Cosmoriolis Factor

C Evans Sean

Description

Nineteen-year-old outcast, Raymond Sharpe, discovers that he is part of a near-extinct species of humans possessing superhuman attributes called Hybrids. When the first manifestation of his powers goes awry and his entire family is wiped out, he is forced to live in solitude. But upon meeting nave dimwit, Jackson Theodore, another Hybrid in a similar situation, he and his new somewhat-friend make the decision to become vigilantes - to use their powers for the good of others in an effort to rectify their wrongs. But when an enemy with ties to Ray's family threatens their home city of Ipswich with destruction, they - along with reporter Deborah Stokes - have to truly discover the importance of their roles as protectors to become something else: heroes.

Sujets

• Science fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 28 février 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528948180
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Cosmoriolis Factor
Sean C Evans
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-02-28
The Cosmoriolis Factor About the Author Dedication Copyright Information Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Chapter XIV Chapter XV Chapter XVI Fin After-Fin
About the Author
Sean C Evans is a 24-year-old resident of Ipswich, Australia. He is a nerd at heart, with a love of films, superheroes and monsters. When not working at the local supermarket, he is at home thinking of what to write next. Since primary school, he had the love of creating characters and writing stories. Now, many years later, he has crafted works that he is passionate about and is ready to show them to the world. He leads a lonely life but doesn’t let that stop him from following his dream of being a serious author.
Dedication
Dedicated to my family, my friends and to you, dear reader.
Copyright Information
Copyright © Sean C Evans (2019)
The right of Sean C Evans to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788782432 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781788782449 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781788782456 (E-Book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Chapter I
Night time in the city of Ipswich is always one of relative normality and somewhat peacefulness. People stay home and watch movies, wander the streets for a late night out, or simply sleep it out till the morning. Not much occurred at night.
It was eerily still in the secluded street that was Johnstone St. All lights were out except in one house. Against the curtains drawn over the windows of the pleasant-looking oak-brown house of Number 8 were silhouettes of two young adolescents and two adults. They were in the middle of an argument, shouting and arguing back and forth.
A little boy, around six years of age, lay in his bed at Number 5, listening to the argument. The boy got up out of his bed and to the window. He looked down the street towards Number 8, the windows of which still had considerable light. Silhouetted against the curtains was the eldest adolescent, clutching his head and groaning as the arguing continued. But then, the sound changed. He sounded like less than groaning, and more towards growling. But it wasn’t a growl a person would normally make, whether it be out of humour or anger – this growl sounded feral.
Savage. Animalistic. Powerful.
The boy was perplexed. The noise to him sounded like a monster from a show he watched on TV. But how does a person make that exact same noise themselves? But now the adolescent was changing. He bent over double, growling as he did so. As he held his head in his hands, his hands began to glow and spark inexplicably.
Before he knew what he was doing, the boy’s legs were carrying him out of his room, down the hallway, through the living room, to the front door. As he opened it, he was met with an incredible combination of noise, fiery heat and bright light from Number 8. A large explosion engulfed the house, the fireball’s shockwave catching the edges of the houses of Numbers 6 and 10, lighting them briefly. Fiery debris flung outwards from the blast, forcing the boy to hide behind the door to shelter from it.
Once the explosion had subsided, the boy slowly opened the door and walked outside towards Number 8. Or more rather what was left of it. The frameworks and foundations were clearly visible, and smouldering as it was subject to the mercy of the flames. The boy heard a noise behind him and spun around. His parents were emerging from the house.
“Nathaniel! What are you doing out here?” the mother asked. The parents’ gaze diverted from their son to the crater that held the ruins of the burning Number 8.
“Oh my God! Is that the Sharpe’s place?” the father gasped, grasping his wife’s hand and picking up his son. They jogged over to Number 8, regarding it with sheer terror and concern. The family knew the Sharpes. They were like any other family usually. They knew that the Sharpes had been through quite a bit lately, but they never asked why. The Sharpes were a family to respect privacy, whether it be in regards to their affairs or the affairs of others.
Nathaniel and his parents stared at the ruins of the houses, embers gliding from the flames that continued to burn what was left. As they stood out the front, not far from the driveway, they heard a slight movement underneath the rubble. They strained to see through the smoke for any sign of life, hoping that someone may have survived.
They were right, someone did survive. A hand sprung up from the rubble, but it wasn’t a normal hand. It was glowing and sparking with golden-orange energy. The hand was stationary for a moment, the appearance being reminiscent of a B-grade horror film. Then it slammed down, struggling to pull the rest of itself out. It rose up, debris rolling off it as it did so. The family’s mouths went agape as they stared at the survivor.
It was a young man, brilliantly illuminated in swirling electrical energy, though he appeared more orange due to the light of the fire, and his body was slightly blackened with ash. He appeared to be wearing tattered and burned clothing, obviously damaged from the explosion. His brown eyes roved around as he moved his head from left to right and back again. His arms spread outward and he rose into the air, giving him quite an epic and frightening look that one would expect from an artwork.
He caught sight of the family in front of him. He stuck out his neck a little to closely look at them. They cowered as he regarded them for a moment. They closed their eyes, awaiting death. But it didn’t come. They opened their eyes to see the man staring at them still, but his eyes seemed to bear a look that strangely seemed like recognition. Seeming uninterested in the shaking family huddled in front of him, the man drew back his head and hovered up out of the crater, grazing them with the movement of the wind as he floated past them into the street. Staying still briefly, he stared down the street, spotting more people exiting their houses to look at what had occurred. They gasped at the sight.
The increasing presence of people began to trouble the man, and he shot off into the night, leaving a wispy fading trail of orange energy, with people frantically moving to see where he went. Nathaniel, along with his mother and father, looked on after the receding figure, still rooted to the spot outside the burning house where the smoke and embers continued to eschew into the atmosphere. As the man disappeared from their view, they began to hear the sounds of thunder. They averted their gaze to the sky, where they saw foreboding storm clouds gathering. Another rumble of thunder was heard through the still quiet street, announcing the arrival of a thunderstorm.
The clouds brooded over Ipswich, rain beginning to fall, softly at first, but then progressed to pelting. Lightning was starting to become visible through the sky. Amongst the ruins of a church that once stood earlier in time, the man jumped through viciously. He jumped from the pinnacle of what was part of a spire, working swirls of energy to propel him through the air. He used his momentum to bind over rooftops with his energy to aid him. With effortless ease, he landed on the clock tower of the city’s post office building.
He climbed to the top of the tower, his muscles flexing as he pulled himself upwards. As he reached the top, he scanned the horizon. He let out a massive pulse of energy as the clock struck eleven, the lightning flashing all around, its light reflecting off the man. The rain made him glisten amazingly as the electrical sound covered the city over the top of the monstrous thunder.
Chapter II
A few hours passed. The sun was still yet to come up, but it wasn’t too far away now. Part of the landscape could now be visible, though it was still profoundly dark. It would take one with keen senses to spot the young man that lay unconscious on the hillside. The man stirred, giving a slight groan. He slowly opened his eyes and tried to take in his surroundings. All he could see was two possums squatting in front of him. He stared at them longer, then realised they weren’t just squatting, they were engaging in coitus. In front of his face.
“Oi,” he said in a relatively calm voice.
The possums stopped moving and made eye contact with the man who glowered at them. They then resumed what they were doing, ignoring him. The man growled loudly at them. They stopped engaging in the act and scurried off, squeaking and chattering frustrated as they went. For some reason, he had a feeling what they were ‘saying’ – “ What’s the matter with you? ”
The man pushed himself up and sat on his haunches, looking out over the hillside. He struggled with his thoughts, trying to remember what had happened and where he was. He was at home, he was arguing with his parents, but then things were cloudy from there. It was not unlike a hangover, even though he had never experienced a hangover before.
Then it hit him. The argument set off his ‘feral state’. It was the one event he’d been fearing for a long time now. He looked around worriedly, scanning the area. He saw smoke rising from the neighbourhood that he recognised as his own. His concern grew exponent