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A shrill scream pierces the stillness of a brisk morning in November. A boy is born, all seven pounds of happiness equipped with a healthy set of lungs and kicking legs. He is bathed, wrapped in a soft blue blanket and fed. His mother holds him in her arms with great care as he peacefully sleeps through the day.

Little does he know that Fate marked him even before he was born.

The parents keep crying. And while there are tears of happiness, there are also tears of great despair. Young woman clings to her husband, shaken and confused, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, exhaustion making it impossible to even try and decipher jumbled emotions.

He hugs her just as strongly, pressing kisses to the crown of her head, her forehead, her cheeks. His love for her is fierce, protective, but this protectiveness can’t save her this time, can’t work miracles. Oh, how he prays he could hide her from the world forever, change the run of Time. But the Time won’t be played with. The only thing left for them is to go forward.

Little Arlen James won’t know for a long time why his birthday is celebrated one day early, why his mum wakes up next day with red and puffy eyes or why his older brother calls him Cain.

Because only one boy was born on a brisk morning in November.

But two were awaited.

[CONTINUE?]

YES [X]

NO [  ]

Arlen James is the middle child and quite pleased with this arrangement. It means that more often than not he is left to his own devices. In the eyes of their parents old enough to take care of himself, young enough to keep out of serious trouble.

Asa is almost nine years older than him and sometimes Arlen wonders whether Dad was serious when he said Asa believes being mean comes with the ‘job description’ of being an older sibling. Asa is more a menace than a brother and still hasn’t stopped calling him Cain.

Renee, sweet Renee, is supposed to make sure Asa doesn’t hang out with the wrong sort of people but after Asa decided to burn his (failed) exam in school toilet she gave up on being the voice of reason and just makes sure he doesn’t die of alcohol poisoning. She is the pride of their family, with good grades and her no-nonsense attitude. Arlen likes hanging out with her because she helps him build spaceships from Legos and they watch together Disney films and Star Wars trilogy. Only the oldest one, though, because Renee said the rest is crap. Arlen doesn’t argue because he saw them with Dad anyway. And they both like Anakin best.

Megana and Agamede are twins, two four-year-old devils, loud and capable of wrecking chaos wherever they go. Sometimes his mother looks at Meg and Aga and then at him and her eyes fill with tears. She thinks he hasn’t noticed and Arlen doesn’t ask. He doesn’t understand what to ask about and so the days pass undisturbed. The girls are cute though. Arlen has to share the room with them since Asa would probably smother him with a pillow after a week. Renee is the only one capable of cutting a deal with him and they’re closer in age so Mom declared those suitable sleeping arrangements. He doesn’t mind – being waken up at dawn to play with dolls is better than sleeping on a mattress huddled all together as they did for a few months. Renee steals blankets and Asa snores.

They are an odd bunch. So different from each other and yet they make it work. Arlen likes to observe his family on quiet days when everybody is lounging around in the living room. He sits next to Mum and lets her stroke his hair as she reads a book. The twins are engrossed in animated movies playing on the TV and so is Renee. Asa is idly scrolling through social media but he keeps gazing at the movie as well, though he would rather die than admit it. Dad is either filling some paperwork, long used to noise, or napping after a night shift.

There are better days and worse days. Nothing out of ordinary, right?

Right?

[CONTINUE?]

YES [X]

NO [  ]

Arlen keeps growing like a weed. His body is lanky enough that it gets in the way more often than not, with arms and legs that are too long. T-shirts that he inherited from Asa hung on him like a tattered cloth on a scarecrow. They had to buy new jeans anyway because those he wore ended above his ankles and were way too loose. Mum only looked at him once and clucked her tongue with disapproval. “Being frugal is one thing, but my son will not look like a beggar.”

It seems that he and Asa are opposites in every aspect, not only when it comes to their character but also build.

“Water and fire,” Renee says and Arlen frowns. Wants to protest but he can see that... If he squints. And brings a magnifying glass.

Alright, Arlen has to admit, Queen Renee is never wrong. Asa, with fierce temperament and his love for fast cars, can be gentle. It comes as a surprise and Arlen feels ashamed of himself for not noticing it earlier. It’s not the grounding warmth of hearth associated with mothers, but warmth nevertheless. Arlen, on the other hand, is rather quiet. Even so, he’s his father’s son (and Asa’s little brother) and can get his way if the need arises. Still waters run deep, or something like that.

[CONTINUE?]

YES [X]

NO [  ]

Of course, nothing ever stays the same, and good times stubbornly intertwine with worse times. Just like on a rollercoaster, you go up and down and steady, round and round and round again. There are days when Arlen wakes up disoriented, barely holding in a scream. There’s a weight settled in the back of his mind, emotions tangled together and not quite his own. His skin keeps tingling and the pounding headache doesn’t subside. Things fall from his hands on their own account even if he convinces himself it’s because of his absent-mindedness. Mom gets him some supplements and Arlen doesn’t know whether it makes it better or even worse. The tiredness gets better but now he can hear things rattling when he’s on the edge and is it a warrant to a rathouse yet?

[SKIP FORWARD?]

YES [X]

NO [  ]

Arlen is sixteen when he decides that the burden of keeping secrets is too heavy to bear and subsequently turns his somewhat-ordered world upside down.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says and falls silent. Renee marks the page and sets the book aside, giving him her full attention.

“With what?”

The question is simple, should be simple, but Arlen’s a mess right now and answering it feels like opening a can of worms. He shrugs, idly picking on his nails. “The school. Myself. Life in general.”

“You’re sixteen, that’s too young to have an existential crisis,” she complains. It’s half-hearted though and Arlen counts that as a win.

“’M not,” he mutters. He feels like a child. It’s not quite that he needs somebody else to solve his problems but... He’s so tired.

“Alright, Lennie. I need more information than that then.”

Finding words is hard. Or rather – you have the right words, nicely lined up in your head (bottled up like foam in a shaken Coke) and you have wanted to say them on so many occasions. When it comes to it they fade, clouded by Anxiety Questions Master Pack ™ (what should I do – how will they react – what will people say - is there something wrong with me – can I just stop feeling) and you’d rather stay silent.

Except Arlen can’t stay silent any longer.

“I. Can do. Strange things,” he forces out, haltingly, stumbling over the words. Stupid, he thinks and the burning heat rising up his cheeks doesn’t help either.

Renee doesn’t laugh at him, just raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and something in her face softens. He knows she noticed shadows under his eyes and rumpled clothes.

“Strange as in ‘I can ace that shoot-'em-up overnight’ or rather ‘I can solve this unholy equation under a minute’?”

The question is valid. The priorities in their family wary.

“Neither, not quite.” He licks his lips. Suddenly, the air feels too hot. Renee jerks in alarm, eyes growing wide.

“Fuck. Asa’s crew got you?”

“No! God, no. Not narcotics. No.” The denial is sharp and Arlen takes a shaky inhale. Renee has grounds to worry. He’s not Asa, though. He doesn’t know what is better. Snorting coke in the corners and having animated conversations with pot plants afterwards or this… There’s no gentle way to say you’re a freak of nature, is there? Heaving a sigh he stares at the metal spoon lying innocently next to a coffee cup and concentrates. Pain flares in his head as if somebody was sticking needles into his head but he doesn’t stop. The spoon rattles and he barely hears a surprised gasp as he forces it to rise. It levitates in the air for a few seconds before Renee snatches it and his concentration breaks.

“What, looking for a string?” he manages to ask, reaching for a tissue. He can feel blood already dripping from his nose. Breaking laws of physics is taxing. For a science-oriented kind of guy Arlen has no idea how he does the lifting expect that he does. It hurts like hell and leaves him breathless just like after running the Cooper test twice.

“What the fuck, Arlen!” Renee keeps looking at him as if she saw a ghost and he can’t blame her. His reaction was similar, with more dramatic screaming and broken plates.

“No strings. Not a joke, either,” he assures and prays that she believes him because it’s not a prank. 

She does. Of course she does. This is Renee. She can deal with their crazy family just right.

[CONTINUE?]

YES [X]

NO [  ]

The drones come from nowhere. They hover above the city, a black swamp of buzzing metallic droids. No one knows who sent them. It doesn’t matter as much as it should – they spell trouble. Asa takes one look at them and sits Arlen on his motorcycle promptly ignoring his protests. His parents don’t say a word and Arlen has a fleeting moment of panic thinking that they know about his power, that the drones are for him, to lock him up but Renee wouldn’t tattle, she wouldn’t­–

He remembers Asa’s exasperated comments that each child thinks they’re the centre of the universe. He stops wrestling with his brother and turns around one last time to look at Megana and Agamede. They are quiet, too.

Arlen can’t ignore the fact that the drones start shifting when Asa’s crew joins them and they keep following them as they move further away from the city.

The road is broad, surrounded with sandy plains and they kick off a cloud of dust as they drive way over the speed limit. Arlen is too busy clinging to Asa like a baby koala to its mother to enjoy the ride. His grip will probably leave bruises but they are driving so fast he can barely think straight. He’s not suicidal, damn it, and right now he’s going God-knows-where on the backseat of a motorbike, at dizzying speed, with no helmet on. If they get out of this alive, his stomach will be permanently stuck to his spine.

The drones are getting closer and closer and Arlen has watched too many action movies to be anything but wary. In a rush of sheer insanity he tugs at Asa’s jacket, and tells him to stop. He does so, reluctantly. They are in the lead, and the others follow the action without hesitation. Asa keeps asking questions but Arlen barely hears them.

“I’m the one who bears the mark of Cain,” he says. His voice sounds surprisingly steady, carrying over in the near silence with ease. It’s a welcome contrast to his emotions, a heavy knot of fear-anxiety-determination-rage in his chest. His heartbeat is rapid and he feels the blood rushing in his ears. “Anyone who kills Cain will suffer vengeance seven times over.”

The words are stamped on his memory, has been since the very first time he looked them up in the Bible, when hissed insults became particularly hurtful. Won’t forget them, either, since being accused of murdering the brother you never got to meet is not something you let go of easily.

This time, however, the words bring comfort. He has never asked for his power, doesn’t exactly know where it originates from. Arlen hasn’t used it much, given the painful consequences, except for times when he showed off to Renee and tried to figure what’s wrong with him.

Perhaps he was given the power for a reason. Perhaps it’s merely a genetic mishap. Either way, he is not exactly normal and in this situation telekinesis may come in handy. He ignores the shouts and extends his hand. Reaches for the drones, hooks them, pulls down–

They shatter on the ground. Only a few of them, though, and Arlen knows he won’t manage to disable the whole swamp. His head is already pounding and the phrase ‘seven times over’ replays in his mind like a broken record. The verse talks about dying and Arlen doesn’t plan on dying tonight. Maybe he only needs to acknowledge the danger? He’s pretty sure he’ll be dead if the tries to take on the droids all by himself. That’s probably something he should have thought about sooner… Maybe he needs to sacrifice a bit of himself to survive? When Arlen thinks about it, barely for a second, quick and desperate, it sounds crazy.

But Arlen has never been truly alone. Today, his thoughts are clear and the usual dissonance is absent and the tingling running through his body intensifies. He reaches out again. The blood in his veins burns and the thrumming of power doesn’t slow down. The drones lean over, going faster and faster­­­­–

A loud boom can be heard all over the place as the machines plummet down, crashing. A sudden surge of tiredness forces Arlen to his knees, swaying in the fog of a head rush. The feeling passes after a while and the teenager freezes. Besides the throbbing pain behind his eyes, there’s nothing.

For the very first time his mind is quiet.

He looks at the closest fallen drone, forty feet or so away from him, and closes his eyes. Rise, he whispers, but there’s no tingling sensation, no sudden burst of power, only emptiness. It’s strange, but not unpleasant and in a way freeing, leaving him lighter.

He laughs, delighted. He keeps laughing even when tears stain his cheeks and the others give him wary looks. But he feels so… light. He will be fine. They will be fine. Arlen breaks into a wide grin, turns towards the sun. As the sunrays warm his face, he can look into the future with hope.