<hr/>Hyperion Is Watching Over You<br/><hr/><br/>Mark Milton tried to sleep. Sometimes it came easily to him and he managed to shut down for a respite from the world for a few brief hours. Sometimes he could not. The city screamed, and he knew that night would hold for him no comforts. There would be no dreams of a better world, a kinder life. There would be only the broken night, the artificial light of street lamps illuminating the streets and lights from businesses open casting their glare where the darkness should hold sway but was content to give up some measure of its reign. In other places the darkness ruled absolutely, and angels of better natures of those entrusted to enforce the law feared to tread.<br/><br/>The young alien rose from his bed, nude. He strode to the closet and drew on the uniform constructed for him. Like so much about him it was a thing of carefully constructed limits; if pushed beyond those limits it would fall apart. The outfit had been designed from a polymer that could withstand the stresses of Mark's top<em>observed</em>speed. He could fly faster, but the thin suit would be destroyed by the various forces acting upon it. Some days it bothered Mark that he was dishonest. Other days it did not. The common thread was that Mark loved his country . . . as much as it loved him. Every day this truth was constant and sharp.<br/><br/>It was midnight. A woman screamed. Six seconds later she screamed again as the group of thugs accosting her fell to the ground, unconscious, suffering from numerous contusions. A driver a fell asleep at the wheel and lost control of his vehicle, swerving over the dividing line and into the path of an oncoming truck. The trucker was slow to react due to weariness, and pulled on his horn. Seconds before both vehicles collided an unseen force lifted them from the street and set them aside, apart from one another. Neither driver was injured. Across town a group of mafiosos met with a gang to sell laser pistols and collect a take of drug sales. There was a bright flash of violet light, and the money was burnt into ashes and the laser weapons melted into slag. The criminals drew their weapons, and in a blur their trigger fingers were broken as their weapons were brutally wrenched from their hands and discarded, twisted into unusable shapes. Shortly afterwards they were all knocked unconscious and the police alerted, sufficient evidence of wrong-doing left intact to make some charge stick.<br/><br/>And so it went for hours, until dawn broke.<br/><br/>Dawn found Mark in the upper atmosphere. He simply needed respite. He needed an end to all of the people crying out for a saviour, for some transcendental being to come and save them from the human condition and the systems constructed to keep them suffering.<br/><br/>Mark held his hand out, and let it pass before his vision. The blue and green orb, with its swirls of white, was hidden by the flesh of his hand. With unconscious ease that came to him so naturally in a way that he could not put it into words, Mark saw through his skin, and saw the muscle beneath. And then through muscle, and at the bone. And then through the bone to see the Earth once more. In a split-second his flesh once more became a barrier to perception and he slowly returned it to his side. Mark turned his head ever so slightly, and looked off into space. He looked at distant stars, straining the limits of his vision. For what, even he did not know. The time when he searched for his home planet amidst far off stars or hoped to find evidence of his people somewhere within the Sol system was passed.<br/><br/>The began to function, but in space the noises it made could not truly be perceived as such. Nevertheless, Mark discerned the message in other ways, perceiving the signal that was transmitted and received by the card, and how its mechanisms sought to project them. The young alien looked down upon the Earth, and considered all too briefly not going. He considered flying, as fast as possible, out into the black. But the trained side of Mark's nature would not let him. The doubt in him would not let him. This sort of thing was, after all, all he knew how to do. And he was good at it.<br/><br/>Mark flew towards Earth, making re-entry. Sounds flooded in as he entered atmosphere, billions of distinct sounds all clamouring for attention. He filtered it out. He focused. Then the Abomination's words and antics were there, guiding Mark to the exact location.<br/><br/>As the Abomination charged, the cars swatted into the Earth began to seemingly teleport from their physics-dictated positions in the air to the ground. All were set down upon their wheels, passengers unharmed.