Mente Materia

by Arad


21 -- It Has To Be This Way

16:45, 10/26/2015, Washington, D.C.

David Bradford considered himself a very patient man. Anyone in his line of work would need to be. Any military commander who found excuses to rush into every situation was often paving the way to his own retirement with the corpses of the people under his command. Where fools rushed in, Bradford had learned to wait. His patience, however, was nearing its limits as he found himself in his own personal hell. For the briefest of moments Bradford lamented the circumstances that had caused his current predicament... before abusing his Gift to amuse himself.

------

"That is an excellent question, Senator Goleman. Please allow me to submit my retort," Bradford interrupted the overweight committee chairman. Before any other response could be registered, Bradford stood and hurled his chair across the room. His aim was good and it connected squarely with Goleman and exploded into pieces.

Cries of shock and outrage filled the room as security by the door moved in to subdue Bradford... before laughter began to fill the chamber. Every person present stopped and all eyes settled on Goleman. Aside from several tears in the expensive fabric of his suit and his askew glasses, he showed no signs that he had just had a piece of furniture thrown at him with enough force to shatter it. His squinting sneer was also gone, replaced by an evil grin.

"You make a fine point, Commander Bradford," Goleman said, acknowledging his opponent's rank for the first time. "In fact, I entirely agree with it. We're both men of action, and we're ill suited for this kind of verbal tit-for-tat." He shrugged off his suit coat and tossed it into the face of the nearest bureaucrat without looking before unbuttoning his sleeves and loosening his tie. "I'm sick of all this. Fuck elections! Fuck the the House and the Senate! Fuck the presidency! Fuck the bureaucracy, and fuck this committee!"

The senator ended his rant with a roar as he slowly began to change. The weight that wrapped around his waist like a spare tire began to migrate to the rest of his body. His shirt and suit slacks were filled almost nearly to bursting with rock hard muscle, as though one errant flex would cause the garments to burst at the seams. Gold-glowing veins could be seen pulsing in the once overweight senator's neck as he straightened before casting an evil eye at Bradford. His right leg lashed out and sent the hardwood conference table flying through the air at his opponent before strutting forward.

Bradford ducked beneath the table, and he didn't have to imagine what would have happened if the projectile had connected with him. Several people that had been standing behind him cried out in pain as they were pinned beneath the desk. Luck was with him, though, as he caught sight of a sidearm that one of the security guards dropped after being swept aside by the flying furniture. He dove for the weapon, but the senator was inhumanly fast. One beefy hand caught his outstretched arm and pulled him into the air as easily as Bradford would lift his own uniform coat. "How is this possible!?" Bradford gasped.

Goleman's response was to grin and pull back his other fist. "Meld, son!" he explained, and the fist flew forward--

------

"Mister Bradford, do you need me to repeat the question?" Goleman asked, his voice a nasally whine as he squinted through his glasses. "Am I boring you, sir? Am I not important enough to warrant your full attention?"

Bradford took a long draw from his water before he had recovered enough to speak. "Apologies, senator. Please continue."