He could hear his own labored breathing, pounding away, assaulting his ears.
It was loud, normally it would be loud enough that it downed out everything else, but not now...
Oh no, not now...
Now was different, he could hear his breathing, but he could also hear many other things...
For instance, he could hear his pulse and his rapid footsteps splashing in the small puddles in the middle of the night as he ran with all of his strength...
He could hear the sound of his lungs inflating and deflating, he could hear the sound of his blood flowing through his veins.
He could hear the sound of his muscles as they expanded and contracted propelling him forward on his flight.
"Friction," his mind knew, as complex formulas and equations filled his mind explaining the concept.
"Why?" He wondered. He did not study friction at all, he should not know these things, yet they still made their presence knowning his mind like everything else...
When he was like this, he could know or do anything. His mind worked at a rate beyond imagination, just in the past two seconds alone he had calculated over seven hundred and eight different escape routes and their probabilities of each of their outcomes.
The sense of omnipotence that flooded through him made him feel superior to anything in existence, be it god or man.
Deep in the recesses of his mind, past all of his fear and anxiety towards his powers, he felt that this was his natural state. This small feeling passed by, duly noted, as he ran the route his brain had chosen.
The route was an unorthodox route, his brain had decided to take him vertically, and the man marveled at the complex calculations which had gone into creating it.
He looked up, glancing at a hanging ladder from a fire escape that his mind had told him was there.
"1,649.08 newtons of vertical force, with 823.4 newtons of horizontal force." He thought. He had no idea how much that was, so he forfeited control of his body to his subconscious, wholly trusting it for his survival.
It was not such a ludicrous concept, after all it had kept him free for the past seven years as he evaded capture.
Why were they so focused on him? He was intelligent, but not enough for the entire planet to be looking for him, ready to go to war for the sole purpose of having him in their control...
He was smart, one of the top; and yet he knew that in comparison to his subconscious he was nothing, a dust-mite in front of a deity. His subconscious was amazing, possessing the ability to inspire omnipotence, however there was an obstacle for its activation, he must be in danger...
His legs felt the shock as he jumped from the railing on to the top of the roof. He took off running again, his enhanced hearing hearing the voices in the distance. The voices were talking in a language he didn't know,
"Russian" his subconscious told him. He didn't know Russian at all, but for some reason he knew exactly what they were saying. No, that was a lie, it wasn't for 'some' reason; He knew that while he was like this anything was possible...
One thing was out of place however, instead of getting quieter the voices were getting louder. He sat in the metaphorical back seat, locked out of control, as he watched his body jumped from the top of the building onto five people below. "Six..." A passing thought indicated.
Time slowed down for him, as the world lost its color. Formulas and plans raced through his mind as he unconsciously fell the four stories from the top of the building.
On his way down he noticed a rusted section of fire escape. "There" his mind told him. His right hand stretched out in slow motion, with a small yank and twist of his leg, a perfectly calculated amount of torque was applied to wrench the metal pipe from the rest of the balcony.
He was now half way through his decent, but from his perspective he had another twelve point eight seconds until he would hit the ground. Precisely five seconds later he tensed up his torso, and used his legs to influence his momentum, bringing his body into a spin.
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Moments later he felt the reverberations through his hands as the metal pipe made contact with the shocked face of the targeted Russian operative. The halt in the momentum of his right arm caused the stop in rotation of his body.
This too, was meticulously calculated; another ripple ran through his muscles. A second wave of force further impacted the man, a definitive *SNAP* rang out as the Russians neck snapped, the remaining force sweeping him off of his feet, bringing the torso of his body slightly higher then it was to begin with. The force also caused the corpse to spin
"Gun..." a small mental note indicated. His hand, faster then any human could possibly react to, reached into the corpses holster at his side, firing off two quick shots easily downing the two guards on the left. The first bullet hit the closer of the two straight through the eyes, while the second bullet hit the other man in the windpipe, opening a small hole where blood was squirting out.
This was the first time that the boy had taken a life, even in this state. He assumed that his subconscious had decided to take the offensive for once. That would explain the change in the course of actions. Normally he would run, normally he would escape, eluding and outsmarting his would be captors.
His mind simply accepts the crossing of that final line, and it continued on its bloody rampage, quickly dispatching another two enemies. He turned to the final -"Second to last"- His mind interrupted, a passing thought to the backseat driver. That's right, there were six, although the boy had absolutely no idea where the last man was. This second to last man had recovered from the surprise attack, and had his gun poised, his finger pulling the trigger...
At the prospect of his own life being in danger, a strange calm overtook him. All thoughts left him, no calculations, just pure instinct. The boy raised the gun in his hand, dyed crimson from the still spurting blood of the falling guard whose windpipe had been shot through.
He fired, his mind still blank. Shock overcame him, he had missed... Never before in his life had he failed, not even outside of this state, let alone while his subconscious was in control.
Pain overwhelmed his shock and brought him back to earth...
The Russian, as if noticing he was still alive and that this was his chance, pulled his trigger.
Searing pain, unlike any he had felt before... Its source was the slug now embedded in his left shoulder. "So this... this is pain?" He thought.
The boy fired again a split second later, this shot carefully calculated. His target? Not the man, no, not the man at all. His target was the casing for the bullet that was now lodged in his shoulder.
He compensated for the recoil by tensing certain muscles, attempting to minimize the pain. A clang rang out as the bulled struck its intended target, both objects flew on their intended trajectories.
The casing found its end inside the Russians forehead, forcing him to flinch and collapse on the ground. The bullet itself continued on, striking a piece of metal and ricocheting around the corner, killing the "sixth" man.
He then shot the surviving man, screaming out in pain at the bullet casing lodged in his forehead, killing him.
The boy was done. Done being on his back foot, done running, done being chased. From now on, HE would call the shots, from now on HE was in control, from now on the world would do what HE wanted it to do...
Coincidentally that was the boys fourteenth birthday...
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Across the world, in a palace of an ancient blood line, a son was born that day.