Chapter 2: Appearances

When the world changes it can happen in one of two ways, either a slow process that takes many years or extremely fast leaving almost no time for people to grow accustomed to the change. In Ozan’s case, it was most definitely the latter, and the world was not ready for it. He would often look back on that morning, on waking up on the floor in front of his mirror; convinced that everything he had seen the previous night was nothing more than a dream, and remember that that was the last time he woke up in a world that made sense.

Looking into his wall mirror Ozan turned slowly letting his left shoulder reflect clearly back at him. There branded onto his skin unchanged from that first day was that unexplainable mark. Believe it or not but the fact that the mark was there wasn’t even the weirdest part, it was that no one could see it. He could feel it, see it in the mirror, even take a picture of it, but to this day not one other person had been able to see it. For weeks he’d been terrified of his parents finding out, like how would he explain a mark he could only explain by saying he’d gotten it in a dream.

With a minor exertion of will, Ozan’s body flashed with heat, spreading out from the mark on his shoulder throughout his entire body in less time than it would have taken to blink. Standing before the mirror now his body had taken on the sleek gunmetal sheen of freshly polished steel. There was no sound, no visible starting point from which the metal had appeared, it simply wasn’t then it was. As he continued to stare, he thought back to the first time he’d ever transformed after waking from the dream. He’d thought, or rather hoped that like so much else that had happened, it was part of the dream.

The horror of looking into a mirror and seeing not only a completely new person staring back but one with the visage of a store mannequin staring back was enough to make anyone pass out in panic. Even now he didn’t think he’d ever grow accustomed to his natural look. Smooth metal stretched over his face erasing his mouth, nose, eyes, ears, and even hair.
Another flash of heat and Ozan once again stood before the mirror clad only in his skin and inky black sleep shorts. Turning from the mirror it briefly reflected the seXC written on the back before he left the mirror’s field of view. Side stepping between his computer chair and mattress he reached for the nob of the top drawer on his dresser. Sliding it out he grabbed a pair of compression shorts, running shorts, and socks and began to dress.

Dropping from the last step directly onto the floorboard with a loud thump followed closely by the prolonged creak of shifting wood, he officially announced his return to the world of the living to whatever family members were still home at this hour. Ozan pivoted on his right foot using the banister for leverage to swing around until he was facing the kitchen and strolled in. At the small family dining table sat his father immersed in the sports section of the daily news paper. He looked up when Ozan entered the room “heading out for a run?”

Ozan never broke stride and he headed for the front door and stooped to pick up his running shoes. Upon returning to a seat at the table he finally answered. “Yep, only a few days left and I gotta be prepared.” He said slipping his feet into the shoes without untying them forcing him to dig the heel out with his fingers.

“Careful out there, it’s damned hot out there now, how long are you planning on going for?” His father returned, putting down the paper and looking up at him.

“Always careful. Plus, I’m doing the 3-mile loop so I’ll be swinging back by every 3 miles.” Ozan said getting to his feet and heading for the door. “Thinking about doing 9–12, so I’ll do 3 loops and see how I feel. You want me to stop back in after every loop so you know I’m alive?” He said looking back over his shoulder, a smile dancing across his face.

“No, no, no need to do that.” His dad replied rolling his eyes.

Ozan pulled open the front door, a shrill creak emanating from the hinges, “back in a bit” he called over his shoulder as he stepped outside.

Glancing skyward he momentarily shielded his eyes from the sharp glare. The heat steaming down from the sky seemed to increase the very gravity of the earth itself. Ozan’s shoes crunched down the driveway, his footing constantly shifting as the stones squirmed beneath his feet. Glancing both ways down the street he quickly crossed the deserted stretch of asphalt and broke into a brisk run.

Halfway through his second loop Ozan came across a runner plodding along in the opposite direction. The man briefly glanced at Ozan giving little more than a jerk of his head as he struggled to place one foot in front of the other. As they passed one another Ozan noted the sweat stained stench of the man on the air, held low to the ground by the pervasive heat, remaining present in his nostrils long after the man had faded from view.

As his driveway slid into view from the top of the hill Ozan slowed slightly as his father’s head poked up over a flowerbed, hose in hand all but drowning the plants. “Still as consistent as ever, I see” his father’s voice reached out as Ozan approached the bottom of the driveway.

Without breaking stride Ozan called back “two more, feeling good,” as he passed the driveway and continued off down the road.

The last two loops went by in a blur of sun and trees leaving him finally stopped after over an hour at the bottom of his driveway. The hose lay wrapped around the base of a bush like a large green snake its head resting in the puddle that had become the bed beneath it. Stepping carefully through the bushes and flowers, he ran his fingers through his short sun drenched brown bristles. Ozan picked up the hose and gently squeezed the grip, a jet of ice cold water splashed against his outstretched hand as the handle squeaked in protest. Sucking in a deep breath, more out of habit than anything else he raised the hose overhead and let loose the torrent of water to rain down on his head soaking his previously bone dry scalp. The water flowed down his face and dripped onto his torso streaking down his skin toward his shorts.

Ozan released the grip and dropped the hose back into the bush’s muddy bed. Now dripping wet and ready to go inside he carefully extricated himself from the flowers and bushes and walked briskly up the driveway to his front door.

Glancing briefly through the screen as he approached Ozan quickly noticed his father once again sitting at the kitchen table, an iced drink in front of him and seemingly staring out of sight. Upon reaching the door and gripping the handle Ozan was able to hear the soft voices emanating from the television where it was perched on the counter out of sight. The creak of the door as Ozan pulled it toward himself was his father’s first warning of his returning son.

“Hey, wow, you’re soaked, did you have a good swim?” Ozan’s father joked from the table. Ozan shook his head in lazy dismissal of the lame joke and moved past the table toward the stairs. “Wait,” his father called after him “you should have some water after that long a run.” Ozan froze, first foot still on the bottom step.

“You should have some water after that long a run,” his father said as Ozan took a seat to remove his shoes. “Eight miles is quite a bit for a steamer like today.”

As Ozan finished removing his shoes it finally occurred to him, he didn’t feel even the least bit tired. Glancing at his watch he realized he’d kept a solid six-minute mile pace for eight miles and not a single drop of sweat clung to his body. Nor could he remember ever feeling even one dare to slide down his skin during the run. He felt as fresh as though he’d just awoken from a good night’s sleep despite taking his long run at the hottest time of day.
The true significance of this fact would remain lost on Ozan for quite some time after this day even after discovering the more obvious change that had occurred the previous night.

Today, Ozan knew better. Letting out a silent string of curses he spun on his heel and trudged back into the kitchen. “Shit, yeah, good point,” he said approaching the fridge, “dunno where my head is at today.” Opening the door to the fridge Ozan glanced at the TV, covertly watching his father out of the corner of his eye.

His father had returned his attention to the TV, however, and was busy switching the channel, to the afternoon news as it turned out. “And still, after nearly two years since the first confirmed sighting of an Altered Human and still scientists are no closer to learning almost anything about them. Least of all how we’re supposed to tell them apart from normal people without witnessing them in action.” One anchor complained to the other. “You’d think we’d have made at least some headway, but there’s nothing.” he continued.

“Nothing we’ve heard about certainly,” the other responded shaking his head. “While I’m sure you’re all tired of hearing about little else, we continue today with our story on the revised laws surrounding known Altered Humans.” The TV screen blinked out as Ozan’s father stood from his chair and hit the power button on the remote.

“Same old thing day in and day out,” his father said placing the remote on the kitchen table. “How do we restrain the bad ones? How do we preserve safety for the normal people? What do we do with the ones who want to help? If only things really were as simple as comic books always made them out to be. Blah blah blah.” His father finished off the last of his tea, fat drops of condensation falling from the glass to tile floor at his feet. “I understand that it’s hot out but you should probably close the door sometime soon.”

Ozan snapped back to reality as he realized he still held the refrigerator door open, the cold not even registering against his skin. He quickly snagged a disposable bottle and slammed the door shut, which only served to pop open the other one from the air pressure. Ozan’s dad closed this one softly as he walked past to deposit his glass in the sink.

Without a word, Ozan left the kitchen and headed once more for the stairs and eventually his room. Once there he stepped inside and snapped the door shut swiftly behind him. Turning the lock behind his back, a soft click confirmed at least relative privacy for the moment. He passed quickly through his room and into the attached bathroom. Cracking the seal of the bottle he began to empty its contents down the sink’s drain as was his habit. Even after nearly two years he still slipped up, even if only in minor ways. He was lucky. Even when he revealed himself, he could remain hidden, if he was careful. Slip ups like these could be forgotten, but if he got lazy, his secret could get out. It’s not like he thought he could hide it forever, but at least for now it was nice to fly under the radar. Let the world figure out what it was going to do about them first, then decide what to do about himself.

Ozan didn’t feel tired, but he slept. He didn’t feel hungry, but he ate. He didn’t feel thirsty, but he drank. It was all about appearances at the moment.