The Janitors - Chapter 1 (Final Edit)

Chapter 1: Origin

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The steady fall of rain was a good excuse for the moisture that streamed down Jack's face. Teardrops fell onto his black blazer but were hidden among the raindrops. The pastor finished with a resounding, “Amen.” Slowly, people came up to him and placed their hands on his shoulder. “I'm... really sorry about this Jack,” they would say, and sigh, then walk away.

But if they were, then where were their tears? She was the only one that cared for me and I'm the only one that cares for her. Jack decided. Emotions were passing so quickly and he felt the world fading out so quickly only to resound back at him with tremendous noise and speed. Everything was hitting him like gunfire, piercing gunfire. Every flower had lost its beauty and every sunset would only be the refraction of light through floating dust particles, and nothing special. Life was equivalent to death and smiles were just frowns turned upside down.

Jack's hands grabbed tightly at the edge of his blazer. He pressed the fabric and applied as much pressure and emotion as he could. Then he let go. He took in deep breaths, each one more strained and each one horribly real. It was more gasping than breathing. Each breath of his was an absolute statement that he was alive, and his mother was dead.

Jack felt another hand on his shoulder. He read the words on her gravestone then simply stared out in reminiscence. It could be God's hand, wouldn't matter. But after one minute, the hand still gripped his shoulder.

He exhaled. A numb feeling followed the draining anxiety. And when all the anxiety had been drained out, he was empty. And that was filled by yet more emptiness, in the more physical sense. He frowned. Who the hell feels hungry at a funeral?. But he was feeling rather hungry.

“Jack, I think it's important for you to know, she loved you,” Pastor O'Brian said.

“I know she did. I knew it every single time...” his voice faltered. He remembered his proud smile in the mirror, the day he first tied his tie. And how his mother had taught him that. Every single memory came back to him. And he found himself short of breath and angry and hurt. He scowled at the thought of how his mother's life had been hell. He clenched his fist, ready to fight but there was nothing to fight. There was nothing that his superhuman strength could hurt. He was vulnerable like never before. The groan he subsequently let out was involuntary, but a good expression of his emotions.

“Jack, if there's anything I could do for you...”
“There is.”
“Just say so.”

Jack thought for a while. He wondered what his mother would have had him ask. He remembered how, no matter how her frail body needed it much more, she'd give him the extra helping of the scarce dinner. How, no matter how her wallet would cringe, she'd always buy him the large pizza. And how, despite his complaints, she'd never let him miss a meal. He remembered her stubborn love. And he knew he wanted to keep it with him.

“Could you maybe... buy me a pizza?”

Pastor O'Brian seemed taken back. He cleared his throat and agreed. He began to walk back to his car. Jack stood still at the foot of his mother's grave. He knew he'd be seeing it many times more, every Friday perhaps, but the finality was building up around him. This was her funeral, and it would be his last moments at her funeral. After this, she'd really, really be in heaven.

One of the traits that his mother had always been proud of, was that Jack had a way with words. “God,” he said “I'm sorry for everything I've ever done wrong. And I dunno why my mom had to... die. But please bless her in heaven and take care of her. And give her back every single thing she ever gave me. I don't want you to bother over me, just let me know how she's doing and how happy she is.”

On her gravestone were the words:

Love is patient, Love is Kind.
Ella Gareth, Loving Wife, Mother and the Embodiment of Love.
"There'll be no World War 3 on my watch!"

And next to the final 'Love', he placed the golden ribbon his father had bought her for their anniversary, just before he had died. “Bye, Mom.” He found himself smiling at the last line. The wind blew and he found that made him smile too.


Jack and Pastor O'Brain were driving over Freedom Bridge. Behind them was Freedom's Liberty side and they were now heading towards the more industrial Justice part of Freedom. And the twilight region between those two parts? Freedom Bridge. The sun was setting and the rain was clearing.

“Beautiful sunset, eh Jack?” Pastor O'Brian asked.
Jack found himself smiling, he hadn't done that for two weeks. “Yeah,” he said. “Mom, would have loved it.” And slowly, his heart was beginning the long process of healing.

The road shot by and the afternoon faded into twilight. The radio sung “America Town” and birds played high in the air. Jack observed the liquid gold river. And how it had rebelled from its otherwise quiet and still demeanor. It was now wild and rushing. From the east and the dam up on Mt Justice, it rushed down and out into the ocean.

“What the...” Pastor O'Brian slowed the car into a cruise on the open bridge road. Jack's hand gripped his trouser leg. He bit his lower lip. It was a long way to the other side of the bridge. The pastor cursed, then turned red and continued, “Jack, get out, now!”

They ran to the other side of the road and held onto the railing. Jack watched as a massive wave rose high in the dam. It crashed back in and rushed down the river and rose in momentum and height. The water crashed as a huge wave into the bridge. Jack held tight to the bridge railing with all his strength. Another wave hit. “What's happening?” he screamed. Another wave hit.
The pastor made a silent prayer as Mt Justice began to glow. It glowed bright yellow and orange. Toxic yellow and napalm orange. Hazy yellow and blinding orange. The light his before the sound. A massive explosion of light engulfed Freedom City. It expanded and then contracted. There was a massive boom as it exploded once more. Jack collapsed on the hard cement as did one hundred and forty nine other teenagers in Freedom City. The nuclear light died away and everything was still.


He woke up to white. And everything around him was of new quality. Jack had been in hospital before. The walls hadn't been quite as white and the sterilizer hadn't been quite as strong. His breaths hadn't been so deep and, according to the machine, his heart rate was smoother than ever before. Beeeeep. Beep. Beep. Beeeeeep. Jack took in another breath. Beeeeep. Out. Beep, Beep. But it wasn't the machine that made him smile after each, it was the sweet air drifting from outside. There was a garden and Jack could smell its roses and violets and flowers of sweet fragrance. “Awesome!” he whispered to himself. The smile on his face was in contrast with everything happening around him, it was the dove that flew through the debris.

Jack noticed the flat screen TV that hung from the wall. He noticed the smoke that drifted around on the screen. He noticed the red 'CNN' logo on the bottom right hand corner of the screen. And Jerome Cleft was reporting. “What you see here is a video recording taken by a security camera, of the damage to Freedom Bridge.”

Jack watched a wave roll onto the bridge. He shielded his eyes as yellow light flooded the screen (“What you see now is exactly what happened on May 1st, 2001. An expulsion of some kind of energy.”) and watched in awe. The light receded and the main support of Freedom Bridge collapsed. What the...
“And this is just the beginning of the destruction that followed after the events of M101. After the break, we'll have a full length video produced by a YouTube user... stay with CNN.”

What? Jack looked around for anything to make sense of. His skin was pierced by needles, which he was already finding as unnecessary and irritating. He scratched his chin and frowned. He sat up straight in his bed and looked on either side of him. To one side was a table. A brown document labeled in red: PATIENT #149 sat temptingly on top. It fit comfortably on Jack's lap. He began to struggle through the doctor's handwriting. Keywords unveiled themselves like a roller-coaster ride, building up with tension and exploding in an electrifying release of adrenalin and confusion, of worry and fear and anxiety. He shut the file, there seemed to be no end tot he ride. His mind raced:

Orphaned. Orphaned. M101. Superhuman. Dead. Orphaned. Coma... six months. No kin. Orphaned. We predict the patient, who was part of the mysterious event labeled by the media, and generally accepted to be known as “M101”, is currently undergoing some kind of genetic re-modification of the first order due to “M101.” Geneticist Steve Palmer has confirmed this prediction.

His line of thought was broken and his hand fell from his mouth as he watched horrible scenes unfolding on TV. There was a massive wall of water, a rush and screams. There was an exploding skyscraper, a boy leapt from it and flew into he sky. There was death and riots and destruction. Blood pooled through the streets of cities and President John Wilkson's funeral had been held three months ago. Tears welled in his eyes as he watched innocent little children being murdered through the streets of Cairo, he watched a blogger's suicide note. A rush of videos and images blurred the screen eventually climaxing in a loud roar and crash of thunder. The screen faded black. The final synthesizer sound played and then appeared the numbers: 1.05.01. Jack broke down in tears.

After five minutes, he stopped. And a man appeared. “Jack? What's wrong?”
“Who are you! Leave me alone!”
“Jack!” the man wanted to hug Jack but he was pulled away by a doctor, who whispered in his ear. “Jack Gareth is not the same boy you knew him to be anymore Pastor O'Brian. He is an amnesic, genetically re-modified, perfect specimen of human fitness. But don't worry, he's amnesia is only temporary, however, it seems the er- other effects... are not.”
“Oh... Jack?”

Jack lifted his teary eyes and slowly, he recognized a face. The man he was looking at was Pastor O'Brian. And if that was true, and the whole genetically re-modified part was true, then everything else was too. The world was in chaos, Jack was a 'superhuman', and worst of all... his mother was dead. It was, at that moment, the first time he had heard of it. This is the origin of Jack Gareth.

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I love it! Very descriptive! One too many death anger hells, but otherwise, AWESOME!