After the Second Fall Pt. 01.1

After the Second Fall - Part 1.1

Copyright 2020-2022, All Rights Reserved

Author's Note:

After the Second Fall was published in 2020 as a standalone novel, one of several attempts to write (and especially finish) what I considered a full-length story. The feedback, both positive and constructive, helped me understand how I could improve my writing and storytelling, and I used it to expand the original effort into a 300,000 word epic, broken into three novels, each with three parts.

Thank you to all the people that took time to read the initial version; the entirely new material starts with part 2.1.

For those that are curious about the changes, as well as new readers, you will find less violence and more intimacy than in the original release, which I hope strikes a better balance and makes the story more enjoyable. Please be aware that writing graphic sex scenes is not one of my skills as an author, so instead I strive for descriptions of erotic encounters that are critical to the story itself.

There is much more to say, but I'll leave that for other forums; feel free to check out my Bio page for more information.

Cheers,

Simon

Prologue

In the forty-second year after the second Fall of Man, the first of the great contests was held. Born of necessity to a world only a fragment of its former self, it was a desperate ploy to stop the continuing unnamed conflicts by the man who would become the first new king. Despite being born after the Fall, Gerald Snowden recognized that progress was not being made, and as the chosen leader of seventeen families, he knew that change was necessary.

A man of great imagination, it is somewhat ironic that Gerald turned to the oldest of stories as his inspiration, that of David and his fight with the giant Goliath. The idea of single combat to decide the fate of nations was appealing, given that his charges were so few. And while Gerald had no immediate intentions toward conquest, his tribe found itself in regular struggles to fight off other groups with either ambition or desperation greater than that of his own.

So it was that Gerald walked onto the field alone with a knife in his left hand and a sling, of sorts, in his rear pocket.

Chapter 1

Until well into his nineteenth year, this Adam was, by all accounts, a failure. Meant to be part of the future of his city, he was born prematurely. Within the larger population this happenstance is to be expected with some regularity, but Pip was the result of in-vitro fertilization and gestation, with all parameters tightly monitored and controlled. Consequently, his early extraction was unprecedented in the program's seventy year history, which included hundreds of successful births.

It is natural that in such a program mistakes will be made, and Pip was not the first birth gone awry. In the on-going quest for dominance, boundaries were routinely pushed, sometimes with terrible results. Grotesque deformities, stunted growth, limited intelligence, and extreme emotional instability were all common in the early years.

As the knowledge base grew, so too did the success rate. In recent memory, embryo viability consistently exceeded 90% and the five-year survival rate hovered around 80%. With broods being extracted on an annual cycle, it was common to have as many as fifteen in each class.

In addition to being born thirty percent smaller than statistical norm for the program, Pip also grew slower than typical through his first years. For an average city boy, being the smallest might not have been fun, but it was rarely fatal in and of itself. In Pip's case, early mortality was a significant possibility for two primary reasons.

The first was that he and his peers were designed to grow quickly. This prevented the city from wasting resources on lost causes, including those that were unstable, lacked the talent for the Arena, or simply didn't have the required killer instinct necessary to be successful. The typical subject reached physical maturity by the end of their twelfth year.

The second reason was that these boys were trained to be killers, for that is the nature of the contest itself. To build and subsequently test skill, regular matches were necessary between the subjects. With his relatively small stature, there was simply no way for Pip to compete successfully against his classmates.

As a consequence, Pip was twice delayed in his forward progress. Even so, he still stood a full head shorter than the others in his current peer group, although they were two years younger. Interestingly enough, Pip's handler, for each subject had one, refused to give up on the young man despite the obvious disadvantages. This man, John Rogers, saw something in the boy and fiercely defended his charge's continued position in the program when pushed.

Since his atypical birth, at which John had been present, Pip had shown himself to be a tenacious fighter. Through all the sanctioned contests and impromptu scraps of his childhood, Pip never backed down from a fight, although he was smart enough to avoid conflict when possible. This combination of innate intelligence and tenacity was not as common as might be hoped within the talent pool, and John felt strongly that it would ultimately be of great worth to the program, although he couldn't say how.

Furthermore, while he was clearly the runt of the littler, Pip still towered above John, whose head only reached the middle of Pip's shoulder. Additionally, almost twenty years of constant physical training had turned Pip into a truly intimidating specimen. Like the other Adams-in-training, Pip's bones, muscles, lungs, and heart were all significantly enhanced compared to the populace at large. In fact, each of the their body systems had been tuned over time to optimize performance in the Arena. Pip and his peers were meant to be the pinnacle of fighting prowess, at least until the following year's batch.

Now, as Pip prepared for the fight to begin, he quickly considered his options. The opponent across from him was especially large, exceeding both mean height and weight for the class by more than two standard deviations. This boy, for he had only completed sixteen years, was called Hammer because of his favorite strike. He had beaten Pip once before, leaving cracked bones, a collapsed lung, and a bruised kidney. To his credit, Pip had broken Hammer's orbital socket and three ribs in the last encounter, using his additional two years of experience to its fullest advantage. The results of the fight had earned Pip some respect from his peers, but this contest was not likely to go so well, because Hammer and the rest of the other, younger subjects had been making great strides in their various techniques, even if they did tend to lack imagination.

The fact that Hammer held no specific resentment toward Pip did not even factor into his mind; when the bell rang there would be no quarter until the second bell declared a victor. Given the size and strength of the combatants, as well as their advancing abilities, fatalities were becoming more common. In the end, if three subjects survived to take their places as Adams in the pool upon graduation, the program managers would be satisfied.

Taking a look around himself, Pip nodded once to John, then took in the fifty-or-so other people standing in the short grass surrounding the circular white sand that made up the training arena. Most would be associated with the training program, of course, dressed in black, but there were also others mixed in, like the medical staff, each marked with a diagonal red stripe across their otherwise unadorned white shirts. The blue and green and yellow clothing likely indicated administrative workers looking for free entertainment -- 'Good for them', thought Pip to himself.

Up above, the sky was pale and the sun bright. Thin clouds drifted unhurriedly by on a cool Spring breeze that also stirred the eight black and gold banners spaced evenly around the courtyard in which the training arena was situated, regularly providing glimpses of the city's arachnid mascot with its mismatched circle and star eyes, symbolizing vigilance day and night. Dressed only in the tight gray athletic shorts that marked him as a trainee, Pip clapped his hands together and moved his focus back to the day's opponent, content that all was as it should be.

The bell rang and Hammer advanced forward through the thick sand, moving in a traditional posture with his hands open and at chin level; Pip still had not yet formed a concrete plan, so he started to circle to his right, away from Hammer's stronger hand. Rather than circling with Pip, Hammer stepped laterally, cutting off the smaller man's planned path, making it clear that he was not overly concerned with Pip's ability to hurt him quickly.

Instead of waiting for the inevitable, Pip took two quick steps and threw a left roundhouse kick at Hammer's side, just as Hammer's right foot began to cross behind his left. The kick connected, but not solidly, as Hammer shifted his weight backward just before impact. This allowed Hammer to absorb the strike and return his own, clipping Pip on the top of the head.

Momentarily stunned, time seemed to slow as Pip staggered backward, spun, and dove away from his opponent, coming up on his feet again having executed an effective roll. Unfortunately, Pip did not have much time to recover as Hammer came forward quickly with a flurry of punches, both high and low. Pip's head had not cleared and time was still moving slowly for him as he was forced to absorb the blows on his arms and shoulders. Pip would much rather have avoided the strikes, but Hammer's skill prevented him from doing this without unduly exposing his head. Fortunately, the oddly slow progression of time made it possible for Pip to dramatically reduce the overall effect of punches with subtle shifts of his body.

Nevertheless, Hammer did not let up with his assault, and began to add in the hammer fist strike for which he had earned his moniker.

Jab-Jab-Cross-Hammer fist.

Jab-Jab-Cross-

Pip allowed the strike to deflect off his left shoulder and took a jab step to his right. In the same movement, he swung his right fist as hard as he could up and into Hammer's ribs with the full weight of his body, catching the bigger boy on the side just in front of and below his armpit. There was a loud crack as Pip's fist broke through the bone, driving it inward. The strike that had been descending toward Pip never landed as Hammer pitched forward onto the ground.

Pip pivoted, ready to kick the downed man in the head, but there was no need: Hammer laid completely still. The second bell sounded and the ever-present medical staff rushed into the arena to attend to Hammer. Their attention was unnecessary.

Pip didn't know how to feel about actually killing a person. Of course, this is what he had trained for, but he couldn't help but feel somewhat conflicted, at least on an intellectual level. Having grown up in the program, Pip soon let the outcome go as a necessary part of his life, satisfied that he wasn't the one face down.

It was also odd for Pip to see Hammer sprawled on the ground without any obvious signs of having been in a life or death struggle. There was no obvious bruising or blood; just a very large body laying motionless.

As his training partner was being loaded onto a fat wheeled gurney by two of the others from the same year, Pip saw his handler walking up. "Good for you, Pip. You okay?"

"Yeah, thanks, John. I wasn't sure how that was going to go when we started, but I'm alright. My arms are pretty beat up, but they'll be better in a day or two."

"Nothing broken, then?"

Pip gave a little smirk. "Not that a know of -- first time for everything, I guess."

"Yep," replied John proudly. "Speaking of, how does your first victory feel? And over the cock of the walk, too."

"Well," started Pip before pausing, "I'm not really sure. I've been having my ass handed to me for so long, it hasn't really sunk in yet. Good, I guess."

John smiled. "Just good? Not fantastic?"

"No, not really. I mean, I just killed somebody. No, that's not quite right. I killed Hammer. I've known him for, like, an entire year.

"When I say it out loud, it feels even weirder. And I'm two years older than him anyway. Or, I was? Whatever. So, no, not really fantastic."

John reached up to clap Pip on the shoulder. "It's okay. It'll get easier, especially now that you have that first win under your belt. You'll see."

"Sure, thanks. By the way, I know I hit him hard, but what happened? Was there some sort of undiagnosed defect? Maybe something with his heart?"

"Not sure, Pip. We'll have to wait and see what Doc says, but I heard the bone crack. When it happened, I thought it was your hand, but apparently not."

Pip held up his hand, examining it front and back. "Nope. To be honest, it doesn't even hurt. I mean, you can see where the skin broke a little on these two knuckles, but that's happened so many times I don't even feel it any more. When you hear, will you let me know?"

"Sure thing, big guy. In fact, I'll head that way now. Take care of yourself and I'll come find you when I learn something." With that, John turned and walked back across the training arena, following the gurney's tracks through the barely disturbed sand.

After a brief stopover at the video room, John headed to the medical wing and was surprised to meet Doctor Shepard walking out of Surgery-One. "Hey, Doc. Done already?"

"Oh, hello, Mr. Rogers. Actually, yes: the post-mortem was quite easy because of the quickness of the fight, and given that your Adam only landed the one strike. The death is remarkable, really. The precision was uncanny given that the margin of error was only about a finger's width. Any further from the impact site and the bone likely would have broken differently. What's more, if the force hadn't been what it was, the bone may have cracked, but it certainly wouldn't have behaved as it did. As I said, remarkable."

"Sorry, Doc," said John with a slightly puzzled look. "I must have missed something. Can you back up a half step and tell me the cause of death?"

"Of course, of course," exclaimed the doctor. "Please excuse me -- I must have been a little distracted thinking about what I saw.

"The best way to explain is probably to show you. Let's step back into the surgery." Doctor Shepard led John into the operating room, ushering him to stand on the corpse's left side. Hammer's arm was raised and the skin was pulled back from the armpit about halfway down the side. No stranger to such grisly sites, John didn't flinch as doctor began his explanation.

"Do you see how the fourth rib has been broken? The strike broke the bone all the way back here, almost to the latissimus," he said, pointing to where Pip's fist had struck. "The force was sufficient to bend the bone until it also broke here," he continued, now pointing a hand's width further forward. "With the second break, the bone became a sort of projectile, moving inward, causing damage as it went.

"The part that I was puzzling over is that the bone fragment managed to move far enough inward to reach the heart. Ultimately, it cut into the pulmonary artery and punctured the left atrium. With this kind of damage, it's likely that this Adam was dead before he hit the ground."

"I understand, Doc, but why is it a surprise? It seems fairly straightforward... or am I missing something?"

"Well, yes, the mechanics are straightforward. However, I've never seen this specific injury before in a fight, and I can think of two reasons why. The first is that the heart is really only a bit left of the body centerline, so there was a long way -- relatively speaking, of course -- for the bone fragment to travel.

"Second, and probably more importantly, that region of the chest is pretty congested. The force required was extreme since it needed to break the bone and punch through the attached muscle, as well as the lung. It would be more common to see this kind of cardiac damage from the front with a sternum fracture. As it occurred, it looks more like the result of being hit by a long handled hammer than a fist."

"I'm with you, Doc," replied John, "but the Adams are enormous. It doesn't really surprise me that they hit so hard. It's what they've been trained to do. Hell, it's what they were born to do, no?"

"No. I mean yes. Of course, you're right. What I was specifically considering is that given the appropriate precision and power, one could expect this injury, and the net result, to happen with regularity."

"Wait a minute, Doc. You just said that you've never seen this before, and you told me how hard it would be to replicate."

"Not quite, Mr. Rogers. What I said was that I haven't seen it before. I didn't mean to imply that it was a one-off occurrence. Given the force applied, the outcome is as would be expected. As you said yourself, the mechanics are straightforward.

"No, the unique thing here is that it hasn't happened before, at least that I'm aware of. I would suggest that your Adam, Mr. Rogers, was either very lucky with his strike, or figured this out ahead of the rest of us. What's more, now that I think on it, our Adams' hearts are significantly larger than non-IVFG typical. This means that the distance the bone fragment had to travel was relatively shorter. If this strike could be perfected, I think we could really be onto something."

John was quiet for a few moments considering this revelation. "Well, Doc, to be honest, I wouldn't be at all surprised if this was intentional. Pip's gotta be the smartest almost-Adam I've come across in my twenty-plus years as a handler. He has a knack for being a step ahead of the others, but that doesn't fully explain how he was able to pull this off. I looked at the fight in slow-motion before I came here, and I mean really looked. Hammer -- that is, this big guy on the table -- his form was as close to perfect as I've ever seen in someone not already in the Adam pool. The window that Pip slipped into was so small I wouldn't have believed it was possible if I hadn't seen him do it.

"I think something else is going on, and I'm going to have to talk with Pip to figure out what it is. Thanks for your time, Doc."

"Of course. I'll go write this up and send it on with some urgency. Would you like a copy of the initial report?"

"Absolutely. Thanks again, Doc."

With a nod of his head, Doctor Shepard turned and walked with purpose down the corridor. John watched him for a few seconds, considering what he had heard, before heading to find Pip again.

A short while later, John was following up on his hunch in Pip's room.

"So what you're saying is that you saw what Hammer was going to do before he did it. Like some sort of precognition?" asked John, taking Pip's explanation remarkably well. After all, he had seen Adams do so many outrageous things that not much truly shocked him anymore.

"No, I must not have explained myself very well," replied Pip as he laid on his bed with a bruised arm behind his now throbbing head. "It was more like things just slowed down after he clipped me. I didn't know what he was going to do, but I could see what he was doing, and then react. It's how I was able to shrug off his punches. I mean, my shoulders are starting to hurt, and I'm sure I'll be black and blue for a while, but probably not like I should be. I was, like, able to shift a little here or there to put myself in better positions. That's really it. Honest."

"Oh yeah?" replied John without sounding particularly convinced. "What about the strike you landed to his ribs? Were things slow there, too?"

"Ok, sure, but it didn't really matter then. As soon as I figured out Hammer's rhythm, I committed to the strike with everything I had. If it wouldn't have landed, I doubt things would have turned out so well for me."