Code 61

Chapter 2

I waited for the shuffle of feet to let me know that Baekhyun already left. Only then did I allow the breath I never realised I had been holding to escape.

There were so many unresolved emotions there, but now wasn't the time for that.

It was almost seven. The coffee I was preparing earlier had already grown cold, and I didn't feel like making a new cup. Feeling frustrated, I turned off the TV and pulled open the curtains that dimmed the room. The view outside was a hazy filmstrip through the filth-encrusted windows, grey-tinged and fuzzy. When I pushed it open, a gust of arid breeze brought the scent of uncollected garbage into the room. I tried not to gag.

The city seemed to wake long before the sun made its appearance. Already, its asphalt cages were filled to the brim with red-eyed metallic beasts. Grey sunlight glinted off the surfaces of glass-faced skyscrapers. Only those who saw the paint peeling off of their walls knew how easily a broken glass could look like a diamond from a distance.

Seoul was a master at hiding its flaws. Unlike me.

It was easy to be fooled by the progress this metropolis had achieved. In a few short years, the advancements in technology grew exponentially. Most human workers have been replaced by machines, so the rate of unemployment rose to extremes. You'd think it should give us time to pursue something more creative if we were no longer tied down by mediocre jobs. Art was a luxury those at the lower rungs couldn't afford. It meant the loss of livelihood. To those who had families, it was watching a slow death.

Still, being at the lower rung was better than being pushed to the ground. That was what being an aberrant was.

No one really knew how a small population began developing powers. Special abilities, if you want to be politically correct. There were many theories, of course — more so than actual scientific explanations. They ranged from slightly reasonable explanations like contaminations to biological warfare to alien invasion. It was easier not to think about how it happened, or why it had to be me of all people. What mattered was what I intended to do with it. The answer — nothing.

We were forbidden to use our abilities in any way. Even if it meant we had to starve to death. Either that or a quick execution by the sentinels. I wasn't keen on either one.

I showered hurriedly, not even bothering with breakfast anymore. I doubted there was anything to eat anyway. Surviving on coffee was a special life skill.

My hair was still dripping wet when I left the complex. It stuck to my forehead like needles and I had to keep shaking my head to avoid looking like a wet dog.

The sidewalk was growing crowded with people on their way to work or school. I was grateful for standing a good head over everyone. The thought of being jostled by the shoulders was enough to test my temper, something I'd been avoiding my whole life. All it took was one second to lose control.

I knew all too well how dangerous that could be.

Someone bumped into me, a woman who was too busy talking on the phone to bother apologising. When she glanced at my hands, she immediately flinched back, revolted.

"Aberrant," she mouthed with venom.

Jaw clenched, I stuffed my hand into the pockets of my hoodie, hiding the dark blue mark at the back of it that made it easier for normal people to recognise me. I had it the first time my powers manifested.

I recalled it with vivid clarity — the fear and apprehension on my parents' face when the flames jumped from the seven-shaped candle on my birthday cake to my hands. There was no fear for me then. Just pure fascination at the beautiful danger I was holding.

That same day, I was brought to a gated facility at the outskirts of the city where I was poked and prodded by people in lab gowns. Before I left, I recalled the dull sting of the needles poking through my anaesthetised skin. A blue triangle, which I later realised was actually the letter A, glared back at me. Tattooed on me.

I would forever associate it with the tragedy that was my life.

Overhead, the traffic light changed. The crowd waiting at the sidewalk began to move towards the other side of the street and I went along with it, hood drawn over my head, hoping I could be invisible despite my built.

That was when it happened.

It felt as if the ground shook from within — little tremors that built up until everyone around me could feel it. Confusion turned to panic. The sound of a fast engine echoed loudly, bouncing off the faces of the skyscrapers that lined like sentinels. The sound of police sirens trailed close behind.

A midnight blue sports car, which probably saw better days judging by the human-sized dent on its hood, came to view in seconds. It coasted through the highway at full speed, weaving through the traffic with expert ease. The red light was just another distraction for whoever was manoeuvring.

It was instinct. A blast of heat emanated from my body, radiating off of me in waves, forcing everyone to empty the streets. Water hissed against my forehead at they evaporated.

I didn't know what came over me. I never imagined myself as a hero, but maybe some part of me wanted to be one. To be accepted in spite of what I was capable of, even in pretence. Of course, looking back, it was a naïve thought.

The scene felt like a strip of film unfolding frame by frame. From where I stood, I met the surprised gaze of the driver. He should be about my age, maybe younger. I didn't pay much attention. It was his eyes I was focusing on — luminescent gold and glowing. There was no doubt he was using his skills to shake the ground.

His eyes widened when he realises I was doing the same, only I was doing it to his car. There was no way to describe it, but I could feel the heat of their car's engine spiking, the heat from the wheels from friction as it ground the pavement.

In a few seconds, it would burst into flames. I concentrated on it. Just a few seconds more.

I gritted through my teeth.

Then the ground broke.