Maxwell Ernest gets help from Mr. Eugene Springfield, Director of the EXTRAORDINARY ME ACADEMY, after he is wanted because of his healing gene.
Chapter 1 Prologue
He scrolled through the posts that appeared on his home screen. To him, Facebook was just an app for distractions; but he needed the indulgence. He had to clear his mind a little.
He kept scrolling. The stupid posts came always topped the charts. Pictures of half-dressed ladies and alluring scenes. He groaned, and swiped his finger upwards on the phone's screen.
A post caught his attention. He paused and glanced through. An hospital scene. A captivating headline.
◀️ WOMAN DIES AFTER GIVING BIRTH TO VELCRO BABY ▶️
He dropped his phone on his bedside table and glanced at the cracked mirror on the wall opposite him.
His body was agin g faster than he was. Dermophilis, the doctor had said. He studied the wrinkles on his face, his grey hair, his frail body. No one would believe he was 18.
He grew up normally till he was 5. He crawled like normal kids, walked like normal kids, talked like normal kids. When he was about to clock 6, he turned up with abs. People thought it superhuman. He actually got famous for a while. He had enjoyed the attention. Until he got into his teenage years.
That was when the aging became faster. His social life broke down. The guys didn't want to stick with a dork. The girls didn't want to hangout with someone looking old enough to be a sugar daddy.
But there was hope. Everyone thought he was weird. They were partly right. But they were wrong too. He had finally found a way to be normal. He needed to find another person. Someone weird. Someone extraordinary.
Suddenly, he heard an explosion overhead. He hurried towards the window and saw the crimson inferno in the sky.
He knew the person was around now. It would be an extraordinary thing
1️⃣. HIJACK
12 Years Later
"He's clean. No measles or pox. Not even a flu."
"Just like every year.", the woman replied,"Isn't that unlikely, Dr. Sullivan?"
The doctor paused and glanced at the boy beside the woman . " Unlikely, but good. I guess his African gene is paying off."
The boy looked in the direction of Dr. Simon Sullivan. A typical civilised racist. Late thirties, but already wearing spectacles. He had small ears, like a mouse.
" I think Maxwell Ernest is kinda special"; Dr. Sullivan continued, as he swung slightly in his swivel chair.
" What do you mean?", The woman frowned slightly, creases appearing on her forehead. Mrs. Amelia Springfield was in her late-fifties. She was a widow, and currently the housekeeper for Growing Heritage Foundation, which had taken care of Maxwell since he was 3.
Dr. Sullivan leaned forward, passing a bundle of stapled papers.
"His medical reports over the years", he said, when Mrs. Amelia gave him a confused look.
She scanned through quickly, then looked up at him.
"I'm not wearing my glasses, and I don't understand the information I'm seeing".
" He seems to have antibodies. We are not sure yet", he said. "But we'll take blood samples and other samples to derive his DNA and genetic arrangements."
*******************************************
THE DRIVE home was a little silent. He was feeling a little tired after the numerous tests. The doctor had taken his blood sample, urine sample, some shavings of his hair, and even phlegm.
He sat silently, staring through the window. He saw his reflection in the tinted glass as the car moved swiftly on the heated asphalt. Half of his face was deformed. It had been that way since he was 3.
Mrs. Amelia was talking softly. He tried to pick up what she was saying but the soft music playing from the car stereo was distracting him. The driver was looking forward to the road, his hands firm on the steering wheel.
Mr. Philips Ackerman was the orphanage driver. He was in his early sixties. He had grey hair but sharp eyesight. But he and Mrs. Amelia usually argued. They never seemed to agree on one thing. Maxwell had half-expected to hear some banter on the way home. But they were just quiet. When they talked, they spoke in hushed tones, like they didn't want him to hear.
In between the whispers, he could make out some words. Mrs. Amelia seemed to talk about what had happened at Sullivan Laboratories And Seminary Hospital [S.L.A.S.H]. Mr. Philips nodded occasionally, but kept his eyes on the road, and his hands on the wheel.
After she was done, she turned slightly towards the back to face him.
" Maxwell."
" Yes, ma'am". That was how she told the children to address her.
" I want to tell you something about you."
He looked at her expectantly, not sure what to think. Maybe they were planning to move him to a foster home.
That was when he heard the whistling sound. He wasn't so sure she had heard it. But she did. She was about to scream a warning. It was too late.
"TARGET SPOTTED. Black Sedan. Plate number CT-543-TX. Three occupants. Growing Heritage Foundation. Along Dover Street........."
"Cut the information, please." The voice on the other end was raspy, and somewhat pissed off.
"Cool down, Eugene. I was just giving vital information"; the man smiled and let his eyes follow the car as it went along the street.
He was on top of an abandoned building overlooking the street, loading the plasma bullets into his Street Sweeper, and waiting orders from Eugene.
" Just get the boy alive. No killings." Eugene's voice was relaxed now. " You understand, Jamie?"
Jamie Arundel laughed into the watch on his wrist. " You send me on a mission with a Street Sweeper and three rounds, and you say no killing?"
"You don't get. Other people can be on their way to that boy right now. I want you to protect him at all costs".
"Trust me to do my job right", Jamie replied. Then, he heard the whistling sound.
"Oh, crap!!"
MAXWELL DIDN'T know what to think. One moment ago, he was about to listen to what she was about to tell him. But the next moment, the car was somersaulting in mid-air.
The car landed with a giant thud, but it took like forever in his eyes. He yanked at his seatbelt that has strapped him to his seat. Just then, he heard a slight muffle.
He looked at the driver's seat. Blood was oozing out from Mr. Phillips' neck. But Mrs. Amelia seemed to be conscious.
"Max.. well, are.. you alright?";she managed to say.
Before he could reply, he heard the sound of glass, and cold blood splashed on him.
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