Hello, readers!

I loved paying "Infamous" on my PS3, when it came out. I just recently replayed it (for, like, the eighth time). Although I usually follow the "good" storyline (I'm a rule-follower), I am fascinated with the idea of what would've happened if they'd continued the "evil" plot past the ending of the first game. Who becomes the hero, when the hero becomes the villain? In the sequel, it picks up from a more neutral/good standing.

So, here is a weird, romance-in-a-time-of-apocalypse type story that I'm writing mostly for me. If you happen to enjoy it, too, please leave me a quick comment to let me know. Considering it came out over ten years ago, I'm assuming this story will not receive many views. That's okay. I'll just be happy to get this story out of my head!

Also, a trigger warning: I am writing this as I obey my governor's instruction to stay inside during the Coronavirus pandemic. "Infamous" deals with a similar situation. Although their quarantine is not my central theme, it is a necessary plot point. I'll admit, it's cathartic to write about my characters dealing with their own isolation, as I wait for a return to normalcy.

Thank you, stay safe, and happy reading!

Jenn

Cole MacGrath: the infamous supervillain. Seemingly born out of an explosion he may or may not have caused, he was the epitome of the phrase "power corrupts." It started off minor, with him zapping innocent bystanders in a park to ensure that he controlled the food rations distributed by the military.

After the explosion in the Historic District of Empire City, a plague continued the wave of terror, making the rest of the country fearful of its spread. Empire City, all three of its large districts, was quarantined with martial law as the only real peacekeeper. Initially, desperate to escape the crumbling city and their confinement, a rally of protestors had broken through the initial barricades on the Stampton Bridge, the only way off the island metropolis.

Of those who were close enough to watch the disgruntled crowd without wishing to participate, many claimed that a single bolt of light hit one of the armed guards from somewhere inside the protesting group. The panicked militant force opened fire on the entire area, killing many of the unarmed people and fully inciting a riot. Past the initial barricade, no one made it out alive. Men, women… no one was safe.

And, thanks to Cole, no one was saved. Except for himself.

The quarantine placed a hold on everything within Empire City. Rent and utility bills went unpaid, with the government claiming a plan was being formulated to pay out of the national treasury for everything having to do with the disaster. No one was evicted, no utilities were shut off. Everything was stagnant. The military flew in rations, but the scarcity mindset of the city's occupants sent everyone into a frenzy when a plane flew overhead.

Essential workers, altruistic healers and protectors, continued their work unpaid, promised that they would be rewarded once the quarantine was lifted and assets were no longer frozen. Mostly, people did one of two things: walked around the city streets or stayed in their dwellings.

Before the quarantine was officially put into place, within the days following the explosion, all families with children under the ages of eighteen and pregnant women were evacuated and relocated. The origin of the catastrophe was something called a "ray sphere," although that fact wouldn't come to light until months later. What was apparent, was that, whatever caused the explosion, also caused a paralyzing virus. Some were immune. The "conduits." People with a special gene that possessed super-human abilities that had somehow been recently unlocked. Some who contracted it showed little or no symptoms. Some died within the hour. It originated from the blast site in the Historic District, where survivors pulled themselves away from the destruction only to pass out and die as they fled.

The virus started out as a cough, rough and dry. For those who succumbed, it ended with wheezing, hacking up blood, and vomiting. It decimated the population, but it was not strong enough to take everyone that it afflicted. It did, however, linger in the air, permeating Empire City and creating a problem for evacuating residents without having them bring it outside the confines of the barricade.

Once the virus was known, the quarantine was immediately put into place. The only way in and out of the city was the Stampton Bridge in the Neon District. It had garrets in place to warn away any unauthorized personnel. The waters surrounding the islands were also controlled by a naval blockade. Those who risked escape by sea were shown no mercy.

Specialists, vaccine scientists and researchers, rushed to create a viable vaccination for what was temporarily known as the Empire City Virus, or ECVi, spoken "Ee-Cee-Vie." Medical professionals in the city were too busy with continuous triaging of patients to focus their efforts on a cure.

All three districts quickly became war-zones. A gang known as the Reapers, once a small crime element, took over the Neon District and its black market. The Dust Men formed in the Warren, the poorest district of Empire City with a mostly transient population. A mysterious man named Kessler mobilized his secretive group, the First Sons, to protect their territory from anyone outside of the Historic District. Their turf wars and destructive missions sent wave after wave of casualties, innocent and guilty alike, into the emergency rooms and makeshift trauma centers that struggled to keep up.

After the erection of the quarantine, there were two lawful methods for leaving Empire City: pregnancy or lottery. Every week, random selections of citizens was announced over the news network USTV. There was room for only one hundred and twenty people in the monitored facilities past the quarantine. One hundred and twenty names were listed on a Monday, with the understanding that those lucky people needed to be present on the Stampton Bridge at three in the afternoon that Friday. If you weren't there on time, you forfeited your spot for at least six weeks. If you were there, but a woman arrived with a positive pregnancy test, she was automatically given one of the rooms to wait out the duration of the virus' incubation period. If everyone selected was present, there was a choice to make: volunteer to stay behind and lose your spot for a month but be guaranteed exit a month later, or refuse and hope to still be taken through the barricade. If there were no volunteers, the authorities "randomly" chose who would stay behind. It was as if you hadn't shown up at all, forfeiting your spot and flung back into the lottery with at least a six-week wait…if not longer.

Predictably, there was a huge influx of pregnancies in the first six months. Most of the initial lottery winners were turned away at the bridge because of those desperate women who showed up with proof from their doctors and a readiness to take another pregnancy test to confirm their condition. The outrage this sparked was met with a campaign to "Unite Under Pressure," the idea that Empire City was only in a temporary crisis. Help was coming. A cure for the virus. Economic restoration. From the ashes, there would be rebirth. Don't run, rebuild.

The amounts of pregnancies declined, then, with women wishing to stay with whomever or whatever they held dear.

It was within this campaign of hope that Cole rose through the ranks. His powers scared everyone. Shooting blasts of electricity out of his hands…leaping from the tallest buildings and sending a static-filled shockwave out from his landing…draining anything electrical of all of its energy. He could scale buildings, catapulting himself from ledges and sills, run across wires, and ride trains.

He had the makings of a hero…except for a soul.

Fearful of his power, and finding out that he was at the epicenter of the blast, he was initially called a terrorist. Instead of trying to prove the citizens of Empire City wrong, he had leaned into the role. His actions went from selfish to cruel. Once, he used to ignore those who cried out for help. Now, he usually took advantage of the injured or sick and sucked out their remaining energy to recharge his own.

It was terrifying.

He fought with everyone: the Reapers, the Dust Men, the First Sons, Kessler, and the police. No one was safe. If you dared to so much as yell or throw a rock at him, he would kill without a thought.

At the end of it, most of the factions, lawful and criminal alike, were reduced to skeletons of their original sizes. The few police officers left were all undercover, now. The police stations were boarded up, with officers now doing more vigilante work than anything else. The Dust Men were mostly eradicated. The First Sons were completely eliminated. Not one of Kessler's followers survived the final battle with Cole.

The Reapers were an interesting story. Their leader, Sasha, was insane. She used a mind-controlling agent to direct her horde of outlaws. Some were original gang members. Some were recruited, feeble of mind and easily drawn into working for a group that they believed would provide them with protection. Others were kidnapped and forced into ingesting the same tar-like formula that Sasha had also consumed, driving them mad. A group of rabid, unhinged followers.

After Cole had removed Sasha from the situation, the Reapers mostly disbanded for a while. Those forced to join were released, treated and detoxed in the hospitals, then returned to their lives…forever haunted by what they had done in the name of the Reapers.

A man named Zeke took over, determined to pay for sins that only he knew. His number one goal: kill or immobilize the terrorist Cole MacGrath.

Under this mantle, recruitment for the Reapers skyrocketed. Some were still self-serving miscreants, but many just wanted to take back their beleaguered city. Zeke coordinated all of their efforts, hiding in different safe houses, always on the run. Those in his inner circle knew that Cole had it out for him. And they knew why.

Surprisingly, Cole seemed to find the newly-rebranded Reapers only slightly annoying. He killed them off like flies in a flooded house: not the main concern, but something to deal with, when convenient. As for Zeke, he had opportunities to kill him. Threats were made, by both parties, but neither followed through.

It was a Friday, months into the quarantine, when a single Reaper conduit made his way across the rooftops of the Neon District. He was scouting, his white, hooded trench coat flapping behind him. Cole hadn't been sighted in weeks, leading to the hope that he was currently granting their district a break and causing havoc for the Dust Men.

Reaper conduits were granted more freedoms and authority over the rest of their comrades. They all wore the same uniform, to be instantly recognizable to other Reapers and their main adversary: the bioterrorist. The white trench coat had black ribs painted on its sides, which, paired with the skull balaclava masks they wore, created an intimidating appearance.

The rest of his uniform was black: gloves, pants, and steel-toed boots. In Sasha's day, the Reaper conduits were, like their powerless brethren, unable to focus on anything but the will of their maker. Most conduits, then, neglected to wear shoes of any kind, ultimately bandaging up their abused feet to their knees. The mummified look was the most disturbing aspect of their macabre vestments.

Although he could override the decisions and orders of any Reaper wearing the typical red hoodies, due to his solitary nature, he preferred not to work alongside any of them.

The blast had activated his conduit gene, but it manifested powers very different from Cole's.

He could bend, manipulate, and weaponize light. Refracting light around him, he could camouflage himself within his surroundings, reappearing when he desired, which made it seem like he had teleported from one spot to another. He could store up light, using it all in a flash or beam to blind and disorient those around him. And, when absolutely necessary, he could produce a directed shockwave that could either incapacitate or kill anything in its path, depending on the strength of his opponent.

Like all Reapers, he was also armed. Conduits, already possessing super-human abilities, were only given a single assault rifle, but with plenty of ammunition. The weapon was slung behind his back, ready for use against Cole, who showed invulnerability to anything weaker. He couldn't remember the last time he had fired it, but it was primed and ready for action. Either be vigilant, or be ready to welcome death.

He leaped easily from rooftop to rooftop, the closely-packed downtown Neon District packed with tall buildings. Occasionally he saw one of his comrades, lower men on the totem pole, stationed on the roofs. They used to have men on every roof of the district, but their numbers had been stretched too thin to waste so many men on surveillance.

Below, hidden in alcoves and alleyways, were groups of three to five reapers with varying levels of expertise and firepower. The weather had progressed from spring to summer, and now they were in the midst of fall. It was breezy, chilly, but not cold enough to huddle around dumpster fires. In their hoodies and long pants, most were perfectly warm. Better than a few months ago.

The lone conduit made his way toward the Stampton bridge, wondering if he would find Cole causing more trouble. The terrorist showed no desire to leave Empire City, his little kingdom, but he often disrupted the evacuation proceedings to prove his point: the only true authority figure of Empire City was Cole MacGrath. Cole's taste for blood wasn't as excessive as it could be, but his bullying nature was not to be disregarded.

The figure clad in white stopped on an empty roof, atop one of the tallest buildings in the bustling area. He stopped and surveyed his surroundings. First, the skyline. Cole's favorite way to make an entrance: from above. But there was no sign of the yellow and black signature jacket against the dreary colors at the top of the city. Next, below. Cole was so overpowered, he recklessly dove into opportunities to fight. It took more than a few gun-toting henchmen to make him turn tail and run. That was why the Reapers had developed a more sophisticated ear-coms system than the walkie-talkies that were previously used. Reinforcements were mobilized as soon as there was a Cole sighting. If they could get ten or so men to Cole's location, or fewer men and a conduit, there was a stronger chance that the Reapers would win that battle.

A random woman caught his eye. She was attractive, from what he could tell. Long hair, mostly down her back, that was a medium brown at her roots gradually lightening to caramel-colored highlights toward the tips of her hair. Hairstylists and barbers were not employed, at the moment, so most hairstyles were either left to grow out or were amateurly attempted at home. He couldn't see her face, but she had a fair complexion. Slightly tanned, in the warm sunlight. She wore an olive-green jacket over a plain white t-shirt, with dark, fitted jeans tucked into beige, flat boots. She was thin, not sickly, but it seemed most everyone had lost weight due to the rationing. Over the outfit was a crossbody purse, and she walked with a purpose toward the bridge.

Either she was picked, or she's pregnant, he mused. Most women presenting themselves to the front of the line because of pregnancy tried to be more obvious about it, though few of them showed physical signs of the life growing in them.

Probably picked in the lottery, he assumed. She was dressed smartly, with the single small bag persons leaving were allowed to have, and clearly looking her best. He could tell that she was working the other angle: "I'm not pregnant, but I'm pretty, and I want off this island. Please don't condemn me to another six weeks in this hell-scape!"

As he watched her, there was a sudden loud commotion from east of his location. He looked over to see people on the street screaming and running from something still unseen. The panic worked its way down the sidewalk like a wave, with people shouting about the coming danger to those in front of them.

"It's Cole! IT'S COLE! RUN!"

He stood and stole one more glance to the brunette woman. As she realized what was going on behind her, her flight or fight reflex spurred her to hide from the impending danger. She ducked down the next alleyway, and the conduit gritted his teeth in dismay.

Bad move, he chastised her in his mind, you should have kept running toward the bridge.

He was supposed to run toward the danger, toward Cole. Reinforcements were being called to a location not far from him, but he turned off the communicator in his ear and ran, instead, toward where the young woman had disappeared. He shielded himself from onlookers, preferring not to announce his position. When he was in the alley, he listened for any sign of life.

"LET ME GO!" a female voice screamed at the end of the corridor.

A few of his fellow Reapers had also ignored the call to arms. Three of them, tucked away from the street, surrounded the defenseless girl. They taunted her, pulling at her clothing and purse, forcing her back into a corner.

I shouldn't have to do this, he narrowed his eyes. I should be fighting Cole to save the Neon, save Empire City…not ignore the bigger threat for these three assholes. He knew what would happen to her, which meant he only had one choice, really. He made himself visible and started to run toward the end of the alley, about to call out to the wretches, when he stopped abruptly.

He felt it. He'd felt it before, and he knew what was coming. The tingling in the air, the tiny hairs on his body sticking straight up… He cloaked himself, again, and braced for the impact. At the end of the alley, the three men and one woman looked up when they felt and heard the air crackling around them. One of the jerks had his hands on the lapels of her jacket and had pulled it off of her shoulders.

Cole landed before any of them could exclaim. The shockwave hurled their bodies into the brick walls around them, and they crumpled into heaps on the ground. Where the conduit stood, hidden, he was knocked off of his feet, but not seriously hurt. He recovered quickly and stepped cautiously toward Cole, not wanting to arouse the terrorist's attention.

Cole took his time, sauntering toward each Reaper with a smug satisfaction. They were too weakened to stand, but they flailed wildly when he restrained each of them and drained them of their life forces. Cole's hand over their mouths only slightly muffled their agonized screaming.

When the madman got to the woman, he did a double-take and crouched down next to her. She, too, was too weak to move, and she looked close to the brink of passing out. Her body was flat on the ground, face up, with her legs sprawled. Her hair covered most of her face. Cole reached with one hand and moved her long tresses to the side, so that her entire face was exposed. He studied her, while she looked up at him.

From where the conduit stood, he couldn't tell if she was terrified or delusional, but he could hear her let out a pained moan and try to move away.

Cole responded with a sinister smile. He placed both hands on her chest and sent light electric shocks through her body. The woman's eyes flew open, and she sat straight up, stared at the man in front of her, then fainted from the trauma of it all.

Cole grabbed at the purse, still amused. He pulled out a wallet and then the driver's license. For a moment, he read the identification, then pocketed the card and returned the wallet to the purse. He stood over her and paused, before murmuring something quietly. Then he climbed the building, grabbing onto the frames of the windows and hauling himself up with an assured grace.

When he was out of sight, the conduit breathed a sigh of relief and uncamouflaged himself. He made his way over to the woman, trying to avoid seeing the bodies of the Reapers. They were scum, but he wasn't sure they deserved the torture they endured. She was still passed out, looking almost serene.

This was his first view of her face. She was remarkably pretty. High cheekbones, a defined chin. Her face showed no wrinkles, so he guessed that she was in her twenties. Her lips were a neutral shade and quite glossy. She had some makeup on, from what he could tell. Her skin was too artificially smooth. Blush, a small amount, just enough to give her a pleasant glow. No color on her eyelids, save for some black liner and mascara. Her brows looked sculpted, but not filled in.

There was something else about her…something familiar.

He contemplated what to do. He, too, felt backed into a wall.

Not many options, here.

He gathered her in his arms, and her jacket righted itself on her shoulders as he did so. He cradled her and focused on refracting the light around them both. It wouldn't be easy, but he could make it to his apartment.

At least he could save one person today.