The Hercules Project

Chapter 10

Invincible

I stifled a yawn with the back of my hand and fought to pay attention. I knew I should have been more excited. After all, it wasn't every day I discovered I was invincible.

As the barrage of bullets from a dozen M-16's ricocheted from me and against the bulletproof shield, I waved at the soldiers behind the triggers. The shield was there for them, not me. They discovered rather immediately some sort of protection was in order since everything they threw just bounced off and caused damage elsewhere.

I sighed as the guns stopped and three of the soldiers shouldered rocket launchers. We had been over this earlier in the day, but General Mill seemed to be unable to let go of the fact they couldn't hurt me. At least, so far.

I was nervous at first when my father and I returned to the underground base. It was my first experience with total strangers as the new and improved me, being able to look them in the eye or better. The general was so surprised he dropped his cigar.

"As I explained," my father said, a little too smug for my liking, "all it took was time for the event to process in the boy's body." There was that "boy" reference again. I gave it a pass for the time being, just enjoying the look of wonder on General Mill's face.

"Amazing." His chest puffed up, shoulders thrown back as he paced around me. It appeared I was still growing, now a couple of inches taller than my father. No more tingling or headaches, so I figured the process was almost done.

"Good job." The general slapped me on the back while I resisted punching him in the arm. I had no idea if such an act would leave a bruise or embed him in the concrete wall.

"We have a lot of work to do," my father said. "I trust I have the go-ahead to proceed?"

The general nodded, chewing with aggression on the end of his hastily retrieved cigar. "You do."

I followed my father through the door to the lab, still a little hesitant but losing my shyness quickly. It took a moment for the gathered soldiers and techs to stop staring but once they did, they were all around me, asking questions, smiling at me like I was their best friend. Gratifying, at least in the beginning. It was weird being treated like I was special, but not because I was damaged or ill. Instead, it was because I was extraordinary.

It didn't take long for their attention to wear thin. Within the first hour of being poked and prodded, despite not being able to feel any of it, my annoyance grew past tolerance. When yet another tech tried to draw blood from my impenetrable skin, I scowled at him.

It was the last time they tried. And at that moment I realized I wasn't just fascinating to them. There was more to it. I was right all along. They had no idea what to expect.

They were all afraid of me.

When it hit me, it bummed me out. Here I was thinking I was this super amazing guy, I could live a normal life, better than normal, and somehow because of it everyone would love me. I was even designing further fantasies about sports and cheerleader girlfriends with flying and saving lives thrown in for good measure. But their reactions helped me realize I wasn't normal, not by a long shot and never would be.

I just traded one handicap for another.

I shook my head at the general and my father watching behind the glass as the last of the smoke from the exploded rockets whisked away by powerful fans above my head. I batted at the last bits and shrugged at them.

"Next?" I said.

I gritted my teeth in frustration when the tank chugged its way forward and crossed my arms over my chest to await the inevitable.

My hearing test proved I could hear through solid rock for about a quarter mile. And without anything between me and the speakers but a few flimsy doors, my talent seemed to be limitless. Dad gave up when the two soldiers conducting the whispering test reached the furthest reaches of the complex and agreed to try it again from the surface at a later date.

Learning to block sound out was actually the hard part. It seemed like I picked up on stuff at the least convenient times and often during embarrassing or compromising conversations. It came in ripples and flashes at first, moments of panic as a roaring sound hurried toward me only to be the rattle of wheels on concrete. Or a soft hiss I thought meant a gas leak of some kind, embarrassed to discover was the sound of a soldier using the head three floors up.

I forced myself to focus my attention and block off my enhanced hearing after one unplanned eavesdrop on a Private and a female tech in a supply closet. That kind of incentive made it a priority.

At least my abilities seemed to be willing to obey my mental commands. It was easier the more I practiced, like the powers I developed were as straight forward as using my senses or walking.

Learning to fly was fun, I admit. They tossed me in a wind tunnel and let me go. It was shaky at first while I found my balance and figured out how it all worked.

"How do you fly?" Dad and three techs waited for me when I exited the tunnel, clipboards at the ready.

"Um. I tell myself to fly and it happens." I didn't understand the question. There was no explaining it.

My father took it as rebellion, naturally. "What does it feel like when you fly?"

"I don't know." I was being truthful, but could see the frustration in his face. It just made me frustrated, too. "Honest. I can't tell you. I just want to fly and I do."

He was less than satisfied with my answer, but by that point I didn't give a crap what he thought.

That left me in the "attack zone". It was my own nickname for the place and did the job quite nicely, I thought. It was basically a big, empty room and the first time I entered it and looked around, I turned just in time to see a soldier point a g*n at me and pull the trigger. He was lying on the ground, unconscious and bleeding from his ears, before I realized the bullet hadn't done any damage.

I yelled at my father for a good ten minutes after that little fiasco while they carted the moaning unfortunate out of my sight.

When I was done, Dad just smiled. "I knew you would be fine," he said in the annoying and knowing voice of his. "I wouldn't put you in unnecessary danger, Wyatt."

I would have put him in unnecessary danger if the general hadn't herded me back into the attack zone. It's quite possible in doing so he saved my father from a whole new and unpleasant encounter with my abilities.

After the initial gunshot to test my skin, I was asked to tear apart various things with my bare hands. Now, that was fun. When I succeeded in totaling a large jeep in less than a minute, crushing the remains into a small ball I lobbed from the bulletproof glass, things became even more serious. What followed was six hours of pummeling me with all forms of artillery and I just had to stand there and take it. Excitement faded to frustration and, finally, because I wasn't allowed to fight back, to boredom.

The tank moved into position, massive cannon barrel pointed directly at me. No one bothered asking if I was ready or not. It didn't seem to matter.

When the shell impacted my chest, I finally felt something.

Ravenous hunger.

My appetite hadn't slackened since my marathon eating binge at home with Abigail. In fact, if anything, it was worse. I already ate my way through four gigantic feasts in the twenty-odd hours I'd been at the lab. Food didn't seem to want to stay with me.

"It must be the speed of your metabolism," Dad remarked as he and the frowning Mill watched me devour enough to feed ten soldiers. "Your body is still adjusting to your new powers."

"Will it slow down?" The general seemed appalled, ever-present cigar rolling around between his agitated teeth.

"We'll find out, won't we?" I saluted him with my fork and went back to it.

All I knew was I had to eat or I'd start gnawing on the tank. I raised my hand to catch Dad's attention.

"Um, sorry to break up the party, but can I get some lunch?"

"Again?" The general said, scowling at Dad like it was his fault. Which it was, really. "But, you just cleaned out my mess."

I shrugged and grinned. "Growing boy, sir."

My hunger shut down the tests for a while. I emerged from the attack zone and settled in to destroy the pile of goodies the kitchen delivered and though I was told military food was terrible, everything tasted like heaven to me.

Maybe I had super taste buds, too.

As I ate, I shut out the world around me, wanting some time to myself, but it was too hard with all the people hovering around me, asking if I needed anything, or worse talking about me as if I wasn't there. A familiar face appeared, his dark hands pressing a small iPod and earphones into my grasp. I smiled at the soldier who comforted me during the original test. He looked the same, a rueful grin on his face.

"Maybe this will help," he said, as I slid the buds in my ears and hit play. The music was loud and rock hard, making me grin at him, my eyes settling on his name stitched on his shirt.

"Thanks, Grant," I said, pulling free one of the wires so I could talk to him. "Twice. You were right both times."

He grinned back at me and nodded. "What you got, kid... good for you. But, honestly, I'm glad it isn't me."

When he turned to leave, I understood. Part of me wished for my old life already. At least I'd had a life, despite the pain and awkwardness of my previous body. Nobody cared who I was or what I did with my time, outside of Abigail. I was limited in what I could do, but no one watched me do it. Now, it seemed I was living for everyone but me. And the worst of it was, I admitted to myself, I missed my best friend.

More than anything, I wanted Abigail.

I settled the phones in place and dug in again, head bobbing to the tunes. It was good stuff. Grant had great taste in music. I finished up my meal just as a song ended, a brief pause exposing me to the real world. I didn't mean to focus my hearing, it just happened, like a reflex.

What I picked up immediately made me mad.

"-not just a boy anymore, Simons," Mill was saying. "He's a weapon, the property of the United States military and he stays here."

I was on my feet, the earphones and iPod left behind as I hunted for my father and his co-conspirator while their conversation continued. I couldn't miss the mass dodge of the people in my path and imagined how pissed I looked as I stormed through the base, still listening.

"Wyatt is only sixteen," my father said. "He needs interaction with his peers to develop. Besides, once he understands his limitations-"

"He has no limitations!" Someone's fist hit something solid. I assumed it was the general's. "That's the problem! The boy is a walking juggernaut, a giant media accident waiting to happen!"

"My proposal serves all sides," my father said. "He stays here, but gets the interaction he needs."

"We need to move him to the Omega Base," Mill said. "That was the intention all along. I want to know more about him before we run off half-cocked."

I found myself in a corridor lined with office doors, and could tell I was getting close.

"And yet you allowed me to test multiple subjects before." Dad had a point to make, but I wasn't in the mood to wait for it. "How is this any different?"

Up ahead, etched into the glass on the last door at the end of the hall, was the name Dr. Edison Simons.

Jackpot.

Before the general had a chance to retort, I stopped outside the door, drew a breath and grasped the frame where it attached to the wall. It took one simple jerk to remove the entire casing. I set it aside like I'd knocked instead and strolled inside.

"I'd like to know," I said to Mill so there would be no miscommunication, "how it is you think you're going to keep me here if I don't want to stay?"

He didn't have an answer. I didn't think he would.

***