Birth of the Adonis

A fanfic by Sir Alwick

Adam was just about past the side street, the one with the chicken place where the group usually hung out. He would have liked to avoid it entirely, but a part of him (his feet perhaps) was fed up with taking the long way home. He decided to take his chances.

"Hey, Finch! Where do you think you're going?"

Damn.

With his head still bowed, eyes following the sidewalk, he ignored them the best he could. If he kept walking, made like he didn't even hear them, there was still a chance that the group's natural laziness would keep them where they were.

"Hey, pee wee, I'm talking to you."

Footsteps and the feeling of large figures on fast approach. He felt a sudden surge of terror rise up in his chest. He slowed and sighed. It was apparently far less work to chase him down the street than it was to attend class. From a bunch of monkey-brained goons, he should have expected no less.

Slouching his shoulders he turned and looked to them from over his shoulder. Them, the mass of baggy denim and black death metal t-shirts, heading his way, smirking and snickering like a pack of hyenas. "Yeah, what?" he said, his steps slowing, his voice lush with hopelessness.

In a matter of seconds they surrounded him, blocking all exits. A trio of giant stone pillars made of ignorant flesh. The two, Ray and Tony darted in front of him, while the one, Tommy Dugan, blocked him from behind. If he didn't know any better he'd say they were getting bigger by the day. Dumber too. The entire time they had approached, Adam had done his best to wear a look of defiance on his face, but now with the group baring down on him keeping up the charade had become impossible. His face fell and his lip curled downward as he felt Tommy lift the backpack from his shoulders.

"The backpack," thought Adam. "Not again."

From Adam's right came their leader: a monstrous 12th grader named Kenny Francis. Ah, Mr. Francis. With any luck he may actually graduate this year. Then at least he'd be some McDonald managers problem instead of Adams. Kenny was the largest student to ever blunder through the halls of P.S. 109, even before he was held back two times. He worked out, or at least worked out the parts that he thought mattered, mainly his arms and chest, although muscular would not have been the word to describe him. No, simply "big" was far more appropriate. He was tall, 6ft at least. His skull was huge and gave one the impression that he were wearing a football helmet under his skin. Add to that his massive arms, bulbous torso, a low IQ and bad temper, and you had a nightmare worthy of Phobeter.

"What's your hurry?" Kenny questioned, slowing to a casual stroll, stopping just to Adam's right. The way he spoke, his voice deep and booming, it was drenched in a sort of smugness that could only come from being in such a dominant position.

Adam's nose upturned as the behemoth neared. The smell. That god awful smell. "Do you ever shower?" It was the question he most wanted to ask of Mr. Francis, but of course didn't.

Behind him, Adam could already hear the zipper of his backpack being unzipped. He closed his eyes and sighed again, knowing what was to follow. The flapping of paper and the clattering of pencils and pens, the thumping of textbooks; the entire contents of his backpack resonated in his ears as it fell and landed in a scattered mess on the sidewalk.

"What's this?" he heard what sounded like Tommy ask aloud. "Advanced din..dinam.."

Adam recognized the title immediately. Letting the stupid monkey babble it out for himself would have been smarter, but he supposed he wasn't feeling very smart that day. Showing off how much more he knew than them was one of the few moments of superiority in which he could indulge himself when dealing with his detractors. He relished it, and so couldn't resist.

"Advanced Dynamics and Elevated Theories in Mechanical Engineering," spoke Adam through an annoyed and perturbed sigh.

The boy didn't say a word, but his thoughts were clear to anyone with the minimalist of foresight. He was pissed. Adam heard the smack of the textbook as it hit the ground and very quickly felt a brief pressure on his shoulder, Tommy's firm hand giving him a forceful shove that sent him stumbling forward, nearly landing onto his face.

The group laughed and Adam righted himself just in time to find Kenny baring down on him. A deep feeling of helplessness overcame him, his self-righteousness disappeared and his fear returned. He cast his eyes to the ground.

"Look," said Adam, his voice cracking slightly. "Can we please just skip today? Just this once?"

Kenny smiled, the gap in his front teeth winking in the sunlight. "But Finch," he said. "How do you expect to get any better if you don't practice? Trust me, this is for your own good." And with that he slowly extended his hand.

That massive, ugly, baseball-mitt-like palm. Just like the day before and the day before that and the day before that, once again it was here, right in front of his face. Big and powerful. A good ten inches from middle finger tip to palm at least, each digit thick and firm like a roll of coins. At such a distance he could easily make out every little mark and blemish, the wart on Frank's thumb, the cut on his pinky finger, the various lines and swirls. If he knew anything about palm reading he could have read his future. As it was he could only see his own: Pain. Lots and lots of pain.

"Come on," hissed Kenny, his tone low and demanding.

Unable to help himself, Adam's bottom lip quivered. The tears were practically at his cheeks as he raised his hand, bringing his own palm to meet Kenny's. Small and bony, fingers made of licorice candy, his hand practically disappeared as the boy's massive digits closed around the back of his hand.

"Ready?"

Adam offered no reply and Kenny didn't wait for one. In a flash the larger boy rotated his wrist so that all knuckles faced the ground, and then began lifting. Pain sensations, burning like needles made of fire, stabbed at Adam's joints and traveled up his arms. It hurt so much. It always did. An involuntary wail escaped his throat as he quickly fell to his knees.

"Stop! Stop! Mercy!" Adam cried as he grabbed his forearms in a desperate attempt to halt the pain. "Please let me go!"

Kenny laughed but did not release the hold. From all around there came the sound of laughter as the other boys watched with glee. Pointing and elbowing, laughing and taunting. Pointing and snickering.

Again Adam begged the larger boy to stop and again his pleas went unanswered. The pressure in his wrist intensified and his tear laced words soon turned into nothing more than elongated vowel sounds.

"Say mercy," said Kenny."

"Mercy," wailed Adam.

"Say mercy."

"Mercymercy!"

The pain continued for a few seconds longer and then all at once subsided. Resting on his knees, Adam hugged his hand to his chest, cradling it like a newborn. Tears still poured from his eyes and his breathing had been reduced to short ragged gasps. Every attempt to calm himself, to stem the tide and reestablish some sense of dignity was met with failure. Just like clockwork, from all around him came the taunts. Cruel derogatory barbs about his size, strength, even his sexuality. Yes, they loved that one. Even the ones who didn't physically torture him loved that one. The goons stuck around for a while longer, watched and laughed as he nursed his injured hand while doing his best to return the spilled contents of his backpack to their rightful place. Then they left, leaving him to his tears, as well as an undeniable and ever growing anger.

...

The remainder of the walk home was a slow deliberate one. He after all needed time for his eyes to dry. He arrived home, made his way up the stone steps of his apartment building and went inside. Arriving at the top floor, he could already hear them. The thumping and jabbering. The barbarians were already in the midst of their post school ritual. Good. It meant they'd be too busy to acknowledge him.

Unlocking the lock on the loft apartment, Adam made his way inside. There was a flash of brown and out of the corner of his eye he spied a football making its way across the living room. It was caught by Jake and a mere moment later was sent sailing back to Jeremy. The two of them wore their jerseys and were already in the midst of a heated discussion about details and specifics concerning last Sunday's "big game" between Baltimore and Delaware (Deleware or Denver, he neither knew nor cared). Still throwing the ball, they grunted about names and statistics, periodically stopping to brag about what chicks they bagged in their twin, fire engine red, T-bird convertibles. Adam didn't understand any of it, nor did he really want to. Let the ogre's have their fun. It need not concern him. He wanted simply to go peacefully to his room, watch some TV and maybe lose himself in a manga or two. He hardly thought it too much to ask.

Attempting to sneak his way past, he was nearly home free when he heard, "Hey pit stain think fast!" Crediting his stupidity in actually looking to instinct and involuntary action was his only way of forgiving himself. He turned and suddenly there was fire in his nose and tears once again in his eyes. The football bounced from his face and rolled across the floor.

"Jake! What the hell!" Adam shrieked. His hand went to his nose.

"Ooh, personal foul," laughed Jeremy.

Ignoring the two snickering behemoths Adam turned and quickly made for his room. Pulling his fingers away he found them sticky with fresh blood. He moaned and, as his two guffawing brothers continued about their business, headed for the bathroom.

"Barbarians..." muttered Adam, bringing a damp cloth to his nose.

Ogres. Neanderthals. Cro Magnons. Leviathans. No matter what label he put to them, it was always the same.

"Big bodies, small brains."

It was a notion that to him was inexcusable and yet somehow he came to live in a world where such was not only the norm but was also celebrated.

Ignorance and brute strength lorded over intelligence. Real scientific discoveries were yawned at and deemed boring by the masses while the ability to "throw a ball really far" was touted as outstanding and garnered praise and adulation beyond measure, multimillion dollar contracts and big fat advertising deals.

How many Nobel prize winning physicists ever make it to the covers of cereal boxes?

And then there were the Teen Titans, the so-called protectors of the city. The ignorant masses loved him, thought they were heroes, but all Adam saw when he looked at them were more meatheads flexing their muscles, pounding their chests and throwing their weight around. One needn't look any further than the shrine they'd built for themselves on the bay. They were looking down their noses at everyone. How could he be the only one to see it?

Uncivilized men, leftovers from some ancient time, celebrated for what amounted to little more than genetics and arbitrary physical activities. It as absurd. He hated them. Hated all of them. And yet what he hated most was that, when he thought of the accolades, the money, the respect, he realized that deep, deep down, he would have given anything to be one of them.

...

"Come on! Keep your guard up."

Adam grunted as once again the bright red glove leapt up and bopped him in his still wounded nose. Covering his face he did his best to turn away from the blows as his opponent continued to circle him, jabbing and poking him where ever he found an opening.

"Come on Adam. Get aggressive."

"I'm trying."

"Well, try harder."

"Dad..."

His father did this from time to time, took time out of his busy schedule to remember he had a third son. The one that wasn't interested in sports, girls or cars. He never said it, but he hardly had to. Adam knew. One son too many.

"We should do something together," the old, retired amateur boxer would say on occasion. "Just you and me." The words would lack conviction, and if the invitation was turned down the old fighter's relief would be palpable. Adam couldn't fault him for trying, but honestly, he would rather he didin't.

"Come on Adam! Man up!" his father barked, again giving him a light but still too hard bop to the midsection. "Man up!"

Gritting his teeth Adam reared back to deliver a punch, but was instead met with yet another quick bop to his nose. He yelped and instantly covered up again.

"Don't telegraph your punches so much. I could see that coming a mile away."

Adam looked down at the floor to his father's sock covered feet. He considered stomping on his toes as hard as he could but another poke stole his concentration. He then gave up on fighting back entirely. Still covering up the best he could he simply decided to wait. Wait and hope for him to stop.

It took a while, but the fact that the fight was indeed over finally registered. Arms dropping to his sides, his father turned away and began ripping at the Velcro on his training gloves. "Fine," he lamented bitterly. "But you gotta learn this stuff sometime, Adam. It's the only way you're going to get those punks to stop messing with you."

"Dad, there's four of them." It was a credible excuse, though honestly even if there were only one it would still have hardly mattered. "Despite what you may think, no amount of you smacking me in the face is going to change that."

Anger suddenly flashed in the fighter's eyes as he gave Adam a firm smack in the shoulders. He stared hard and pointed a long, calloused finger in his face. "Don't you get smart with me, pal."

A part of him wanted to say, "It wouldn't be very hard," but instead he held silent.

An awkward silence passed between the two, one that was hardly a stranger to their household. Adam removed his gloves. Leaving them on the floor he was just about to leave when-

"Hey, me and your brothers are going to be driving into Gotham tomorrow for the big game. You're...uh...free to come with us if you want."

"No thanks."

"Okay. Well...we'll probably be gone a few days. There's a couple sports history museums we want to hit while where there. Will you be okay by yourself?"

"Yeah," he answered. "I'll be fine."

Try not to sound too happy.

...

He knocked on the door. After a few minutes of waiting garnered no reply he knocked again. Still nothing. Rolling his eyes and arching his eyebrows he bent over and flipped the bottom right corner of the doormat. Finding the key hidden beneath he unlocked the door and made his way inside.

Inside, Adam found the room the same way he found it most days, that was to say a total mess. Stacks of books littered the floor. Everywhere there were tables set up, housing tangles of wires and circuit boards. Bits of metal scattered the floor, nuts, bolts and washers. In the corner of the living room and along the wall were various computer terminals, some working, some not. Adam had always been a neat freak, and yet here amongst the debris of science and discovery, he felt more at home than anywhere else.

From the bedroom down the hall there came a loud crashing and the sound of angry German muttering.

"Doc?"

There was silence and then a thick Austrian accent asked, "Who's there?"

"It's me."

"Mr. Chalmers? I-I-I'm sorry I don't have the rent right now but if you come back-"

"It's Adam, Doc."

There was the sound of footsteps and Alexander Bauer, the man known simply as "Doc" to his friends (which really only included Adam) appeared in the doorway. A man in his mid-fifties, his hair was minimal, mostly congregating just above his neck, leaving the top of his head bare. He wore a baggy tan sweater and his dress pants were off-white. Through his thick bushy moustache he smiled at Adam, his weathered eyes twinkling in delight.

"Adam, my boy," he said. "How good of you to stop by."

"Stop by? Doc, you called me and asked me to come."

"I did? Oh yes I did. I've got something to show you. Now where did I...oh yes it's in the kitchen. Come, come."

They were just about down the hall and in the kitchen when suddenly Adam found the Doc quickly holding a hand to him, halting his movement, and saying "Oh wait, wait."

"What?"

"Well, I need to cover it up. I want to unveil it. Things are always more impressive if you...you know... whip it out...as it were."

Adam couldn't help but laugh as the Doc disappeared around the corner. A few seconds later he informed him that it was okay to enter.

Coming around the corner, he found the old engineer standing on the far side of the kitchen, a hand behind his back. The table to his left was covered by a white sheet, swelled in the center by an unseen structure.

"Ready?" said the Doc with a smirk.

Adam nodded and Doc swiftly pulled the sheet from the table.

There was confusion for only a moment as Adam's mind began to process what exactly he was seeing. But as the image settled in his eyes, he soon felt the familiar buzz of excitement and intrigue rising up in his chest, and a single word made its way to his lips.

"Whoa."

It was an arm. But not just any arm. A robot arm. A huge, mechanical, robotic arm. Held in place by a series of straps and locks, it rose up from the table like the stem of a flower, its long fingers being the petals, as it reached toward the ceiling. It shined metallic silver in the light of the kitchen. The lack of any real color gave it a barebones, but nevertheless efficient aesthetic.

Adam was already speechless, but the Doc was far from finished. From the same table the old man retrieved a maroon colored vest. Tubes of wire and bits of metal covered it, running its length like an exoskeleton. There were what looked like batteries, semiconductors and diodes attached to the chest and back. A long tube ran from the center of the vest down the Doc's right arm, meeting what appeared to be the makings of a glove with metal fingers.

"Now watch," said The Doc with a smirk. Turning to the table he seemed to fiddle with something on the back of the arm with his ungloved hand. He then flicked a switch on his chest. There was a hum and suddenly the arm sprang to life. Like a creature wondering where it was it began rotating in place, first one way then the other. It bowed and wiggled its fingers, clenched and unclenched its fist.

Adam was absolutely amazed by the display, and it didn't take him long to realize he was missing something. The Doc. The Doc was controlling it. Every movement the old man made with his gloved hand, the arm echoed in real time without a hint of delay.

"It follows my every movement," said The Doc as if to confirm what was being seen. "Right down to the most minute detail."

Adam's mind reeled. His mouth hung slack. "It's like a Gundam," he whispered.

He had read the Japanese books almost religiously for most of his life. Something about the ability to climb into a giant body, something bigger and stronger, and have it be an extension of your very will. It enticed him in such a way that nothing else did. To Adam, the Gundam was a thing of pure beauty, the Adonis of scientific advancement. For so long it had been little more than a fantasy, and now here it was right in front of him.

"Amazing."

"Good to hear you think so."

"You made this?"

"Yes. Well..the original concepts were devised with an old colleague of mine, Silas Stone. That was some time ago. But things happened and...well, I would rather not go into it. But this new design is mine." The Doc gestured to the countertop across from the table, the one to Adam's rear. "The blueprints and schematics are right over there if you'd care to have a look."

With great interest, Adam studied them, the various sketches and notes. Eyes wide, he focused. The photographic memory was not a myth like some dullards thought. Adam was living proof. Weeks from now, he would still be able to call forth every detail without a hint of hesitation.

As Adam finished, Doc's voice caused his attention to shift. "I have an investors meeting coming up next Friday," the old man said. "And with any luck..." Simply allowing his sentence to trail off, he smiled and crossed his fingers. The arm did the same. Pulling a cloth from his pocket he absentmindedly reached for his glasses with his gloved hand, and swiftly shattered the glass and bent the frames between his thumb and finger, startling not just Adam but himself as well.

The Doc chuckled. He gestured to the glove and said, "The instruments still need some fine tuning."

Adam didn't say a word, only stared at the busted glasses as The Doc set them down on the table and powered down his device. For a moment, everything else seemed to disappear. Blackness covered the borders of his vision. The only light in the tunnel was that of the glasses and the glove that formed them.

"Adam?"

Hearing his name he snapped back to reality. "Yeah," he said.

The Doc appeared worried. "Are you okay?"

The question seemed silly, until Adam tasted the blood on his lips and realized his nose had started bleeding again. The Doc didn't wait for his response. He quickly handed him a damp cloth and instructed him to tilt his head back.

"Was it those bullies again?"

"My brother actually."

The Doc let out a morose sigh. "Do not fear, my boy. I was like you once, if you can believe that. I know how difficult it can be being the little guy. But things do get better. You're a brilliant young man. I know this. And one day the world will know it too, and will treasure it."

It was a speech he had heard before. He never believed it. He still didn't believe it. But coming from Doc, coming from someone he so respected and admired, it almost sounded possible.

Smiling The Doc turned to get some ice from the freezer, and once again Adam's gaze fell on the glove. It held there even as the old man re-covered the piece with the sheet. Held there as his thoughts began to churn.

...

He was hot and uncomfortable, but it was a price he was willing to pay. They were there waiting for him this time. Standing on the corner, talking amongst themselves, they eventually took notice of him as he made his way down the street. They were laughing before he was even in ear shot.

"What's with the jacket, Finch?" laughed Kenny. "You cold?"

"Well, I must be or I wouldn't be wearing it," answered Adam. He spat his words with as much venom as he could, and yet he could not entirely keep his nervousness from at least partially manifesting in his voice.

"You ready for your medicine?"

Adam only nodded. He dropped his backpack to the sidewalk and raised his hand. Fighting down his fear, he stared hard into Kenny's eyes.

"Oooh, looks like someone's wearing their big boy pants today," snickered Kenny.

Again Adam remained silent. Only held his gloved hand up in the air, and waited for the bully to make his move. And a few moments later he did. Their fingers clasped, and Kenny was all smiles.

And in an instant everything changed.

There was a snap and suddenly Kenny was down on his knees, his wrist awkardly bent. His voice cracked as he cried out, a staccato bark like a wounded seal. Another audible snap and now the boy was screaming.

The sounds. The lovely, lovely sounds. The tears and anguish. Adam was enjoying every minute of it.

As the glove beneath the glove did his bidding he smiled to himself. So this was what it felt like, to be dominant, in control. To have someone at your mercy, know they couldn't do anything to stop you. He could understand now why his tomentors did what they did.

"Come on, Francis," he barked, doing the best impression he could of Kenny's, until then, deep and manly voice. "Man up. Show me what you got, pipsqueak."

Kenny only wailed in response.

"You got something to say to me, shrimp?"

With tears pouring down his fat cheeks, Kenny began to babble the only word he thought would end his suffering. "Muh-muh-mercy!" he cried. "Mercy! Mercy! Please!"

All at once Adam's arrogant smile disappeared. And suddenly he could feel nothing but a deep, burning hatred.

"This is for your own good."

There was a loud pop and the back of Kenny's hand met his forearm.

The boy was sobbing loudly when Adam released him, letting him drop to the ground like a sack of garbage. None of the others made any move against him as he retrieved his backpack and briskly made his way past them.

As he walked his smile returned to his face and stayed there the entire way home.

Stepping through the front door of the now empty apartment (his dad and brothers had left early that morning) Adam breathed deep, a look of pure contentment on his face. After removing his jacket and exterior gloves, he undid The Doc's vest and carefully set it and the glove down on the coffee table. With any luck he'd be able to sneak the device back to its place in Doc's apartment without the old man noticing. And if he were caught well...it was still worth it. The look on Kenny's face, all the pain and anguish he'd inspired thrown back at him, it was glorious. Well worth the guilt he felt in going behind Doc's back.

Noticing the blinking light on the answering machine, Adam walked over and pressed play. And his smile disappeared.

...

The Doc had no next of kin. Regardless it still somewhat humbled Adam to find out that he was listed as Doc's emergency contact. Standing outside the hospital room, gazing in through the window, he hardly recognized the man who had been so good to him over the years.

He recalled once again what the police had told him. Doc was apparently on his way home from the grocery store when it happened. A couple of goons looking for a quick buck wanted his wallet. He tried to reason with them, but they were having none of it. And when he didn't move fast enough they simply took it by force. The Doc wasn't very strong. One blow would have been enough. But they didn't stop there. Even when he was lying on the ground they didn't stop. Not even when he lost consciousness did they stop. It took someone walking by the alley for them to finally leave him, and by then the damage, as they say, was done.

The doctors told him that he might never regain consciousness. And if he did, there was no denying it: he would never again be as he was. The kind, gentle, brilliant man that Adam had known since eighth grade. Taken by a couple of lumbering knuckle-draggers with barely enough intelligence to tie their shoes.

It hardly seemed fair.

...

Night had fallen and for a long time, Adam had done nothing but sit in his father's arm chair in the living room, the TV remote in one hand and one of his Gundam figurines in the other. He had left the hospital without saying a word. Sitting in the dark of the living room, staring at the glowing TV screen portraying the sweating, screaming, muscle-bound protagonist of an old 80s action flick he came to only one conclusion. As much as he hated to admit it, as much as it made him sick to his stomach, he realized his father had been right. The Doc had been wrong. There was no place for people like them. The only thing to do was devolve.

What happened to The Doc would not happen to him. And settling his gaze on the figure in his hand, he got an idea.

...

Three days later.

"He's gonna pay. He's gonna pay for this."

With sticks and bats and chains in hand, Kenny (with fresh cast on his wrist) and his goons approached the apartment building.

"As soon as he shows his face out that door, jump him. Whatever he did last time let's not give him the chance to do it again," he said as he and his group ducked behind the front steps.

For a few minutes they waited, every so often commenting on "How badly" they were going to get the shrimp/geek/fag when he showed his face. It was around the ten minute mark when they suddenly became aware of an audible thumping noise.

Kenny was the first to notice. "Hey, you guys hear that?" he said, stepping hesitantly out of his hiding place.

One by one the rest of the group followed. The thumping was getting louder. They began to question one another. "What is that? Is there construction going on somewhere around here? Maybe it's an earthquake."

All theories abruptly stopped as the front door, along with huge chunks of wall, came exploding from its hinges. The boys stumbled, some of them leapt for safety, but as the dust cleared all eyes fell on the now gaping doorway. And none could believe what they saw.

It had taken him three nights with no sleep to make his masterpiece. He'd gutted every piece of electrical equipment in the house, even going to far as to tear wiring out of the walls. He'd drained his and his brother's bank accounts, maxed out his dad's credit cards, and the rest he stole and/or salvaged (his brother's T-bird's had been a big help in constructing the body). At long last, he was finished.

He had become a thing of power and beauty. He was the ultimate, he was everything desirable in the world. Adam Finch? Adam Finch was gone. Now there was only what he was: Adonis.

Catching eyes with the boys on the street Adonis pounded his massive fists together and flexed his newfound muscle.

"Hey, small fries," he growled, his voice as deep as he could make it. "How about a little mercy?"

End