Chapter Text
It was midnight, the light drizzle and city lights were dulling the moon's shine. Zayn stood on the roof of a building, peering down at the men below him who were shaking hands and saying the last of their goodbyes. Among the men was Phillip DeMauge, Zayn's target. He watched DeMauge open his passenger door and slip inside, the car immediately breaking the silence of the street. The other men of the group split off to their own cars.
DeMauge's ride pulled out to the street and Zayn started to run to the edge of the roof, only to jump with ease to the next one. They needed to talk.
***
Yaser Malik was a powerful researcher and scientist for the government of Rulowe—a powerful country that was dangerous because of him. He specialized in weaponry and security technology, and was quite intimidating to the people of power because of his reputation for mutating and genetic engineering. Yaser was rumored to be mad, which was exactly why he climbed so high up the governmental ladder. His “crazy” ideas were what made Rulowe so powerful, a bully to countries who can’t keep up.
It wasn’t a surprise that Yaser and Trisha Brannan would end up meeting, but it was quite a shock when they became a couple, soon to be married and in the future: bare a child. Trisha Brannan was the ambassador for Rulowe, however she came from a small country called Berkine, north of Yaser’s country. Trisha and Yaser were considered opposite—Trisha would push for peace while Yaser was one who was always ready to try out his creations. She was a woman who hated war, while he was one who found it a bit exciting.
They were a force to be reckoned with—feared because of their powers. And later because of their son.
***
Zayn leaned forward, his elbows pressed against his knees and his fingers entwined with each other. Phillip DeMauge sat before him, beads of sweat glittering his hairline, mouth covered with tape Zayn conveniently found.
They sat in DeMauge’s penthouse in the middle of Utopia, the top floor of one of the richer suites. Despite it being late at night, the city outside was still bustling, yet the noise was drowned out by high up they were. The living room was lit up with a lamp in the corner and the wall-to-wall aquarium behind Zayn, giving DeMauge a blue tint.
“I’m not here to kill you,” Zayn began and DeMauge visibly swallowed. “If you want to live, you need to stay in your seat and not scream when I remove the tape. Or else—” Zayn lifted the silenced pistol next to him and pointed it at DeMauge’s forehead, “you can kiss your life goodbye.” Zayn set the pistol back down. “We clear?”
DeMauge nodded his head frantically, some drops of sweat whisking away off his forehead. Zayn stood up from the couch and stepped closer to the chair the man sat in. He lifted his hand toward the tape but first looked into DeMauge’s eyes, “We’re both men who like to get straight to business. I’m not here to fuck around. The only time you speak is when I ask you a question, yeah?”
DeMauge nodded again and like a bandage, Zayn ripped off the tape, leaving DeMauge to give out a silent scream.
Zayn sat back down on the couch and kept his steady gaze on Phillip while DeMauge reluctantly met his eyes.
“I s’pose I should just cut right to the point, hm?” Zayn smirked and leaned back, getting comfy on the overly priced couch. “You remember the assassination of Trisha and Yaser Malik, correct?”
DeMauge swallowed heavily before straightening his posture, trying to put on a brave face. “Yes…Such a tragedy Rulowe faced. A tragedy we all faced.”
“Happened eight years ago and still no one knows who was behind the act.”
“W-well, Rulowe was under terrorist attacks during the time, it was confirmed it were snipers from such…group.” DeMauge replied, his voice wavering.
“No one found out who that terrorist group was. The whole fucking planet was on the case and there wasn’t one damn clue that linked to the answer.” Zayn laughed humorlessly. “Makes you think that maybe the group was right. Under. Our noses.”
DeMauge clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes, but didn’t speak. Zayn continued, “You’re an important man, Mr. Phillip DeMauge. Lawyer, governor, senator. Man of the Council. You were a witness to the assassination, correct?”
“I was.” He answered hesitantly.
“You knew the Maliks were a hated couple because of how dangerous they were.” DeMauge shifted in his seat, not answering. “Am I correct?”
“The public loved them,” DeMauge reluctantly replied. “Well, at least Trisha. Yaser wasn’t one who showed his face a lot. The inside did not feel the same.”
“Why?” Zayn simply asked.
“They were both kind people. Yaser certainly wasn’t crazy like people painted him to be. They were just becoming powerful. Too powerful.”
“Why?” He asked again.
“They had a son.”
***
Zain Malik (later to be changed to Zayn) was an accident. A happy one. Trisha and Yaser didn’t plan on having children. Their jobs were too demanding, and they feared their child would grow up neglected by them. However when the test came back positive, the couple was ecstatic. A child of their very own…It felt surreal.
Zain was never alone; nannies and maids waited on him at every turn and security was always one step behind him—literally. The constant comfort was…comforting—but suffocating. He was not allowed to leave the house. During his last years with his family, war had struck out between Rulowe and a nearby country. Although the powerful country was able to keep their enemies at bay, Trisha and Yaser feared for their son’s life, and kept him closed off from the world.
From home, he was taught by the best teachers in the country. Being locked up for a portion of his life made Zain exceedingly smart for a boy of his age. He was nine when he was stuck in the confines of his home, and he was twelve when he left for good.
Trisha was determined to keep her son away from the ugly side of politics while Yaser made it basically impossible for Zain to access his laboratory. His lab was on the family’s property, but sectioned away from the house and placed underground. Zain’s life of him being home 24/7 allowed him to discover the hidden places of his home, including his father’s lab.
Zain learned how to be quiet at a young age. He knew how to draw attention away from himself. He knew how to disappear. He used his size to his advantage, as well as his knowledge. It wasn’t long before the young boy found vents to climb through and locks to pick. He knew where cameras were located and where guards were posted. He knew the home like the back of his hand. His parents never thought that to happen so soon.
It was his tenth birthday when the incident occurred. His mother video-chatted him and his father spent a few hours out of the lab for a father-son dinner. Zain wished for super powers when he blew out his ten candles on his superhero themed rainbow cake. At the time, Zain found it to be the most fascinating thing. “He has a mature mind, but he’ still a child at heart.” one of his nannies once said.
“Zain,” Yaser said, “happy birthday.” With that his father pulled out a gold coin, larger than the average and even a little heavier. Zain asked what it was and Yaser told him to flip it like an average coin.
Zain flicked the coin into the air; as it flipped, it transformed into something Zain has always wanted—“A skateboard?” Zain gasped as he caught it, observing the ride with awe. It was made of metal, but weighed extremely lighter than the coin form it was in. The top was a polished black and the bottom was a plain gold. “Can I, like, put stickers on it and stuff?” Zain asked and Yaser said yes.
Zain placed the board on the ground; it was a little too big for him, but Zain kicked off and rolled across the room like a natural. “I can use this when I’m older—by then I’ll be grown up and the board won’t be so big on my feet. Zain rolled back and picked up the gift. “How do you get it back to the coin form?”
Yaser leveled the board in Zain’s hands and pointed to the button on the top of the board; it was unnoticeable, the button blending in with the black. “Press that.”
Zain did so, and the skateboard retracted back to it’s original form and dropped at Zain’s feet. “Dad…” Zain picked up the coin and shoved it into his pocket, “This is the best present ever!” He tackled his dad into a bear hug. “Thank you so much,” He muttered into Yaser’s shoulder.
After practicing on the skateboard for a little while longer, Yaser sent him to bed. “Wear a helmet with that!” He called out and Zain waved off as one of his nannies led him back to his room.
Zain couldn’t sleep. It was 9 o’clock and he was laying in bed, staring at the glow in the dark stars stuck to his ceiling. He promised himself that he’d do it. He wanted to give himself his own gift; he wanted to find his father’s laboratory.
He learned that his father worked on the family plot, somewhere underground and far away from the house. He was so close, yet so far. But after years of crawling around, Zain had a good guess where the tunnel was.
Zain had always pushed himself to be better. His role models were the heroes he read in comics and watched on TV; he wanted to be like them. He helped in anyway he could with the maids and treated everyone with respect. Zain was determined to do the extraordinary, even if that meant punching a hole in the wall (which he almost did) and find places in his home he wasn't supposed to find. Zain wasn’t like children his age—he was cunning, quiet, and strong.
Zain threw his covers off and hopped out of bed, careful to keep his footsteps as quiet as they could be. There wasn’t anyone around, but Zain knew there was a guard outside his door and he didn’t want to make any unnecessary noise. He grabbed his coin from the dresser and stuffed it into his pajama’s pockets—just in case he needed it. He ducked down and grabbed a can of silly string he saved today from under his bed. His nannies woke him up by spraying him with the stuff and he snagged an extra can before they noticed. Zain pocketed the string and walked to his bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him.
The light flickered on, revealing the oversized bathroom. The vent was above him, all he needed was to get up there. Being a small child for his age, there was a miniature step ladder in the corner of the bathroom he used to reach the sink or one of the towel cabinets. He dragged it out and set it down carefully before climbing up to the top and putting all his concentration into balancing. When his balance was achieved, Zain took out his coin and began working on unscrewing the knobs of the vent; he unscrewed two and placed the coin back into his pocket and climbed up.
The ten year old crawled blindly through the vents, going as slow as he possibly could out of fear that he’d wake up whoever was below him. Soon enough, Zain saw the opening he was looking for and repeated the process of opening the vent into his father’s study. Zain crawled out onto the top of a bookshelf, closed the vent back up and shimmied to the ladder at the end. When he reached the ground, Zain pulled out the silly string. He was in the study’s camera’s blind spot, directly underneath. Zain had been caught before—exploring was a trial and error. It took him many tries and time-outs before he was able to find the button and avoid the camera for as long as he could.
He had to move fast; someone was always watching the cameras’ monitors and it wouldn’t take long for them to realize someone was here. He took a deep breath, the can gripped in his hands like his life depended on it. Spray the camera, press the button, run. Easy.
Zain jumped out from his spot and immediately sprayed the camera with the string. When he covered it as much as he could, he sprinted to one of the bookshelves and pressed the button on the book’s spine. The doorway was revealed in a fake bookshelf next to him and Zain didn’t have time to hesitate as an alarm blared throughout the entire house.
The tunnel was dimly lit with an occasional fluorescent light and moments after sprinting down the entrance he heard the doorway close, blocking out the alarm and the light from the study. The path before him looked never ending, but he trekked on.
Half hour later, Zain saw a light. He pushed off even harder on his board, coasting along the metal tunnel to where he hoped the lab was.
The light was the final lightbulb of the tunnel shining over a door with a password security lock next to the handle. Four digits.
1201
Zain entered in the code, his birthday, but was declined.
0911
The day his parents were married. That has to be it. Zain entered it in, but was declined again.
Zain stared at the lock, thinking off all the dates that he thought were significant to his father. He didn’t know what would happen if he got it wrong the third time, and he didn’t want to find out.
2403
The day Yaser became the head researcher for Rulowe. The lock beeped, and there was a shift in the door before it finally started to open. Light came pouring through, illuminating the dark tunnel. Zain stood there, waiting for his father or an associate or anyone to come running out to see who opened up the lab. But no one showed up. Zain raised his hand over his eyes to shield himself from the seemingly blinding light as he walked through. When his eyes were well adjusted, he lowered his hand and gazed at the sight before him.
***
“You know something, you fuck.” Zayn hissed
“We all know something.” DeMauge replied sarcastically. Zayn grabbed the pistol next to him and leaned towards the man. not breaking any eye contact and he shot the lamp in the corner out; the only illumination now was from the aquarium, giving DeMauge a pale blue glow.
“You were there when the Maliks were killed. You know that assassination was an inside job.” DeMauge didn’t answer, so Zayn pointed the gun to his crotch. “Answer.”
“Yes! Yes, you’re right. But I don’t know fucking shit!” DeMauge cried out. “Fuck, I had a gun to my damn head by the same group when I got too close, alright? I haven’t spoken about it since. They’re everywhere, kid. Even years after that assassination they’re still around. Save yourself or they’ll have your head too.” DeMauge admitted, tears lining his eyes.
“Who knows shit?” Zayn pressed the gun closer to Phillip’s crotch.
DeMauge sighed out, “You know the underground fight club at the Clam?” Zayn nodded and he continued. “Talk to the head of that, Marcus. Tell him I sent you and he’ll tell you what he knows.”
“Are you telling the truth, or are you leading me into a death trap?”
“Kid, no matter where you go, it’ll be a death trap. They will find you.”
Zayn stood up, “Thanks, old man.” And with that he slammed the but of his gun into DeMauge’s temple, knocking him unconscious.
***
The room was insanely white, from floor to ceiling were perfect, clean white walls. The floors were spotless as well, it didn’t even look like anyone used this room before. Computers and desks were everywhere; in one corner was a row of desktops and in another were machine parts and different tools. In center was a rack of chemicals along with cylinders and Bunsen burners and other objects of chemistry. Huge tubes lining the far end of the wall were filled with a blue liquid, nothing in them but carbonated bubbles. Maps, data tables, newspaper clippings, articles, and screens of different information covered the walls. The lab itself smelled of chemicals, copper, and the faint smell of hospital. Zain stood there, board still tucked under his arm and hands shoved in his pockets, taking it all in, waiting for his father to just magically appear.
“Dad?” Zain dared to call out but there was no reply, just the sound of monitors beeping. He walked towards the chemicals in the center of room, interested to look more closely at the bright colors contained in the tubes.
“Woah…” Zain whispered peering into them. He retracted his board and picked up one of the tubes, a bright green, to get a closer look. He turned it around when he saw tape blocking the other side. Super was written in his father’s handwriting on the strip and Zain widened his eyes. Super…Superhero? Can I drink it? All of the sudden Zain heard yelling from behind him, in the tunnel. Did they catch up already?
Zain glanced back down at the chemical and then back at the doorway. He uncapped the tube. Looked back up. Looked back down. It didn’t smell like anything. Zain was smarter than this, but the compelling urge to drink a chemical was becoming overbearing. He’s always wanted superpowers, to be a superhero. Maybe his wish will finally come true.
Zain took one final look towards the door and pressed his lips towards the edge of the tube. Drink it and you’ll be like the heroes in your comics! Zain closed his eyes and sipped down the chemical.
The tube fell from his hand, everything blurry and on fire. He fell to his knees and screamed out in pain, tears pouring from his shut eyes. What have I done? His whole body felt like it was on fire, like a thousands knives were in him, like he was being electrocuted. More screaming. Am I going to die? He couldn’t even feel the floor he was kneeling on, he couldn’t hear anything. Deafly screaming from the pain going through his tiny body. It felt like winds were bellowing throughout the room, like a tornado appeared out of nowhere. Everything was shaking, the room was falling apart. The yelling from whoever was in the tunnels was faint, but Zain couldn’t hear anything over his screams and the wind blowing through his ears.
It was then that Zain Malik’s life changed forever.