The Tomorrow People
Episode I
SOMETIMES, it’s dangerous to be a little different. However, being different is what individuality is all about, and being an individual is what being human is all about; but for some reason, ignorance melts over the heart, lets the mind wander, and sometimes, people forget.
And when they do forget, chaos is born, a chaos that cannot be stopped by any war-gun or devastating bomb, and if erased from the mind, still stays in the heart; but my mind and my heart have been two different existences since this all began, and they don’t work together to judge anything they see anymore.
I don’t get out much, but when I do I can’t help hearing about them, the Mutants. They were born into a world that hated and feared them, gifted with unique abilities foreign to humanity. Everyone is frightened of them, and says that all they want to do is hurt us “Homo sapiens." But mankind has always feared what it doesn’t understand. I go for walks, always with them in the back of my mind, itching at me like a scab. Not the itching of fear or schizophrenia, but that of pity. They were merely born different from everyone else, there was no will power strong enough to change that, and yet they were feared and hated for it. Even killed. It torments me wherever I go.
On the TV, the same nightly program glows on my body and walls. One of evil, one of fear, yet I know it is one of hope. I see them, but not like others see them, because I know they’re not all evil. I’ve heard the stories, I’ve seen the reality, and I know the truth…
It all began so swiftly, like a breath to blow out a candle; sharp and precise, and very powerful, deep from the soul. Under the hot sun of the mid-day, Los Angeles, California was like heaven. This day was no different. A naturally attractive L.A. day, soon to have the heavens itself shattered with the pain and fear the children of the future would grow to live with. Hundreds of people were happily walking and playing in the streets near the beach, eating hotdogs and drinking smoothies, unconscious to the danger coming at them at the speed of sound.
Suddenly you could hear it, hear them, hear the Sentinels. Their evil sonic booms ripped through the sky like it was tinfoil. On their shoulders they brought death. The deepest fear one could ever imagine could not equal the fear of that day. The new holocaust had begun…God save our souls.
They were like red angels of death, falling from the sky like fire, falling from a previous hell unimaginable to anyone. They were brainwashed steel, stripped of conscience and thought, body and bones; blanketing buildings with the cold, dark hatred of their shadows; for hatred was the only emotion they knew. Not pity, or pain, or death; but molded in the fires of pure hatred.
When they landed, they broke the cement and asphalt around them like glass, covering the ground with blinding smoke and burning heat. There were twelve of them, which meant twenty-four glowing red eyes. Out of their cold, metal hands beams of searing energy billowed and beamed, vaporizing anything in the path of the shaft of light. What they wanted to kill was them, the Mutants; and so they did, all of them.
Children watched as friends and family were slaughtered, regardless of age or innocence, virtue or purity, while the chaos burned into their eyes forever; burned with a fire so hot, no tears could relieve the immense stress.
One man lay helpless, begging for mercy. He hadn’t even found out that he was a Mutant… yet, but those Sentinels, they didn’t see fear, all they saw were numbers and words scanning objectives across their faces.
Mutant Gene CONFIRMED
Proceed With TERMINATION
The man cried and cried, but the Sentinel merely squashed him under his massive metallic boot like a germ, an illness to the human race.
That night, the news anchors and citizens of America cheered at the deaths of all of the people, because they were different. I had begun to hate people, hate humans, and thus hate myself for being one of them. The newsman spoke so proudly of what we had done, I wanted to kill him. Let him join the devil in the depths of the underworld.
“Good Evening, I’m Boaz Eshelmen, and you’re watching the Channel Nine News Update,” he said to me over my TV.
“Tonight’s top story: trial run of ‘The Sentinels’ is hailed as a triumphant success, as a Mutant nest in Los Angeles is uncovered and neutralized with no civilian casualties.” Footage of the turmoil ran over the screen for all to see. To me it was like a dream, half asleep, half awake, and wondering how an assumed intelligent species could carry out the transgressions of a thousand demons.
“Were these Mutant terrorists behind the recent anti-human bombings in New York and Washington? Police say the evidence is undeniable.
“But human rights campaigners Amnesty International have condemned the action as ‘inhuman and unconstitutional’, provoking a stern White House response.” The dying TV flickered for a moment, and then showed a stern business woman standing in front of a presidential podium, with microphones jabbing out in all directions like guilty, bloody knives.
“How anyone can question the Sentinel initiative after the Washington annihilation is astonishing!” she yelled, flailing her arms, evaporating her business decor.
“The President wishes to reaffirm his support for this project, and offers his most sincere congratulations to the federal employees behind it.”
Again the TV flickered images of fire and pain, this time engulfing Washington, D.C. as firemen carried bleeding, crying children out of the revulsion while the news anchor continued.
“The president’s press secretary was, of course, referring to the Brotherhood of Mutants’ devastating bomb-blast on Capitol Hill seven days ago.”
Gradually, a nervous face came over him. He began to sweat; he began to fear.
“And the subsequent broadcast from Magneto, Master of Magnetism, the death cult’s self-appointed leader…”
He lowered his head as the screen when to an old recording. A middle-aged man with white hair hidden under a long, metal, maroon helmet was sitting on a giant steel throne, surrounded by mindless followers. His whole body was adorned with red armor, and a long purple cape swept over his back. His coverings shone brilliantly into the cameras. He was feared more than any other Mutant, never underestimated for the dread of death. He was gifted with the Mutant ability to create and manipulate magnetic fields and control metal, and believed that Mutants and humans could by no means coexist, and knew their extinction the only resolution. He raised his eyes and spoke.
“Man is a parasite upon Mutant resources. He eats our food, breathes our air, and occupies land which evolution intended ‘Homo superior’ to inherit.
“Naturally, our attacks upon your power bases will continue until you deliver this world to its rightful owners.”
He stared past the cameras.
“But your replacements grow impatient.”
Almost immediately they showed a very dirty man wearing an untucked dress shirt, hardly buttoned, and a holy, much worn lab coat with goggles strapped to his forehead, leaning against a very large computer which was bleeping numbers and calculations in the background of an oversized cement laboratory with an enormous arm of wires and sparks lying on a table. The anchor’s voice continued in the milieu.
“Former NASA engineer and Sentinel designer, Professor Bolivar Trask, was pleased with the performance of his androids, and is excited about further potential.”
The scientist began to speak.
“We’ve lived in fear of the Mutants for as long as I can remember, but today goes down in history as the turning point where ordinary people started fighting back.
“Los Angeles was only the first step,” he continued. “My colleagues and I estimate that every Mutant hiding in the United States will be detained within the next six to eight weeks.”
Born into a world that hated and feared them, the Mutants needed safety, a haven to live, heroes to protect them; and when you need them most, that is when heroes arise. That is how heroes are made.
SOMETIMES, it’s dangerous to be a little different. However, being different is what individuality is all about, and being an individual is what being human is all about; but for some reason, ignorance melts over the heart, lets the mind wander, and sometimes, people forget.
And when they do forget, chaos is born, a chaos that cannot be stopped by any war-gun or devastating bomb, and if erased from the mind, still stays in the heart; but my mind and my heart have been two different existences since this all began, and they don’t work together to judge anything they see anymore.
I don’t get out much, but when I do I can’t help hearing about them, the Mutants. They were born into a world that hated and feared them, gifted with unique abilities foreign to humanity. Everyone is frightened of them, and says that all they want to do is hurt us “Homo sapiens." But mankind has always feared what it doesn’t understand. I go for walks, always with them in the back of my mind, itching at me like a scab. Not the itching of fear or schizophrenia, but that of pity. They were merely born different from everyone else, there was no will power strong enough to change that, and yet they were feared and hated for it. Even killed. It torments me wherever I go.
On the TV, the same nightly program glows on my body and walls. One of evil, one of fear, yet I know it is one of hope. I see them, but not like others see them, because I know they’re not all evil. I’ve heard the stories, I’ve seen the reality, and I know the truth…
It all began so swiftly, like a breath to blow out a candle; sharp and precise, and very powerful, deep from the soul. Under the hot sun of the mid-day, Los Angeles, California was like heaven. This day was no different. A naturally attractive L.A. day, soon to have the heavens itself shattered with the pain and fear the children of the future would grow to live with. Hundreds of people were happily walking and playing in the streets near the beach, eating hotdogs and drinking smoothies, unconscious to the danger coming at them at the speed of sound.
Suddenly you could hear it, hear them, hear the Sentinels. Their evil sonic booms ripped through the sky like it was tinfoil. On their shoulders they brought death. The deepest fear one could ever imagine could not equal the fear of that day. The new holocaust had begun…God save our souls.
They were like red angels of death, falling from the sky like fire, falling from a previous hell unimaginable to anyone. They were brainwashed steel, stripped of conscience and thought, body and bones; blanketing buildings with the cold, dark hatred of their shadows; for hatred was the only emotion they knew. Not pity, or pain, or death; but molded in the fires of pure hatred.
When they landed, they broke the cement and asphalt around them like glass, covering the ground with blinding smoke and burning heat. There were twelve of them, which meant twenty-four glowing red eyes. Out of their cold, metal hands beams of searing energy billowed and beamed, vaporizing anything in the path of the shaft of light. What they wanted to kill was them, the Mutants; and so they did, all of them.
Children watched as friends and family were slaughtered, regardless of age or innocence, virtue or purity, while the chaos burned into their eyes forever; burned with a fire so hot, no tears could relieve the immense stress.
One man lay helpless, begging for mercy. He hadn’t even found out that he was a Mutant… yet, but those Sentinels, they didn’t see fear, all they saw were numbers and words scanning objectives across their faces.
Mutant Gene CONFIRMED
Proceed With TERMINATION
The man cried and cried, but the Sentinel merely squashed him under his massive metallic boot like a germ, an illness to the human race.
That night, the news anchors and citizens of America cheered at the deaths of all of the people, because they were different. I had begun to hate people, hate humans, and thus hate myself for being one of them. The newsman spoke so proudly of what we had done, I wanted to kill him. Let him join the devil in the depths of the underworld.
“Good Evening, I’m Boaz Eshelmen, and you’re watching the Channel Nine News Update,” he said to me over my TV.
“Tonight’s top story: trial run of ‘The Sentinels’ is hailed as a triumphant success, as a Mutant nest in Los Angeles is uncovered and neutralized with no civilian casualties.” Footage of the turmoil ran over the screen for all to see. To me it was like a dream, half asleep, half awake, and wondering how an assumed intelligent species could carry out the transgressions of a thousand demons.
“Were these Mutant terrorists behind the recent anti-human bombings in New York and Washington? Police say the evidence is undeniable.
“But human rights campaigners Amnesty International have condemned the action as ‘inhuman and unconstitutional’, provoking a stern White House response.” The dying TV flickered for a moment, and then showed a stern business woman standing in front of a presidential podium, with microphones jabbing out in all directions like guilty, bloody knives.
“How anyone can question the Sentinel initiative after the Washington annihilation is astonishing!” she yelled, flailing her arms, evaporating her business decor.
“The President wishes to reaffirm his support for this project, and offers his most sincere congratulations to the federal employees behind it.”
Again the TV flickered images of fire and pain, this time engulfing Washington, D.C. as firemen carried bleeding, crying children out of the revulsion while the news anchor continued.
“The president’s press secretary was, of course, referring to the Brotherhood of Mutants’ devastating bomb-blast on Capitol Hill seven days ago.”
Gradually, a nervous face came over him. He began to sweat; he began to fear.
“And the subsequent broadcast from Magneto, Master of Magnetism, the death cult’s self-appointed leader…”
He lowered his head as the screen when to an old recording. A middle-aged man with white hair hidden under a long, metal, maroon helmet was sitting on a giant steel throne, surrounded by mindless followers. His whole body was adorned with red armor, and a long purple cape swept over his back. His coverings shone brilliantly into the cameras. He was feared more than any other Mutant, never underestimated for the dread of death. He was gifted with the Mutant ability to create and manipulate magnetic fields and control metal, and believed that Mutants and humans could by no means coexist, and knew their extinction the only resolution. He raised his eyes and spoke.
“Man is a parasite upon Mutant resources. He eats our food, breathes our air, and occupies land which evolution intended ‘Homo superior’ to inherit.
“Naturally, our attacks upon your power bases will continue until you deliver this world to its rightful owners.”
He stared past the cameras.
“But your replacements grow impatient.”
Almost immediately they showed a very dirty man wearing an untucked dress shirt, hardly buttoned, and a holy, much worn lab coat with goggles strapped to his forehead, leaning against a very large computer which was bleeping numbers and calculations in the background of an oversized cement laboratory with an enormous arm of wires and sparks lying on a table. The anchor’s voice continued in the milieu.
“Former NASA engineer and Sentinel designer, Professor Bolivar Trask, was pleased with the performance of his androids, and is excited about further potential.”
The scientist began to speak.
“We’ve lived in fear of the Mutants for as long as I can remember, but today goes down in history as the turning point where ordinary people started fighting back.
“Los Angeles was only the first step,” he continued. “My colleagues and I estimate that every Mutant hiding in the United States will be detained within the next six to eight weeks.”
Born into a world that hated and feared them, the Mutants needed safety, a haven to live, heroes to protect them; and when you need them most, that is when heroes arise. That is how heroes are made.
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