An Effort In Self-Discipline

Genetic Engineering blows.

Not in a vacuum-tube baby kind of way, but still blows on a level very close to my heart. Or, more specifically, to my brain. My dad was a bodybuilder, my mother a carpenter. Both very physical in nature, required a lot of strength, and endurance. Between their births, and their marriage, the marvelous religion of science created a method of... meddling in the affairs of genetics. Humans went from every shape, size, race, and color; to every shape, size, race, color, and genre. Now, your average, run-of-the-mill household contains two of five flavors the humankind now offers.

First, there's your standard human. Not too tall, not too short. Not special in any way or form. They were born, the end. No genetic enhancements, no medical side effects. Just, standard joe.

Secondly, you've got your elf humans. Due to medical advancements (read: abominations), these humans have increased brain capacity, slightly more bloated lifespans, and really big ears. Their main problem, musclulature. Tall, and skinny, is a great way to describe each and every one of them. Ranging from 5' 10” to 6' 8”, they're very tall people. But, their bulk runs in too-skinny, and skinny. The muscles just don't have the proportionate mass, and they're even less likely to be picked in PE than the nerd sitting in row 7.

Thirdly, you've got your friendly neighborhood half-elves. Boasting a brain capacity of 15 versus the elvish 25, they're about as smart as your average Asian... Okay, maybe a little more. Regardless, they've got the brains. On top of that, they boast a mostly normal musculature. Ranging from lean to normal, they can hold candle to your average joe in muscle mass, minus a pounds of punching power. The middle ground between brains and brawns.

Fourth is a little different. They're what I call midgets. Halflings are a touchy breed. Towering up to about 5' 2”, these monolithic midgets boast a very strange set of nerves and muscles. No more or less smart, or more or less capable of muscle mass, these humans thrive on agility and grace. They're often taught yoga at a young age, and master the more difficult positions by early grade school. By middle school, they're already above and beyond the average human's ability. Agile and graceful, these are the types of people who learn gymnastics, and win countries medals in the acrobatic sections of the Olympics.

Lastly, a human type I'm very familiar with, the ogre. Ogres are big. Very big. Thick around, tall up top, strong everywhere between. Muscles stretch top to bottom, end to end, and are usually the types of people you hire to move furniture. Well, us and Mexicans. The only problem, besides a bit of extra bulk, is the brain capacity. Trucking along at a mighty and powerful 6 brain capacity, our minds work about as much as the average politician sitting on his soap box.

Which makes me question my parents motive, choosing their darling child Johnathan to be a musclebound meathead. I flexed in my seat, stretching, and briefly considered looking at my neighbor's paper. Seemed a little off, that my parents would choose me to be in the greatest school my area had to offer, but also choose to sacrifice my brain for a bit of bulky muscle. Regardless, here I sat in the testing chamber, staring at the problem. Wondering why x can't just figure itself out.
I batted the problem problem around, erased until my pen eraser ran out, marked some more. Nothing really came out, but I guessed on a lot of answers. By the time the test was over, I had filled it most of the paper, with things I was reasonably sure could, y'know just maybe, be the right answer. The professor picked up the paper, saw all the scratch-outs, and glared at me before moving to the next person. I faintly recall hearing, “Use a pencil next time, Mr. Larpe.”

I grunted a confirmation and turned my eyes nervously across the sea of faces. Most everyone seemed cool and calm. Most children seemed elvish. A few handfuls of half-elves. A vanilla human or six. The one little detail I didn't miss is that I was the only ogre. After a quick five to ten minute break, I fidgeted in my seat as the professor passed around the next test. This one was English, and it was one I was very familiar with. I wrestled with the sentence structures, but felt a lot better about this one than the last. I even finished a little bit early.

The professor flicked another glance at me as he collected the packet minutes later, but it wasn't a glare this time. I packed my books in a small bag (well, small for me) and headed outside for the break. I stretched, muscles tightening along my arms and chest. Behind me, I heard a voice that had a touch of an accent. Vaguely European, but the specific area I couldn't place. “Hey there, big guy, never seen someone like you before.”

“Leave me alone,” I replied, voice entire bars deeper than his, “if all you're going to do is make fun of me.”

“I'm on level,” he replied, bouncing up and grabbing onto the metal covering, “and I thought I was tall.” He was shorter than me, but not by much. I'd guess about 6' 3”, and had pretty small ears. Half-Elf, I guessed. He dropped back down and sat on a bench. “Ogre, I guess?”

“What was your first clue,” I asked, leaned against a post, making the entire covering above us groan, “my massive girth?” I leaned in and grabbed the bench, lifting it with one arm. “Or the pointlessly massive strength?”

“Both,” he replied, hopping out of the slowly rising bench, “although I didn't think you could lift that much.”

I shrugged, dropping the metal-and-wooden bench with a small grunt of effort. He paced ahead of me, skipping a long stride or two to match my walking speed. I couldn't help walking that fast, the legs just moved like that. When we got to the door, I heard a screech behind me. I looked, darting my head at the glass window across the front of the school. A car screamed along the semi-circle drive and pummeled into window. Behind the wheel, an elf stood locked in a dead-smile, eyes glassy without any cognition behind them. It was a driving corpse. The car lanced forward. My half-elf friend screamed, darting to one side. The glass slowed the car, but it was still headed straight at the room at a healthy twenty or so miles per hour. I pitched my fingers through the glass panel on the door, ripped the door literally off of the hinges, and turned the door downward onto the car's hood. As the door crashed into the little Volvo, I planted my feet and extending both hands. The car was down to ten or less miles per hour, and even though the car outweighed me, I still had good leverage. I threw my arms out. The car slammed into my palms, I tensed my legs and shoved against the car as hard as I could. The corpse, still seatbelted into the driver's chair, bounced and I guess was off the accelerator. The brakes must've been on, because the car slowed very quickly as I pushed against it.
The car pushed my back flat against the wall, but stopped before further damage was done to the room or me. I also realized I had twisted the bendable metal of the hood into the air, taking the front tires entirely off the ground. I tossed the car's hood aside and slumped, heart still pumping hard in my chest. My half-elf friend bounced over to me, voice going a mile-a-minute “Ohmygoshareyouokay?”
“Yeah, I'm fine. I guess... I'm going to be sore as hell in the morning, though.”

He laughed, “Good God, man. I never realized how strong you guys actually are.”

“It's a gift.” I stared outside, curious as to the reason for a man to die while driving like that. I sprinted into the street, bouncing over a large section of warped aluminum and barrel-loads of shattered glass. Outside was a mess of half-lings in leather coats and helmets, issuing barking commands and creating a warzone. I noticed a group of humans tied down on the street, struggling against ropes and gags. Among them, I spied my father and mother tied down. I strode away from the school toward them. Beside me, I heard smaller footfalls hammering into the street at a hard pace. The half-elf beside me was sprinting faster than me. “What is it, big guy? We should get inside and hide. Gang wars are not fun. I speak from experience.”

“They've got my mom and dad.”

“Say no more.” He said, collecting a discarded tire iron as he ran. “Which ones?”

“Leather jacket, blond hair is my mom. Human half as thick as me with muscle is my dad.”

“Got'cha.” He darted ahead and collected a two-by-four from the ground, charing the circle of leather-jacketed half-ling thugs. I opted for the larger part of minimalism and grabbed the closest tree. It lifted half of the ground with it, and I brought it to bear onto closest mass of little-people and slammed it into the ground. This group was unlucky. One saw me and darted away in a jump no human could ever make from a dead-stop. The rest were looking the wrong way, and got a tree's worth of pain. Beside me, my half-elf amigo who's name I never learned was batting half-lings out of the air with the two-by-four.

I felt a small mass of person bounce off of my shoulders, and I swatted behind my head angrily. I got lucky and swatted a half-ling to the ground. Around me, more were flying toward me. Although they couldn't actually hover or fly, they could jump Olympic distances humans can barely match at a dead stop, and much further and higher when running. I felt three bounce off of me, and I wobbled as weight kicked out of my shoulders. My bones groaned under the sudden pressure, and I turned to the sixteen-or-so midgets around me. I lanced an arm against the little monsters around me, pummeling a few out of the sky. Behind me, more half-lings dove into the battle. I felt metal chains and tire irons pummel against my skin, tearing my cotton shirt to shreds.

I struggled against the various gang members for what felt like hours. Behind me, I heard humans screaming. Lots of bone-breaking hammer blows and cries of pain. I was tiring, bruises forming on every bit of exposed skin and probably lots of places under what shreds of clothing I had left. No matter how many little guys I slammed into the ground, more came. I started getting more violent, crushing bones in my grip and roaring threateningly at my attackers. Slowly they began backing away, afraid to attack and face my wrath. Behind me, I heard a familiar voice. It sounded unsteady, and a little thready, but familiar. “Hey big guy. Mom and pop are fine, we OK to vamoose?”
“Yeah, make a clearing?”

“Please do.”

I turned to see a broken two-by-four in my dad's hand, and a tire iron in the half-elf's. I pointed at a group of battered and bloody half-lings. Their arms and legs seemed shattered by blunt trauma. I felt a small wave of nausea, but saw the crowd thinner around them. I pointed. He nodded, “That's our exit strategy.”

“Hit 'em where it hurts!” My dad called, tapping the two-by-four against the concrete.

We launched ourselves forward. I called a challenge roar into the crowd, backhanding a light-looking half-ling into a huge pile of people as I strode out of the circle of gang-midgets and into the open. Behind me, the half-elf and my dad tore into a pair of half-lings that weren't ready to fight me, but more than ready for a few smaller people. My dad hefted the two-by-four with the weight of muscle, and batted the half-ling around behind splintering the wood into the small-guy's face. The half-elf, twirled and spun, eyes alert. The half-ling moved with alien grace, but the half-elf moved with him, lashing hard with the tire iron. None of the blows were really well-aimed against the awkwardly agile foe, but they wore him down. Before the little skirmish was dismissed by a strong blow of the tire iron, more midgets were prepared to fight. I shifted my weight onto my left leg, and lanced a kick onto the back of the closest little person. “Why don't you pick on someone larger than you?”

He bounced against his friends, and they all stumbled into a tangle of limbs. I grabbed my mother's arm and we all sprinted for the school. Beside us, the school's security officers all drew their batons, charging into the fray. Behind me, the news was on in the foyer. I picked up on a female reporter's voice, “...wars all over the city have erupted at the largest gang dispute this city has seen in ages.” The small elf woman looked a little nervous, but reported the news quickly and efficiently. I turned to my parents and asked what the plan was.
“We're too close to half-ling turf to be anything near safe,” offered the half-elf who helped me out. “The forest behind the school runs about a mile in, then we're in central. Maybe another mile and we'll be at city hall.”

“Seems as good a place as any,” my mom supplied. I shook my head, “That's a long distance, will you guys be alright?”

“Just because we're completely human doesn't mean we're not up for a bit of a jog, son.” My dad replied, discarding the broken wooden plank into the mess that used to be the front window.

“I should be fine,” replied the half-elf, coughing a little. “I got a bit beat up a minute ago, so I'll probably need a hand for the last mile.”

“I've got you covered,” my dad replied.
“Or, you could have the ogre do it.” I said, looking at the wooden door I'd ripped cleanly off of the wall with one hand. “He's light enough, no big deal.”

The forest provided little comfort as we skirted between the trees, tripping over roots and bushes. At least, clearing was visible. I strode into the sun ahead of everyone else, and was greeted with the sight of chaos. Ogres and half-elves were tangling in the streets, gang versus gang. I could see the contrasting blue and reds. Behind me, I could hear the half-elf struggling, but remaining only a few paces behind me. Behind him, my dad, and shortly after, my mom. We all left along the forest's edge until we got to a fence. I twisted the chain-links until they burst, and ushered everyone in before warping the metal back into place with my thick fingers. Behind us, gang members of the half-elves were lying in wait, some licking their wounds, others waiting to get behind and surprise the ogres. Surprise surprise, we just stumbled into their turf.

The half-elves lanced themselves out at me, guessing me to be opposing-gang. I was already sore and tired, and in no way up for a fight. The half-elves were much more of a handful than the half-lings, and I quickly got driven against the fence. Chains and metal rods, even a fence post, slammed into me time and time again. I protested as much as I could, dislocating shoulders and hurling half-elves aside as hard as I could. Behind them, my half-elf friend was shattering shins and knees, discarding the half-elves as he dealt with them. After six minutes of pain and suffering, the half-elves were all out of commission or so close to death it didn't matter whether or not I kept fighting. We moved on, tearing through wooden fences and chain-link fences alike. Ahead were wrought-iron and brick fences that were iconic of city hall. We strode down the sidewalk being as inconspicuous as two humans, an ogre, and a half-elf, slightly used, could be.
At the entrance we found a police group fighting off the gang members with ruthless efficiency with riot-shields and shotguns. I turned and looked at my parents. If they would get caught in the cross-fire, they'd die. Same with the half-elf. I gave them a pleading look, and grabbed my mom around the waist. “Brace yourself.”

“What? Wh-” Before she could finish or protest, I hurled my mother onto one of the balconies of city hall. Next, my dad. He wrestled against my grip, but I outweighed him at least doubly. He never stood a chance. Next, the half-elf. “Sorry man. Good luck getting in.”

“Yeah, make sure the folks get in all right.”

I pummeled into the riot officers, who all got shouldered out of the way. The protested against me, until I picked up a shield and held the line. The officers I pummeled recovered, and I passed them the shields back. They accepted it, glared at me once more, and strode back to the line. I strode into the city hall.

Ahead, at the stairs, were a group of human thugs. They produced a handgun and emptied the clip in my general direction. I dove to the side, being too big a target to miss if I tried to dance. The bullet took me in the leg, but I ignored it in favor of saving my folks.

I bounced up the stairs and flattened a palm hard against one of the thug's backs. He fell onto the stair, and I kept pushing until something cracked. I snatched his shirt and threw him down the stairs, sprinting weakly along the banister. Upstairs, the half-elf and my dad were side-by-side, behind them the mayor and my mother. The thugs were drawing their weapons when I took them by the sides of the heads. One turned in panic, but the other didn't have time as I introduced them to each other very quickly. Beside them, a half-elf I hadn't noticed glared in my dad's direction. “Well, if it isn't Norman.”

The half-elf fighting with my dad looked over, breaking a thug's wrist and hurling him against the wall. “Oh, it's you.” He said. “What is it, Nesther. I'm kinda busy.”

“Too busy for an old friend.”

Norman, my half-elf friend, shook his head, “I'm not friends with woman murderers, Nesther.”

“Your words hurt me, traitor.”

“Sticks and stones, Nesth.” He said, flicking some blood off of his tire iron, “just get out of here. You removal from leader was obvious even before I left. Now that it's finally climaxing, you're just afraid of letting go.”

“Go to hell, Norm.” He lifted a revolver and shot at Norman from point-blank. To my surprise, my dad dove forward, taking the bullet in the arm.

“Well well well... You have a human taking shots for you. Looks like you're out of meat shields.”

“Nope,” I said, offering a meaty fist into the side of his head. At a full sprint, I had at least 600 pounds behind my haymaker. He slammed into the carpet, denting the floor. “Ogres are like cakes.” I told his unconscious form, kicking his ribs pointedly. “People always forget about us when someone gets shot.”

Norman eased into a chair, sighing, “You know, that didn't make sense.”

“Yeah,” my dad said, interrupting, “I'm fine. No one worry about me.”

My mom was already over him, tying a white cloth over his arm to put pressure on the wound. “You'll be fine, you big softy.”

After a few hours, the police had managed to calm the chaos down, and eventually stop the rioting altogether. I went home, with my mom, dad, and Norman. Norman explained his history with the half-elf gang, and about Nesther killing his wife. We sat down, had a medic address my dad's arm, and just generally relaxed for the rest of the evening.

Two hours later, Norman told us he needed to get home. Had a son who was probably worried. Before he left, he turned to me, puzzled. “What were we doing before this mess started again?”

“Testing.” I replied, staring at the television.
“Oh, we'll probably need to redo that.”
“Screw it.” I said, cheerily, “I bet my scores blew anyway.”

He laughed and walked out of the door.

Turns out I was sore the next day, my scores did blow, and I strained countless muscles and tendons. I would end up having to stay in the hospital for the next month.

Like I said...

Genetic Engineering blows.