CHAPTER 3 ADDED ON 16th JULY 2020

I wake up with a jolt, slow at first to remember where I am. Then the events of last night come rushing back to me in fragments: leaving the island, flying through the storm, then finally settling down for the night on the tallest skyscraper I could find. Noticing I am still dry after changing out of my wet clothes I guess the storm did not follow.

Looking around I get a sudden feeling of nostalgia: waking up on the cold concrete roofs of skyscrapers wrapped in a blanket with the reassuring humming of industrial air conditioner vents - a sound of solitude and safety. Considering the position of the sun I guess it must be just before noon; on the island I would usually be awoken by a cacophony of birdsong.

Getting up I walk over to the edge to take in the view and it is breath-taking. Elegant glass skyscrapers protrude out from behind mid-rise buildings for miles all around as though a giant game of Tetris, cars crawl along like metallic beetles and pedestrians resemble mere dots. Making my way around along the edge the deep blue of the sweeping ocean comes into view, richer than ever against the grey and white cityscape, while patches of lush green parks oases within a desert of unyielding glass and steel. I had forgotten what it felt like living in the sky - untouchable, invulnerable, as though living in another dimension.

A low growl reminds me of my growing appetite and it suddenly begins to dawn on me how stupid I have been - how am I going to get down without being seen? It is not like I can sneak down; I am on one of the tallest skyscrapers in Miami! I snack on a banana from my backpack pondering what to do. I walk around, inspecting the whole roof and eventually find what I am looking for - a hatch. But as I assumed, the handle is on the inside. After several other different lines of thought my best options are to gradually descend by going from one building to another, to just freefall, or to wait until darkness returns and come out then.

Out of impatience and a sudden desire for devouring delicious street food, I opt for freefalling. At best perhaps onlookers will assume I am just commiting suicide, right? I pack my damp clothes and blanket back into my backpack and zip it up taking a quick swig from my water bottle as I do. I step up to the edge allowing my toes to dangle over, gently swaying side-to-side from strong gusts, take a quick peek to check for any obstructions then step forwards into thin air.

Here we go! I think to myself.

As I fall, a rush of adrenaline courses through me. I continue to admire the view even as I plummet, making out more details on the roads, buildings, and parks below. I have not gone this fast in a long time; the rushing of wind in my ears almost deafening. I catch my breath as I near terminal velocity, forcing me to breathe more deeply. However, as I begin to perceive the ground racing up towards me (rather than me towards it!) I start to consider when I should start pulling up. There is an eleven-story hotel just to my right, perhaps I could land behind that into what is hopefully a deserted alley? Eleven stories will give me time to slow down although at this point I think it is inevitable some people will see me.

I move into position after changing my angle and pass the hotel roof. Now I begin to slow down, flying as hard as I can upwards with my palms facing down. Fortunately, this side of the building is deserted, a fenced off area with only bins, skips, and a couple of parked white vans occupying it. With my arms pressed tight against my body, palms parallel to the ground, I land outside the barbed wire fence setting my feet down gently onto the rubbley tarmac.

Taking in my surroundings I finally register how long it has been since setting foot in this city, the sound of traffic and bustling of people (although it is not like I recognise this particular rundown alley). Cars and people pass by the opening, reigniting my anxiety. I take a deep breath, pull my hood over my head, and head down the path.

I find myself on a sidewalk adjacent to a boulevard decorated either side with palm trees, crowds of people pass by in front of me, each going about their own lives. My old instincts come rushing back to me, instantly identifying tourists armed with their maps, cameras, rucksacks, and fanny packs, from locals who tend to walk with more purpose in their stride, less perceptive of their exotic surroundings. A few passers-by give me strange looks which immediately puts me on edge, paranoid that they saw me falling through the sky. Instinctively I put my hands into my pockets, finding reassurance in the touch of my chrome ball bearing and rubber ball. It takes a few seconds to realise I have still got my eyepatch on.

I walk towards the seafront doing my best to cover my eyepatch, but soon realise I am attracting more attention being the only one with a jumper on, let alone a hood, on a hot summer's day. By the time I reach the seafront the crowd has begun to disperse, the smell of food wafts in front of my nose making me salivate. I spot a food stand to my left and head towards it, my hunger getting the better of my anxiety.

The boy who takes my order must only be a couple of years younger than me with a blonde fringe and skinny frame. I watch attentively as he sets his eyes upon me, watching them widen in surprise on noticing my eyepatch. He quickly tries to cover it up but seconds pass by before he manages to compose himself again. It appears he was more afraid than me…

I buy two slow-roasted pulled pork burgers with stuffing and BBQ sauce costing $5 each then go and sit down on the grass by the beach facing the sea with my back against a palm tree. I eat like a feral animal, scoffing my face, never finishing my mouthful before taking another greasy bite. I do not even bother brushing away the sticky sauce running down my chin. By the time I am finished I feel completely stuffed and increasingly lethargic.

Wiping my oily fingers against my shorts, I finally look up and take in a proper view of the beach, sea, and sky. I am suddenly reminded of a memory from so long ago it feels as though it was from another life. Somewhere along this shore I crash landed hours after discovering my second legacy - Avex. I remember being close-to-death, being so desperate as to even accept water from a complete stranger. I was a different person back then. Scared, afraid, weak.

I drag myself back to the present knowing full well what, or who, would come up next if I continued reminiscing. Sitting back in the shade, I watch seagulls circle high above me, screeching as they scan the beach seeking out their next meal. Recalling why I returned to Miami, I reluctantly get up and continue from where I left off along the seafront looking for a newsstand, or even better, an internet cafe.

Along the way I catch sight of a tanned man in his 40s with his thinning black hair gelled back selling hats and sunglasses which gives me an idea. Checking out the stand I take a closer look at the sunglasses displayed in rows on the table. My eyes are drawn to a pair of black-rimmed polarized aviator glasses which I pick up and try on. I instantly question why I never thought of buying sunglasses before, they would have spared me squinting from the sea's glare countless times. I sneak a quick glance at the man running the stall but sure enough he is keeping a close eye on me, and even smiles when he catches me looking at him.

"They look good on you," he remarks.

"Thanks," I mutter back. There is an awkward pause for a long few seconds. "How much?"

"20$," he replies. Definitely not worth stealing then, I think to myself, but worth buying. Handing him two $10 bills, he asks,

"What happened to your eye? Looks as though someone took it out?" he queries with a light chuckle. I just stare at him with a glassy expression and ask him almost daringly,

"You wanna see it?"

"Sure, why not?" he says after a slight pause with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

With a knowing smile I begin peeling the eyepatch off slowly, taking pleasure from watching the blood drain from his face as he lays his eyes on the abyss where my left eyeball should be. His jaw is still hanging when I have slid my shades on and walked away with a big smirk plastered on my face.

Walking past shop windows I catch a glimpse of my reflection and despite having to agree with the vendor that the shades look good on me I cannot help thinking I would look better without my stupid fringe and goofy hair. Besides my appearance, hair like this is far from desirable when the climate is always hot and humid, and there is no way I am going to a salon so I stop off at a shop and steal a shaver.

Eventually I reach a cybercafé. I feel nauseous just waiting for Google to load. I have had no knowledge of how things played out after the formation of "New Lorien." Have public attitudes towards Human Garde become more hostile? Have countries adopted more severe laws in response? And if so, would there be exceptions to OG Garde? Not exactly sure what to type into the vacant search bar I just type Human Garde News.

Apparently John's Magic Mountain is still standing and generally accepted despite many nations still claiming it is nothing more than an overly-optimistic territory of India. India does not seem too bothered being on the world's largest stage, mostly staying out of discussions but supports the newly formed country as an "intergalactic embassy", arguing that New Lorien helps take potentially dangerous children out of schools and out into the mountainside. Apparently John has remained mute throughout the whole affair.

Many Loralite stones have now been destroyed whilst the rest are being heavily monitored. Most governments seem to think terrorists could teleport bombs into the heart of their homelands, but critics believe they are just raking in the cash with Loralite now the most expensive material in the world - by far. Mogadorian ooze probably more so but is illegal virtually everywhere.

Human Garde have apparently been seen fighting in war zones, many thought to be forced to fight against their will.

Near the bottom of the article is a paragraph summarising what is known so far by a so-called expert:

Currently all that is known about Human Garde is that they all possess the ability of telekinesis (ability to move things with their minds) and only one other 'legacy.' This other legacy can be virtually anything; superstrength, superspeed, you name it. All Human Garde are also able to teleport between Loralite crystals. Human Garde tend to be adolescents between the ages of 15-22 although outliers may exist…

Searching more specifically about the laws in America I find a federal statement that writes:

Any persons who believe they have recently developed 'supernatural' abilities must register with their respective local authority immediately. These abilities will be carefully assessed considering the nature of the power, age of the user, and any criminal records. No affected persons may use their abilities with intent to harm others, or damage property. It is illegal to use these abilities in public spaces. Any display of supernatural powers must be reported to the police.

All citizens of all states of the United States of America are required to abide by these laws.

Only reading the statement over a second time do I realise how it affects me. To be honest I am not too bothered. I doubt anyone could stop me if they tried. Anyway, it clearly states any 'supernatural abilities' that have recently developed;my legacies developed years ago so clearly I am exempt.

I also type in Einar Human Garde although on hitting enter I doubt I really needed to add the last two words. Apparently, he was convicted for multiple crimes against humanity and sentenced for life in high-security prison. Most of the commentary talks of him as a domestic terrorist, yet others argue he was just a thug with access to too much power having no political motivation.

I also search my own name, getting unexpectedly excited as I press the enter key. Nothing. Nothing worth reading anyway. Only old articles which mostly speculate where I could be, what I am doing, if I am dead. I guess I have been discrete, never telling anyone who I really am, living on the island, oh and getting caught up in a nuclear bomb may have thrown a few off my scent. I don't know why I am disappointed; it gives me more freedom having no one capable of recognising me.

Flicking through more recent news my eye is drawn to an article with the headline Reports of Missing Human Garde Escalates Around World. Clicking on it I read reports of parents, friends and police and how significant numbers of teenagers with legacies are just disappearing without a trace. I think back to the Foundation and how they would kidnap and enslave Human Garde but this does not seem like it is being done by the same people. The Foundation would slaughter an entire village to get to someone, just like they did in a rural village in Australia a year or so back.

All these more recent disappearances seem as though the victims vanished into thin air. I click onto other articles with similar headlines and similar reports but from all over the world. Checking the time on the bottom corner of the screen it is almost half seven. My appetite is starting to return so leave in search of supper.

The seafront is a lot quieter now, the setting sun casts an orange glow on the tranquil water. Middle aged couples walk past holding hands admiring the sea, while local fishermen pack up their equipment and head home. A few teenagers glide along on skateboards wearing backward hats. I head back to a pizzeria I passed earlier and buy a large pepperoni pizza.

When I was last here, I made my way on the street through pickpocketing. I could try doing that again? It wasn't too bad, always making me enough to live comfortably, but stealth was always difficult. At least now the consequences of being caught does not include being hunted down by Mogadorians anymore, not like they could hurt me now anyway!

Then again, I have the power now to just walk into any store I want and empty their cash register - no sweat. The only hesitation I have is gaining too much publicity; I would need to hide my identity somehow. At least it helps this time round having Human Garde around meaning people are unlikely to think I am Loric - as long as I only display one legacy.

Or I could just head back to the island?

With the light steadily fading it is becoming harder to see with my sunglasses on but at least the quiet streets and cover of darkness will help with flying later.

Once I finish my pizza (as opposed to feeling sleepy, like after lunch) I have a sudden desire to go for a quick fly about on the sea just to expend some pent-up energy. Despite the brilliant white and orange lights of towering buildings and street lamps they are unable to penetrate much beyond the grass preceding the beach leaving the waterfront in a blanket of darkness, yet the breaking waves manage to reflect some back as though they are washing up fragments of broken glass.

Checking no one is around, I walk onto the beach letting the darkness envelop me. Once my eyes adjust, I can just make out the shimmers of the lapping sea, and feel the sand becoming smoother and firmer as I near it. I remove my sunglasses and replace them with my eyepatch. Out of instinct I look over both shoulders before lifting myself gradually off the floor, watching my feet dangle a metre above the air as I feel myself becoming weightless. I then look out into the black void, take a deep breath of familiar salty sea air then take off, speeding over the surface of the water out to sea, letting the wind rush past in a torrent. I cannot stop smiling; I must be flying over 50 mph less than a metre above the ocean. At one point, I lower my arms and drag my hands in the water leaving spray in my wake. After five minutes I stop and spin around to see how far I have come - the towering skyscrapers of Miami illuminate in clusters of white and orange specks that when I pinch between my thumb and index finger leaves them barely an inch apart. As I hover, I take in the serenity of being miles out to sea with only the swashing of water, light breeze, and starry skyscape to keep me company. I could stay here all night and never tire of the peace but reluctantly head back towards the shining lights beckoning me.

Still not tired enough to call it a night, I decide to fly over Miami Beach and into the Town Square where I can explore. Walking around I hear groups of intoxicated party-goers heading down adjacent roads but other than that it is mostly empty. Others may find the empty dark streets creepy or scary, but I feel confident, relishing the anticipation of whatever may lurk in the shadows.

On turning into a narrow, high-walled, seemingly deserted back lane I see movement around a car and hushed voices. Heading towards it lit by a streetlamp, I see four men armed with what looks like crowbars and baseball bats attempting to break into a car, jamming a knife into the bottom of a window. I continue towards them, pulling my hood up just over my eyes while staying hidden in the shadows. When a few meters away I clear my throat and instantly all their heads snap towards the mysterious cloaked silhouette.

Getting a better view of their faces I make out that they are in their 30s or 40s. The man closest to me is the first to speak, slightly shorter than me, he has a round face, short muddy hair with bulging eyes like a pig. He looks as though he spends most of his time downing pints in a pub when he is not searching for truffles.

"Hello!" he loudly exclaims with a hint of comical giddiness. "Why hide in the dark, my friend? Come out into the light and show us all your beautiful face!" he says while raising his arms gesturing to the others behind him as though an overzealous pantomime lead. The men around him chuckle.

I abide by his request. Shrugging off my backpack I step out of the gloom and into the light. I watch their faces as I emerge, as opposed to the reactions I got earlier today, some of them smirk but Pigface goes all out pretending to try to stifle a laugh, snorting loudly as he does so.

"What's with the eyepatch, me matey!" he says. "The gay pirate convention is that way!" They all burst out laughing while Pigface wheezes at his own joke. One of the men behind the car walks around to join his friend. He is tall and skinny and must be an addict of some sort as his cheeks are concave. Approaching, he adds,

"I think he is going to a six-year-old's pirate party to go touch some little kiddies," he sneers. "He looks like a dirty pedo anyway." The other two men have now made their way from the back of the car and now stand beside Pigface and Stretch five metres in front of me. They all brandish their weapons threateningly.

I still have not spoken. Pigface appears to have noticed this too and his facade begins to fall, giving way to an angry persona,

"What's your fucking deal?" he snarls aggressively. "I'm losing my patience. You want us to come and knock you fucking teeth out?" he says as flecks of spit fly from his mouth. The others begin repositioning their weapons in their hands in anticipation. The other two I have not taken much notice of look quite alike with their black beanie hats and rugged beards, both plumper than a couple of turkeys on Thanksgiving. The one with his eyes far apart with a generally 'stupider-looking' face I call Tweedledumb, the other Tweedledee.

Still, I remain silent, refusing to take Pigface's bait, which would probably be bacon, I think to myself. I guess my hiatus did improve my anger management - I am finding this oddly funny. After a few seconds I inhale and open my mouth before finally speaking in a hushed whisper they strain to hear.

"What did you just say?" Pigface says more unbelievingly than asking for clarification.

"I said," then clear my throat dramatically, 'Who would like to die first?'"

It takes a few seconds for their surprise to wear off, with a quick remark Pigface says,

"Right, let's get this punk!"

They approach, raising their bats and crowbars above their shoulders; I notice Stretch has ditched his bat and opted for a five-inch knife he has unsheathed from his back pocket. I feel adrenaline rush through me but stay calm. Calm but clinical: not letting anger cloud my judgement. When they are two metres away, I throw a backhand into thin air letting loose a tiny fragment of my pent-up power begging to be unleashed. The men are suddenly sent back flying through the air sending Stretch and Tweedledee smashing against the car shattering its windows and denting its red-painted body, while Pigface and Tweedledumb hit the brick wall behind. They gradually pick themselves up off the ground, I notice Tweedledee inspecting his hands which I then realise have been lacerated with shards of glass. Good.

The looks they give me are mixed between fear and determination. They all look towards Pigface for guidance on whether to run or fight and they get their answer when his upper lip curls into a feral snarl baring his teeth. As he stands up, he picks his crowbar up from the pavement and walks slowly towards me. Without looking away from me he grumbles,

"Surround him then we'll take this freak together," spitting the word freak. "Then we will make him pray for death."

The others follow his orders and make a semi-circle around me as though wild animals surrounding their prey, at least what they think. Little do they know that the person they are surrounding is one of the six most powerful people on this planet.

I think I ought to practise my hand-to-hand combat having had no one to practise with so I pick up the man furthest to my left (which happens to be Stretch) and launch him into Tweedledee beside him by which time the other two have attacked.

I easily dodge a swing from Pigface's crowbar with my enhanced speed and reflexes and while unbalanced I punch him in his abdomen causing him to bend over forwards grunting in pain. I have been watching Dweedledumb in my peripheral vision and notice his bat is in mid-swing en route to my head so I quickly raise my arm grabbing the bat as it connects with my outstretched hand, stopping it in its tracks. His face is a picture of surprise until my fist comes round in a fraction of second undercutting his jaw with a satisfying crunch sending his unconscious body flying backwards.

Tweedledee and Stretch have gotten up now and I let them come to me, their faces contorted into ugly sneers. When they are four metres away Tweedledumb suddenly stops, his metal bat clanging as it hits the floor causing Stretch to stop as well and look at him in confusion. Tweedledumb's eyes open wide and he splutters, coughing flecks of blood. He falls forward onto his knees then flat onto his face. Glass shards can be seen sticking out all across his back with dark patches forming around them staining his white T-shirt crimson. I watch Stretch work it out: looking at his friend, to the car, then back to his friend. Finally he looks at me in disgust mixed with what I think is awe. I hear him mutter quietly under his breath,

"You sick fuck," then watch him snap himself out of his trance.

He clenches his knife between white knuckles and runs at me screaming with his knife held above his head like a maniac. Jerking my head upwards he is lifted off the ground. I then raise my right hand in a fist above my head then guide it slowly down in an arc into my abdomen then twist it around a few times for good measure. While doing this his hand follows mine exactly like a marionette, via telekinesis. He lets out a bloodcurdling scream as his knife (clenched in his own hand!) slowly pierces his abdomen then twists, before I drop him onto the road 10 metres below shortly followed by the sound of crunching bone.

Suddenly I feel a change in the telekinetic pressure I have created around myself and push against the foriegn object, holding it in place. I do not need to turn or hear the deafening bang to know what it is: suspended in midair between Pigface and myself is a silver bullet. Pigface has retreated ten meters down the alley and now stares at me in horror with his gun shaking in his hand. With some newfound determination his hand stops shaking, his eyes narrow, and he begins firing rapidly, one bullet after the other, without stopping.

I stroll cooly towards him, stopping the bullets in midair without missing a beat but that does not deter him, if anything it makes him shoot faster, more desperately. Suddenly the lonely bangs of the gun are joined by the pinging of metal against metal as bullets ricochet off my torso. The firing becomes less frequent now as though finally giving up until the distinctive click of the empty gun signals the end.

His bottom lip quivers, as though trying to say something.

"You…" he whispers. "You are…" he stumbles, looking me up and down trying to think of the right word. "Metal?" he finally gets out, with a tone of hopelessness to his voice.

"You have a good eye, sir" I reply mockingly. He seems to be in no hurry to make a joke out of my last comment.

Suddenly he turns and sprints down the lane as fast as little piggy legs can carry him. I let him think he is getting away, waiting for the right time to strike, jingling the rubber ball in my pocket in anticipation. He looks over his shoulder and I see his face illuminated by a streetlamp; he looks almost confused, as though he is unable to believe he is actually getting away, as to why I am not chasing him. I wave at him enthusiastically with a deranged smile making his eyebrows furrow, but he quickly turns back around and continues running for his life.

A few seconds later I watch as Pigface looks down and sees my rubber arm wrapping around his waist. Before he has a chance to scream, I pull him up into the air and launch him through the sky like a catapult. Watching him disappear with a smug smile on my face I consider going and checking where he lands, but it is too dark, and that training session really helped me get sleepy. I glance back towards the three bodies lying in puddles of their own blood feeling satisfied with my performance.

Grabbing my backpack, I rise into the air and speed away into the night as the sound of approaching sirens wail in the distance.