Wind whipped across the dusty street, kicking up abandoned shopping bags and making them dance through the air like ballerinas on LSD. People walked by with hunched backs, eyes scanning the darkened alleys and the areas broken streetlights used to illuminate.
One of these people was walking as though fleeing from life.
He slipped under the alcove of a run-down apartment building and mashed his thumb on the panel next to the door. A moment later the door buzzed and he slipped into the building.
The interior smelled like the perfumed trees left in new cars and over-ripened fruit. Trash bags lined both sides of the corridor leading up to the stairwell, and a young woman in hooker's garb sat nearby, glassy eyes staring past him as she took another hit from her electronic joint.
The man moved by her, nodding curtly as he passed. He took the stairs three at a time and rushed to the fourth floor. He was winded by the time he arrived. Knocking on the third door to the left, he waited again.
Chains jangled, a hook was removed, a bolt pulled. The door opened.
The man slipped into the room and closed the door behind him with a push of his shoulder. "I wasn't seen," he said, matter-of-factly.
Two others were in the fist-sized apartment. A woman wearing a full tactical SWAT uniform and carrying an M16, and a young disheveled man, slumped on a beanbag chair to one side. The man answered first, never taking his eyes off the three dissimilar computer screens before him. "Cool man," he said.
When he turned to face the man that had entered, his black, iris-less eyes were clearly visible. "You got it?"
The man nodded. "I got it." He moved forwards and into the little kitchen to one side, took off a pile of dirty dishes stack on a chair, and brought it back to the main room. He sat down with a huff. "Had to use my power the whole time. Couple of near misses. But I got it." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small flash drive-like device.
The disheveled man reached out and took it, a slow smile crossing his features. "Cool."
"Will you be able to use it?" the woman asked. She shifted positions, the barrel of the gun never facing away from the door.
"Sure thing, boss lady. Just give me a minute." Reaching out, the disheveled man plugged the device into a nearby computer tower, then he began to move his hands through the air like a composer before an orchestra. "Let's see...' he whispered.
The screens came to life, thousands of images and lines of code. Windows opened and closed faster than anyone in the room could see, save for the disheveled man. "Oh, baby," he said in a voice that neared the orgasmic. "Damn, this shit's hot. I'll maybe get one in ten of these." He bit his lower lip. "Not much here..."
The room grew quiet, save for the whirl of the computer's fans and the groans of the disheveled man. Then he screamed. "Ah, crap! Wait. No!" He began to jerk, like a man caught in the throes of a seizure. "I... Got it!"
He sighed, his entire body shivering.
"What did you get?" the woman asked cocking her head to one side.
"I think. I think it's a diary. A journal."
"A journal?" the other man said. "A goddamned journal?"
The disheveled man shook his head. "No. It's His journal."
The three looked at one another.
"Read it," the woman ordered.
My name is William Cauthon, and this is my journal of my daily life at Crawford academy, starting on the 23rd of September, 2032. If I catch you reading this, I'll have you beheaded.
YOU ARE READING
LeftOvers - How to Become a SuperVillain and Take Over the World
Science FictionI never wanted to be a Superhero. Spandex and bright colours were never my style. I was more of a black leather and bank robberies kind of guy. When I learned that I was one of the few that could do something beyond the ordinary, I had some choices...
