Tardigrade

Conrad ran along the rainy street of Boswell Terrace, his power enhancing his already impressive physical aptitude. He tugged on one of the leather straps around his arm to loosen his joints. For his mission, speed was more valuable than protection, so he wore the lighter variant of his suit – a thin layer mesh weaving that should, at least theoretically, stop bullets. Adorning the chest area was an overtly tacky red “T” embellishment that was stitched onto the suit against his will.

Using a car was out of the question. That would have both drawn too much attention and been impractical because of the myriad of empty vehicles that littered the streets. As he went past a series of empty cobblestone houses, there was a strange uneasiness that hung throughout the area. Conrad, however, was more than used to it.

Ninety-seven percent of Plainville’s population died less than twenty-four hours ago. To all parties involved, it was clear that only one thing could have caused so much destruction in so little time – someone awakened their power. Following that, they either decided to commit large-scale genocide, or they simply couldn’t control their newly awakened ability. In the end, it didn’t matter. All Conrad had to worry about was reaching the epicenter of the city and capturing the one responsible. If that failed, he’d exterminate them.

Again, he was more than used to it. This was far from the first time someone went postal after receiving their powers and needed to be put down.

Sprinting down Davenport Court, Conrad found the environment gradually transforming from the more upper-middle class housing to the lower class, single-floor home neighborhoods. It was then that he heard a croaking noise.

In the mission briefing, he was informed that a local neo-Nazi villain group named Mutterseelenallein hired a needleman to infiltrate the city to recruit this new power user. To put it lightly, Conrad wasn’t a fan of the needlemen, seeing them as bothersome hindrances that were hard as hell to kill, but taking a moment to listen more closely to the croaking, he could tell it wasn’t one of them. No, this wasn’t nearly as menacing. This sound belonged to someone letting out their final death throes. Additionally, he didn’t get any indication that the drone following him from a distance detected anything important in the vicinity.

Yesterday at 6:57 p.m., a large-scale flesh-eating virus spread through the city. Its strain was undocumented, and it worked almost impossibly fast, eating away at people's bodies to the point where there was next to nothing left. It could infect anyone through virtually any means, be it through the air or even through one’s skin. Conrad’s agency called on him to help. Since the virus had a radius of five miles, he was the only person who could get close enough to resolve the issue. Though, at the end of the day, the damage was done. He was merely the cleanup guy.

Conrad briefly considered seeing if the dying person needed help. After all, that would be the heroic thing to do, and, at least on paper, he was supposedly a hero.

“Tardigrade,” a voice said through his earpiece. Conrad didn’t select that codename, though it was fitting. Like the microscopic animal, his power allowed his body to survive anywhere – underwater, space, and so on. He was also immune to any diseases and never got sick.

“Yes, sir,” Conrad replied. Over the years, he’d trained himself to feign respect.

“Your tracker is showing that you’ve stopped moving. Have there been any significant developments?”

Ah, yes. Daddy wants to make sure his little freak of nature is staying on task. It’s cute how he cares.

“Negative,” Conrad said.

“Understood. In that case, we advise you to proceed.”

That’s right. Him being a hero was just a formality, nothing more, nothing less. Conrad continued toward his goal, the croaks steadily dying out.

***

Conrad reached a truly pitiful domicile. The front lawn, poorly maintained and cluttered with garbage, scratched paint on the exterior walls, missing shingles, and windows so dirty you couldn’t see through them, made the place stand out as a perverted mockery of the American dream.

This was also, according to the coordinates he’d received, where the power-user should be.

Conrad hopped the metal fence and casually strolled to the front door. It was best if he approached cautiously so he couldn’t possibly be perceived as a threat, even though he wasn’t especially worried. Conrad’s power served as a perfect counter to whatever messed up disease his target could throw at him. He signaled for the drone to remain outside while he entered.

The door was unlocked, barely hanging on by its hinges as it swung open. Right away, Conrad was hit with a disgusting scent. The floor was revolting – half-eaten food, syringes, pills, and a litany of other generally unpleasant paraphernalia.

Classy folk.

Covering his nose, he ventured further into the home. As he did so, he recalled his own experience with drugs. After getting his power, he tried some hardcore Russian stuff that was supposed to make his mind melt. It didn’t work. His body rejected it, squeezing out the harmful substance through his pores. He couldn’t remember the last time he really felt anything.

In the living room, there were three sets of bones on the couch – one female, two males, all approximately in their late-twenties. There were still some syringes among their bones.

I take it they were having some good, Christian fun before things went sour.

Conrad played with the idea that maybe one of the three had the power, but then died because of it. It wasn’t unheard of for one’s power to persist after their death.

That theory was shaken when, from behind a door, Conrad heard a baby crying.

He opened a closet to see her lying on the ground. She couldn’t have been older than one.

No… this is impossible.

It was common knowledge that powers don’t manifest in individuals until their early teens at the earliest. An infant having a biological ability so strong shouldn’t happen.

The child gurgled upon seeing Conrad, locking her weak eyes onto him. He realized that the baby hadn’t eaten anything in nearly a day, so he reached into one of his pockets to retrieve a ration. It wasn’t much, just some peanut butter crackers and honey. It would have to do. It wasn’t exactly ideal for a child to consume, but he didn’t have another option. Conrad crushed the food so the child wouldn’t choke, then fed her.

“Now, just what am I supposed to do with you?”

This was unpleasant. Now, he really did wish all he had to do was eliminate some crazy bastard that wanted to kill everyone, because the situation had gotten complicated very quickly, but before he could decide, his handler called.

“Tardigrade. Front door. It’s here. It’s taken out the drone. We don’t know where it is.”

Conrad didn’t need to hear anymore. On instinct, he picked up the baby, then rushed to the back door. He made it less than ten steps before something shot through a nearby window. It sped through the air so fast, slicing into the side of his mouth and causing him to collapse, partly from the pain, partly from the need to duck for cover behind the couch. He was careful not to drop the child.

Conrad reached to his face and swore. That bastard sliced cleanly into the right side of his mouth, giving him a half-Glasgow smile. Thankfully, Conrad’s power did help staunch the bleeding. The flesh also mended together incredibly fast. It still hurt like hell, and he cursed himself for not bringing stitches. He could hear the back door open slowly, followed by light footsteps coming in. Conrad could see his attacker’s reflection on a nearby mirror, though it didn’t appear the opposite was true.

Softly, the baby started to cry.

Needlemen were abominations, freaks of nature without powers that underwent extensive surgery to pretend they did. Enlisting their services is equivalent to purchasing and supplying a small militia, but in the end, the needlemen were far more effective and reliable. Their designs and skill sets varied to keep their opponents from creating a sound strategy, but this one was simple enough.

He was young, probably a spoiled twenty-something brat that wanted to be special. In comparison to other needlemen, his modifications were also relatively minor, though still unsightly. Long stretches of wire were threaded throughout his body, weaving in and out of his arms and exiting from his hands. A levitating sea of wires moved languidly through the air as if they were in water, prepared to strike with their sharp, metal tips. Those wires were likely connected to his brain and would move on command.

Overall, Conrad estimated the man was only twenty percent machine, perhaps an extra five percent for the interior modifications needed to be unaffected by the virus. Needlemen only let their most skilled members get the best alterations.

In a lethargic voice, the needleman spoke.

“Tardigrade.” Conrad didn’t reply. “That attack was a warning. The only reason I didn’t kill you… Actually, I probably should’ve just killed you, now that I think about it. Stupid! Stupid!”

There was one constant among the needlemen. They weren’t of sound mind, usually because their changes take aspects of their original personalities and increase them exponentially.

“Hey, look,” he said. “I don’t want any trouble, see? I’ve got no beef with ya, brudda! We’re both a couple of strapping badasses – or at least you were before I ruined your face – so let’s be reasonable about this! Just hand over the child, then we can form a fragile alliance over protecting it, bond on our journey together, have a brief falling out, then reconcile and part as true bros! Doesn’t that sound rad?”

No.

But still, something about the weirdo made Conrad feel a little bad. He’d almost certainly die in his line of business. It was just a matter of time. He wasn’t willing to hand the baby over, but at the same time, he wouldn’t mind allying himself with the needleman temporarily. First, he needed to check something.

“I surrender,” Conrad said. “I’m coming out!”

“I think that’s cool of you, and I support your decision!”

Conrad grabbed a rib from one of the couch skeletons and tossed it into the needleman’s view, who proceeded to shout, “Die! Die! Die! Die! Die!” and shish kebab the bone with a salvo of needles. The bone quickly disintegrated into a cloud of white powder as a silence hung in the air.

“Okay,” said the needleman, “the truce starts now. I swear.”

I’m not letting this green little moron get the best of me.

There was a nearby window Conrad theoretically could use to escape, but in all likelihood, he wouldn’t make it that far before the needleman got suspicious and gave chase. Say what you will about needlemen, but they’re unerringly efficient at tracking prey. Also, considering how the baby was still sobbing, it would be all too easy to know when Conrad moved.

Conrad loosened one of his shoulder straps and retrieved both his gun and knife. It held special ammunition that disabled needlemen, but considering how most needlemen had abilities that allowed them to deflect bullets easily, he’d need to catch his opponent off guard at close range.

“What’s your name?” Conrad asked the needleman.

“Why, Tardigrade, quite presumptuous of you to think I have one! Choosing this line of work, I gave up everything – my former life, family, friends, money. The me before no longer exists. All that’s left is a heartless automaton with a lust for death.”

Conrad rolled his eyes. He could sense that the kid got a kick saying that. It was painfully obvious it was rehearsed.

“Wow, how poignant. Anyway, let me explain what’s going to happen: I realize that you can’t use your needles against me unless you have direct line of sight. Otherwise, you would have killed me from where you stand. I’m within your range, yet you haven’t approached me because you’re afraid I have countermeasures in place to combat you.”

Which I really don't.

“I’m going to raise one hand over the couch as a sign of good faith. Know that if you move from your spot or attack me, I will kill the baby. Frankly, I don’t think either of us want that, so let’s just talk this out like civil folk, all right?”

The needleman hesitated for a moment, then agreed. As promised, Conrad raised his hand.

“Well, my hand is still in one piece, so that’s a good first step… Let me ask you again. What is – sorry, was – your real name?”

“Anton, but like I said, that doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Oh, but I would have to disagree with you on that front. Our pasts are important, no matter how much we try to forget it. Take me, for instance. I was scooped up by the government after my power manifested, and ever since then, I’ve been their precious expendable pet. How about you?”

Anton’s floating wires rustled against one another slightly.

“Do you have any idea what my life has been like?” Anton said.

Let's see... Entitled little punk – wanted to have power over others – wanted his life to be like a comic book – threw a tantrum when he realized he really wasn’t all that special. That about sum it up?

“No, but I’m here to listen,” Conrad said, and thus, Anton began his tale.

“Even as a child, I knew I was destined for greatness. I wanted to be a superhero - pathetic, right? But as my teenage years went by, I never displayed any sign of powers. I saw new heroes on the news, younger than me, some of whom never even wanted the burden that their power brought. Meanwhile, I was alone, waiting for a chance to prove myself, but that never happened. It was unfair...”

The story continued for another few minutes. Conrad stopped paying attention, only tuning back in for the ending.

“…And after overcoming my metamorphosis, I realized that, if one desires something, they must steal if for themselves. That is the truth of this cruel, cruel world of ours. So, does that answer your question?”

No reply. Conrad’s hand didn’t budge.

“Tardigrade, I dislike it when people ignore me. When I ask a question, I expect people to answer me.”

“For the love of Christ, shut up.”

Before Anton could react, Conrad fired right into his spine, the bullet causing a cascade of electric shocks to thrum throughout his body for several seconds before rendering the needleman unconscious.

***

Conrad was still inside the house, filling an old milk bottle for the baby. It was hard, considering how he didn't have one of his arms attached.

His suit was designed specifically with his ability in mind. When he loosened one of the straps, a numbing agent was released into his arm, and with his knife, any limb of his choosing became easy to dismember, which he did as soon as Anton began his story. Then, Conrad had his arm positioned to appear like he was still behind the couch, but really, he had exited the house through the window in Anton’s blind spot, circled around, and shot him from behind.

Thankfully, after handing off the bottle, Conrad found some thread in one of the drawers. Thanks to his regenerative ability, he could stitch his arm back into place, and it would regain perfect functionality within a day.

“Tardigrade.”

Conrad sighed and turned on his earpiece.

“Yes, sir,” he said as he threaded the needle.

“What the hell happened? Ten minutes ago, all readings of the virus vanished. You didn’t kill your target, did you?”

Ten minutes ago. What was I doing then? Ah, right. I was feeding the baby. I wonder… did this whole thing start because she was dying from hunger?

“Negative, sir. He was already dead when I arrived. I think I got a basic idea of what happened.”

“Explain.”

“Three corpses, two of which are males. One was likely a jilted lover that arrived to find his girlfriend with someone else. This awakened his power. Then, after realizing what he did, he killed himself, causing the virus to eat away at his body. However, his power persisted after his death until just recently. I believe that about sums it up.”

There was a brief silence on the other end.

C’mon, don’t question it.

“Very well. We’ll send Iris to escort you back to base. Over.”

Iris' power allowed her to modify vehicles and increase certain attributes, typically speed. She was the agency's top courier.

Good, I know her. She’ll help me.

Being enlisted into the agency himself at a young age, Conrad knew how they operated. If they didn’t outright dissect the infant to see what made her power awaken so early, they’d enlist her, taking away any chance she had at a normal life.

That thought, for some reason, upset him more than the countless lives lost in Plainville.

Conrad knew what he would do the moment he laid his eyes on her. Unlike him, she would live happily. He would do whatever it took to protect her and give her a caring family, consequences be damned. As he finished repairing his arm, he could hear the roar of Iris' engine outside.

It was time to go.