Early, Tuesday morning, Marc boarded his Amtrak Acela headed for D.C. He was going on a business trip. He loved going to D.C. His dad, may his soul rest used to have biz apartment in Alexandria, Va., Marc crashed there on and off for months. When not working he would have a beer with an old college friend. And he’s having dinner with one of his besties and her beautiful family.
He found a seat in the quiet car, opened his Nook and began to read. He was still thinking about Jen. But was thinking much more about Alana. He was unnerved after their battle. But he’d be ok. Man did he like her.
Marc developed his powers years ago while praying in Amuka. He was hoping his prayers would find him a wife. Instead, he became very powerful. During his meditation, he heard whispers telling him he was going to gain powers and must use them for good. He wasn’t sure what to believe. And chalked it up to the wonderful glasses of wine from he sipped in the art district in Safed. He sipped them with fresh laffa bread, olive oil and hummus. He thinks about that day all the time. He was wondering how Alana developed her strengths and if it was only apples. Of course, he thought she had more powers. Somehow he knew she would unleash them on him. He hopes only on him. He could fight back. Others would go down.
He was worried she might use them to go after people. She was always a little vindictive. The train pulled into DC’s Union Station and he jumped on the Metro’s Red Line toward the Marriott.
He checked in and went to his office. Things were going as planned. He’d work for several hours and then trek out to Rockville on train. Not on a bus. Boy does he have a song for everything and loves R.E.M.
Things were quiet in his company’s D.C. office. The illiterates were out. The NYC office was not much different. Marc had a friend or two in both. But for the most part hated them. He grabbed his laptop and headed to the Metro station. He was going to see his friend, Rebecca and her wonderful youngsters.
He was walking down Pennsylvania Avenue. The usual crazies were protesting. It happens daily. His mind was drifting in thoughts about tonight’s Yankees-Red Sox game. He’d catch it on the TV at the hotel’s bar when he got back from Rebecca’s.
As he approached the Metro, he saw an elderly man being beaten by young thugs. The man was gasping for air. Marc really didn’t need this. He knew he couldn’t let an old man get hurt. Not only was this happening, an out of control woman was trying to fight with some of the protestors, who were loud. Yet they very peaceful. He was perplexed as how to handle multiple fights. But he knew he had to.
“Hey, tough guys. Does beating up an old man make you feel strong? Are you that weak?”
The three 20 somethings looked at Marc. One pulled out a knife and ran toward him. As he approached Marc backed up and landed a kick in the guy’s chest. He went down. The other two pulled out their silencer-equipped Glocks and aimed. Marc didn’t even quiver. He stood there waiting to take the shots. The men pulled the trigger. Marc’s perfect vision tracked the bullets. He stood firm and his hands began to twitch. He opened his closed hands and shot cannon strength pomegranates, which deflected the bullets. The guys tried to fire again. But Marc shot several blasts of honey into the barrel of both guns. The guns backfired and the assailants fell down hard onto the concrete.
Meanwhile, the woman was still attacking the protestors. He did not have any time to waste. He approached her. They quickly looked at each other and she picked up a fire extinguisher and fired at the protestors. He jumped in the middle of it and barley flew out of his hands, while honey ejected from his eyes. She aimed the extinguisher at him and fired. He ducked. She missed. He returned fire with six pomegranates. They hit her all over. She screamed. She keeled over. Marc ran to the Metro station. He hopped on the Red Line and was safe in Rockville.