Writing Sample: "Expected Discovery" |
Genre: Modern Supernatural
Character: Zak Muir
Location: Construction Site & Nietzsche Pub & Grill
Summary: An introduction for Zak, in three parts/posts
Character: Zak Muir
Location: Construction Site & Nietzsche Pub & Grill
Summary: An introduction for Zak, in three parts/posts
Part I
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“You leavin’ early?” grumbled Bill Judkins. Everything the construction site foreman said sounded like an accusation or an insult; this was no exception.
Zak Muir hung his hard hat on a nail in the wall and smirked at his boss. “I came in early, so ... yeah. Unless you want to pay me overtime?” Lifting a gloved hand to his chin, he turned his head in both directions to crack his neck. He shrugged. “Then I’ll be happy to stay as long as you like.”
Even Judkins’ laugh resembled a grumbling cough. The foreman waved a calloused hand. “Get the #^&! out of here, Muir. See you tomorrow.”
Zak suspected that Judkins was Aberrant. Not for any particular reason, but Bill was one of the only people on site who never questioned Zak’s preference for welding and other jobs that required gloves - jobs other guys often avoided. Plus, he seemed too ready to understand the few times Zak called in last minute due to League business. Still, he’d never worked with the guy or had to fight him, so he minded his business and silently thanked Judkins for doing the same.
Zak stripped off his work gloves, slipped them in his bag, and headed out the door. The sun had been bright all day, making the afternoon warm despite a light breeze off the river. Some hotshot was taking a risk on building a high-rise apartment building on the east side of the river. The number of corners they were cutting underlined the fact that a private investor had funded the job instead of the government; it was all about the profit, and overtime was a big no-no. Zak thought whoever the rich guy was, he was a fool. As if anyone was going to pay much for this real estate, even with a waterfront view. Maybe a villain Aberrant or two, but the East Side was largely slums. That wouldn’t change with one new fancy building. Still, it was work, and the pub down the street had a good selection of brews on tap.
Donning his leather jacket and gloves for protection, Zak made the short trek to the Nietzsche's Pub & Grill. Some smartass had opened the place shortly after the wars died down. It was probably meant to be a joke about the Ubermensch, or "Superman", but clearly whoever had named the place hadn’t actually studied philosophy.
Or maybe they had. Who knew? All that mattered today is that they served beer and that their food wasn't completely wretched, so long as you avoided the fish and chips.
As an added benefit, Nietzche's was located on the East Side by the river, which meant that it was a good place to meet prospective clients. He hadn't heard from the League in months, but he had taken a few requests for help. This one was supposedly about a missing girl. Since the request came to him through a referral from a former client, he didn't know the guy personally. This afternoon they were meeting for a drink and a discussion: he would check out the guy's story later.
After parking on the street, he stepped inside and headed for the bar. The dismal lighting made the grimy walls and booths seem quaint, reminiscent of the days before the wars. Zak wasn't fooled. A few patrons looked up at his entrance. The dim lighting didn't help them: most looked like they'd had better days. He kept his coat and gloves on and hunched his shoulders slightly as he took a seat at the bar and attempted to flag down the bartender.
Zak Muir hung his hard hat on a nail in the wall and smirked at his boss. “I came in early, so ... yeah. Unless you want to pay me overtime?” Lifting a gloved hand to his chin, he turned his head in both directions to crack his neck. He shrugged. “Then I’ll be happy to stay as long as you like.”
Even Judkins’ laugh resembled a grumbling cough. The foreman waved a calloused hand. “Get the #^&! out of here, Muir. See you tomorrow.”
Zak suspected that Judkins was Aberrant. Not for any particular reason, but Bill was one of the only people on site who never questioned Zak’s preference for welding and other jobs that required gloves - jobs other guys often avoided. Plus, he seemed too ready to understand the few times Zak called in last minute due to League business. Still, he’d never worked with the guy or had to fight him, so he minded his business and silently thanked Judkins for doing the same.
Zak stripped off his work gloves, slipped them in his bag, and headed out the door. The sun had been bright all day, making the afternoon warm despite a light breeze off the river. Some hotshot was taking a risk on building a high-rise apartment building on the east side of the river. The number of corners they were cutting underlined the fact that a private investor had funded the job instead of the government; it was all about the profit, and overtime was a big no-no. Zak thought whoever the rich guy was, he was a fool. As if anyone was going to pay much for this real estate, even with a waterfront view. Maybe a villain Aberrant or two, but the East Side was largely slums. That wouldn’t change with one new fancy building. Still, it was work, and the pub down the street had a good selection of brews on tap.
Donning his leather jacket and gloves for protection, Zak made the short trek to the Nietzsche's Pub & Grill. Some smartass had opened the place shortly after the wars died down. It was probably meant to be a joke about the Ubermensch, or "Superman", but clearly whoever had named the place hadn’t actually studied philosophy.
Or maybe they had. Who knew? All that mattered today is that they served beer and that their food wasn't completely wretched, so long as you avoided the fish and chips.
As an added benefit, Nietzche's was located on the East Side by the river, which meant that it was a good place to meet prospective clients. He hadn't heard from the League in months, but he had taken a few requests for help. This one was supposedly about a missing girl. Since the request came to him through a referral from a former client, he didn't know the guy personally. This afternoon they were meeting for a drink and a discussion: he would check out the guy's story later.
After parking on the street, he stepped inside and headed for the bar. The dismal lighting made the grimy walls and booths seem quaint, reminiscent of the days before the wars. Zak wasn't fooled. A few patrons looked up at his entrance. The dim lighting didn't help them: most looked like they'd had better days. He kept his coat and gloves on and hunched his shoulders slightly as he took a seat at the bar and attempted to flag down the bartender.
Part II
The hot wings sitting in front of Zak had faded into unpalatable stickiness by the time his client arrived. He was nursing his Newcastle Ale when the short man in his early twenties entered the bar. The man’s dark skin and silky charcoal-colored hair stood out, but what really made people take notice was his brown suit over a faded yellow shirt. While slightly worn, the quality stood out amongst the workers that frequented Nietzsche’s.
Zak looked up as the newcomer approached the table. The man’s almond-shaped eyes, too small for his face, resembled two drops of oil. He had a large nose and thin lips hidden under a layer of stubble. Clutching a grey and blue softball cap in his hands, he glanced around the room nervously. “Are you... Zak?”
With a roll of his eyes. “Yeah. That’s me.” Zak waved to the seat across from him.
The man looked down at the cap in his hands. “Sorry.” He belatedly offered a hand. “I’m Don.” Zak hesitated for a moment, looking at those dark eyes and wondering if this man was Aberrant as well, then shook the other man’s hand briefly in his gloved one before Don took a seat. The interest generated by Don’s entrance subsided while Zak took another drink of his ale. “Leanne said you could help me.”
Setting his drink down, Zak pointed at the hat. “Is that hers?” Don nodded and put the hat on the table carefully, handling it like it might break. Zak didn’t move to touch it yet. Instead, he pushed the wings further away from the cap and looked at the distraught man across from him. “Tell me about her.”
Don visibly swallowed, then leaned forward to speak quietly. “It’s my sister, Alana.” His gaze grew distant as his dark eyes dropped to the hat. “Alana Coyne,” he added, “She’s only thirteen. Disappeared two days ago from her softball match.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. After a few taps on the screen, he turned the face toward Zak. A young girl smiled out of the screen, braces catching the flash of the camera but not diminishing her smile.
Zak frowned. He spoke more gently, thinking of his sister, Kirsten. If anything ever happened to her, how desperate would he be to find answers? “Any theories as to what happened?”
Don glanced at the screen of his phone before setting it down on the table next to the hat. “The cops say she probably ran away. But Alana wouldn’t do that. She ...” he glanced over his shoulder before adding more quietly, “I think she’s like ... you.” His mouth twisted into a grimace, and Zak could see the self-hatred there. If Don was Aberrant, he hated himself for it or at least didn’t think himself like others. He might even be Unclassified, which would make this an even more dangerous proposition.
Zak folded his arms over his chest. “And if she is?” He met Don’s nearly black eyes with skepticism.
“I’m just saying... maybe someone targeted her for that reason,” Don said defensively. “Look, man. I just want to find my little sister. If she ran away, if someone took her, if she’s... whatever. I just want to bring her home.” He motioned to the cap. “Leanne said you could help. Said you needed something of Alana’s. So I’m here, with her goddamn softball cap, asking for you to do... whatever you do.” He grabbed his phone and pocketed it. “Are you gonna help me or not?”
For a long moment, Zak looked over Don. His anger could be borne of frustration, or he could be hiding something. Zak suspected it was the latter, but either way, the little girl was real enough. And she was missing. He nodded his head. “Yeah, but you have to understand: I can’t promise anything. I’ll do what I can, but sometimes the messages are ... Anyway. Yeah, I’ll help.”
He removed his gloves and reached for the cap.
Zak looked up as the newcomer approached the table. The man’s almond-shaped eyes, too small for his face, resembled two drops of oil. He had a large nose and thin lips hidden under a layer of stubble. Clutching a grey and blue softball cap in his hands, he glanced around the room nervously. “Are you... Zak?”
With a roll of his eyes. “Yeah. That’s me.” Zak waved to the seat across from him.
The man looked down at the cap in his hands. “Sorry.” He belatedly offered a hand. “I’m Don.” Zak hesitated for a moment, looking at those dark eyes and wondering if this man was Aberrant as well, then shook the other man’s hand briefly in his gloved one before Don took a seat. The interest generated by Don’s entrance subsided while Zak took another drink of his ale. “Leanne said you could help me.”
Setting his drink down, Zak pointed at the hat. “Is that hers?” Don nodded and put the hat on the table carefully, handling it like it might break. Zak didn’t move to touch it yet. Instead, he pushed the wings further away from the cap and looked at the distraught man across from him. “Tell me about her.”
Don visibly swallowed, then leaned forward to speak quietly. “It’s my sister, Alana.” His gaze grew distant as his dark eyes dropped to the hat. “Alana Coyne,” he added, “She’s only thirteen. Disappeared two days ago from her softball match.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. After a few taps on the screen, he turned the face toward Zak. A young girl smiled out of the screen, braces catching the flash of the camera but not diminishing her smile.
Zak frowned. He spoke more gently, thinking of his sister, Kirsten. If anything ever happened to her, how desperate would he be to find answers? “Any theories as to what happened?”
Don glanced at the screen of his phone before setting it down on the table next to the hat. “The cops say she probably ran away. But Alana wouldn’t do that. She ...” he glanced over his shoulder before adding more quietly, “I think she’s like ... you.” His mouth twisted into a grimace, and Zak could see the self-hatred there. If Don was Aberrant, he hated himself for it or at least didn’t think himself like others. He might even be Unclassified, which would make this an even more dangerous proposition.
Zak folded his arms over his chest. “And if she is?” He met Don’s nearly black eyes with skepticism.
“I’m just saying... maybe someone targeted her for that reason,” Don said defensively. “Look, man. I just want to find my little sister. If she ran away, if someone took her, if she’s... whatever. I just want to bring her home.” He motioned to the cap. “Leanne said you could help. Said you needed something of Alana’s. So I’m here, with her goddamn softball cap, asking for you to do... whatever you do.” He grabbed his phone and pocketed it. “Are you gonna help me or not?”
For a long moment, Zak looked over Don. His anger could be borne of frustration, or he could be hiding something. Zak suspected it was the latter, but either way, the little girl was real enough. And she was missing. He nodded his head. “Yeah, but you have to understand: I can’t promise anything. I’ll do what I can, but sometimes the messages are ... Anyway. Yeah, I’ll help.”
He removed his gloves and reached for the cap.
Part III
Zak’s bare fingers touched the child’s grey and blue softball cap, tentatively brushing over the symbol of a hawk on the front before he gripped it in earnest. He closed his eyes in an attempt to avoid flinching: the visions often came suddenly, like a bright light in a dark room.
Nothing happened.
While Zak dreaded touching random objects due to the chance of an unsolicited vision, it didn’t happen often, especially after his training. The rare occasions when they did come without warning felt like violations to his mind, though, so he wore gloves when he could. Besides, falling suddenly into a trance not only left him vulnerable and marked him as an Aberrant: it also made him look like an ass.
Breathing in slowly through his nose, he accepted that he would need to purposefully trigger a vision. He thought of the little girl from the photo. Alana. This was her cap; she might have even worn it the day she disappeared. His body tensed as images flooded his mind.
The start of a sunset illuminated trash and graffiti littering the dugout, casting the rusted metal and worn wooden benches in sepia tones. Alana stood in her uniform next to a slender woman with coffee-colored skin wearing slacks and a blouse. If the similarities in their features weren’t enough, the way the girl clutched the woman’s hand declared they were related. The woman looked to be in her mid-twenties to early thirties: old enough to be Alana’s mother but not Don’s.
In Nietzsche’s, Zak’s eyes remained close, his face slack. The man across from him leaned forward. “Whaddya see?” he asked quietly. Zak did not respond.
The woman looked worried, but the little girl squeezed her hand in reassurance. “It’ll be fine, Momma,” she stated with the assurance of the newly gifted. “I can do it.”
When the woman squatted down to hug her child, Zak could see the tears in her eyes, along with the dark purple bruise decorating the woman’s cheek and jaw. After spotting that, he looked more closely. The hug was stiff, and she was wearing long sleeves while Alana was in shorts. He heard Alana say, “Trust me. I’m strong enough.”
Inwardly, Zak felt rage well up within him. Experience told him that outwardly, he was vulnerable but calm, which meant he had an opportunity. He attempted to shift the vision, to guide earlier in Alana’s life, maybe when the cap was new. It didn’t take much. However his power worked, it focused on moments of import and strong emotions. He saw Don, tall and terrifying, drunk with dark eyes and a prehensile tongue, slurring his insults as he hit the woman. He railed about the woman sleeping around. “She can’t be mine. That’s not a simple power. Tell me who you f*****!” All this he saw through a child’s blurred vision, just before he went after her.
The scene shifted quickly to the inside of a closet, and Zak could feel himself returning to his body. Inside the pub, he clenched the cap tighter, attempting to will another shift.
Alana stood at the train station with her mother, a single bag beside them and tickets in hand. He looked for something to indicate the date, but they stood on a busy platform. No newspapers in sight, and the date on their tickets wasn’t visible. The mother leaned down to kiss the top of Alana’s head before placing a hand at the base of the girl’s neck and guiding her onto a train. A board in the distance listed the departures by track. They were on track 8, and he might have been able to spot their destination, but he didn’t try. It didn’t matter: they were or would be free.
Zak jolted back to consciousness inside the pub to see Don studying him closely. Was that fear he saw on the man’s face, or just eagerness? How long had he been out? The room seemed hazy and it was hard to concentrate. He blinked a few times.
Don looked at the cap in Zak’s hands, then back to the other man’s eyes. “Well?”
Zak’s brown eyes narrowed before he stood up, taking the cap with him and attempting to hide his unsteadiness. Don’s black eyes followed him with suspicion. “I told you it might not work,” Zak said as casually as he could. Some of his anger leaked into his tone, but it couldn’t be helped. “I saw her at the game, but...” he shrugged and forced his tone to be sympathetic, despite wanting to slug the other man. “Listen, it takes a lot out of me, but if I can keep this,” he held up the cap, “I’ll try again later.” He forced himself to meet Don’s eyes evenly. It required more concentration that he would have liked.
Don’s suspicion remained, but it slowly melted away into disappointment. “Yeah, okay. Thanks for trying... I guess.” He looked truly crestfallen. If Zak hadn’t seen what he had, he might even buy the act.
Zak wasn’t going to let Don try to find Alana some other way. He wouldn’t start a fight here - not today, not with his head spinning - but he would figure out a way to track down Alana and get her help. Tracking Don would be needed, too, to ensure he didn’t find someone else to help rescue his “sister”. While dealing with the man himself was tempting, Zak would ensure Don was deemed an Unclassified threat if necessary. “Do you have a card? So I can reach you if I find something?”
Don looked at him quizzically, then shrugged. “Yeah. Sure.” He dug into the pocket of his jacket and handed over a card from a car dealership with Don’s name printed neatly in the bottom.
Zak glanced at it only briefly and pocketed it with a soft, “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.” before donning his gloves again, tucking the cap beneath his arm and heading out, leaving Don in the booth with his misery.
Nothing happened.
While Zak dreaded touching random objects due to the chance of an unsolicited vision, it didn’t happen often, especially after his training. The rare occasions when they did come without warning felt like violations to his mind, though, so he wore gloves when he could. Besides, falling suddenly into a trance not only left him vulnerable and marked him as an Aberrant: it also made him look like an ass.
Breathing in slowly through his nose, he accepted that he would need to purposefully trigger a vision. He thought of the little girl from the photo. Alana. This was her cap; she might have even worn it the day she disappeared. His body tensed as images flooded his mind.
The start of a sunset illuminated trash and graffiti littering the dugout, casting the rusted metal and worn wooden benches in sepia tones. Alana stood in her uniform next to a slender woman with coffee-colored skin wearing slacks and a blouse. If the similarities in their features weren’t enough, the way the girl clutched the woman’s hand declared they were related. The woman looked to be in her mid-twenties to early thirties: old enough to be Alana’s mother but not Don’s.
In Nietzsche’s, Zak’s eyes remained close, his face slack. The man across from him leaned forward. “Whaddya see?” he asked quietly. Zak did not respond.
The woman looked worried, but the little girl squeezed her hand in reassurance. “It’ll be fine, Momma,” she stated with the assurance of the newly gifted. “I can do it.”
When the woman squatted down to hug her child, Zak could see the tears in her eyes, along with the dark purple bruise decorating the woman’s cheek and jaw. After spotting that, he looked more closely. The hug was stiff, and she was wearing long sleeves while Alana was in shorts. He heard Alana say, “Trust me. I’m strong enough.”
Inwardly, Zak felt rage well up within him. Experience told him that outwardly, he was vulnerable but calm, which meant he had an opportunity. He attempted to shift the vision, to guide earlier in Alana’s life, maybe when the cap was new. It didn’t take much. However his power worked, it focused on moments of import and strong emotions. He saw Don, tall and terrifying, drunk with dark eyes and a prehensile tongue, slurring his insults as he hit the woman. He railed about the woman sleeping around. “She can’t be mine. That’s not a simple power. Tell me who you f*****!” All this he saw through a child’s blurred vision, just before he went after her.
The scene shifted quickly to the inside of a closet, and Zak could feel himself returning to his body. Inside the pub, he clenched the cap tighter, attempting to will another shift.
Alana stood at the train station with her mother, a single bag beside them and tickets in hand. He looked for something to indicate the date, but they stood on a busy platform. No newspapers in sight, and the date on their tickets wasn’t visible. The mother leaned down to kiss the top of Alana’s head before placing a hand at the base of the girl’s neck and guiding her onto a train. A board in the distance listed the departures by track. They were on track 8, and he might have been able to spot their destination, but he didn’t try. It didn’t matter: they were or would be free.
Zak jolted back to consciousness inside the pub to see Don studying him closely. Was that fear he saw on the man’s face, or just eagerness? How long had he been out? The room seemed hazy and it was hard to concentrate. He blinked a few times.
Don looked at the cap in Zak’s hands, then back to the other man’s eyes. “Well?”
Zak’s brown eyes narrowed before he stood up, taking the cap with him and attempting to hide his unsteadiness. Don’s black eyes followed him with suspicion. “I told you it might not work,” Zak said as casually as he could. Some of his anger leaked into his tone, but it couldn’t be helped. “I saw her at the game, but...” he shrugged and forced his tone to be sympathetic, despite wanting to slug the other man. “Listen, it takes a lot out of me, but if I can keep this,” he held up the cap, “I’ll try again later.” He forced himself to meet Don’s eyes evenly. It required more concentration that he would have liked.
Don’s suspicion remained, but it slowly melted away into disappointment. “Yeah, okay. Thanks for trying... I guess.” He looked truly crestfallen. If Zak hadn’t seen what he had, he might even buy the act.
Zak wasn’t going to let Don try to find Alana some other way. He wouldn’t start a fight here - not today, not with his head spinning - but he would figure out a way to track down Alana and get her help. Tracking Don would be needed, too, to ensure he didn’t find someone else to help rescue his “sister”. While dealing with the man himself was tempting, Zak would ensure Don was deemed an Unclassified threat if necessary. “Do you have a card? So I can reach you if I find something?”
Don looked at him quizzically, then shrugged. “Yeah. Sure.” He dug into the pocket of his jacket and handed over a card from a car dealership with Don’s name printed neatly in the bottom.
Zak glanced at it only briefly and pocketed it with a soft, “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.” before donning his gloves again, tucking the cap beneath his arm and heading out, leaving Don in the booth with his misery.