lift was white bold letters that said ARMY, and next to that was a faded logo of a lion standing on a crown bisected by two swords. The General had a similar enamelled badge on his peaked cap.
The General smiled and nodded in approval at the décor which was familiar to him. However when the brightening lights revealed its dilapidated condition. The signs were either peeling off the wall or hanging on rusted screws. The pipes were corroded and various wet patches were everywhere on the walls, ceilings and floor. The General’s shoulders sagged a little.
The General breathed in, his nostrils flared as he took in air, then his nose wrinkled at the smell.
“What a dump,” the Captain commented. “The air tastes like concrete dust.”
“Make sure the ventilation systems are repaired at once,” the General ordered.
“Maybe we should set up operations somewhere else?” the captain proffered.
“This is the best we can do as a base - for now,” Reynolds said, scowling at the decaying decoration that was all around him. “Soon we will obtain more funding, and then everything will change,” he continued, and walked away from the lift and down the various corridors, his shoes splattering in the shallow green puddles as he went.
The soldiers he left in his wake started unloading the crate holding the beast and other boxes stacked inside the lift.
“The animals will be sealed on this level, and the other vital areas must be secured against our young guests before they arrive.” The General held his hand up and a group of soldiers carrying a crate stopped beside him and stood to attention. The General opened the crate and examined what was inside. It was filled with dark Styrofoam, which supported and protected several bands of metal. Those on the left had blue flashing lights embedded in them, those on the right red. “Remove Prospero and secure it in my office, Barrier however must be ready to be transported whenever a new a student is found.”
“Yes sir,” the rat faced officer said, who then motioned to the other soldiers to continue doing their jobs.
“This place needs a lot of work in order for it to meet our needs. Research areas and dorms need to be built, and we only have a small window of opportunity to get ready for the operation,” the General said. “We’ve been given three months.”
The General and his entourage strolled through the base. The General poked his head into every room and either nodded or shook his head at what he saw.
The biggest room he entered was taller than it was wide, and cylindrical. The General stood at the base of the room and looked upwards. The top was not lit, however there was slit in the roof in the shape of a cross, small slithers of light poked through. It was at least one hundred metres above his head. A droplet of water fell the length of the room and hit the floor by the polished shoes of the General. He looked down and examined his shoes, and the scorched floor, which was charred black and covered in soot.
The falling water made the room sound like a cave, he heard flapping and squeaking high above him.
“How did you find this place?” the captain asked.
“I was made redundant years ago, after the fall of the wall,” The General replied, “One of my first postings. Of course it was in better condition in those days.”
“Hidden and ignored?” the captain asked.
“Hidden and forgotten, the sergeant made sure of that, I’m the only who remembers it now.”
The General took one last look upwards, then left the room continuing to move from room to room inspecting the old facility.
One room he entered was filled with large microscopes, a hospital bed, with several soft chairs and computers still covered in dust sheets.
A man with curly black hair was typing at one of the computers through the dust sheets. His fingers moved fast and frantically across the keyboard.
The General entered the room and stopped silently, but when the sergeant clicked his heels together as he stood to attention, the man, who was wearing a lab coat, jerked around and backed away.
He clutched his heart and fell back towards the computer mashing the keyboard and writing gibberish.
“General,” he said, breathing heavily, “I thought you were one of the animals.”
“The animals aren’t wearing shoes Professor Hawthorne,” The General said.
“I was just writing you an e-mail about them. I cannot work on this level,” the man stated.
“Professor, I want you to study both our young guests and the animals you requested, this space is a large work area, close to all of them.”
“I cannot work on the same level as a lion,” the man said. “Or a Hydra.” The man added and his face paled at the mention of such a creature.
“The Hydra is secure and can’t hurt you unless you hurt it.”
“You want me to experiment on it, don’t you? It’s going to see me as a threat, you know it will,” the professor warned.
The General waved his hand, as if swatting an imaginary fly. “The sergeant will help you break its defences then you sedate it, I don’t see the problem.”
“What about the lion? I’m mostly all alone on this level. What do I do if it breaks free, I’m not feeding it.”
“Professor the science I’m giving you an opportunity to do is ground-breaking, and I’m spending a lot of money on it. I want results fast, and proximity will help that goal.”
“I don’t want to be down here,” the man said.
“You’re safe professor.”
“If the wimp wants to work one floor up, we should move him, can’t have him having a heart attack at every little sound while he’s supposed to be working,” the captain said.
The General sighed.
“Let’s talk about more important things,” he said.
The scientist shook his finger at the General “yes, yes you’ve denied my request for a phycologist to be present,” and he pointed at his computer screen currently showing his inbox.
“There is no one I can give security clearance to,” the General replied.
“I need to know what their mental state is, any psychological conditions they may have. It will affect their abilities.”
“You’re smart, you can work those things out yourself,” the captain remarked and yawned.
“I’m a biology professor, specialising in many fields. But if you want this done properly, I need a phycologist,” the professor said, keeping his eyes locked on the General and not even glancing towards the captain.
“Security is paramount professor.”
“Can’t the sergeant erase memories? Bring me a phycologist who is good and then we get rid of him when I have what I need?”
The General looked at the captain, who shrugged, “it could work,” the captain responded.
“Then we’ll bring one in.” The General then looked long and hard at the scientist. “I’m surprised you suggested this Hawthorne, and you objected to so many of my methods when I first recruited you.”
The scientist looked away then went back to his computer.
“I’ve learned so much,” he said. “We’ve only just cracked open the nucleus of this cell, we’re about to take out and decode a DNA chain of possibilities.”
“Which is what I want. Now enough e-mails and get your lab in working order.”
The General turned away and left the room as did the sergeant and finally the captain, who smirked at the scientist, who flinched, before following his superior officer.
“Captain, go back to our list of phycologists and find the best, then hire them,” the General said.
“What do we tell them?” the captain asked.
“Tell them everything, the sergeant will take it from their minds in any case,” the General said.
Soldiers joined them and gave the General paper work to peruse.
Screaming from down one of corridors made everyone turn at once towards the noise.
The cry was full of pain and terror.
“W – wh – what was that?” Professor Hawthorne cried out from his room.
As the primal noise tingled everyone’s spines, heavy footfalls could be heard thundering their way down the corridors of the base.
“What is…?” the General began to ask his soldiers.
He and everyone else was then shocked into silent horror, apart from the Sergeant who didn’t even flinch, when a full grown male lion bounded around a nearby corner. It stopped when it saw the General and his soldiers, and bared its long sharp teeth.
The lion shook its mane of dirty brown hair and opened its mouth wide to roar at the soldiers. In the narrow confines of the corridors it looked far bigger than an ordinary lion.
After he managed to find his voice the General was able to stammer “Ser – Sergeant…”
“Kill it,” the Captain barked.
The Sergeant stepped forward as all the other soldiers backed up behind him. The lion charged straight at the nom-con. It was a terrifying sight, usually glimpsed behind thick glass at a zoo, not from ten metres away. Its claws and mouth were covered in blood and its yellow eyes gleamed, locked onto the soldier standing in its way. Massive muscles rippled under the golden fur as it ran.
In comparison the Sergeant was Bambi.
The soldier stepped forward with his right foot leading then raised his hands.
The lion reacted in the most astonishing manner. One moment its evil eyes were wide as it closed on the sergeant and its jaws were opening wider. Then it suddenly dug its heels into the concrete floor throwing up dust and leaving ten scratch marks in its wake. The beast actually yelped and tripped over itself, slamming its head into stone. It folded up and fell at the sergeant’s feet.
The animal raised its head and stared into the eyes of the sergeant, who merely cocked his head to one side.
The lion appeared to gasp, as something unseen was exchanged between beast and man.
Its massive lungs let out one final long breath of air, then its body sagged and its flickering tail dropped to the floor.
The Sergeant then stepped out of his stance and stood to attention, without showing any pride or satisfaction, and most surprisingly of all no fear.
More soldiers came from around the same corner the lion had come from with their guns raised and aimed at the lion’s corpse.
“I’m moving my stuff,” Professor Hawthorne said, when he saw the dead big cat.
“Sir, we’re sorry the cage broke and the lion killed Lieutenant Williams,” one of the soldiers reported.
The General stepped up to the sergeant’s side and looked down at the animal, “What a shame…” he uttered.
Everyone was silent at this tragic news.
“….we needed this creature,” he finished. He glanced at the sergeant who was motionless beside him then turned his attention to the Captain.
“Captain take the Sergeant with you and talk to our benefactor Chancellor Clarke, he is objecting to some of my demands,” The General said as the soldiers started dragging the lion away.
“If he is uncooperative?” the Captain asked.
The General turned his head briefly to the Sergeant, then back to the Captain, “have Russell talk to him instead, remind him what will happen to his family if he fails to deliver.”
“Yes sir.” The Captain said and smiled. “I hope he is uncooperative.”
“Clarke could ruin everything if he grows a backbone and refuses us, his objections cannot be aired to the rest of the Cabinet. Silence him, and this country will be ours.”
CHAPTER 1
Hearing Voices
It was 7:30pm, and Michael put his pen down on his desk closed his exercise book and GCSE text book and sighed.
His deskside lamp cast sharp, dark shadows over his bedroom, and his phone played his latest downloads in the background. The pen he had put down rolled along the desk and fell to the floor, Michael made no move to pick it up, there was no point.
Done, he thought to himself, at last.
He still had hours left of the evening, and he swept his gaze across the room looking for inspiration. He peered at a pile of Blu-rays next to his TV. Then he looked at his phone and saw lists of WhatsApp and Snapchat messages from his friends.
He mused on his options.
Instead he thought, No, it’s time for bed.
He went to the bathroom across the landing from his room and brushed his teeth. As he locked eyes with the dark haired, fifteen year boy he saw in the mirror, he read his own mind.
Time to start dreaming.
The brush rattled as he threw it like a dart into the pot containing the other brushes belonging to his family. He spat the foam in his mouth into the sink, wiping away the residue with his arm and not stopping to use a towel. He went back to his room, changed for bed in twenty seconds and leapt onto his mattress. He rested his head on the pillow, with a smile on his face.
He curled up within his sheets and tried to empty his mind, hoping to drift off to sleep as soon as possible.
He tried to relax, slow his breathing and block out all stimulus. He took a deep breath and smelled the freshly washed sheets that covered his bed. He ignored the ticking of the clock on his wall and the humming from his laptop as it charged on his desk.
As always he didn’t register the transition from consciousness to unconsciousness, he just suddenly found himself flying over the local park.
And he knew right away that he was asleep and dreaming.
He noticed that everything was black and white. That odd trees and buildings had been added to the park, his brain unable to properly replicate it. Also the edges of his vison were faded.
Michael knew he was dreaming.
And he savoured it.
Every night for the past two weeks he had woken up inside his own dream, then taken control. It was a new ability, a skill he hadn’t possessed before.
He flew over the park, over his town then on into London. He moved between buildings and looked down on the people below. He noticed that some buildings were incomplete or their structure veered off the standard pattern. Michael wondered if it was because he had never really seen those buildings before.
He also noticed that he didn’t feel the air or the sound of the city. But then again he remembered that dreams very rarely came with sound.
This was why he now looked forward to going to sleep every night, why he shunned other normal pursuits. Here he didn’t have to live in the world boarded by reality, here he could do anything.
He stopped in mid-air and thought to himself, nothing on Earth is like this, and he thought why do I have to wake up?
This he knew was called lucid dreaming, the ability to be aware he was no longer awake or in the real world.
Michael flew around some more and as he admired the sights his eyes also darted around, watching for something else he had discovered in his dreams recently.
Then he saw it, something he was calling the Crossover, and he flew towards it. The world around him started to fade to white, as if he was reaching the edge of the known universe. Michael flew onwards as fast as he could without pause, even as the vast emptiness started to smother him as he approached.
He looked over his shoulder and saw his dream becoming smaller behind him. He looked forward again and saw another dot growing and blossoming into another new world.
He found himself flying down the streets of New York. Aliens were everywhere, a giant green monster leapt through the air in front of him, and beneath a tower with Stark written on it in huge glowing letters, was his little brother dressed like Thor and throwing lightning everywhere.
Michael did not however think he was still dreaming in his own head, he was now in his brother’s.
He knew or sensed somehow, but through a haze of sleepiness, that he had switched dreams, somehow he had left his own head and moved into his sibling’s.
He joined the fight alongside the other Avengers and as Michael fought off an alien with its own gun, he felt pressure on the sides of his head like his ears were getting ready to hear something. His internal clock went mad and he knew what was about to happen and woke up, right before his own alarm started to wail next to his bed.
He stared at the clock trying to hold onto the dream switching he had just experienced.
The noise it emitted however made him scrunch up his eyes in pain. He slammed down the snoozer button with his palm and heard a comforting click inside, as it went silent.
He turned over and covered his head with his sheet, to block out the early morning sun piercing his window. He closed his eyes trying to slip back into his dream.
For a moment he managed to doze off into it again.
Then the memories of the dream slipped away and were gone.
He turned over again and stared at the clock using the five minutes of snooze time to comprehend what had happened to him.
Once again he had crossed dreams.
Amazing, he thought to himself.
Of course he knew it shouldn’t have been all that amazing. He knew that dreams are usually so distorted and jumbled that it was impossible to tell when one had ended and another had begun.
However the control he exercised every time he sank into his mattress at night, was something he had never done before, and the control was only increasing and lengthening.
It had took a little longer however for him to realise that the second strange thing about his dreams was that it was not two of his dreams, but one of his and one belonging to someone else.
It felt like diving into a swimming pool. That transition from dry to soaked, the warm to cold and the need to come up for air, because the world didn’t seem right, it wasn’t where you belonged.
He was certain of it, certain that this was what was happening.
What did it mean?
How am I doing this?
I can’t wait to do it again! He thought.
•
Michael managed to rouse himself from his slumber when his alarm ended his brief snoozing, and with an energy drink.
He stumbled downstairs and poured cereal into his bowl, missing it several times in his stupor.
When his brother, a little boy of thirteen years with blond hair, who had a round chubby face with electric blue eyes consistent with his energetic personality joined him, he quizzed his younger sibling on his dream.
His brother described how he, the mighty Thor, had defeated the aliens, “then you showed up,” his brother shot at him.
“Did I help?” Michael asked.
“Not really you were frightened the whole time.”
“That’s not what I remember,” Michael said.
“You weren’t there,” his brother argued, spooning cornflakes into his mouth and dribbling milk back into the bowl.
Michael now had his proof, all doubt of his abilities were erased from his mind.
He then wolfed down his cereal, added crumpets to his diet and downed his orange juice then went upstairs.
He changed quickly into his school uniform, then he took some time to look on the internet.
He typed Dream Walking.
The search engine spewed out thousands of responses.
“New Age Spirit Walking, You Are Pure Thought, The Physic Power of Crystals,” Michael read out loud from the list his computer displayed. He practically backed away from the computer with one eye-browed raised.
“Hippie nonsense,” he cursed.
Michael leaned back in his chair and scratched his head.
His fingers swept over the keyboard and instead he tried Dream Switching.
This time millions of responses came back to him.
He sighed and spun on his desk chair, letting out a long breath of air. He went around three hundred and sixty degrees, returned to the keyboard and just searched Wikipedia for scientific explanations of dreams. The articles he found did not explain how he was able to do what he could do.
He was the first to dream-switch.
Was he on some sort of dream Wi-Fi, or just dreaming the same dream because of shared experiences, Michael loved the Avengers just as much as his brother? These were questions he didn’t have an answer for yet.
Michael wondered what he should do about it. Was telling someone the best option? He doubted anyone would believe him.
He checked his watch, 8:30am, almost time for school.
He crossed the hall and he went into his parent’s room where he stepped in front of their full length mirror.
He checked himself over, making sure he was presentable, that his school uniform wasn’t out of place and he that had done his tie properly. He was satisfied but also he felt compelled to stare at the fifteen year old looking back at him. Michael would always describe himself as a completely average guy. Not too tall or short, not fat or thin, his hair was dark and short and his eyes were green. His average nature showed up in his life as his grades at school were all C’s, his clothes were all medium sized and he played centre midfield for his local football team.
However he couldn’t describe himself as average anymore, now he had a unique power and he wondered what use he could put it too.
“Michael if you want that lift to school hurry up,” his mum shouted.
“Be down in a second,” he called back as he finished off his school tie.
He took another look in the mirror and adjusted his hair. He then bounded down the stairs.
His mum was waiting for him, fiddling with her keys while she stared into space. She had the radio on, which was currently broadcasting the news into the hallway. “The Prime Minster leaked proposals from the Budget earlier this morning, the already unpopular Budget will be voted on in three months. Chancellor Clarke stated the benefits of …”
Next to her, rocking his head from side to side, was his little brother John. The little boy wore a back pack almost as big as he was, and he strolled around the hall playing with things that caught his fancy, killing time.
Michael’s footsteps on the stairs woke up his mum from her day dreaming and she peered up at him, “have you got everything?” she asked, then she switched the radio off.
“Yes,” he replied reaching the bottom step and looking his mum in the face. She was still taller than him with soft features and curly hair.
“You took your time getting ready,” John said in his high pitched voice.
“At least I don’t have to do any beauty treatment,” Michael replied reaching out to ruffle his brother’s hair, which had been gelled meticulously into something resembling a hedgehog.
“Get off!” his brother said, batting away Michael’s hand who sniggered at his brother’s discomfort.
“Speak properly,” Michael told him.
“Ok, quiet you two, I don’t want to be late for work and you’re lucky I’m leaving now or you would both have to walk,” their mother said to them, pointing with her finger as she did so. She then opened the door, “lock up on your way out.”
Michael pulled out his keys and shoved his brother out of the house and locked the door behind him while his mum opened the car and started it up.
“I’m in the front,” John said, and opened the passenger door.
“No I am!” Michael said pushing his brother aside.
“Michael in the back,” his mother ordered.
“What!?”
“Ha ha,” John laughed.
Michael scowled at his brother and retaliated by messing up his brother’s hair again, then wiping the residual gel on his hand onto his brother’s blazer.
“Oi,” John shouted as Michael got in the back of the car leaving the kid to sort out the mess he had created.
“You do have everything don’t you?” his mum asked again as they all strapped themselves in.
“Yes,” Michael said getting into the car.
“Yes,” said John.
His mother turned around in her chair to face Michael in the back, “have you made your choices yet?” she asked as Michael closed his door.
“No.”
His mother sighed, “It’s ok, take your time dear it’s an important decision,” and she started up the car.
•
As they drove along Michael stared out of his window. White clouds filled a rich blue sky and the sun shining brightly, he had the feeling it was going to be a good day to match the beautiful weather.
The ‘choices’ his mother had mentioned hadn’t even been on his mind before she had brought it up, but now he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
The summer term of his tenth year in high school was almost over. In his eleventh he would be finishing off his GCSE’s, and then he would have to choose what AS-levels he wanted to do. He found it hard to believe his parents were pressuring him to think about them now. His GCSE’s were already too hard, he was struggling in mock exams. He didn’t want to think about the next step, which must be even harder.
The only thing about AS-levels he was focused on was that he would be studying fewer subjects, which meant more free time. Michael was already sure he wanted to do history and English but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to do either biology or geography.
Whatever he did he certainly didn’t want to be bored for another two years doing subjects he didn’t like, and having at least one that he would have to drop. All this thinking must be hurting his brain since now his skull was throbbing with pain.
“Hmm hum, hum her hum hum ha,” his brother hummed, a repetitive grating attempt to form a tune.
It was so annoying that Michael cracked his neck in irritation. “Stop that humming,” Michael finally blurted out, “It’s awful.”
“I was not humming?” his brother said.
“I can hear you!” Michael replied.
“I wasn’t, and even if I was I can hum if I want,” John said.
“Be quite the both you,” their mum ordered.
Michael huffed and went back to looking at the world passing by, ignoring his brother’s lies as his headache worsened.
“Michael should do a Maths AS - Level and become an accountant like his father,” he heard a voice say.
He turned from his window to look at his mum, “what was that mum?” he asked, “Were you speaking to me?”
“I didn’t say anything dear,” she replied.
“Yeah you did, you think I should do a Maths AS-level,” Michael rubbed his head as the headache increased. “Look you and dad have to stop going about this, it’s a year away I don’t really want to think about this stuff yet.”
She turned to him with a strange look on her face “I was thinking you should do Maths but I didn’t say anything,” she said, and then she turned her attention back to the road, “how did he know what I was thinking? He’s treating his AS - Levels too causally, remind him it’s important to get his future in order,” he heard her say.
“Sorry, I know it’s important,” Michael mumbled in reply.
“It is importa...” she stopped when she realised he had gotten ahead of her, “do not take this flippantly Michael.”
“I’m not, I heard you say I have to get my future in order,” he said.
“Don’t say anything more, he’s not listening right now,” she heard.
“I am listening,” he replied.
His mum gave him another strange look.
•
The car pulled in at the top of the hill that led down to the school gates. “I’ll just drop you both off here it’s easier to turn around,” his mum said.
Michael sighed at having to walk and he took his seat belt off and fished his ruck sack from the back seat.
“That’s fine,” he replied and looked at his watch “we’re early anyway,” and he opened his door and stepped out. Passing by were other students on their way to school, a few gave him a nod, one stayed behind to wait for him.
His brother made his own way out of the car and looked around for anyone he knew.
“See you later,” Michael said to his mum, but before he could close the door she leaned over from her seat, “you can choose whatever you want to do for AS - Level, both me and your father will be proud of you, but we would like you to consider Mathematics it’s a very useful subject, you could even be an accountant like your father,” she said.
Michael was stunned and confused by her by her remark, one that she had already made.
“Walk with your brother down to school,” his mum added.
“He’s old enough to make it to school on his own,” Michael complained.
“Please Michael,” she said wearily.
Michael huffed and closed the car door.
“What was that?” said his friend Bill who was shorter than him with long blond hair and glasses.
“Nothing Bill and get a haircut,” Michael said, with a smile.
“Shut and get some style,” Bill replied “come on I want to sit down in the form room and chill before the first lesson this morning,” he said.
“Let’s go John,” Michael said to his brother.
John followed behind his brother and Bill as they strolled down the hill towards the school passing through the school’s main gate.
Michael looked back at his mum’s car that was halfway through a 3 point turn.
Why did she say those things, and in such a weird way? He asked himself, I hope she’s alright.
He looked away.
Maybe it’s me, maybe I’m the odd one?
CHAPTER 2
Cheating
Mr Wright, and no matter what you said always was, strolled up and down in front of the class, he was a tall balding man, who was boring everyone with the history of the English Civil War with his drawling voice.
Michael sat with his head to one side, supported by his right arm with half closed eyes.
He looked around the class and noticed that everyone was either slouched in his chair or resting their heads on their hands as Mr Wright droned on about the trial of Charles 1st and Cromwell’s protectorate.
“Hey,” Bill said.
Michael slowly turned to face him as they were both sat at the same table, after he checked to make sure Mr Wright hadn’t heard nor was looking in his direction, he answered. “What?” he whispered.
“What’s a Puritan?” Bill asked, referring to Mr Wright who had just started talking about Cromwell’s religious beliefs.
“Very strict Christians, at the time they didn’t like Catholics,” Michael whispered back.
“Why are we bothering with this stuff any way it was like three centuries ago?” Bill complained.
Michael raised a finger into the air and looked down his nose at Bill, “Yet still relevant,” he replied in a mock drawling voice, in an imitation of Mr Wright’s. They both sniggered.
“Michael, are you listening?” the teacher suddenly said, directing his complete attention at Michael as did the rest of the class.
He felt his face heat up under the gaze of the all his fellow students and his teacher. Although he could bore all the legs of a centipede Mr Wright could fix you with a stare that could immobilise a heard of stampeding rhinos. This stare was allied with the man’s huge eyes brows and horn rimmed glasses. Michael had to resist the urge to cringe away from his visage.
“Yes sir,” Michael replied to his earlier question.
“Good, then tell the class who took over the protectorate after Cromwell’s death?” and he crossed his arms and smiled in satisfaction. He understood how to punish a student who wasn’t paying attention and that was by embarrassing them in front of the whole class.
This time he may have succeeded, Michael sat there sweating and tried to peer down at his text book, which was open before him, for the answer.
“Don’t look at your books,” Mr Wright ordered.
He started looking around in case someone in the class was wording it to him, but no one was offering any help. Then he heard Mr Wright say, “Huh, teenagers! They should pay attention if they want to pass this class, and Michael should know that it was Cromwell’s son Richard in 1658.”
Michael turned back to face the teacher and noticed that just as he finished talking, that his lips weren’t moving.
Then even more weirdly he practically repeated his own words, “Well if Michael had been listening then he would have known that it was Cromwell’s son Richard who became Lord Protector in 1658,” Mr Wright said, then continued to drone on about the effect the civil war had on British social life.
Michael sat there in bemusement the only one in the class who apparently noticed Mr Wright’s odd behaviour. Why did he repeat himself? Michael thought and he rubbed his head realising his headache had returned and now just as suddenly, was subsiding.
“Sorry my fault,” Bill said to him.
“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, thinking about what had just happened.
“Now I know you’re bored,” Mr Wright said.
Finally he realises, Michael thought to himself, loudly.
“What was that Michael?” the teacher asked.
“Err nothing,” Michael replied, why is he picking on me? He thought loudly again.
“I’m not picking on you, but this is important history for you to learn,” he went on.
“But sir…” Christopher, a lanky boy in the back row, began, “what’s this got to do with us?”
Mr Wright took a deep breath, Michael realised this was going to be a long answer and cursed Christopher for asking. “When the civil war was over Cromwell was essentially a dictator deciding what laws to implement without a vote from parliament. Thankfully his government ended and parliament was recalled, and that parliament is essential for the democracy we have today, it stops any one person from deciding what the law should be, who is exempt from it and where the money should go.”
“Money?” said one student perking up at the mention of the only word in that answer that might meant anything to a fifteen year old.
“MP’s in parliament can direct huge amounts of money to the right places or the wrong places, such as their bank accounts,” Mr Wright said with a smiled. Only the smart students who read the news chuckled in response.
“Now who can tell what significant calendar event did Cromwell cancel?”
“This is an easy one for them even they should be able to guess it was Christmas,” Mr Wright’s voice said in Michael’s head.
Michael was dead sure that he had heard that and that the teacher’s lips did not move, why is Wright doing ventriloquism? He thought to himself. Michael looked around at the class and realised they had not heard it and were all looking around waiting for someone to answer the question.
“Sir?”
“Yes Christopher?”
“Bonfire night?”
“No.”
“Neek.” Michael heard someone say again without his ears getting it first. “I know sir it’s the Premiership final,” Jake another ventured
Michael and the rest of the class laughed while Mr Wright stared at Jake as if he had just insulted his mom.
Jake looked around and smiled at the laughing students, “Or Maybe the Ashes,” he added.
The laughter stopped.
“He killed it,” every student said at once, but no mouths opened to form the words.
Mr Wright was bright red and glaring at Jake with his arms crossed.
“Sir I know it’s Christmas,” Michael said to save Jake from retribution.
The teacher’s angry glare focused on Michael for a moment until he realised he got the answer he was looking for, and the slight made against him was forgotten.
“Yes thank you Michael, at least someone’s got some intelligence,” Mr Wright said.
“Neek,” Michael heard again in his head, but it was loud and clear.
“I am not a Neek he said turning round to the student behind him, a chubby and annoying boy called Harry.
“I didn’t say anything?” Harry replied.
“You did I heard you,” Michael shot back.
“I didn’t say anything!” Harry countered his voice rising slightly.
“Alright shut up,” Mr Wright called out, he was losing control of the class and it was time to regain some authority over it again. “Take out your text books and copy pages 13-17.”
The room filled with the moans of thirty students in no rush to do the work. They all opened their books, turning each page slowly as if they weighed a ton.
Michael didn’t immediately open his text book he just stared out into space wondering what the heck was going on and why he was hearing things, and why people were hearing him think out loud.
•
Finally the bell sounded, but before that had even happened, every student in the class was well on their way out, packing up their books and pens after the teacher had stopped waffling about British history.
“Are you alright?” Bill asked.
“Fine,” Michael lied, he was rubbing his head which was pounding away in his skull. He toyed with the thought of making it a big thing then maybe he could go home from school early. “It’s nothing,” he added.
“Let’s go to the cafeteria it’s break time and I need some sugar,” Bill said.
“Yeah let’s go,” Michael replied throwing his bag over his shoulder and they both strolled out of the class.
“Bill did you notice anything strange during that class?”
“Only you not knowing something about history, and Mr Wright letting you off the hook so easily, no nothing weird,” he answered and he brought his bag around from his back and started shifting through it as they strolled away from the humanities block and around the English hut.
“Why do you ask?” Bill said.
“Just something Mr Wright did during class,” Michael said, squinting as the sun suddenly came out from behind a cloud.
“Mr Wright is weird he talks about history like it’s the greatest thing since the invention of the wheel or the ipod,” Bill answered who was still shifting through his bag.
“It’s just that…what are you doing?” Michael asked.
“My bag feels suspiciously light,” Bill answered and this time he peered into it, “hell I forgot my history text book, meet you in the cafeteria buy me a donut,” he said and he turned around to go back to the Humanities block.
“Sure thing,” Michael said.
Michael continued on strolling around the corner of the block, he knew the route so well he didn’t look up as he took his mobile phone out and started flicking through his text messages. He knew he was entering the main playground when he heard the voices of his fellow students, hundreds of them talking about classes, or nights out all mixed with general laughter. Michael then looked up and noticed for the first time that the playground was empty; the other classes hadn’t even finished yet, he was the only one in the entire area. Michael double checked, he could still hear the students, but as he looked around again he saw that no one was there.
“What the hell?” Michael said.
Suddenly the doors to classrooms all around the playground opened and streaming out from the various blocks were pupils from all the year groups. As they spread across the playground Michael heard their screams and shouts and banter as clearly as he had before.
He passed by groups of students and just like Mr Wright they spoke without moving their lips.
“He’s telling that joke again,” one student appeared to say. “We heard this before,” the same student then said to his friend.
“That test we just had went really well,” another student boasted, without moving his lips “I felt really good about that test,” He said to his friends, this time without the ventriloquism, “no doubt I just got 90%.”
Michael continued to walk through the crowd, every student was doing same thing speaking without even opening their mouths.
He then realised what was going on.
He actually gasped and put his hands to his mouth when the full implications hit him. He then smiled and almost laughed in joy until his caught himself, and tried to regain some composer while around his peers.
I can’t believe this, I have something no one else has, I have a power, he thought.
He started staring at people, from a distance so they wouldn’t know. Focusing on those who voices he knew. Across the playground he saw a freckled boy from another form group.
Michael gazed at his head, and heard his voice in his head.
“I can’t believe I put two different shoes this morning,” the student thought.
Michael looked down at his feet and saw that the student really had worn two different shoes to school. He would remember that and bring it up later today if the boy annoyed him.
He turned his attention to another boy called Terry, his lip curled upwards in disgust.
“Put Barry down, make him feel small, get a laugh form everyone else,” the boy thought.
Michael frowned and thought out loud, “You’re scum Terry.” He laughed when he saw Terry spin around with wide eyes.
Michael looked away and mixed with the crowd so Terry didn’t know he had thought/said it. It had felt good to get some revenge on him like that, he planned to say other things to him in the future, without him knowing.
“There’s Michael, but where’s my donut,” he heard Bill say.
Michael turned around and there was Bill strolling through the crowd. “Where’s my donut?” Bill asked.
“Bill, think of a number?” Michael said.
“What?” Bill replied.
“Think of a number.”
“45732 wait? Why am bothering with this?” Bill thought.
“What was the number?” Michael asked.
“45732,” Bill responded with a confused expression, “what..?”
Michael stopped listening at that point, There’s no doubt I can hear what people are thinking, he thought to himself. I can read minds.
“What’s going on?” Bill asked.
How am I doing this, this doesn’t happen in real life, Michael thought to himself. He wondered if he should be scared, but he realised this was cool. He actually had a super power and a useful one.
“What’s going on?” Bill asked again.
This then explained his strange dreams. When he was asleep he was somehow connecting to people wirelessly, reading their minds and therefore taking part in their dreams.
He wondered if he should tell Bill, No, this was his power! Any fear or doubt he had was suddenly eclipsed by the possibilities this power afforded him. He could tell when someone was lying, keeping secrets, he could know everything.
He still didn’t believe it though.
“Bill think of another number, longer than the last,” he requested.
Bill blinked and sneered at his friend in response to the strange questions. However his mind still produced an answer “867957439389,” Bill thought.
“86795743989?” Michael asked.
“How are you doing that?” Bill asked.
Michael panicked, he could tell his friend the truth and even prove it.
“It’s just a trick I learned off a guy on YouTube,” he replied. It’s nothing, nothing at all.”
This my power! He thought again, I’m not ready to share it yet.
He tuned out anything his best friend said after that, he was already thinking how to put this new ability to good use.
•
During break time Michael stood with some of his closest friends in their usual place outside the science block. Bill was with him as well as Neil who was taller than him with spiky hair, Aaron who wasn’t taller than him but was stockier, and Nick, and who against all school rules and got away with it, had cut a Mohawk into his ginger hair.
A conversation was going on between them about the football last night and Michael was listening intently, but not in the usual way.
“Why doesn’t he move on, his team lost, he should build a bridge and get over it, hmm that’s funny I should say that and get a laugh,” Michael heard Bill thinking.
“Build a bridge and get over it Aaron, your team lost,” Michael said before Bill could get a word in.
The group laughed at Michael’s joke, Bill and Aaron scowled at him.
“Good one, Michael,” Neil said in his head.
“Cheers Neil,” Michael said without realising he hadn’t said anything.
“Eh I didn’t say anything,” said Neil.
“Oh right of course,” Michael said, and looked away as his face went red.
“Anyway it was all the manager’s fault and what do you know about football Michael?” Aaron said.
Damn he’s right, Michael thought, although he played football he had next to no interest in watching it.
“If you’re such an expert why not tell us who scored in last night’s match,” Aaron shot back.
Michael smiled back and heard, “He won’t know it’s Goddard, Shadrake and Bianchi.”
“Ahem,” he began, “it was…I believe…Goddard, Shadrake and Bianchi,” Michael replied
Aaron’s jaw dropped, the others laughed. “Ha Hah you got done man,” Nick said.
Michael inwardly sighed in relief, already this little trick was proving incredibly useful.
•
After break time Michael and Bill sat down for their next lesson, Maths. Michael was smiling broadly, strolling with confidence in a lesson he was normally terrible at. Today though he knew there was no way he could get an answer wrong and he didn’t even have to do any work.
“No let’s sit over there,” he said to Bill, who was already heading towards their usual seat.
Bill looked to where Michael was pointing. It was to a table behind which two students were already bent over their desks looking through their thick textbooks. They were pointing at sums and smiling, even practicing a few despite the fact the teacher hadn’t ordered as such.
Michael shivered uncontrollably at the thought of someone being that into maths.
“Behind Hibbins and Parish, they’re nerds,” Bill said.
“I know,” Michael said.
He went and sat where he wanted. Bill rolled his head back and sighed, but eventually followed.
“Right,” said the maths teacher Mr Morgan, his belly wobbled as he swung around to face his class. “Long Multiplication and division, we are doing this again in the run up to your mocks. Let’s start with a few from your text books, SHUT UP FULLER,” he shouted to a student at the back of the class, “now then page 345 section one 421 multiplied by 76.”
Michael sat motionless in his chair while the rest of the class, well most of the class, worked out the calculation in silence. He was hearing quite a lot. To him it sounded like the students were chatting away despite the fact they were saying nothing, just thinking. He was listening for a distinctive voice one that would have the answer and even though it came into his head without registering in his ears, sounded exactly like its owner who wore a brace.
“31996,” he ‘heard’ in a slurred voice.
Before the owner could raise his hand Michael said out loud, “31996.”
“Correct Michael,” the teacher said and brought his hands together in joy, “but hand up next time. Ok something harder 6864 divided by 176.”
Michael listened for the answer.
“39.”
And again before the person who had worked it out could say it, Michael got there first.
“39,” Michael said.
“Hand Michael,” the teacher said.
Michael didn’t care, in fact he was beaming.
School had just got a lot easier for him. He sat back in his chair draped his arms over the sides and was relieved when he realised that now his GSCE’s were going to be a breeze. All he would have to do is sit there and let the smart kids give him all the answers.
He allowed himself a giddy little laugh.
“THAT WAS PATTERSON,” Mr Morgan screamed in his head.
“Sorry sir,” Michael called out and sat up straight.
Mr Morgan’s mouth was open, but Michael had crossed the line first, “oh right, err, yes,” he stuttered.
Michael sat back, now he knew he could avoid punishments as well.
•
The next lesson was in the sports hall. The games teacher was in the corner pumping up footballs while the students arranged goal posts. The hall echoed with the sound of trainers scuffing the varnished surface.
The class had already been divided into two teams in the changing room. As Michael’s team set their goal, they discussed positons.
“You guys go in defence,” Bill motioned towards four weedy students wearing glasses and standing awkwardly in a little clique.
Several students claimed positions up front.
Michael frowned as he set one corner of the goal’s netting in place.
“I was hoping for volleyball,” he said to Bill.
“Never mind, you going in midfield?”
“Yes, wait…No,” Michael said.
“Huh,” Bill uttered.
“I’ll take goal,” Michael said.
“You! Want to play in Goal?” Bill said.
“Yes,” Michael replied.
“You never play in goal, just mid-field,” Bill said.
“Watch and learn my friend you’ll be impressed,” Michael replied.
The class was split into two teams and the game began. Michael stood in the goal mouth leaning against the post with his arms cross, he smiled at the rest of the team as if he was the only one in on a joke.
His fellow players raised their eyebrows at his behaviour.
“Don’t let anything in,” one shouted.
Michael waved his hand at him as if brushing off a fly.
The opposing team’s first attempt to score happened within the first minute of the game, with the strikers receiving a good pass from the left wing almost immediately after kick off.
“Michael pull yourself together,” bellowed the P.E teacher who was like an army drill sergeant, a massive man who wore a tracksuit one size to small, that wrapped tightly around his toned muscles.
Michael wasn’t paying attention to him, instead he was focusing on the student who currently had the ball and had just dribbled it past two other pupils and was making for a shot on goal. The student was one Michael knew well, a very tall and a heavily built student who had a very deep voice, which he was listening for.
He stepped off the goal line, but with his arms still crossed.
“Top right corner now,” he heard the boy think in his head.
Michael tensed his legs and started moving, stretching out his arms and splaying his hands out.
The rest of the class cheered as Michael made a stunning leap towards the top corner and caught the ball. When he hit the ground he styled out his magnificent save with a roll.
“Well done Michael,” the teacher called out.
The student who had made the attempt on goal just stood there hunched over and mouth open. He then turned away to return to his position on the pitch, glaring at Michael as he walked back towards his team in disgust, cursing to himself.
Michael in the meantime bathed in the glory he received. The nerds on his team sprayed him with spit through their braces as they praised his save. His detractors on the team had had all their doubts crushed and were congratulating him as if it was their idea for him to be in goal in the first place.
“Why aren’t you always in goal?” one remarked.
Because I didn’t know I could read minds, Michael thought to himself.
The PE teacher blew his whistle and waved his hands wildly to get people back to their positions.
In the next stage of the game a dirty fowl by one of his teammates gave the opposition a penalty and another shot at goal.
Michael focused on the opponent taking the penalty. “Go left but look right and trick Michael,” he heard in his brain. The student started moving towards the ball, so Michael side stepped to the right. “He’s taking the bait,” the student thought.
Michael smiled again, waited until the boy was committed to the shot, and then moved to the left. “What?” the boy thought, but it was too late and the shot played right into Michael’s hands.
The cheer from his teammates was louder than before. The teacher, along with the opposition team, was silent and stunned by what had just happened.
Michael sought out high fives, fist bumps and hugs from the team.
“What a save eh,” he cried out, and he got a Hu-Rah from his team.
I am going to like being this good at everything.
