"Unit 3, this is Unit 12. Prisoner has been transferred. Preparing to board the next bird to Stryker's. Standby."
An hour of this, and I still don't know what's happening.
I certainly know alot about how I
got here, but the reason why still escapes me. I've been told on numerous occassions that I'm currently in the custody of the Metropolis PD. That's fine, except that whenever I try and ask the team of - I think, judging by the number of erradic heartbeats, around twenty-five SWAT officers - what exactly the charges are behind my arrest, they usually respond by prodding me in the spine with a weapon that outputs a level of electricity that would put even the most lethal limits of the standard taser to shame. It's enough to make me feel it, but hardly enough to provide any serious risk. Thankfully, they're not out to kill me. They're just trying to make sure that I'm willing to cooperate.
And I am. Which is why I didn't object whenever they placed a large, reinforced titaninum headbrace around my eyes, to prevent me from trying to expell heatvision. I've tried looking through it, but some other alloy is preventing me from doing that. They don't realize that I could easily melt it off of my face and render their attempts useless to contain me, but I've so far chosen to remain their prisoner. Not because I genuinely feel that they're right to keep me under arrest, I don't. I know that I haven't done anything to warrant this blatant show of force.
It's just that if I don't stay put, I'll never learn why I was put here in the first place.
"Alright, freak! Move along and don't try anything!"
I feel something strike between the shoulder blades - but to be honest, I think that the instrument they used felt it alot more than I did. Nevertheless, I stand from where they had me sitting and continue on, hearing the loud rotary blades of a helicopter begin to wind up. Before long, I step into the craft itself and feel myself be split apart from the pack. It makes since, given that I don't expect a chopper to house over twenty men and women at once. Still, even as it lifts from the ground and we become airbourne, I can still hear the rapid pulse of everyone below us. They're genuinely terrified of me.
I wish I could say that I wasn't used to it. Or that I couldn't understand why.
But I'm not naive.
"Get the warden out there on the line. Let him know we're sending him a dropoff."
I can practically feel the pilot look back at me, stonefaced.
"For that guy?"
"I've got my orders, and so do you. Now's not the time to go and start questioning them."
"Yeah, but... we're really gonna put him in a holding cell?"
The pilot's obviously been kept out of the loop, but I overheard their intentions whenever I was still grounded. Stryker's Island is a prison island that lies twelve miles off of the coast of Suicide Slum. To the public at large - and even to me, up until now - it's a place where only the ordinary criminals and gangsters are sentenced to live out the rest of their remaining years if they're deemed too much of a danger to society. What I didn't know, and wasn't pleased to learn, is that there's a floor below it designed for the sole purpose of housing classified mutant and metahuman criminals.
I understand the need for desperate measures. The rate of superpowered individuals has dramatically increased over the last twenty years, and it's only natural that a populace who lacks such abilities would want a place to send those criminals aswell. It's fair and perfectly natural.
What I don't understand is the need for secrecy. I've never been terribly fond of cloak-and-dagger tactics when it comes to individuals placed in a position of power, but to learn it's happening right next door to me is an unwelcome surprise. The citizens of Metropolis deserve to know about this. And I want to know why they don't.
"Look, you wanna ask Turpin why we're dropping him at Stryker's, be my guest. But that's where we're heading."
The pilot eventually relents and begins searching for a radio channel to the Island. Hesitantly, I remain seated, deciding to resist the urge to question this. I'm not forgetting what I've learned anytime soon, but I have more pressing concerns than whatever their superiors are hiding. They still haven't told me anything about the charges.
"Excuse me,"
The squad Captain immediately turns, tensing up.
"I thought I told you to be quiet!"
Despite the situation, I feel like I've been generously calm. So whenever I respond, I remember to try and keep that in mind.
"You did. And I will. But even as your prisoner, I think I'm allowed some basic rights."
His teeth practically grind together and he starts to react, but he calms himself down. Maybe because up here, chained down the way I am, he's under the assumption that I'm clearly not in any position to try anything. Even the shackles around my wrists were heavy enough to challenge the weight of the helicopter before it took off. Which raises yet another question - where did they get the technology to subdue me in the first place? And more importantly, how long have they been developing it?
"Right, you wanna know why you're here? I'll tell you why. The bodies you left behind when you murdered those people in that apartment."
For the first time since the arrest, I sit up straight and practically stand. But it's only out of shock for what I've just been told. There's been a string of murders in the city... and they think
I'm responsible?!
"Sir, I'm being honest when I tell you this. Whatever your department found, I wasn't the perpetrator."
"The corpses were burned with precision, and our forensics lab called it in. It's a precision that can't be duplicated by any known machine on record. Only could've been done through natural means, kinda like your laser eyes."
"Heat-vision."
Massaging the bridge of his nose, he tries to hide the agitation in his voice.
"Do I really look like I care what it is? We found the evidence, and you're the only one in this town who can do that to anyone. We've got the survielliance records from when you fought the big green guy. You gonna sit there and tell me you're not capable of that?"
I raise my head, trying to run through everything that he's telling me.
"As far as my abilities are concerned, someone else would certainly be capable. But I would never take a life. And even if it were somehow proven otherwise, I'm innocent until..."
"Yeah, you're innocent until proven guilty. That's what the book says, but let's face facts. Precision burns, bodies left on a high floor, an open window so that you could fly out. All of the identified victims had rap sheets. No trace of evidence left otherwise. It all fits your MO, despite the fact that you hadn't gone on any sort of public spree. At least, you hadn't yet."
I momentarily fall silent, trying not to take offense at the assertion.
"What about the part of my MO that shows I've done nothing but try and help other people?"
He sits down.
"Leopards change their spots. I don't know, way I figure it, you could've decided that you were helping them. And if I could be honest, if I were in your shoes... I'd probably go crazy with that kinda power too."
Once again, I'm having a hard time trying to keep myself in check. If this man honestly thinks that I'm crazy, or that I have the potential to go off the handle and use my powers against innocent people, then he doesn't know me at all. Which is especially troubling if there are others out there like him. Are people really that afraid of me?
"Now pipe down. I gave you an answer, but I'm not your lawyer. Talk it over with him if you wanna convince people otherwise."
Don't do it, Clark.
Don't give them a reason.
"I'm sorry, but I can't do that."
With a heavy sigh, I begin to stand. He reaches for his weapon and stands aswell.
Who am I kidding? I've given them plenty of reason already. They're convinced as it is that I'm completely responsible for the crime, and I doubt I can convince anyone otherwise. My only chance is to prove I didn't do it by finding out who did. And I can't do that from a prison cell. So if they're not gonna listen to me and focus on capturing the person
really responsible for all of this...
Then I have no other reason to stay.
"Oh, is that right? And what the hell do you think you're gonna---"
His words practically trip over themselves as the metal resting over my face begins to glow red with heat. Immediately, it splits apart, melted at it's seam. The metal falls onto the floor as the Squad Captain raises his weapon.
"SIT DOWN! SIT DOWN RIGHT NOW!"
"I'm afraid... ngh..."
With heavy concentration, I pull both wrists as far away from eachother as I can. Until finally, the alloy snaps apart with a force so strong that the helicopter itself shakes.
"That I can't do that, either."
"I'M GIVING YOU TILL THE COUNT OF THREE!"
I look him dead in the eyes, making it clear that I'm through with playing games. I've been framed, and whoever's gone to the trouble of killing people in order to do it is going to have to answer for their crimes.
"Three."
Before he can pull the trigger, I've disappeared. Leaving little more than a heavy gust of wind in my wake.
But even as I begin a flightpath back to Metropolis, the ramifications of what I've just done weigh heavier on me than I would have guessed.
I just became a fugitive of the law.
