Omnipotence

Chapter 1 Paul Jasper

In one fluid motion, the soldier drew a pistol from his waist, clicked off the safety and thrust the barrel directly at Paul's chest.

Two more soldiers slid into the room with their weapons drawn and pointed at Paul.

“Don't move!” the first soldier demanded.

“What is—” was all Paul managed to say before he was cut off.

“Keep quiet!” the soldier shouted, his voice thick with loathing. “And don't fuckin' look at me. Look down! Now!” Paul did as he was told. He looked at his hands, they were shaking within the restraints. His heartbeat pounded in his head like a bass drum.

     Paul fought to remember the course of action leading up to this moment, but his thoughts didn’t make any sense. All he could remember was the ocean…and Claire. But that was just—just a dream.

With mounting fear, he retraced his steps and a memory drifted clumsily through the haze. A memory of white-hot anguish.

Oh my God. A rising panic soon engulfed him. I can’t be here. It’s not possible.

Another man wearing a disheveled, blue suit barged into the room and began arguing with the sentinels.

“Put your guns down! Put ‘em down!” His voice was laden with authority, impossible to ignore. “The Executor wants him alive. He's not even dangerous.” Paul watched his hands, but he could still feel the soldiers’ eyes and guns fixed on him; they seemed unconvinced. The newcomer stepped closer to the sentinel with reddish-blonde hair and spoke just above a whisper, "Listen, Harker, if he was like the other one, you'd be dead already. Now, holster your weapons."

After a moment of thundering silence, Harker took a deep breath—his eyes bore into Paul—and then, reluctantly, he holstered his sidearm. The other soldiers were more eager to comply. It seemed they were just following his lead.

The man in the suit flicked his hands toward the door, motioning them out of the room. Harker didn’t turn away from Paul as he walked backwards out of the room. His flickering eyes were the last Paul saw of him before the door slammed shut.

The newcomer in the blue suit stared at the closed door for a moment as if clearing his mind or listening to something.

A tan, barely visible bud in his left ear showed that it was probably the latter. Paul was about to speak up when the man spun around to face him.

       With an odd frown and one raised eyebrow, the man in the suit watched Paul with an air of caution. He reached for a chair and pulled it near the side of the bed where he sat with a deliberate calmness. Something about the way he moved, the relaxed lack of urgency gave off the impression that he was just going through the motions. He continued to look at Paul as if expecting something. Curiosity shown through a ponderous frown.

The man took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak, but Paul interjected, "Don't worry, I already know."

The man's frown deepened. "What do you know?"

"That...I'm dead. I already know."

"Hmph," the man snorted, "Why do you think you're dead?" He smirked, obviously amused.

Paul looked down at his right hand that was still strapped to the side of the bed. He was fascinated by the sight of his fingers as he rolled them into a fist and then open again. Over and over. 

"Because," Paul said, "I died. I remember dying... At least, there's no way I could've survived."

There was a long pause.