Author : Patricia Stewart, Staff Writer
When Mati Forish was five years old, she could move coins across the table using only her mind. At ten, she could make small stones levitate. As a teenager, she could fly an aerocar from the back seat. Out of fear, Mati’s parents tried to stop her from using the power. It was the “Devil’s work,” they had said. But Mati knew that this gift could make her wealthy. And Mati wanted to be wealthy. When she turned twenty one, she left home to seek her fortune. While in the city, she met a doctor. He had understood her abilities, and said that he had “friends” that could help her achieve her goals, for the right price. Late one night, in a run down clinic on the south side, they implanted an experimental telekinetic booster into her brain. Astonishingly, it magnified her natural ability a thousand fold. Thrilled with the results, Mati rushed home to tell her fiance. But when she arrived, she found him in bed with another woman. In a fit of rage, she snapped both of their necks with her telekinetic power. And, to her surprise, she enjoyed it. That was the day that “The Assassin” was born. Over the next several decades, hundreds of people died at her will. It didn’t mater if the target was a tyrant or a saint. They were just paychecks to Forish.
(Circa 2067, Medellin, Colombia) After passing through security, Forish entered the auditorium from one of the rear doors and took an isle seat in the last row. She discreetly surveyed the auditorium to identify anything, or anybody, that could interfere with her task. It was probably an unnecessary precaution, since her mode of execution was undetectable, but if Forish was anything, she was meticulous.
Forish listened indifferently as several men on an elevated stage spewed their hateful political rhetoric in an effort to pique the intensity of the partisan crowd. After an hour of rabblerousing, Cattivo Guida, a ruthless and brutal dictator, marched onto the stage and stood behind the podium. Well it’s about time, thought Forish. She sat upright and eyed the target for several minutes trying to decide how she wanted to take him out. In a public venue such as this, it would be best to do it by either a heart attack, or brain aneurysm.
Forish began to concentrate on the task of focusing and modulating the psychokinetic synapses in her brain. Gradually, an invisible energy bubble began to coalesce above her head. She strengthened it and molded it. She willed a tendril to immerge from it and elongate toward the stage. The invisible tendril began to snake its way forward above the heads of the audience and across the stage. It entered Guida’s torso and slowly spiraled up his spinal column and wrapped itself around his heart. As Forish caused the tendril to contract slightly, Guida stopped speaking and clutched the sides of the podium. The tendril squeezed Guida’s heart tighter and he dropped to his knees. Tighter still, and his face contorted in agony as his eyes pleaded for someone to help him. Finally, he collapsed to the floor, motionless. Guida’s bodyguards rushed to his side. Their feeble attempts at CPR were wasted. Guida’s heart would not beat again.
As chaos and panic flooded the audience, Forish stood up, and calmly left the auditorium. Once outside, she walked down the marble steps and hailed a hovercab. “I’m famished,” she said to the pilot. “Take me to the best restaurant in the city.”