The Apollo - A Millennium Vertere Story

CW: Some sexual content and mention of suicide

The meteor had passed the moon, estimated time to earth twelve hours. It is seven miles wide, and hurtles through the vast ebony with great ferocity. All the tinkering of man, all his built and gathered wisdom, it cannot stop it.

I stand atop Mount Everest, the air frigid, and cold, my mind knows, but my face barely feeling anything. That which I do feel I suspect to be a placebo. I gather all my might, all my energy, and ascesnd like lightning, or something quicker, into the atmosphere and soon obsidian. Before leaving atmosphere, I inhale. I can hold my breath. I've held it longer.

I am flying at over nine hundred miles per hour, and the silence and emptienes of space I find oddly reassuring. I see a star in the great distance, my eyesight strong but not all powerful, though I see the old vestiges of light around it. In this way I am a time traveler. I think it funny briefly, and maybe sad, that the star is long dead. Before I was born. Or my parents. Or their parents. Or anyone.

I pass through an asteroid belt, trying to maneuver as best I can to decrease collateral damage, I know the belt is good for orbital mining. I near the asteroid, nicknamed "Goliath", and am in awe of its size. I put fourth my palms. I've never used my telekinesis for an object of this size. Kelly said this could kill me. I am afraid.

My power I keep always in my physical body, it gives me my strength. I syphon it all away to my palms, and to the object in front of me. I realize how weak my body is, as it quickly becomes frail and withered. I have no strength of my own besides my power.

The asteroid is moving fast, and as I envelop it in my field, I have a migraine I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Of which there are many.

The asteroid eventually comes to a stop, and blood floats from broken veins in my head through my nostrils. I began the process of changing its trajectory, past earth to an unknown location. Hopefully a planet without life. Though I suspect that is most planets.

I finally move it enough, and let go, my body regains strength as the asteroid descends into another path of the obsidian, my muscles growing, and skin hue taking life.

I briefly watch it disappear into the outer dark before heading back for earth.

For home.

I am greeted with celebration when I land in New Manhattan, jubilee in the air like oxygen. I kissed a baby, and shook many men's hands. I hugged a woman, and her husband. I petted a dog. Husky.

***

Leslie and me had sex for six hours when I returned. After the first two, she got tired, but took a supplement courtesy of Kelly that reinvigorated her like baptism. Afterwards, when we lay on wet and damp sheets, she says we're going to dinner with the Smiths later. I nod and smile when I say okay, but am in truth dismayed. The Smiths are fine, Janet an old college friend of Leslie, and Fred my coworker at Kelly Architect and Design. I found them strangely boring and unpleasant though, and, sometimes when I converse with Fred, a strange malice grows within me.

We shower together, and have sex once more, before getting dressed and heading for the restaurant, a high-end steakhouse. We hail a cab, which I notice ignore a black man on the sidewalk before coming to us. The whole car ride and rest of the night, I think of this. I tell Leslie furtively we won't be tipping, but she does anyway, saying the driver made for good conversation. I find this highly irksome, and the troublesome malice that frequently taunts me begins to arise.

We meet the Smiths, who are as drunk and full of joy as they tended to be. We sit, order and converse. Janet got a raise. Fred's expecting one. They're buying a new house, this one in the Hamptons. Our waitress arrivis with our drinks, and we all say thank you. I look at her, then through her, and see a jellybean in her uterus.

I don't know why, but as the conversation starts, this one about the Great War, and its impact on inflation (Fred's unhappy with the price of milk I gather from peripheral hearing) I look through my wife, Janet, Fred and the rest of the floor. This man has cancer. This one too, but lung cancer. This one is due for a heart attack any day. This woman is also pregnant, but the baby will be born wrong. This man is an alcoholic. This man is getting alzheimer's, though he is not yet quite that old. That one already has it. This one's had multiple strokes. That one's due any day for one.

A gunshot rings out on fourth street, a woman's scream soon following. A boy in the Bronx cries as his father comes home, I can smell the alcohol on his breath from here. A teen, I assume Hispanic, is being interrogated by the police for possible theft of a potato chip bag from a corner store. I hear the officer inch his fingers towards his belt. A man on his bike has just been hit by a cab, the driver quickly getting out and telling the crowd it's not his fault.

I call this "city music", and try to turn down the volume as Leslie and Kelly have said. I want to save everyone, I really do.

Janet tells us about her aunt's weight loss journey, and I hear a man praying. He is Muslim. He prays, or rather asks from god, for forgiveness for everything he's done, and what he's about to do. I listen closer, and hear traffic.

I excuse myself from the table, giving a basic excuse and Fred making a joke about my frequent, odd absences. My malice rises.

I depart with a smile and joke before going outside to the telephone booth and changing. I am no longer Daniel Nowak.

I am The Apollo.

I fly through the golden air, the sun now half-sleep, with freeness and tremendous speed. I arrive at the man, slowing down behind him and walking the rest of the way. He stands on the ledge, turning to see me. There is abject misery in his eyes.

He speaks. He tells me of his life. Of his hardships, of which there are many, and reprieves and joys, of which there are few. And help, which there is the littlest.

"They say God is good, but I see little goodness. They say God is just, but there is no justice anywhere. They say there is help, but all I see are the helpless."

I think for a moment, and after much, geniunge thought, I respond.

"You're right."

I put out my palm for him.

"But I'm here to help you."

The choice is his, and I won't intervene. He looks at me, then at the concrete which offers whispers of reprieve and that true rest that all men long to know. He grabs my hand.

***

After this, since I am already in costume, I do more various acts around the city. A cat that almost gets hit while crossing the street. An elderly woman being robbed on the sidewalk. A man on crutches that struggles to lift his groceries.

I eventually arrive home, the dinner long over and Leslie in bed, sound asleep. I come in through the window and silently and quickly shower before joining her. Thirteen minutes into my sleep, my ears pickup the signal of The Olympians, and I get back into my costume and depart.

At base, Void tells us that Mister Maniac has escaped incarceration, and plans on releasing his race of subterranean lizard-men from beneath the streets of New Manhattan. We go into action immediately, Void using a robotic beaver he designed to dig us a tunnel we descend into. We reach a subterranean cave, Mister Maniac standing atop a cliff as he delivered an impassioned speech to the legions of lizard-men before him.

"Wait, this isn't the AA meeting" I say. Something funny, I always try to lighten the mood if I can.

Mister Maniac sees us, and orders the lizard-men to attack. We battle them, then quickly appended Mister Maniac. Void brings him back up, and I quickly fly around and appended all of the lizard-men that haven't yet dug further into the earth.

We go back to base, debrief briefly, and I'm back home. It is now almost morning. I'm covered in dirt, lizard droppings and blood, so I take another quick shower before joining Leslie in bed.

I have the same dream I've been having lately. Or maybe nightmare. I'm at a meeting at Olympian base, and excuse myself to head to the restroom. When I return, everyone screams and wails, running and stumbling over themselves. I look to the ground and see my reflection, which now resembles a giant hornet. I open my mouth to plea my case, but a booming screech departs, and people begin to profusely bleed before falling dead.

An hour in, I hear the signal of The Olympians which wakes me from my dream. I don't bother going to base. I can already hear what it is. The Guild of the Grave is launching an attack on DC, using an army of biotech controlled undead. I hear Coolidge and his men huddled in a room in the White House, the doors fortified but due to break any minute. I arise, put on my costume, and depart.