Tells me it’s killing time,
And it’s a thrill I can’t describe
The fear I see when I look in your eyes,
Makes me believe I’m one of a kind
The fear I leave in the back of your mind,
Makes you believe,
Makes you believe”
One of Kind – Breaking Point
Most of the world had never heard about the skills of "The Children." And the few people who had learned that privileged information, hoped that the rest of the ignorant world would never become enlightened to their existence. The consensus was that if such information was leaked to the public, riots would inevitably break out in every major city. An open minded individual might be able to handle the revelation that a group of normal appearing humans are able to do far more than the rest of the global population.
There was no real proof, at least not scientific facts that have been documented, that the Indigo Children were not homosapian, but there are also no explanations on how they can use their special skills and gifts either. The world would not know what to do with a being who was half feline or a being that could emit waves out of its body which neutralized sound. Some felt that the best way to help normalize "The Children" was to put their special skills to use, even though this practice was just an elaborate excuse to utilize their special abilities without feeling guilty for exploiting them.
Leroy Johnson was one of those exploited Children who has been an unseen force for the United States military for longer than they would care to admit. There is no classification for Leroy, no military I.D. or rank; there has never been any paperwork on him except for the top secret pages hidden safely away in the president's study. He doesn’t have a true job description, the closest match would have been a tier 1 operator, but he has long out ranked what they could do. His code name is Jenkins, he was always the one person sent into a mass of hostile forces regardless of his chances for survival. The name came from a stupid internet video that had been wildly popular a long time ago and Leroy hated it, though he could understand the ironic reasoning behind it.
Leroy was a one of a kind to say the least. The government has seen very few gifted “Children” who can do half of what he could. Some of “The Children” could manipulate their own skin, their bone structure or muscle mass but Leroy, he could manipulate all three in almost any way he pleased (including accelerated healing and the ability to turn any part of himself into a weapon). All that was needed to make him a living weapon was his mere thoughts. The claws he could produce were sharper and stronger than any high class knife that technology could produce. He even put many comic book superhero characters to shame. Creating strong dense armored plates made of shatterproof bone and the ability to heal any damage that penetrated his "natural" defenses reinforced that he was a natural for the front lines.
Sixteen past missions, all solo and all had been extremely successful. His successes would never make the history books, but they helped keep the world in careful balance. He helped deal with terrorist cells in Iraq, Iran, Canada and Mongolia. Not a single terrorist survived any of those encounters. The first few were suppose to be recon missions and surveillance from a distance, but things always managed to go wrong. On his first mission, Leroy had even been captured, but his POW time really only lasted long enough for him kill every man in the facility. They found him a few days later with the corpses of twenty men piled outside the complex.
This mission was different; they told him that this would be his last unless he wanted to re-enlist. They paid him well, too well for a simple soldier of course most of it was "hazard" pay. With his current savings, he could have retired very comfortably, even if he lived for another fifty years, but he always continued with the missions anyways. What would he do with himself if he was unable to work? How does a killer re-invent himself so he could handle the mundane civilian life?
"Jenkins," a voice boomed in his sound reduction headset, "this is your stop."
Reluctantly removing the bulky headset that dampened the uncomfortably loud waves of sound coming off the helicopter’s rotary blades, Leroy wished that he could have kept using them until he landed on the ground. Hovering sixty feet in the air above a dense forest located somewhere on the Eurasian continent, Russia he thought callously, not caring where exactly he was. A large metal crate sat in front of the open side of the helicopter, which he would have to push out of the helicopter in order to deploy. With a solid shove that sent the container careening out of sight, falling swiftly into the forest, Leroy moved closer to the exit preparing to jump out of the side after the box. Neither he nor the box had any parachute to slow the decent for a "safe" landing.
"Make sure you activate your beacon once you have cleared the base!" The co-pilot yelled back, "That is if you want to be picked up again!"
"Yeah," Leroy said right before exiting the helicopter.
Leroy instantly moved into the standard sky diving position, his arms spread over his head like a referee signaling a touchdown in football, and his legs spread out like-wise so it would slow down his decent speed. Even though he could heal from any fall, as far as he knew anyways, the more damage he received upon impact, the longer it would take to fully heal and get back to the mission.
On his way down to the quickly approaching forest floor, he felt the wind drying out his eyes making it hard to see. The green fluttering of leaves blocking his view, several brightly colored birds blurred past his limited vision. Without warning, a broken tree branch caught him just under the right side of his ribs. It hooked his small intestines pulling them out with a slurping sound. They flew out of his stomach cavity like a disgusting grayish purple yarn coming off of a spool. Hot blood sprayed across the front of Leroy as he tumbled down closer to the ground, hitting more branches and tangling his intestine further. A coppery taste flooded his mouth as blood came up his throat like a geyser. Landing on his back and looking up he saw that his intestines were still hooked on that branch fifteen feet up in the air.
He had been through this kind of thing before, the last time his left lung had been ripped out, and a monkey carried it away. There is not much that could put you in a worse mood then thinking about how a monkey was using your deflated lung as a toy and possibly eating it for a snack later. Just like that time, his intestines would have to be left behind.
The shakes...
His body always started to shake after his body received a blow of this magnitude. The shaking made it hard to focus and precision cutting needs focus. He slowly began to force his fingers to stretch out, thinning, and begin to resemble wicked looking serrated knife edges. It is amazing just how durable the human body can be, well at least his body. Purposely bracing himself, he gave his wrists a quick flick, and some more pain flared through Leroy who was now no longer tangled with the tree. Blood and fecal matter dripped out of his now detached intestine.
That sound. The dripping sound of draining blood and the taste of his own blood in his mouth were nauseating. Those were things that Leroy just could not get used to. That sickening copper taste...
The best way he could describe his unique healing process, was that his insides just knit themselves together at an accelerated speed, and his theory is in fact not all that far from the truth. Strings of stem cells form on opposite sides of the wound and extended across the gap forming a structure that resembles a bridge and then turns into specialized cells, skin cells. After that stage not much is known because his body kept on forcibly rejecting the small, high-tech cameras that the doctors tried to use while analyzing his healing ability.
Within a few minutes Leroy's broken bones started to snap back together, his new intestines already formed in his stomach cavity. It really was not all that bad of an accident, just two broken ribs, both legs and his right arm in several places, so not that bad at all. It wasn’t like he had to re-grow a lung or reset his own jaw after it healed incorrectly this time.
"Where is that crate..." he murmured.
Rolling to his hands and knees and elevating himself, Leroy quickly spotted his crate, which held his supplies and gear. What he was really looking forward to was pulling out the change of clothing, easily understandable considering the tattered condition of the ones he was currently wearing. His camouflage "jumpsuit" consisted of a cheap canvas jacket and pants (just like the dozens of sets he had ruined during his other missions). Gingerly getting to his feet, he walked over to the crate and began yanking the top of the crate off exposing the layer of high impact foam underneath.
Boot camp teaches people a lot of things, useful things; how to follow orders, how to work as a unit, how to survive and how to kill. One important part of his training which Leroy took very seriously is how to prepare. His new clothes were standard issue uniform but managed to fit him just right, it was as if they were made with just him in mind. Actually, he adapted himself to fit into the clothes perfectly.
He appeared to be the ideal soldier, six foot tall and two hundred twenty pounds. His body could have changed to be anything but Leroy liked this look. He seemed tall, but not a giant, muscular but not a freak. He strove to be nondescript with brown, short, buzzed hair, blue eyes and no facial hair. In fact, not a single facial feature was extraordinary. He was able to change almost everything about himself including his eye color, but for some reason he could not change his hair or teeth.
He looked exactly how he wanted; he had a face that would be easy to forget.
Because he was so forgettable to most people was exactly why they liked to use him. There were cleaner ways to get things done, but those ways were not cost effective. He was the guy they went to when they needed something done without fail. So far, he had not really failed a mission, though his first recon mission came as close to failure as he was comfortable with.
His field "mission" uniform consisted of a set of multi-cam pants and jacket in the standard military woodland pattern with a black undershirt (the black shirt was not standard issue but they allowed that deviation in appreciation for his faithful service) and his hand shined black boots, which now were covered in a nice coating of blood, dirt and gastric juices from his intestines. He kept the jacket unbuttoned (another deviation from the dress code) to suspend the four f-1 grenades attached to his two inch black leather belt within easy grasp. Attached to the belt’s buckle is a small GPS unit to help quickly guide him to his intended destination.
“Amazing how small they could make those things now,” He thought to himself.
The large crate also contained a few more specialty offensive items. A black berretta m9 pistol in a thigh holster for quick draws, a set of combat knives in each boot, and lastly a combat shotgun rounded out his artillery. His partiality was to the shotgun, it was not just any typical shotgun, but the Armsel striker combat shotgun. The gun was painted in flat-black paint and had a large twelve round drum. All of this extra gear usually meant that he had over packed yet once again. Normally, he didn't even use the Beretta, but he would rather be safe than sorry.
"Leroy..."
The voice began again, his "other" voice; the secret madness that no one else knew about; the part of him that thrived on the Jenkins codename that he had earned.
"Leave me alone." He growled vehemently.
"You know that you are going to need me, and we both know how this mission is going to end."
Leroy knew the voice was right. The blood, the smell, the carnage. Those gruesome effects of war always brought out the bloodthirsty “Jenkins.” He thrived on the horror, while Leroy tried fervently to minimize the necessary damage. When they sent Leroy into the field they did not realize that they were really sending in two men.
“He is already able to talk,” Leroy thought, “I'm going to have to finish this quick”.
"Too late, it’s my turn”
* * *
Leroy could not handle this; yet again, he was in over his head with this mission and Jenkins would have to bail him out. Two guards manned the front gate to the compound. Concrete walls with razor wire wound in coils around the top. If Jenkins got caught on that it could turn into a very bad day. Sometimes the best place to start an assault is right up the middle, not that Jenkins was one to really think about plans ahead of time.
There is a pattern that every serial killer uses, even if they are employed by the United States government, and Jenkins was no exception to that rule. The first kill was the one that really mattered to him, the rest were always nice but it was always the first that made his day. He needed a memento and the Russian’s dog tags would do just fine.
The leafy canopy above would make it too easy for Jenkins to get that all important first kill and make it a silent one. Reaching his arms up, he felt the unique pain that only comes from his bones elongating while his other tissues and ligaments struggled to keep up. Why should he bother climbing up a tree when all he needed to do was reach up and be done with it?
Pulling himself up to the large branch located fifteen feet up the large pine tree with his now stretched out arms; Jenkins now had a full view of the compound. There were six buildings total encased within the concrete walls. Some armed men were walking around on patrol, but not many. After some time studying the area he noticed there seemed to only be a dozen or so people walking around, but it was too hard to tell for certain with the closeness of the buildings and their small dirty windows. Really none of that mattered to Jenkins, any number of people couldn't stop him, most likely not even slow him down. The only thing to do now is to get started...
* * *
With a quick thrust he propelled himself into the air; Jenkins floated into a good striking distance of the two men dressed in their camouflage uniforms guarding the gate. Sending his right arm in a graceful arching stroke, one that can only come from lots of practice, the grace transitioned into a sickening crunch as his hand came in contact with the left guard’s head. Using his muscle and bone manipulation, he turned his ridge hand strike into a twenty pound blow, an impact similar to a sledge hammer landing on a watermelon. The perfectly timed strike hit the soldier perfectly killing him instantly. This blow turned the guard’s head into a red mist of flying blood, bone and brains. The guard on the right of the gate flinched at the sudden flash of red in his peripheral vision thus ensuring he would never see his own killing blow.
Jenkins had no flinch-like reflex however, and let the warm droplets of blood and spatter hit his face and hand as he reached for the dog tags. In the time it took for him to land on the ground both guards were slumped up against the compound’s wall and Jenkins wore a crimson death mask of blood. Some of the crimson fluid made its way into his mouth and again he tasted that coppery taste. The taste of blood and the smell of iron always put a large smile on his face. That smell was one of his favorite things about this kind of work, the smell of fresh blood.
The second kill, yet again, had not been as extravagant as the first. Instead of some graceful attack, it ended up being a short upward jab that rammed the bone that formed the nose up into the brain. Rivers of blood poured out of each nostril along with some red in the eyes where the blood vessels burst from the killing shot.
Quickly and instinctively, Jenkins put his hands into motion, removing two of the f-1 grenades from his belt before he even knew why he was doing it. He placed them in his jacket pocket so it would be easier to use them if needed. Unclipping the strap from the shotgun, he took a quick glance past the gate to check to see if his position had been compromised, which it had not. Once people get comfortable, they get sloppy. These people had definitely gotten comfortable.
Jenkins had been told that they were working with some bio-weapons, but with this small of a base, it really could not be much of a threat if any at all. It looked like this mission turned out to be a giant waste of time for them to send in someone as specialized as Leroy. The pansy Boy Scout had come over prepared again it seems.
Going through the front gate was now not the smartest option, not really anyways. It would surely draw all of the armed men to him instead of allowing him to pick them off safely, but they might also be sloppy enough to flee instead of fighting for the compound and he would not be able to enjoy the moment as much. It was killing time; a thrill that he could not describe, Leroy however was more strategic and focused instead of feeling bliss.
"Listen to me."
"Shut up and wait your turn, boy."
"You need to drive them to you, not you driving them out."
To anyone within earshot this short conversation would simply be a man conversing with himself but to Leroy "Jenkins" Johnson it was a daily activity, and was like two brothers fighting over the television remote.
An image flashed in front of his vision. Leroy showed him the plan that he had been working on while Jenkins had been dealing with the two guards. It was so simple; this is why Jenkins did not shut out Leroy completely when he "came forward". He supposed that everyone must have some use, small as it may be.
Gripping those two grenades, the ones that he just put into his jacket pockets, Jenkins prepared to throw them. Winding his arms back, a grenade in each hand, and threw them as hard as he could (without any muscle modifications of course). He watched the gun metal grey shapes sail over the top of the buildings and dropping out of sight towards the far end of the compound. Frustrated with his limited vision, he hoped they landed on the inside of the wall so the explosions would cause some damage to the buildings.
The moment they disappeared Jenkins, increasing the muscles in his legs, jumped and soared over the coils of razor wire, landing safely on the other side. Jenkins did not even get a chance to look around before he heard the click of a handgun cocking behind him.
"не двигайтесь"
"No Russian."
"Do not move." The man from behind him said. The voice sounded thick and awkward, it obviously was not used to speaking in English.
Just then the grenades detonated and pieces of rubble flew all the way across the compound with the explosion echoes reverberating in all directions. The sound coming off the tin roofs must be deafening to anyone who was anywhere close to those areas. In that split second, Jenkins spun around and fired the striker shotgun liquefying the young guard’s head. More blood splattered across the face of Jenkins and a sickening smile parted his red caked lips.
That thrill he could just not describe...
No longer trying to be stealthy, Jenkins grabbed the two remaining grenades from his belt, pulling the pin on one of them and throwing it into the nearest building. It looked like a science lab and hopefully it wouldn’t make the blast too damaging to him. Having to heal after a chemical blast could take a long time and it would only complicate matters.
Hugging the wall, Jenkins made his way to the next building. In one swift motion he pulled the last grenade’s pin and threw it into the buildings nearest window. This time once it made its way into the room a scream pierced the chaos. The first grenade suddenly went off blowing the corner, where Jenkins had just been standing, completely away. Three troops appeared from around the front building by the gate. Machine gun fire sang out and the sound of bullets whizzed by Jenkins head. A lucky bullet caught him though, right in the larynx leaving a rather large exit wound just as the second grenade went off. Long training had the shotgun up and firing accurately despite the shaky hands caused by healing of the now missing section of his throat.
The soldier in front was the first one hit by the blasts, it connected high on the soldier’s right bicep severing it from his shoulder and then he was hit directly in the chest making his upper body resemble ground up hamburger meat. The next two shots took each of the other two soldiers square in the chest. The pump handle on the shotgun made him have to slow down enough so that several more shots hit his now hardening skin. The only bullet to fully connect was a stray shot that clipped his right ear. That little wound is going to have to wait awhile before he allowed it to heal completely. Thankfully for Jenkins the rest of the killing shots bounced off his impenetrable bone armor.
Five shots fired, he realized he only had seven more left before he would be completely empty.
Shaking as he healed, he cursed his only weakness. Jenkins moved unsteadily to his feet. A few more seconds and the hole in his throat would be closed up and he would no longer have to deal with the shakes anymore. Another soldier turned the corner, from where the previous three had come; he held his gun at the ready and expected a fire fight. Unexpectedly, after getting an opportunity to have a good look at bloodied and crazed Jenkins, the man turned and began to flee with a look of sheer terror on his face. Before the man was able to take more than two steps, Jenkins fired the shot gun twice. The first shot strayed to the right narrowly missing the soldier while the other hit with deadly accuracy in his lower back.
Seven shots fired now, five left in the chamber.
With any luck the whole camp would be completely empty and he could save the few rounds left. Listening carefully, he heard the sounds of troops running in his direction. Poorly trained, they still hadn't learned the benefit of stealth, and now they were making his job even easier. Six people down, that should be about half of the soldiers in the compound. Two men burst from the other side of the base near the last building in the row, one carried an AK-74 machine gun and the other held a standard pump-handled combat shotgun. Thankfully, Jenkins managed to finish forming his bone armor, because otherwise the powerful shotgun would have torn him to shreds. Instead, it only propelled him backwards, forcing him into an awkward backwards roll. Not all that hard to recover from except by the time he was able to react the soldier had been close enough so his blasts were able to burn him from the muzzle fire.
As he continued to move with the roll and up onto the toes of his stiff boots, his hands instinctively found their way to the combat knifes in their hidden holsters. The textured metal grip on the handles made for easy drawing and less chance of them slipping out of his sweaty, bloody hands. Letting his arms continue with the fluid throwing motion even after he body stopped rolling, Jenkins released the knives with precision timing. He watched them fly menacingly towards the men and struck them each in the chest. He had thrown the knives so hard they managed to break through the soldiers’ sternum and pierce their lungs underneath, letting them slowly drown in their own suffocating blood.
Apparently, the two soldiers did not get an accurate enough look at the intruder and tried to kill Jenkins without a plan. Every orifice on Jenkins, except for two slits for his eyes, was completely covered with his bone plating. Over the hard armor was a thin layer of skin, making him look like a pale bulbous demon or a mutated freak in a science fiction story.
Moving to his feet and dashing towards the final building in the row where the last two men had emerged from, he checked to see if there were any more men waiting in ambush. A quick look back into the building he had thrown the second grenade into, Jenkins saw one more corpse, or rather part of one, sticking out of the rubble. Happily taking in the sights from his own work, he looked around the corner only to find more destruction from the grenades; this specific damage was done by one of the first F-1 thrown. Looking further down the pathway it appeared that the building across from the compound had also received considerable damage.
The building closest to him held one dismembered corpse; the man had been ripped into several pieces and strewn over the area in front of the gaping hole in the wall. Another lifeless body lay in the corner, near where the fire fight took place; a stray bullet had caught him in the chest. Red blood coved the front of a white lab jacket on another nearby body, not an instant death but a quick enough one.
The building across the pathway was nothing more than a glorified storage unit; it held food and some other basic supplies like toothpaste and toilet paper. No movement came from inside the storage building, no bodies either which slightly disappointed the killer instinct driving Jenkins. The next building held bunks but no one was present in there either. Finally examining the last building, the one closest to the useless gate, he found one male scientist who was frightened, yet still alive. Jenkins would fix his unfortunate escape from death with a quick mercy kill.
Now that no one was left to challenge him, it was time for Jenkins to turn on his beacon and wait. Slumping into the nearest standing doorway he decided that a nap was in order.
* * *
James Kelley looked down at Leroy Johnson with a visible look of disgust on his face. He was Leroy's "handler" but it felt much more like he was a zoo keeper. The guy was a savage and brutal monster. The only time that he was not an issue was when he was sleeping, just like he was now. Instead of coming out into plain sight to help signal the descending helicopter he just stayed fast asleep in the little doorway. James realized that even while sleeping he still could cause frustrating issues.
"This nonsense has to stop." He said aloud but to one but himself.
Unlike his previous solo missions, this time Leroy had been bugged, a small transmitter had been placed inside the seams of his jacket. The man never even noticed that something was different with his usual uniform. Amazing what technology can do now-a-days. James heard the insanity of Leroy Johnson; his inner demon was a better description of the ‘Jenkins’ persona and James had his orders to put the man down if he deemed it necessary.
Picking up the striker shotgun from which they found several slugs in the troops, walls and one in a somewhat innocent scientist as well. This was exactly the reason James needed to justify killing Leroy. The death of innocent civilians, proof of a malicious split personality, and now a gun that could and would kill him gave James courage. No bone shields, no defenses. All it would take to kill sleeping beauty was to simply pull the trigger.
The gun clicked empty.
"Nice try Jimmy..."
One of a Kind by Adam R Livingston is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at theindigonation.blogspot.com.
