A Perfectly Logical Guide to a Superhuman Apocalypse: Chapter 7

A Perfectly Logical Guide to a Superhuman Apocalypse: Chapter 7

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Wordcount: 2500

Commissioned by Arksoul

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Generally, I preferred to leave gathering strategic intel in the hands of specialists. Information brokers were a different, cutthroat breed of human whose services I acquired through currency and nothing more. The realm of rumors, gossip, and corporate espionage were all well out of my comfort zone. I’d had enough of that social maneuvering in high school hallways, and I couldn’t imagine trying to enter its pro-leagues, where secrets could topple companies and ruin lives in a single second.

My intel gathering during missions was for the sake of the mission. I looked for routes, made plans, and worked with an overall strategy on things. Observation, examination, and execution, in that particular order. It was a process that I learned to never stray from after all the close calls with death I had in my early years, so I stuck to it. I took in situational knowledge to help me out with my current job and ignored just about everything else, so that I would never get involved in the social portion of conflict.

I took no files, gathered no hard drives, and didn’t take any pictures.

With my power, if I stepped into the realm of espionage, I would’ve been murdered by every ABC intelligence agency and every information broker out there before I could’ve made a cent.

So, once I got money, I bought and consumed info without taking a single job that involved any information gathering out of self-interest.

Therefore, without any information broker at my disposal, I was pretty out of my depth when I went out to look for a mad scientist in India willing to make me some weapons for the sake of my personal safety.

Thankfully, I knew how to reach the nearest one real quick, so that I could get kicked up the chain.

…

Organized crime blossomed when superhumans came into the mix. They had everything a poor, empowered human wanted in life. Money, drugs, and sex were all under the umbrellas of criminal organizations all over the world and they were happy to exchange it for superhuman muscle.

Mexico’s cartels effectively had the nation portioned out into several brutal regimes focused on providing various drugs into the US. What little was left of their unbribed police force vanished into the downtrodden masses who found themselves working under organizations who didn’t give a crap about them. A few militias fought back and warred against them, but they usually went to the drug trade for funding too, so the best people could hope for was a slightly better cartel to take over.

But I wasn’t in Mexico.

I was in India.

Indian criminal organizations were aligned towards a multiple of lines. Some were based on ethnicity, others on religion, and a few were on caste. A handful existed for hundreds of years, while a few just came into the power during the last 100 years. That meant a lot of organizational experience and influence, as well as people confusing longevity as a hallmark for quality. They were strong criminal organizations, but just that: criminals.

I did my best to stay out of criminal organizations, since my power was something that they’d never let go off, but unlike espionage I could actually dip my toe in their waters as long as I stayed calm, collected, and offered some form of collateral for their benefit. I’d like to say that involved not tearing their organization apart, after I burned down one or two places as displays of power, but that would invite attention from the local warlords that I didn’t want.

So, I offered the one thing that will have value in human society forever: shiny rocks.

The first three sets of thugs I met just tried to take them from me, and their buddies came forward to try their luck as well, but eventually I managed to get someone to show up who knew their shit. The man in question was a mountain of rippling muscle with a handlebar mustache and a bald head that went around shirtless and shoeless. His skin was dark, but unmarred by any scar or deformity in the middle of a bustling town filled with many normal person sporting prosthetics, scars, or both.

He eyed me like a hunter, which rattled me a bit since I didn’t like fighting against smart opponents, before looking at all his still-alive subordinates.

Then, without lowering his guard or evaluating stare, he spoke to me.

“Foreigner… what is it that you want from my people? Know that if you demand rule over us, then we will fight against you to the bitter end.” He decided to speak to me in English, even though I’d spoken to his subordinates in Hindi. I’d been pretty proud about my practice with the language. I wasn’t as good at it as I was with Afrikaans, but I liked to think that I was decent. “My name is Rakesh. Know that if you kill me, my brothers and sisters will avenge me.”

Once upon a time, I would’ve done some posturing to get a better deal, since status meant a lot.

But I wanted to keep my identity unknown, so I just answered him.

“I need information and I’m willing to pay for it in gems.” I had mixed satchels of uncut rocks from my travels in Africa. A lot of warlords kept them in their offices and treasuries and I filched a few here and there. Getting them cut and sold off in America was a giant pain, and I was too busy to go looking for any other avenue, so I just kept them until I found that bling was a universal language amongst warlords and criminals, thus giving me a way to bribe them without a paper trail. “Your people have an information dealer. Take me to them for a reward and you will never see me in this city again.”

Just as I was finished talking, something big and bright took up my vision, only to be sent somewhere else.

A sniper… but I was doing this in an alley and there weren’t any windows on the other end?

Interesting, but it was useless against me, so I just let them hit and stared down Rakesh until the bright, sizzling, and ozone-burning projectiles stopped hitting me ineffectually. I had to admit that the barrage lasted a good while, making me think it was some sort of power that guided projectiles from multiple weapons, but in the end it didn’t matter. There were very few things in the world that can overcome my defenses when I wasn’t zipping around and using my power for other things. When I went all-in, I was limited to just what I could do with my own body, but that was perfect for situations like this.

I got to be perfectly intimidating doing practically nothing.

The alley filled with unconscious thugs and Rakesh and his goons soon stopped getting lit up by balls of flaming plasma, so I decided to move on with the situation.

Though I had to give them credit for taking the “just fucking kill’em” approach, I still need my information.

“So, are you going to take my money in exchange for information or are you going to try being stupid again?”

I really hoped that they weren’t going to try being stupid again, and I was glad that Rakesh pulled out a dinky phone out of his pants pocket and called the situation in.

…

They didn’t take me to their special, secret clubhouse filled with illegal weapons and substances. In fact, Rakesh spoke to whoever his boss was and directed me to the city’s square.

Most of India’s cities were bombed and ruined before the world went apeshit. Cities like Mumbai, where I was, were a prize for any upcoming warlord, so they went out of their way to keep it and reinforce it. Beyond large statues of themselves, they made fortified buildings for their subjects and workers, as well as prettied up when they could.

The flags and statues were always different whenever I arrived, this time it was some tough chick with a massive sword and a big gun, but the people were always the same. The bricks and buildings wore down and were eventually replaced by the people with what they could gather, and they survived, lived, and went on with their lives as well as they could. Mumbai wasn’t anywhere close to its population before superhumans came, but it was still a city with people living pretty normal lives, though without many modern conveniences.

Mumbai existed during the Stone Age as a fishing village and lasted through the rest of India’s history.

I should’ve known better to think that an apocalypse would wipe it off the map.

Anyway, the chai café that they took me to had the same owner the last time I was here and it looked like he’d expanded his store.

I gave him a wave, he waved back, he came with my order before I even asked, and I paid for it.

That confused the shit out of the criminals, so I made sure to pay him extra.

He was a good guy, even though I never bothered to learn his name.

Anyway, back to getting the information I wanted.

I chewed through two dosas and two cups of chai, before a beaten up car rolled up the road, and disgorged someone who I didn’t recognize… but who pushed up his glasses, started shivering, and pointed at me the moment he looked at me.

“E-Egress! You’re supposed to be dead!”

To that statement, I had only one answer.

“Huh, well shit.” I shrugged, before checking on my defenses. I definitely had the right ones up to nullify any brain-based, sensory bullshit that could “sense” or figure me out, so the guy was just that good. On one hand, I felt that I hit the jackpot with my information dealer. On the other hand, my information dealer knew who I was, somehow. On the third tentacle, well… I guess I wouldn’t have liked having an information dealer that didn’t recognize me on sight. “Looks like I’m paying more for information than I thought.”

Rakesh frowned from across me. He had a little chai on his mustache so I gestured towards him and he took a napkin to wipe it off, before sending his glare towards the newly-arrived and very-harangued man.

The information broker shakily walked our way and took a seat, before answering Rakesh’s unasked question.

“His name is Egress. He’s a teleporter. An international fixer and courier.” The info-broker dabbed at his sweat-covered head with a handkerchief from his button-up shirt’s lapel pocket. He shakily drank the tea set before him, while attempting to not stare at me and piss himself. It was a very gratifying experience. “I thought you were killed by the Russians to stop the States from acquiring upgraded sixth generation fighters!”

That last phrase reminded me of the night I decided to start the process of retirement.

It was nice to know that shitshow of an evening made me into a legend of sorts.

“They tried. It didn’t take. I hit them back and they stopped looking for me.” I shrugged and did my best to play it cool, but Rakesh snorted and I realized the jig was up. Tough guys with enough experience knew when someone was downplaying themselves, especially when they were doing it badly, so I decided to tell the truth. “Yeah, I almost died there, but I kicked their teeth in and got out with a fat stack of cash to retire. I guess that made everyone think I was dead over here.”

Rakesh blessed me with a nod of respect and I took a celebrity bite of my third dosa in spicy, tasty masala.

Today was a pretty good day, even if I was spending it with drug-runners and murderers.

“W-why are you here? What do you want? What can we do so that you’ll leave!?” The information broker lost a little bit of his composure, but Rakesh put a massive hand on his shoulder to steady him, and the guy took a deep breath before speaking again. “Keep your uncut blood diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. We only want you out of here.”

Some people would take offense at those words.

I nodded and appreciated the straightforward statement and the fact that I was getting what I wanted for free.

“Rogue mad scientists. Give me a list. I want to recruit and I’ll be taking them away from India to work for me. Things are getting dangerous back in the States and I want to stay armed.” Rakesh and the sweating information broker boggled at the mention of the States, but I didn’t elaborate. It wasn’t the superpower that they thought it was, since it was broken apart, but people were clambering to piece it together and get Pax Americana 2.0 in business, which probably wasn’t going to end well, but I hoped that I’d be dead by old age by then. Preferably with a full stomach, in an air-conditioned room, and a nice movie on screen. “Give me their locations and I’ll do the rest. Then, I’ll leave India forever.”

Rakesh and the sweating man in slacks and a button up exchanged glances, before turning to me as one and uttering the same name.

“Shiva.”

“Well, that’s a promising moniker, but is there anyone else?”

Rakesh decided to speak, while the information broker shivered a little, despite the Indian heat.

“There used to be, until Shiva took them all, robbed them of their knowledge, and started trying to create robotic life.” Rakesh crossed his arms and scowled. “All of India wishes him dead for playing at the creation of life. No one would miss him.”

“Well, that sounds interesting, but I’m looking for someone who can makes weapons that can kill really, really tough superhumans not robots—

“His androids can fly, endure immense damage, and have arsenals that put many energy projectors to same. His first one intercepted every nuke sent towards India, then it glassed Pakistan before being intercepted by Chinese Immortal brigade.”

To that statement, regarding artificial intelligence with superhuman powers and the glassing of an entire country by ONE android, I had only one response:

“Excuse me, what the FUCK!?”

Forget a bunker, I needed a damn spaceship!