Manhattan, 2058

    I had created a monster. No, not the kind you find in storybooks, but an actual flying, engineering success. A mechanical man, and by that I mean a mechanical, flying man. And no, Mr. Higgs, this isn't an apology. It's a report.

    I took your advice about trying out my so-called "wonderful and scientific breakthrough" experiment, now I've been put in my place about making and trying out my little ideas without caution or great thought. Thank you, for that correction, but now it's out there, and I have no clue what to do.

    This email is not to tell you how dangerous this...thing is, or how I had managed to turn a man into such a monstrosity, but I assure you, you'll know when you see it. I am resigning my duties at U. Corp. The reason is to prevent any more destruction to Manhattan, to the world. Our accomplishments were more than incredible, they were discoveries brought forth by the most intelligible minds in our Earth's history. Now, I suggest we shut down.

    Please, for the good of the world, for the good of your family, shut the damn place down before it destroys us all.

Yours Sincere,

James R. R. Wibbler

    That was the last email to ever be heard of from the scientist. This "mechanical flying man"...what the hell was that supposed to mean? I checked the date to which this was sent from at the top of the white screen. July 10th, 2008. That was over half a century ago before James R. R. Wibbler and the rest of U. Corp had disappeared and were erased from history.

    Confusion and a disturbing sense of concern was settling in my stomach; which was full of coffee and a Ramen noodles supper. My little dorm with the porch that let in silvery hues of moonlight was eerily quiet with the polluted breeze which carried the smoky smells of the city, the shiny skyscrapers and the peaceful ships encircling them, flashing their bright and fluorescent lights at the black sky. Manhattan was alive and thriving with action and adventure, the reflections of the people and aliens alike showing in the dark alleyways and colorful emotion that dyed the city in pools of old memories and horrors, a circus of wild and lustrous money beggars and the rich. I was happy that I was not a part of it. And for good reason, too.

    Besides, I had my own projects and horrors to worry about. Part of which being that of these weird emails from a scientist that lived over fifty years ago. Emails were old and messy, and needed a great deal of deciphering to get even the most smallest amount of the millions that were sent as old versions of transmissioning. My eyes ached, fried from staring at my white screen. It was an outdated monitor, one from possibly 2016. It was rectangular and black, an ugly sort of machine.

    I scratched behind my ear, and clicked on another file. This one seemed to have been from earlier, about two years before the one that I had just read was sent.

    Mr. Higgs,

    Project is well over a good roof. Our money has been well saved, and I hope to have this experiment under way in just a few months. We have done our scanning and the subject seems to be regenerating itself. No progress in its health, the man has remained in a comatose state ever since we brought it-

    My reading was interrupted as out of the corner of my eye a shadow, darker than the night, passed over my window. Just faintly I heard the beat of wings as it rapidly crossed and blocked out the moonlight, enveloping me in darkness before the light was returned to the walls and patio. My heart skipped, my pupils darting to the screen doors. But the patio was as empty as ever, no bird or creature that would have created the adumbration was there. Nothing, all but rays of dark light which cast blue shadows on the carpet and the queen sized bed.

    Paranoia lingered on my shoulder as I turned back to the monitor, which flickered and sputtered with noise as the computer below it tried to connect it back to the Internet. I brushed off the phenomena, knowing that my overly tired brain and veins that were flowing with caffeine were not helping my sanity. My hair stood on end, fingers shaking as I lifted my cup to my mouth, the cold liquid burning as it splashed my throat with tart, hours-old coffee. I resumed my reading, setting the mug down. As it hit the desk, I thought I had heard a light swish out on the patio, like a man or a bird swinging past in a flurry of motion hidden by the sound of the cup and my swallowing, but I thought none of it.

    No progress in its health, the man has remained in a comatose state ever since we brought it to the facility. My worries don't matter that the fact he was still alive, but although I do wonder how he could have survived the jump. The newly built Utopian Bridge is 1,500 feet above where a bed of sharp rocks are laid, quite the spectacle, although I find it useless now that we have hovering automobiles. The mystery has not been solved, nor has the witness' speech been proven...

    I found myself beginning to drift away from the emails, they just mentioned the theory of evolution and how this 'subject' could still be alive and all the possible ways that it was. My eyes drooped, heavy with exhaustion, but I kept reading.

    The next email was dated January 2, 2008, third to last before James R. R. Wibbler disappeared. My heart hammered against my ribcage, causing my hand to shake as I scrolled down with the old, white mouse that rolled under my palm.

    Mr. Higgs,

    Everything is in place. But the body is rejecting the steel, the man is in severe pain and I can't bear to torture him any longer. The government are getting closer to finding us out and I must advise you to tread carefully.

    My updates and reports must be classified, so I will send most of my info through letters, and keep these messages as private as possible.

    I glanced at the piece of crumpled, yellowed paper on my desk to the right. The black writing was faded and the runes were somewhat unreadable, but it glowed in the lamplight, a gold chunk of history, a piece to the puzzle.

    The subject awoke but a month ago and is regaining his memory, but we have been forced to go to extreme measures to prevent him from going to that point. Flight is irrelevant at the moment...the thought never came to us before we extracted the blood samples. He should be up in the air soon once the legal issues die down.
  
    Witnesses claim to have seen him crash from the sky and not plummet into the bank from the Utopian Bridge. Of course there are signs of a rough impact but none of any skidding or tracks where the limbs/body had slid on.

    As the days progress our man is strengthening and evolving in ways that could only be imagined. We have a good future ahead of us, and I'm proud to say that it is coming sooner than we had predicted.

    Yours Sincere,
   
    James R. R. Wibbler

    Who was this 'Mr. Higgs'? was my next question to dwell on. 'Flight'? 'Up in the air soon'? 'Mechanical flying monster'? This was not your usual Superman episode from the 20th century.

    No, but it was certainly something similar to it by this scientist's peculiar choice of vocabulary. I stared at the monitor, frustrated with all the information and questions that flowed from the flickering words. Looking at the time on the digital clock that sat on my nightstand, I realized that I had gone far into the night than I had with my constant reading and brainstorming. The sky was pitch black, a void hovering over Manhattan as even the silhouettes of the buildings were inked out of sight.

    Snores came from around me, my sensitive ears tuning in to my caffeinated heartbeat. The screen lit the room in a dull blue glow, the computer's voice vibrating my hands as the gloom gave the empty bedroom just a tinge of excitement, a sign of life. My skin prickled with anxiety, I could still feel the gaze of someone behind me as I sat still in my hard office chair, thoughts feeling as if they were blocked from my mind. The silence was eerie enough, but the sleeping students and city sounds that was like static in the background calmed my mind enough to know that I was completely secure and safe. Although after reading those disturbing emails, it left a bad taste in my mouth.

    I exited the file by clicking the "X" in the top right corner and wondered why I was even digging into something that happened almost sixty decades ago. This case was closed, forgotten and stored away like pictures in a photo album.

   The wind wailed with a few of the passing ships as they journeyed home into the stars above, igniting bursts of orange flame before rocketing towards the sky, gleaming in the night as they screamed their way into space with a high pitched growl. First there were two, then four, and then a Justice Vessel's shrill siren while a bright band of light passed by, brightening the dorm in blinding, achromatic luminance.

    The Justice Vessel followed after as shadows danced across the room as if doing some sort of wild jig, and fluorescent blue and red blazed with them and I groaned in annoyance, my retinas burning from the sudden explosion of activity. The soles of my feet vibrated as did the rattling objects on my desk from the throaty growl of the heated engines.

    That's one damn big ship they're chasing, my thoughts were nearly drowned out in the bellowing cry as they flew by, round and round the building, fading out then coming back again and the process was repeated but three seconds later after everything was calm. I gripped my desk with one hand, digging my fingernails into the wood and stopping my ear with the other to keep the desk from toppling over and my eardrums to not bleed.

    Through it all, I picked up a shrill that was not part of the symphony of noise, and as I shifted my gaze to avoid the rising starships I spotted a tall, bulky shape on the floor that blocked out the light. My heart stopped for a moment.

    It's on my patio...

    Panic arose in my stomach, creating a toxic concoction with my overly tired mind. I didn't want to look, maybe it was just a Justice officer? No...they didn't look seven feet tall. It's on my patio... It's on my patio...

    Don't look at it! My thoughts shouted a simple order, yet I did not follow it.

    My voice did not speak, no sound came from my mouth as I stretched it to let out a scream. But nothing came, just a squeak.

    It stood there, white eyes staring into mine. The irises were demented and insane, set in stone of its strangely shaped head. The monster's figure stood past the height of my sliding doors, the silvery appendages which stuck out of its back gleaming in the frantic flashing of the lights, dark against the vibrancy. It's back was bent in a twisted way, torso turned so it bore straight into the room with a chilling, angry glare. My feet were frozen, my eyes trapped underneath the electric gaze, holding me down mercilessly as the image planted itself in my mind forever.

    As the vessels moved to fully blast the heat of their light into the room, the rest of the creature's body came into view from out of the shifting shade. Argent, metallic skin shone in the city lights, covering its body like armor as it stood still, the shadows not as lurid as it had probably hoped.

    'Mechanical Flying Monster'.

    It's chest heaved, beams of light bouncing off of the artificial body, the rest obscured by the brilliant alabaster blaze. The full span of the artificial wings had not become visible until the strip of light increased as the ship shot off into the city, the strip becoming smaller and smaller as the Justice Vessel pursued, their repetitive pulses finally winking out as they melted into the sleeping city of Manhattan.

    I was left with the monster, but now I could barely see it as my vision flashed with color and everything went pitch black, even the light from the monitor and the desk lamp was dead for the vibrations had cut it out. Terror gripped my throat like an iron fist, and my mouth went dry as I heard a low, almost human growl linger within the darkness.

    It was in the dorm, and I shot up from the desk as I could still see two orbs floating in the distant hole, my back touching the cold surface of the smooth wall. Why weren't my neighbors here? Didn't they hear the commotion? Or did they just not see the thing that now stood just feet away from me? My stomach knotted painfully, veins pumping with fear.

    This was not happening, this had to be a dream, right?

    I could hear it's breathing, loud and deep on the other side of my room. I tensed and could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up as it spoke.

    "Oh, it's real, alright," said a deep, male monotone voice, but I could still hear the psychotic laugh between its clicking teeth. The beating of rustic, creaking and snapping metal wings drilled into my ears, and clawed fingers gripped at my biceps as a breeze hit my skin. It's body was contorted in practically a pretzel like position as it pressed against me, warm breath smelling like gasoline and boiled rubber as it hit my cheek. Suddenly, the monitor buzzed and it turned on, blaring its white hot glow into my retinas and illuminating the monster's own artificial face.

    This time, I screamed.

    Before me was a man, modified with technology I did not know of. Rust coated the very corners and folds of the steel armor he wore, eyes swirling with a mechanical rage as they bore into my own. The steel gleamed with little cloudy reflections of my terrified expression, the blond messy hair and the oceanic eyes tainted with unease. I drew my eyes down his body. His bones seemed to have moved on their own accord, sticking upward out of his skin and shaping his flesh and muscle like dough in a pan.

    Half of his face was human, pale skin and lips a light blue...the dark eye blinked at me, as if in acknowledgement or some fraction of a human soul was still deep down there, seeing his victim as a human, as if he were fighting a battle between machine and man that was going on inside him. I trembled, heart pounding in my head as my scream was silenced by a cold, metal hand.

    Another slid down my arm, chest and stomach and finally onto my waist, chilling the skin through my thin tank top.

    Tears were spilling out of my eyes and dripping onto the scintillant armor. I was stuck, I was going to die, no one would come for me.

    He curled his lip upward in a nasty, satisfied grin, revealing rows of yellow, jagged teeth that glistened in the grey fog. I whimpered pathetically and cursed myself for it as the metallic fingers tightened their strong grip around my face, the edges of the layered armor pinching my skin.

    The contrast darkened the steel mask of his face to where I could only see it when the monitor's soft glow hit the shielding. Those white orbs pierced through the darkness, bold and bright like two moons in the nightly world of my room.

    Muscles contracting around his body, I remained still, our pupils locking as if connected by a chord that kept drawing me back to them no matter how unnerving they were. My lips tasted the tart flesh of the hand, and I quietly spoke, ignoring my subconscious which was telling me to shut the hell up.

    "Stop..." It was one word, a little plea for mercy, but the monster didn't listen.

    His chest vibrated as another inhuman sound rose into his throat. Quiet!

    "Please." I said.

    The wings crunched and clinked as he extended them, foot by foot until they were halfway across the dorm. "Why did you disobey?"

    I stared in confusion, brow furrowing. Shadows of the massive, half folded appendages encased the carpet and the wall in front of us in black as another vessel flew by, flashing its light into the dorm before its rumble faded away. I could still hear the wings as they clicked their way like bones snapping into place to eighteen feet then stopped and shuddered. A draft hit my legs, and all was quiet again.

    The orbs moved smoothly in the void, from the computer to the left then to me again. Something inside of me clicked like the steel on the creature's wings, and I could feel my mouth stretch and my eyelids to lift out of their sleepy daze.

    James R. R. Wibbler, the scientist who'd created this hybrid. He was the hybrid.

    "Didn't I say that those emails were classified?" said James.

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