Alone
In the beginning, Affliction was a curse—a problem to be solved.
Now, though, Affliction is power. It is the lifeblood of our reality.
It singlehandedly rewrote science, medicine, physics, and every other law that our world had once possessed.
Gravity itself bends to the will of Affliction.
My point? My point is that Affliction creates Remnants.
So, really, who do you think is the apex predator, humans or the humans-made-gods?
The world pops back into full color as my power fades.
Teleportation is one of the most useful things I can do.
It also costs almost nothing in terms of energy.
But I know what happens when people find out you’ve been lying about your powers.
I know what happens when RISE deems you a danger to yourself and others.
Containment happens.
And Containment is death.
My apartment slowly lights into the incredibly pathetic display of poverty that it is. The dingy kitchen countertop and Affliction-powered DAEMON all-in-one kitchenette appliance sit unused and, I think, unplugged. Beside it, the protein bars and various imperishable foods linger sadly.
I take the singular stride to my couch, slumping into it and throwing my legs up on the other end. It, of course, is too short for me, but like the other things in this apartment, it isn’t going to be fixed any time soon.
I rub the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to ward off an incoming headache. But it’s too late. The throb begins again behind my eyes, feeling like a pesky bug that I can’t get rid of.
And it sucks that bugs even still exist, what with New Chicago having no greenery anywhere. What are they even eating? Each other? Is cannibalism the new ecosystem?
It would be. Nye Verden, from all the books I’ve read on the pre-Disruption world, is a violent mess comparatively. And when the Second Disruption happened, the entire place fell into war and strife.
Now, thirty-three years after the Affliction War, the city-states are in a faux stalemate. Rather than using bombs and old Affliction-free weapons, they use Remnants and superpowers. They make it seem like foreign actors and bad faith terrorism.
“Fuck,” I grunt out, knowing my mind was not about to let me sleep. But I need to. Remnant or not, powerful or not, my body couldn’t go without sleep.
With an annoyed huff, I reach for the remote on the coffee table and flick on the dTV.
“–that Bloody Mary has been spotted within the region. These rumors haven’t been confirmed, as of yet, but that tends to be the way Mary works.”
“That’s right, John,” the other news host responds, her smile plastered on and dripping with fear.
“As folks at home might know, Bloody Mary is one of the few living Tier 5 Remnants along with Darkrend and the Dark One. What she may be doing in New Chicago is yet unknown but could spell a Disruption-level disaster.”
“Ah, fuck that,” I sigh, leaning back on the couch.
I reach over to the side table and pluck up the off-market sleep meds I got from Kronos.
“The slimy bastard upcharged me for these, I just know it,” I grumble, tapping a few into my hand. I squint at the label, looking for a dosage, but only see the name of a person I don’t know, and a label written in a language I cannot read. “Fuck it.”
The pills go down easily and almost immediately kick in. Nye Verden might be hellish, but at least our medicine hits hard.