Mason’s view of the world became a disorienting blue painting, the scant spots of yellow, red, and orange alleviating some of the discomfort attached to seeing it this way.
While blinking repeatedly, he chose a single bright spot to focus on. Through the window of one of the cabins, he spotted someone—a woman, based on the shapely contours of her body—get shoved to the wall.
His assumptions as to what was happening were immediately disproven when another yellow figure pressed themselves behind her and began to…
‘Oh…’ He looked away, blinking slower than before. ‘They’re…’
Shaking his head and retracting the thermal vision, he sighed in contentment when things returned to normal. It would take him some time to get used to it but he loved that he had it nonetheless.
The list of his abilities seemed intent on growing, and he did not want it to stop.
Endless power fantasies aside, he pulled himself along the tree trunks and brought himself right above one of the empty cabins he’d located. He lowered himself behind it and crouched, making not a single sound as he waited for the moment to pass.
When nothing revealed itself to be out of place, he stayed low and went for the door. A thin flame jutted out above his finger tips and he sliced it through the tiny gap between the door and the frame.
A small push confirmed entry and he ushered himself in, locking the door with the latch on its other end. A loud exhale left him as he plopped on the bed and threw himself back.
For a while he just lay there and palmed his face. Everything he experienced from the time of his death to the last few hours flew past, each rushing back with their own emotional baggage to unpack.
Sadly for these little demons calling themselves guilt and self loathing, he’d been cured of his addiction to them. He had become clinically undepressed, and he found that he liked not feeling worthless all the time.
Sitting up and embracing the persistent joy that had become a bit less nauseating, he retrieved his possessions from storage, spreading them on the bed. Their presence was one of the reasons he attributed this whole thing to Maya.
Only she would think to add these things.
“These things” included credentials that basically amounted to physical proof of a background in this world. A driver’s license, a high school diploma, a birth certificate, and the like. Those he wasn’t much interested in.
What made him turn solemn were the pair of dogtags belonging to his grandfather, the old man’s weathered but well kept 1911 (the same one he used in the war), his combat knife, and last but most definitely not least, the framed pictures.
There was one of Maya, his older sister, one with the old man and grandma together, one where his parents held him as a baby, another where a five year old Maya held him, and a few more with him, Maya and the old man in various combinations.
There was even the one he took with Maya before she went off to college. All of them struck home and magnified the fact that he was alone. In this world, the accident that took their parents had been replicated— with a slight difference.
Here, it had taken Maya too and left him as the sole survivor. Or at least, that was the story. He doubted an actual accident took place.
Holding the pictures of his grandad and Maya side by side, he closed his moistening eyes and imagined himself with them again, hoping to hear them bicker one more time.
.
.
.
.
Under the cover of night, Mason enjoyed much more ease and freedom of movement. In the forest, he was king in his own land, near the streets and urban centers, he was a king in a foreign land.
It was a good thing he’d put the gun away, else the strange double takes his appearance garnered from the few that bothered to take a second look would have turned into a stream of 911 calls.
In this small town where their most interesting crime was probably bicycle theft, multiple reports about a barefoot giant dressed like he escaped from a carnival would go exactly how you would imagine.
The whole station would probably be sent after him. For the sheer rarity of the situation if nothing else.
Hence, he stuck to the shadows and avoided any bright lights. Any inevitable contact with people or passage through well lit areas, he ensured they didn’t last long enough for people to get a word in.
‘Uncle Donovan…’ He recalled the image of a gruff old man and the training that basically turned him into a discount Jason Bourne, letting him reach his goal with no issue.
Glancing at the street from a dark alley, he thanked the stars for the loud fire truck in the distance drawing the attention of those on the street. That momentary gap in their collective concentration let him slip into the thrift store unseen.
Unheard, not so much.
A bell ring announced his presence and he braced himself. For the weird stare, for anything. He had no choice but to relax when the girl at the counter glanced up from her phone screen, took a single look at him and returned to her phone like he didn’t exist.
“Price tags are on everything. Knock yourself out. Or don’t. I don’t care”
Glad for the terrible service just this once, he looked up from the girl at the tv above her. The news was on, and they were reporting on A-Train successfully stopping a bank robbery.
‘Right.’ He scoffed and went deeper into the store.
Getting himself into comfortable clothes that fit him well didn’t take long. While sitting on a small bench and tying the laces of a pair of black combat boots, he glanced upward for a split second and spotted a shelf stocked with a collection of fabrics.
That single glance told him the type of each one and filled his head with numerous possible designs and possibilities. He heaved a sigh and shook his head, giving in to the desire to explore the store’s collection.
Once again he questioned if this is how “normal” felt. Because whenever he saw something remotely colorful or interesting, he’d get a strong and stubborn urge to check it out.
He didn’t use to be like this. Though he supposed this was a good thing. Looking back, his trips to malls and grocery shops were almost always short, and he never bought anything he didn’t add to his mental lists.
Compared to now, calling him a robot back then wouldn’t be wrong.
Careful in tying the last lace so his metal bending muscles wouldn’t destroy the rope, he finished with his fresh boots and stretched his legs forward, enjoying the feel and look of them.
As if the pocket of knowledge in his head had turned into the short and opinionated fashion designer they belonged to, it had opinions on how he and the designer of the boots sorely lacked a fashion sense.
With a chuckle, he stood up and packed more clothes onto his arm, letting Edna’s opinion sway some of his decisions. When he reached the shelf with the fabrics and spotted the table with a sewing machine and kit beside it, he had no choice but to add it to his “cart.”
Luckily for him, his pockets weren’t hurting at the moment. Emptying the wallets of the guards had been a profitable exercise in foresight. Hence, he indulged his whims and picked up whatever caught his fancy.
Upon his return to the clerk, he wore a white sweater with a brown jacket on top, and a pair of blue jeans. He set a large travel bag down on the counter, minding the weight.
That finally drew the interest of the girl, but she didn’t stand after seeing him count the money. She instead grabbed the remote for the tv and turned up the volume.
“—are getting some new information about the fire. Police say the suspect is one Mason Von-Sloan, a troubled supe with fire powers. Investigators are still waiting for the fire department to quell the flames, but they believe Mason used his powers to escape his room and then proceeded to murder his fellow patients and the caretakers. How true that is remains to be seen. He is currently at large and the police are warning people to not approach him. Mr. Sloan is a very troubled man and provoking him may lead to another disaster similar to the one at the Sage Grove Center—”
Body frozen yet trembling at the same time, the person in question stared at the news report in utter disbelief. There was a headshot of him pre Compound V on the screen beside another one clearly taken by the camera inside his cell.
It showed him on his feet with a hand out and the first flame he conjured above his open palm. The two images disappeared and a live video of the burning center took its place.
The fire truck that let him slip into the store unnoticed came to mind when he saw multiple of them at the scene, trying to douse the flames shooting out of the windows and doors like a fire demon trying to force its way out.
This… he didn’t know what to say, or think. His original plan to go back there being rendered useless didn’t even register. He was completely consumed by the fact that he’d been framed. Someone was using him as a scapegoat.
Finally remembering that she had a job and a customer, the cashier pried her gaze from the screens holding her attention hostage and focused on the counter. She narrowed her eyes at the stack of folded notes and the missing giant, moreso on what he looked like.
She’d only looked at him twice but—she picked up the remote and rewinded the news to where Mason’s before and after images were placed side by side.
Her eyes grew in size as the sketchy looking Mason at the door overlapped with the one in the cell. They even wore the same clothes. Fear gripped her so tight she didn’t stop shaking while dialling 911.
While she gave his last known location away, the person in question had put more than a mile of distance between himself and the shop since he left it a minute ago.
With his clothes and other stuff stored safely, he could move about more freely now. Much more freely than the average person if you factored in his powers.
He wanted nothing more than to fly, but the news he just saw made him wary. His flames were brighter and more eye-catching than their inferior orange counterparts, and though he didn’t think he’d be spotted if he flew high enough, he refused to take the risk.
So he stuck to leaping. Super strong legs plus weight manipulation turned super leaping into a skill he could perform effortlessly and precisely. There was no destination in mind when he took to the skies. His mind was entirely focused on what the news said.
No one liked it when they were blamed for something they didn’t do.
Unless they were a lunatic or a psychopath, people in general hated it when something as simple as taking candy from a baby was blamed on them, how much more an atrocity on the scale we were talking about.
Mason was fuming. The air in his vicinity warbled and burned hot. Every breath that left his nostrils did so in sharp hissing streams.
His anger climbed to new heights when he thought about the person responsible. By pinning the fire on him, they had killed two birds with one stone. Judging from the scale of the fire alone, they more than likely used it to cover up the true nature of the center.
Those cameras he saw must’ve led to a security room where footage of the truth had been stored. Samples of Compound V also had to be present. All of this necessitated a cover up of this level since his escape meant the secret would be out sooner or later.
Supes were not born but made.
This painted the frameup in a more sinister light. They wanted to eliminate him. And he had to admit, it was a genius plan. Two birds one stone. Cover up their wrongdoings and paint him as a crazy supervillain at the same time.
And which people dealt with villains? Heroes.
‘Well played.’ Mason nodded repeatedly and landed on a water tower with a faint clang, grabbing a thin pole jutting out of the top. ‘Too bad you picked me.’
Five driver’s licenses appeared in his hands and he confirmed the addresses on them one more time. One of them was in New York, but the rest were in the state.
He stored them again and brought out one of the phones to check the map. His next destinations and how to reach them were memorized easily. Destroying the phone came next.
Before he melted it down however, he checked for stores that sold electronics, particularly GPS tags and memorized them too. The next moment, he took off for his first destination, a tiny fire burning on the roof.
There were police when he arrived. He knew the reason why when he spotted the boy whose image he used to threaten the guard sitting in the backseat of a cruiser while the police spoke to a woman.
A babysitter or neighbor.
Pressed flat against the roof of a nearby building, he waited till the cruiser and the woman left before finding a point of entry into the target apartment. Getting more and more skillful with weightless maneuvering, he crossed the entire length of fire escape with one leap, catching himself right where he intended.
Inside the apartment, he shut any and all blinds before summoning a small flame for light. Confident that the gloves and the baseball cap he wore would do their jobs, he ransacked the place.
His uncle’s teachings came back to him as he lifted the couch to see a guilty floorboard.
‘The trick is not to look for anything…’
Drugs and tightly rolled up money were stashed in the hole he uncovered. The money went into storage and as for the drugs, he left them, his mind on what could possibly lead a parent to keep drugs in the same place they raised a child.
‘Probably the same reason they chose to work for a Nazi.’ He lowered the couch. ‘Nothing good.’
His search was ruthless, and would’ve been even more so if he didn’t care about alerting the neighbours. It didn’t matter in the end because he didn’t get anything close to what he wanted.
He found nothing he could use as a lead to track down and acquire a sample of Compound V. The laptop and money were good though, so it wasn’t all bad. Unfortunately, all bad perfectly described how his subsequent stops went.
Two of the locations were dead ends. Not because there was nothing but rather the opposite. The homes of two of the guards had their wives and children present. They were a no go.
As for the last one, the guard lived alone but the search of his greasy apartment led to a discovery that soured Mason’s mood for the rest of the night. He almost burned the place down.
Hopefully, the ruckus he caused and the call he made to the cops would bring them there. They could deal with the underage unmentionables he’d uncovered and track down and arrest the dead creep’s friends.
Currently situated atop the tallest building he could find, he thought out what to do next now that he had diddly squat. He’d run out of avenues to explore, but that simply meant he had to find more.
For that, he needed more information. Good thing he had a laptop now, something that was made better because it had no password. However, he didn’t intend to keep it for more than a day as it could be tracked.
Still, by the time the police got to doing so, he’d be long gone.