Jack stared down the barrel of the .40 caliber Colt Python. Its black, polished steel offered the promise of a quick death to anyone or anything on receiving end. Unfortunately for Jack, he was on the wrong end.
"Is this really necessary," he ask impatiently.
"Trust me," said Allen. "This isn't going to hurt you one bit."
Jack thought about that statement. Of course it wouldn't hurt him. Hell, at this range he didn't think he'd even hear the damn thing go off.
"That's a given," he spat. "You got hollow points in that sucker?"
"Yup."
Sighing, Jack thought about what had led up to this moment. He'd been riding the People Mover through Detroit, on his way from Grand Circus Park Station to Joe Louis Arena where he'd parked. After a short lunch at the Hockey Town Cafe, he'd made his way to the station.
The walk wouldn't have been too taxing, but after the Tigers' game, he was worn out. Plus, he hadn't ridden the People Mover since he was a kid and thought it would be nice to see the city from its vantage point.
It was pretty crowded because of the game, but he managed to get a good seat with a view. The Mover lurched to a start and he was looking outside, enjoying the sight of the city as the sun began to set.
He was lost in though, when there was a sudden rumble. The sound of an explosion not far in the distance was the precursor to the deafening screech as the Mover's brakes locked up.
People jarred forward. Briefcases were dropped, drinks spilled and cell phones went flying. As soon as that had begun, there was the feeling of weightlessness. The Mover was falling.
It didn't last long, he was sure of that. But it seemed to happen in slow motion. People were thrown against the ceiling, glass was breaking and there was screaming.
The impact was the last thing he recalled. The next thing he knew, he was sitting in a chair looking down the barrel of a gun.
"You know, I'm not sure what you're trying to accomplish," said Jack. "But there has to be another way."
Allen just laughed. "No, I need to prove this to you. You need to know what you're capable of."
"I already know," Jack said with a smirk. "And wasting a round from that handgun isn't going to make it more or less true."
Allen was taken aback. He stared at Jack with a mixture of curiosity and anger.
"You knew and you never did anything?"
"I've known my whole life," said Jack. "How would feel, knowing you're different?"
His anger began to build up. His muscles began to tense.
"Do you think I like being like this? Do you think for one second I like being different from everyone else?"
Allen stared at him for awhile. "But why hide it? Why not use is for good?"
For a moment there was silence. It wasn't that Jack hadn't thought about it, about what he would be capable of. But what he wanted most of all was to just fit in. It'd taken over 400 years for someone to figure it out. It'd taken his best friend for the last 20 of them. But what he'd done to prove it was an atrocity. It was sick and wrong.
"Allen," said Jack. "You're like a brother to me. But if you want to go down this road, there is no good that will come from it."
Anger, like a black cloud, crossed Allen's face. "How dare you!"
He cocked the gun and pressed it against Jack's temple. Jack started to laugh.
"Who the hell do you think you are," he demanded. "You have a gun to my head, claiming to know what I am, and yet you still think you'll walk away from this?"
Anger was replaced by fear. Allen took a step back.
"You don't really know what I am, do you," asked Jack. "What? You think I'm some kind of superhero? Or maybe an immortal being from space, huh?"
"Well if you aren't that," said Allen, again shoving the gun into Jack's face. "Then what the hell are you?"
Jack chuckled quietly. "Allen," he said. "Have you ever heard of the Nephilim?"
Allen's eyes went wide at the word. "What? You mean the earthly children of angels?"
"Yeah," said Jack. "You know, over the years we've gotten a bad rap. But what you might not realize is that us younger ones were actually sent here to protect you."
Allen thought about this for a moment. "No. Nephilim are supposed to be giants and you're barely five six. Plus, from everything I've read they raped and pillaged. I mean hell, aren't Nephilim half the reason there was a great flood in the first place?"
"Yes. That's true, but..."
"Forget it," shouted Allen. "I don't believe you. Your kind brought ruin to the world."
Jack smiled at that. "You don't believe me, and yet you just said 'your kind'."
"Well the kind that you're referring to, my ancestors, did bring ruin to the world. That's why most of them were wiped out," he said, looking off into nothing. "However, those of us who came later were sent with the purpose of protecting God's people during the end of days."
"That doesn't make sense," screamed Allen. "Why..."
"Because you need us! Because you humans, God's image or no, are like copies of a copy," Jack retaliated. "Spiritually, you're barely a blip on the radar. Like after images of what was supposed to be...perfection. But you blew it. And now we, the rightful heirs to the Kingdom, have to look out for you."
Allen was silent. Unsure of what to say or do, his fears took hold and he pushed the Colt against Jack's forehead again.
"You are God's children," said Jack, calmly. "There is no doubt about it. He loves you."
"But then again," a smirk crossed Jack's face. "Parents always love their children. Even if they have mental flaws."
"Mental flaws?"
"Basically," said Jack staring straight into Allen's eyes. "You're His retarded offspring. It's the only way to explain His favoritism."
"What?"
"Look. You humans are physically and mentally inferior to us. You always were," said Jack. "Which is why we're here to look after you."
This last part he said with a great big smile. Allen was furious.
"I don't believe it," he scream, pressing the gun harder Jack's forehead. "Your kind are evil!"
"No. We didn't ruin this planet. We didn't cut down the forests, burn the land and hill off more species that you can count," Jack scolded. "We didn't kill millions, billions in pointless wars or ruin entire ecosystems so that we could build a new shopping mall. Your kind did that."
"Well if we're so bad," said Allen. "Then what do we need your protection for. You said it yourself - we bent this world to our will."
Jack smiled an unpleasant smile. "And you sound so proud of that," he said. "You really are too stupid to understand it, aren't you? We were sent here to protect you from yourselves."
Allen, a look of confusion on his face, stepped back again. Thoughts poured through his mind, and for a moment he was at a loss for words. Then, with a shake of his head, he found his resolve again.
"None of this makes sense," he stammered. "What's to stop me from just killing you?"
Jack burst out laughing. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help it. He had just survived a train crash and this idiot was threatening to kill him. From his time living with them, he knew humans could be stupid, but he had no idea they were this stupid.
"Allen," said Jack, calming his laughter. "You can shoot me if you'd like. But you need to know something."
Allen didn't trust him, but he went for the bait. "What?"
"If you shoot me, it's all over."
"What do you mean?"
"The Nephilim came here to protect you from yourselves during the end times," he said. "We're here as sort of a sleeper cell, for lack of a better term."
"Like terrorists?"
"Yes, but no," Jack continued. "Yes, because we're waiting to go active. No, because we can actually do some real damage."
"Oh, and because terrorists are human," said Allen, offended. "They don't do real damage, right? Well what about the thousands they've killed?"
Jack noticed the smugness in his tone and it infuriated him. It was as though Allen was boasting because humans could kill each other off so easily. What a fool.
"Thousands," asked Jack. "I alone could kill millions of you."
Allen's mouth hung open. It took him a moment to realize this before spoke. "Millions?"
"Millions," said Jack. "And all it will take to activate me or one of the others is a direct, knowledgeable act of violence. And once we go active, we're in apocalypse mode. We don't have total control anymore."
Jack smiled. "Basically, you try to kill me, and the shit hits the fan."
Silence followed that statement. Allen, deep in though, was having a hard time believing him. Still, he couldn't be sure. There was a lot he wasn't sure of.
Originally, he'd thought that Jack was like something out of science fiction. A being from another world. Someone with super powers or...something.
As far fetched as that sounded to his own ears, the idea that he was some kind of Nephilim was even more bizarre. He wasn't buying it at all.
"Bull," said Allen. "You're just trying to cover up your origins. But you're the one who doesn't get it. Earth needs heroes. We need a Superman or the Avengers."
Raising the gun toward Jack's head he said, "You're just trying to shirk your responsibilities. You just want to hide behind the guise of a normal human. It isn't right."
"Don't," said Jack.
He'd been right. He didn't hear the gun go off. He didn't even see the muzzle flash because it'd been so close. All he felt was a brief thump on his head. Then there was darkness. It didn't last long.
When he opened his eyes, he saw Allen cowering. His pants were soaked in urine and the smell of fear permeated the air.
There was a burning sensation coursing through Jack's body, and he was glowing as bright as a sun. The ripping, wrenching sounds as his wings began to manifest themselves on his back was nothing compared to pain that accompanied them. He screamed. It was long and loud.
Allen dropped the gun and clasped his hands to his head. It would do him no good. Blood began to pour from his ears. A crimson stream flowed from his nose and eyes. He looked, terrified, at Jack until his eyes went white and then liquified.
And Jack spoke to him. The last voice Allen would ever hear. His was the voice of many, made one. And it was loud.
"Way to go, retard."
It was the last thing he heard before his head exploded.
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