krowface | Hand of God, Part I

The average human, even at his best, uses only 11 to 15 percent of one’s brain.

Malkirk figured he was hovering around 30%. Normally, something like this would be a complete and total blessing. It’s more of a curse when its not natural. He’d be proving to himself that he’s an idiot if he wished to never have this gift, but he did wish this wasn’t someone’s attempt to make him a more efficient tool of some cliched “x-files” black agency.

Luckily the agency was dead. Literally. He made sure of it. Now he was free. The first incident in the lab with the virus. The escape from the vault. The hunted becoming the hunter. Thinking about the hellfire made him instinctively drop one of his hands from the handlebars to his holster.

He smiled. Almost struck delirious in his freedom. It had been a long one man war. All the death and destruction, all the fear and betrayal. The end justified the means. He could’ve felt bad for all the damage done, but the penance came before the sins, and they could have always just walked away.

He pulled the throttle all the way open, feeling the lateral G’s try to wretch away his grip. As the motorcycle screamed along the asphalt, speed and physics turned a simple bike ride into a test of human reflexes.

Clutch in, throttle back. Shift up, throttle out. Once smooth movement, the bike kicked into it’s top gear with a perfect smoothness. The machine stopped being a test, and became a tool of inevitability. No human had the reflexes capable of handling this new momentum.

He closed his eyes as he exhaled, letting his torso rest against the gas tank. Then he opened himself up. Every nerve in his body became a sort of radar. He could feel every part of the engine, screaming like a banshee, spinning like a tornado. He could feel the change of the tires as their grip fluctuated with the increase in speed and friction. Even with his eyes closed, he could see the slipstream of the air as it bent around him. In this mind-state, he could catch a bullet with his hands, a motorcycle nearing the speed of sound wasn’t a challenge. Even on these roads.

Beyond human, but not quite god. To think, this was only his second day of freedom.

The tampering of his body may have been a treacherous gift, but a gift none the less. He would of thanked the people who did this to him, if he had a soul that night.

But with his freedom came a chance to find it again. Once step closer to heaven.