Internal memo, for Gibson’s Board of Directors only. Subject: The Operator Program and Its Purpose. Additional Update: Regarding the Status of Gavin Black.

  The incident now known as the Veileland Crisis, in which over ten million people were killed by the terrorist called Risteard the Lion, was a galvanizing moment for our world. And a profitable one for Gibson International. The public’s opinion quickly changed in regards to so-called “newborns” and their place in society. This created a unique business opportunity for Gibson International.

  Under the suggestion of our CEO, Leopold Gibson, an initiative was established to better control the newborn population and to prevent any other cataclysmic event, as well as to hopefully determine the origin of newborns and how they can be further created for our benefit. Sadly, that last objective still remains out of reach. Per the others however, Gibson has been uniquely positioned to achieve. With our ventures into the fields of tech, arms, pharmaceuticals, and transportation, we developed tools to keep up with the growing newborn threat. But these steps were just phase 1 of the plan.

  Phase 2, known as the Operator Program, is an ambitious and bold initiative which aims to recruit and train any newborns that will submit to Gibson’s authority and follow a simple directive. “Seek out and analyze any observation of Newborn power. Determine if it should be folded into the company or eliminated. Take steps to recruit if possible. If not, destroy with full authority and all secrecy. Be sure only to kill with reason.” We do, however, understand many newborns can be hostile and difficult to recruit. Certain losses are acceptable as long as final profits are not affected.

  Now, in regards to Gavin Black. He has indeed been our most effective Operator, boasting a higher rate of efficiency in the field over any other single employee. However, concerns for his health and ongoing benefit have developed in the wake of his altercation with fellow Operator, Kane. The injuries he sustained warrant closer observation, despite our medical staff’s assurance, as well as the assurance of Gavin’s direct supervisor, Emery Sharpe, AKA Whip. A close eye shall be kept on Gavin to guarantee his continued benefit for Gibson’s best interests.

  Thank you. And have a prosperous day.

  Gavin

  “Gavin! Stop daydreaming and get back to work. You have a job to do, remember?”

  Foster’s terse, yet soothing voice crackled in my ear. Her call eased me back into reality and onto my rooftop, blanketed in a crisp, spring wind contradicted by a warm sunlight.

  “Sorry. I was… I actually don’t know. What were you saying?”

  I knew I had probably just earned another prepared speech from her about paying better attention when I got back to the Shard. Cormack never complained about her going after him. Maybe she just had it out for me. I wasn’t sure if it was because she liked me or loathed me.

  Almost sensing my thought, she gave a deliberate sigh, “I said, and you better be listening this time, your target is just ahead on top of that building. If you don’t hurry, your window to get rid of him without incident will close. It’s his lunch break and he always eats his turkey on rye out there because he likes to watch the pigeons while he eats. You read his profile, didn’t you?”

  I did, because I always did. But none of the details seemed to stick this time for some reason.

  “Yes, I get it. I’m the big dummy who doesn't read good. Now, please, just be quiet and let me work.”

  The line remained silent. Reflecting on the earlier piece of conversation, the strain in her voice became more apparent.

  “Everything okay, Adelaide? You sound worried.”

  “Call me Foster, please. Yes, I am fine. Just please focus, Gavin.”

  “Yeah. Whatever.”

  She wasn’t quite so rattled as to forget about correcting me on her name. I always thought her first name sounded more melodic. She either disagreed or didn’t care and instead insisted on her last name during conversation. At least while I was in the field.

  “I’m not worried about you, Gavin, though we all know you’ve given me more than valid reason to. It’s just basic protocol. After the pointless encounter with Kane, Whip wants you under closer watch. He wants to make sure that you’re back to one hundred before you get in over your head without backup.”

  It was good to know she cared.

  “Uh-huh. Whip wants that. Not you?”

  The line stayed silent once more, the sounds of cars going about their business on the streets below filled the void for the moment.

  “Yes, Whip does. Now please, just be careful. Despite your attitude, you’re still considered an asset to Gibson’s shareholders.”

  I could almost picture the rosy tint I imagined to cover her cheeks after my comments. She got extra brusque when she was flustered. Always good motivation for me to let out my impish side a little. On the other hand, her and Whip might have had a point. My body still had some healing to do after what Kane did to it. The sucker-punching, maniacal, bloodthirsty bastard.

  Now, as Adelaide said, I had a target to eliminate. His place of employment was a four story office building two blocks over to the south. None of the buildings in the old districts got anywhere above five, even there in the Lithic district, so there was a risk of being spotted if I wasn’t careful.

  First step, cross the street with a building-to-building leap without being seen by any gawkers below. Always easier said than done, magnified on that day by my healing leg bones. A quick breath, a short hop to stretch out and warm up the muscles. Easy and simple.

  Leaning over the edge of the building to double check my path, I spied a mostly empty intersection. The majority of people were already home by then and this was a poorer part of the city. No fun places to go on a Wednesday night. Which meant I should be okay to cross without too much concern.

  Another few short breaths as I walked to the other side, building myself a runway and accelerating my heart rate. After a moment more of listening just to make sure the street was still mostly empty, I threw myself into a run. Wind rushed past me as I rapidly crossed in just a few strides, forgetting the injury for now. My brain asked if I should hesitate. The thought was pushed back when my foot planted against the edge and threw me across the gap. The air seemed to stick to me as it all went silent for just a moment and cars cruised on beneath my feet, oblivious.

  Did I jump far enough? My eyes opened without realizing they were shut, and there was no welcoming rooftop beneath me. Because I overshot it! Somehow, I went over my target and found myself plunging into an alley between two red-bricked walls. My hands panicked and scratched at the surface for any purchase. They snagged on a ledge jutting out from a window, wrenching my body to a rapid stop. Hopefully no one saw the blunder.

  “Ouch.”

  “I told you to take it easy.”

  Unable to sound relaxed, I growled out a response, “Just feeling out my legs again, Foster. Now stop distracting me.”

  She said something else but it wasn’t worth the energy to process. My fingers flexed and I pulled my legs up so my feet were planted on the wall. Down and then up, a fluid, more measured movement helped me climb into the sky, my movement slowing right as I got to the top, three stories up.

  “Better.”

  Adelaide opted to nor interject, thankfully, allowing me to resume my path to the target. A few more quick hops bridged by sprinted bursts, bringing me to the last street crossing. Without hesitation this time, I leapt with much more restraint.

  The warm beams of the sun wrapped themselves around my outstretched fingertips. A laugh from the street caught my attention. I looked down to see a child being swung between the arms of their parent’s over a small puddle. My eyes, for some reason, couldn’t be pulled away. The parent’s raised their arms high and the child shrieked as though they were flying.

  Pain. Pain cut through my leg and severed into my lost thoughts. My vision became a tangled mess of bright flashes and tumbling concrete. After a noisy series of grunts, I stopped, sitting up somehow on the rooftop. At least I landed in the right spot this time, even if I hadn’t paid attention. Adelaide remained quiet, surely waiting for when her words would be most frustrating.

  My hand ran over my knee, squeezing it lightly. Despite the bad landing, no new permanent damage at least. I wobbled upwards onto my feet, wincing when I put my injured leg down. But after a few steps. The worst of it passed. Scanning the rooftops around me, I confirmed I was close.

  With held breath, I shut my eyes to search for any sign of my target. There. Just three buildings away.

  “Hello, little birdies. Come to join me for lunch, again? Hopefully I brought enough food for all of you, today.”

  The distance between us shrank quickly. He didn’t seem to hear me encroach upon his ritual, probably because of his daft whistling. It’s a song I didn’t recognize, perhaps it was something of his own composition. Did the song’s origin matter? No, was there for a mission, nothing else. Right?

  “Hello? Are you okay there?”

  Exposing warmth flooded my face. While I was lost in my own head, he heard me.

  “It’s a nice day, isn’t it? I always like to come up here with these friends of mine, they seem to like free food as much as I do.”

  He patted his ample stomach with that last comment. Yeah, he clearly enjoyed free food.

  “A nice day, is it?” I chuckled wryly, “I wonder if you would still feel that way if you knew how dark your kind really is.”

  “Dark? Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Do you mean accountants?” He laughs, “I mean, I know most people don’t like dealing with taxes but-”

  What a blithering moron. I snarled out one word at him past my clenched teeth, “newborn.”

  This finally provoked an honest response: his pulse shot up, he pursed his lips and swallowed heavily, trying to control his shock as he put his hands up like he’s under arrest.

  “I guess you caught me, then. What a surprise, right? I mean, me? Good ole Mike Tibbets, a guy in his late forties with his only kid in college. You’d think life had just about run out of exciting things for me.”

  Right, exciting. That was one word for it.

  The idiot leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper, afraid of anyone else overhearing, “What about you? Are you one as well? I’ve always hoped that I wasn’t the only one left after, well, everything.”

  He leaned even closer, his eyes sparkled with a hideous light, “Pretty thrilling though, isn’t it? It’s like something from the comicbooks my nephews are always reading.”

  His eyes fell to the ground, “But, well, I’ve been too afraid to actually put a name to it. To even speak it out loud. Not everyone is too friendly to our kind, you know.”

  A loud scoff escaped my mouth before I could stop it, “you. You think I’m anything like you? A fat, sad, lonely excuse for a living being. All it takes for people like you is one really bad day and you become a deadlier weapon than any military can bring to bear. Maybe your bus is late in the morning and you lose your job. Maybe your kid finally realizes how terrible of a father you really are, or maybe maybe the cute waitress doesn't flirt back because you’re so boring and you just can’t let it go so you take it out on someone later with your newfound abilities. You’re a threat, nothing more. You are worthless. No. I’m nothing like you. My name is Gavin Black. And I’m here to kill you.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  A bag full of bread flew into my face, easily deflected. While my vision was blocked though, he somehow put over a hundred feet between us.

  “Told you to hurry and stop daydreaming. Although I guess you were more monologuing this time.”

  “Not helping, Foster!”

  Sometimes it was less than helpful having big sister always watching. My pursuit started with aggression, but upon landing on the next rooftop, my leg couldn’t quite bear its burden and buckled beneath me.

  “Careful, Gavin! You’re not going to be able to outrun him, you need to out maneuver him.” Foster’s sage advice again.

  “Yeah, yeah I know. I got this.”

  My leg didn’t seem to share my confidence. Slow, deep breath. I was okay, my leg was okay. Where was he? The delay gave him a chance to open the gap quite a bit but he was still out of his depth. As long as I was careful. Take two.

  Sprinting towards the edge of the roof, my lungs filled quickly and I pushed everything in me against the concrete to throw myself upwards onto a higher building. My weight was held by both legs this time so I kept going. My target was fairly quick in his own right, but also had several disadvantages working against him. He was scared, running wild and making mistakes. Most significantly, he didn’t know how to use elevation to his benefit.

  My momentum lifted me up to a billboard advertising a cotton candy-flavored energy drink. I think it was called Fury and always sounded gross to me. Another good landing spared me from more pain.

  Another pause to find him, slowing my breath and pulse so I could hear better. Hurried footsteps, scraping against pavement with a frenetic energy. Perfect. He was only a block ahead of me and three stories below. The footsteps stopped, replaced by his panting as he was almost certainly trying to find me. I would be able to pass above without being noticed, taking advantage of his misplaced focus.

  I found him, leaning against a dumpster, and desperately scanning all around him trying to find a threat while doing his best to stay inconspicuous. All the while, remaining fatally oblivious to anything above him. This was my best chance to bring him down without any more resistance.

  Not wanting to waste it, I rushed towards the edge, folding my body into a forward spin to build force. As I tumbled, he looked up with wide eyes and spotted me hurtling towards him with full force. Too late, though and he failed to get out of the way before I crashed into him with a dull crunch, planting my feet as he fell.

  My legs bent to a slightly painful crouch over his trembling and cowering form, twisting his face around so that he could plainly see mine.

  “All you are doing is proving me right. You’re much too powerful to be trusted!”

  His shoulders relaxed and tension flowed out from him. Why?

  With drawn breaths, he spoke, “I’m too powerful? What about you? Do you really not see the hypocrisy here?”

  As if he knew a damn thing about trusting power and hypocrisy!

  “You don’t get to ask me that!”

  He needed to die! My fist sparked down at his defenseless form without restraint. Before I could pull back the strike, he pulled his face clear and the strike met with nothing but shattered concrete. My own blood seeped from my knuckles. How could he move so quickly?!

  Pain in my stomach. He struck me like a jackrabbit full force, sending me back and clear of him. A cough blasted from my chest and I landed against the brick wall with no oxygen left in my lungs. Gasping, they tried desperately to refill themselves. He took advantage of his sucker punch, turned and started to flee from me once more.

  Dazed. Lost. My head shook, clearing out the cobwebs. The alleyway faded into clarity, furious footsteps pounded the pavement away from me. My target fled with purpose, trying to get to a specific destination. It must have been somewhere he didn’t want me to know about. More newborns, perhaps? It was an opportunity too valuable to pass up.

  With one last deep breath, I used the dumpster to bounce up and catch the fire escape two floors above me. My arms did the rest of the work, and pulled me the rest of the way, letting me land with a soft crunch on the roof.

  No more wasted time. With a dash towards the ledge, taking care to not be seen or heard, I peered over. There was no sign of him. I closed my eyes softly. Listening. Car noises. Excited chatter from unfortunate onlookers.

  “You’re not going to believe this, man. I just saw a newborn fight! One of them punched a hole right through the concrete! No, I'm telling you what I saw! They’re still around, I don’t care what you read! Listen to me!”

  If I really wanted to, I could have heard what his friend was saying on the other end. I was surprised having a witness didn’t elicit a lecture from Foster. Pointless chatter, a distraction. It was something to push through. Whip taught me how to track things in the city. Find a break in the pattern. Something different from all the ambient noise.

  Even now, Whip’s lessons still sound clearly in my mind, “You are one of the special ones, Gavin. All newborn can sense things regular humans cannot. Operators are trained to hone those senses beyond any limit. You, though, you can do it even more than most.”

  The sound of heavy breathing, more desperate than the surrounding crowd, like a wounded animal. Just two streets south and three streets east from me. Whip would have been proud. My target must have stopped, likely looking for me to see if his harrier still pursued him. His breaths were short and ragged, threatening to melt into pure panic. Good. Any mistakes he made would help make up for my injury.

  I needed another cross-street jump. Either my leg would hold or it wouldn’t. Steady breaths. I could do this, even if the twitching in my fingers tried to convince me otherwise. Taking advantage of the entire rooftop, I took my mark, with a few flexes and shakes of my hands. It was now or never, I told myself. Feet against the concrete, pounding with expectation, I left the roof with a solid push mid-stride and flew across the road. Not bad for a cripple.

  I might have been a tad optimistic and botched the landing which meant a crash and crumple. A particularly bad one, making much too loud of a noise in the process.

  “Wow. And here I thought that you were a professional.”

  “Shut up, Adelaide.”

  “Foster, please. Now stop being stupid.” Her irritation at my failure bled into her voice. \

  It wasn’t all my fault and her tone was starting to get on my nerves. “Only if you stop distracting me.”

  Then to no one, “Useless,” I shouted. I pried the communicator from my ear and discarded it to my jacket pocket without a second glance, barely suppressing the urge to grind it under my heel. She hadn’t helped me much anyway.

  My irritation threatened to break my remaining strands of focus, so I took a few deep breaths. The objective was still the same: find and track him down. In vain, I searched for any sign, his ragged breathing, fearful shuffle, even someone walking the streets talking to him. But there was nothing. I couldn’t hear him. He must have heard my childish outburst. Whip would certainly have some sharp criticisms when this was over.

  It wasn’t over yet. I was too good to just throw in the towel. Too good or too stubborn. I just needed to locate him, find any signs of his last known location and work it out from there. Quickly, though. I couldn’t lose him! Fear danced on the fringes of my mind. I had to remind myself I still had the advantage. It was just another routine mission, like the ones I’d carried out dozens of times before. But this wasn’t really routine.

  Ignoring the nagging threat, I searched for him again. I heard something to the general southeast, but things were too cloudy to fine tune it. The pain in my leg crept in to distract me again with a warm pulsing. I ignored it, it would hold as long as I needed it.

  Attempt number...I’d lost count at this point. It didn’t matter, there was no time left. Just ahead, a medium sized radio tower on the neighboring building. Up there, I would be able to see any movement, and move much faster.

  Whip’s words rang out in my mind once more, “A newborn can fall safely from far greater drops than normal people. Operators, even better. You can use height and momentum to move rapidly with your gear and catch anything. It is all in knowing how to land. And in knowing how to fall with style.”

  Whip always attempted to make our work sound more fanciful than it actually was. At the end of the day, it was just amped up wetwork minus the guns. His wisdom wasn’t short of merit, though. Not in the slightest. High ground and a good jacket was your best friend when you absolutely had to move quickly. Any more of a footrace with the target would leave me in the dust with a long-term injury if I landed wrong again one more time. A quick hop over the gap and my hands clung to the wiry metal of the tower. It was some sort of relay, just tall enough to help me. My arms were still full of energy, in contrast to my entire lower half at this point, and made short work of the ascent. At the top, I flicked up the zipper on my jacket.

  A blue spark shimmered across the metallic mesh as it drew tight around my torso, cinching around my wrists, and leaving no room for air to create drag. The familiar buzz coursed through me, making the hair on my neck rise up. Two minutes is the most I could afford before the electricity living in the jacket started to become too much for my heart. Even with the threat of death mere minutes away, I still couldn’t get over how much fun the things were. A smile grew across my lips.

  At the top, my hand clamped to the top bar of the tower, my already strong grip aided by the enhancements of the jacket. I scanned every sun soaked rooftop, every alleyway that snaked out around me. He was out there somewhere. He had to be. Five seconds of silent stillness.

  Ten seconds.

  Fifteen.

  Rapid movement caught in the shadows two blocks away. It had to be him! His glasses were somehow still on. Next came the best part of the job.

  My grip tightened against the metal bar, my good leg coiled up beneath me, and I aimed directly towards the target. The metal tower bends ever slightly as the force of my jump bounded against it, the creaking of the joints murmured in my ears. Sunlight radiated across my back, exposing me high above the nearby cityscape if anyone were to glance up to the sky. Wind pressed against me, almost freezing me in midair. I reached my arms forward as if to cling to the invisible force. As they extended, the hidden webbing under my sleeves drew tight with the force of electricity flowing through the circuit, catching and carrying me across the breeze.

  Blasts of wind and whatever it carried tore past me as I cut through the thick evening air, zeroed in on the target. He was on a phone call, his words masked by the screaming wind. He stood with his back towards me, unable to be any more vulnerable. Remembering my old football days, I crashed into him with an all out blitz, crushing his spine with my shoulder and shattering him away. We both tumbled along the concrete floor, but his tumble was much more violent. My feet found themselves, shuffling with more than a little weakness. He wouldn’t get up from that hit, though. I had won.

  My leg screamed out when I tried to step. Maybe I should have toned the stunts down a bit. I slammed my eyes shut and drew a deep breath to let go of the pain. Slowly, breathe in, hold, breathe out. Once more.

  Rubber against cement scuffed away from me. My head rose and my eyes eased open. The sun cut through the gap in the walls, causing me to wince. No. He was standing up! Weak and unsteady but still upright!

  “How?....How are you still conscious right now?”

  He straightened himself slowly, not broken but measured. He fixed my eyes with a calm so removed from what it should be that I almost failed to recognize him. His new tone chilled my heart with its confidence, “I wanted to lose you, get away so I wouldn’t have to fight. I don’t want to hurt you but I will if you make me. You can’t keep hurting your own people like this. The newborns will be reborn.”

  This was wrong. All of it. He should have been unconscious if not outright dead. And his words! He didn’t understand! He couldn’t. I found my footing, rage braced my leg against any lingering pain. The electricity in my chest from the jacket climbed, the tingling now transitioned into a subtle torture.

  “You and your kind are not my ‘people’. You are only the problem, the ones that put MY people in danger. We will never forget Veileland!”

  He had to die for this, no more speeches. Only action worked against this kind of evil.

  Time to go for his neck.

  Before he had time to respond, I took full advantage of his un-readied posture, sprinting towards him and letting loose my heaviest strike. He dipped to his left quickly, but the strike still caught the corner of his eye, forcing him back. He attempted to grab the back of my jacket and twist me around with his momentum, but my foot planted firmly before he was ready, throwing him off balance and into my left arm. His chest shuddered and his body floated at the impact of my free hand. The force sent him through the air, bursting through the other side of a brick wall and scaring the patrons of the coffee shop. There was no hiding who we were on that day.

  He stumbled back to his feet, moving slower than before. He felt the hit, but I wasn’t done yet. Giving him a moment to recover, I unzipped my jacket and let it fall in dramatic fashion. After he steadied himself, his fists clenched, waiting for me. No, not this time.

  With a beckoning gesture and a cold smirk, “Your turn.”

  He obeyed and bolted towards me, his face still bore the unsettlingly calm expression. Maybe he needed some help with that. My arm hitched back, trying to catch his jaw but he saw it coming. He dropped at the last moment, twisting around to catch my wounded leg with a brutal kick. My body was thrown over itself sideways, leaving only my face to land on.

  Pain burned through anger. My leg reminded me of every agonizing moment I spent in recovery getting back to where I was. The image of the alley grew blurry. How did he know to hit me right there? Was our profile so far off base? It didn’t matter. Kill first, ask questions later. He would outlast me if the fight kept being an exchange of blows. I needed something different.

  Deep breath, outthink when you can’t outmuscle. The leg would hold. It had to. He knew I would swing for him like that, he could read my moves better than I could at the moment. So I had to lie to him.

  “Still your turn”, I beckoned one more time.

  He let out a small sigh, his face briefly shadowed by sorrow. “It didn’t have to end this way.”

  There was only ever one ending to his story, the incinerator back at Gibson. He dashed at me one final time, but I held back this time. My leg wouldn’t handle another hit. My lungs held their place as I waited until the last moment before he got to me. I dropped down on all of my limbs and, with maximum effort, pushed away from the Earth with my three good limbs. Twisting in mid-air, I crushed his overcommitted jaw with an uppercut that breaks gravity and his glasses finally came off.

  The moment I felt asphalt again, I leaped after him, catching him in mid-air and struck at his sternum with my knee and all I had left in the tank. Blood spewed all over my leg and his heart stopped from the impact. We fell back down together, his body twisted from my hands with a soft thud.

  He was dead, right? His body remained still after several seconds. My lungs reminded me I was still holding my breath. With a deep exhale, my good leg dragged my bad leg back to where I let my jacket fall. The cool metal blanketed my arms and I pulled the communicator out of my pocket. It was a good thing those things were somehow indestructible. It slipped back in my ear and my back pressed against the brick wall of the alleyway.

  Foster got straight to her point, “Target neutralized. Clean-up is on its way, Gavin. Good job”

  Oh, good, Clean-Up. My favorite people. What a perfect end to my day.