The Law of Averages

Chapter 93

Connor had things to say, but no words with which to say them. As it was, as it had ever been with young, impetuous males, his problem could only be solved through action. They gathered together in Dan’s backyard, all four of them, barefoot on the grass. Dan squared off against his younger friend, the two of them ready to engage in that time-honored caveman tradition of beating the crap out of each other in front of their respective mates. Abigail and Freya lounged on the sidelines in unfolded lawn chairs, with a bucket of popcorn planted on a stool between them. They whispered to each other, giggling ominously as they eyed the two men like meat on a slab.

“Should I be feeling objectified?” Dan queried across the lawn. Connor raised an eyebrow in response, then shrugged. The lack of a biting retort was more worrying than not.

“Take off your shirts!” Abby shouted through cupped hands, before breaking down into cackling laughter. Freya, for all her dignified posing, couldn’t quite suppress her own snickers.

“Maybe we should stop and oil ourselves up first,” Dan muttered, moving to comply when he saw Connor mechanically obeying his fiancée. Neither of them were wearing much to begin with: gym shorts, padded gloves, and a mouth guard. There was eye candy aplenty if that’s what the ladies were looking for.

Regardless of how Dan felt about Abby’s more brutal training methods, he could not argue with the results. He’d been working himself to the bone, physically, for about six months, and his body reflected that. Nothing about his physique was average anymore. Though his body couldn’t match the supernatural physique and physical perfection that certain mods could grant, he was proud to say that he had earned each and every muscle that was on display. When Abby whistled appreciatively, Dan couldn’t help but grin and flex.

Unfortunately, their attempts to bring up the general mood had done little for Connor’s own. Dan would have expected the younger man to have started boasting by now, at the very least, but he simply went about his warm-up routine with all the enthusiasm of a desiccated corpse. It was worrying, and not an aspect of the boy’s personality that he’d ever seen before. Dan had never experienced that kind of melancholy himself, but he hoped a good fight would break him out of it.

“You ready?” he asked, falling into the loose stance that Marcus had taught him. He didn’t know the name of the martial art, or if it even had one, but it focused heavily on strong, debilitating strikes that left him wide open afterwards, and was almost completely useless when Dan wasn’t using his power. Or rather, he was completely useless at it. Something to work on.

Connor dashed forward in response, covering the thirty feet between them in three lunging steps. He opened the fight with a flying knee, but somehow transitioned into a roundhouse after Dan sidestepped the initial blow. Dan limboed under the kick and threw his entire weight behind an elbow strike to Connor’s kidney. The blow connected right before the younger man could touch back down on solid ground and threw him off balance. They both grunted at the impact, with Connor turning what should have been a flailing backwards tumble into a graceful roll across the grass. Dan pursued, sticking to his opponent like glue. Some leftover hunter instinct in Dan’s brain insisted that his slightly broader frame and heavier build gave him an advantage in close combat. It failed to take into account that he knew nothing about grappling, other than two years of Jujitsu, approximately a decade ago.

Connor was faster and more flexible, and far more experienced. Their reflexes were about the same, but the APD trainee’s instinctive reactions in any given combat situation were simply better. Not in speed, but rather unconscious decision making. Case in point, Dan’s reckless charge ended prematurely, as Connor’s foot embedded itself into his gut. The blow folded him in half, knocked the air out of his lungs, and sent him to the ground wheezing for air.

The two of them rolled back and forth across the ground for several seconds, each groaning from their injuries. This was, in Dan’s opinion, actually a pretty favorable outcome for him. The last time they’d sparred, Connor had whooped his ass up and down the floor. Landing a hit was deeply satisfying, even if Dan had ended up on the floor all the same.

“Gonna be peeing blood for days, Newman, you ass,” Connor groaned, lying spread-eagle on the grass.

“Should’ve kept your feet on the ground, then,” Dan wheezed. His eyes watered. He jabbed a finger at the blurry outline across from him. “No points for style in a fight.”

“Didn’t think you would dodge it,” Connor admitted. He paused, then added sourly, “If I had my upgrade, you probably couldn’t have. The Twice-Born allows for an obscene amount of muscle torque.” His last sentence sounded like he was quoting someone.

At last, the issue rears its head. Even Dan, oblivious as he was, could recognize bitterness when he heard it.

“What’s the problem with it, then?” Dan asked.

Connor turned to face him, a contemplative look on his face. “Could you have dodged that, using your upgrade, if I was twice as fast?”

Way to ask the simple questions, Graham. Dan pondered it for a moment, then concluded, “Beats me. But I doubt it would’ve ever come up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well think of it this way,” Dan said, “if this was a real fight, with both of us using our upgrades and our lives on the line, then you would’ve never gotten within reach of me.” Dan scratched at his chin. “I mean, assuming I’m thinking straight, what incentive do I have to not just… shoot you in the back, from very far away?”

“It would hardly be that simple,” Connor scoffed, but his voice was thoughtful.

Dan let him gather his thoughts, before asking, “So what’s the Twice-Born do?”

“It doubles,” Connor replied absently.

“Doubles what?”

The younger man gestured over himself. “Me. My strength, stamina, eyesight, reflexes. Everything.”

“Huh.”

It seemed a little underwhelming. Especially compared to the Naturals that Dan had read about in the past. Like a Superserum Lite, minus the unbreakable shield. Captain America was great, but swinging above his weight class was hardly his specialty. And that was in comic book land, where power levels were bullshit and logic was a minor inconvenience.

“It’s a strong upgrade, Newman,” Connor insisted. “Much stronger than it appears. There’s a sort of… synergistic effect. It’s more than the sum of its parts. And there’s practically no time needed for physical adjustment. I could be in the field immediately.”

“Is that what you want?” Dan asked softly.

“…Not anymore.”

Dan could feel the melancholy falling back into place, but he had no idea how to stop it. Abby, beautiful, wonderful, brilliant Abby, saved him from trying.

“Get back to kicking the shit out of each other!” she called, throwing a handful of popcorn at their prone forms. Buttered kernels rained down on them, and Dan caught the ghost of a laugh on Connor’s lips.

The younger man clambered roughly to his feet. “Up, Newman. Let’s put on a show.”

Dan groaned, and shifted himself onto his elbows, but Connor’s next sentence made him pause.

“Oh, and this time, come at me with your upgrade.”

Dan gave it a moment of consideration, then willed himself upright. He popped into existence on his feet, standing where they had begun the fight. He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, rubbing the bruised spot on his stomach where Connor’s foot had connected.

“You sure about this?” Dan called across to his opponent, a taunting smirk pulling across his face. “You saw me fight Abby.”

“Feel free to try and make me sweat,” Connor replied with a lazy stretch.

Dan accepted the challenge, immediately teleporting behind Connor. He appeared mid-sweep, and the younger man yelped as Dan took his legs out from under him. Even caught by surprise, Connor managed to turn his fall into a strike, lashing out with an elbow at where Dan’s head should’ve been.

But Dan was already gone, back at his starting position, whistling innocently as he inspected his fingernails. Connor grunted as he hit the ground, but sprang back up with admirable speed. Once again, the young man lunged across the yard, looking to clash with Dan.

Dan wasn’t having it. He dropped into t-space, hurled himself into a football tackle, and dropped back into the world mid-flight. He crashed into Connor’s waist from off to the side, holding on just long enough to rip the boy off his feet, before vanishing once more. He reappeared for long enough to throw a hay-maker at his stumbling opponent’s shoulder, and vanished the instant his fist landed. He reappeared where the fight had started, arms crossed and frowning.

Connor hit the ground with a thump and let out a long groan. “Fuck,” the APD hopeful summarized, his voice caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

Dan’s eyebrows climbed into his hairline. That was probably the first time he’d ever heard the younger man curse. He had always been too deep in his Noblesse Oblige persona to lower himself to such language. Getting pummeled seemed to have shaken something loose.

“As fun as this is,” Dan drawled, “I’m not really seeing the point of it. Of course you’re gonna get your ass kicked if I’m using an unfair advantage.”

“I just needed to experience it,” Connor grunted, still prone. “I almost had you. I could feel it. I was close to something. There was…” He paused, apparently unable to express himself properly. With a forced exhalation, he pushed himself to his feet. “I don’t know. Again.”

“This is a bad idea.”

“Again,” Connor repeated, something new and hopeful appearing in his voice. “I can take it. I can do this.”

At this point, Dan wasn’t even sure who Connor was talking to. Himself, maybe?

But Dan obliged him. Once more, he stepped out of and back into reality, this time slamming his fist into Graham’s diaphragm. It was only hard enough to wind, but Connor seemed to lean into the blow, and was lifted clear off his feet. The younger man spun while airborne, lashing out with a kick, but Dan vanished before the strike could land. Connor compensated for the lack of impact, somehow contorting his body like a cat to land upright and stable.

Dan stared. Something seemed intensely off about that motion.

“Hah!” Connor cried triumphantly. “I’ve a feel for you now, Newman! Come at me!”

Dan obliged, appearing at his opponent’s shoulder. His leg hooked around Connor’s, and his arm gave a mighty shove. It was a classic trip attempt, the kind that humans had been using and perfecting for thousands of years. With only two legs, it should’ve been impossible to remain upright.

Connor’s torso ended up parallel to the ground, his feet flailing outwards, his fall inevitable. And then he twisted on an impossible axis, pulling momentum out of his ass like Gregoir did optimism. His fall turned into a flip, and he landed perfectly on both feet. As soon as he touched down, he was off like shot, rocketing towards Dan with violence in his eyes.

Dan retreated to the edge of the yard, holding up his hands in the universal motion for time-out. He glanced at the sidelines, needing to know that he wasn’t crazy, that that had just happened. Abby was gaping, and Freya was halfway out of her seat, her hand covering her mouth in shock.

Connor halted his charge, all momentum bleeding away in an instant, a puzzled look on his face. He hadn’t even noticed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.