Work Text:
Private notes on the Quirk War, 2090–2120
Compiled by Dr. Benjamin Adams
Date: March 5th, 2090
Location: Chicago, Illinois
Today, Nurse Sheiling, Evelyn came to work upset. She tried to hide it, of course, but it was fairly obvious to anyone who actually knows the woman. I found it strange, as barely a week ago she had been all excited for little Eva’s fourth birthday.
It was supposed to be a small affair, just her and her family, but I still gave her a present to pass on to her child. The birthday was yesterday, so I had expected her to come in with all manner of stories about Eva’s litany of presents, and the cake, and so on. Not so much.
Instead, it turns out the kid woke up with dragonfly-like wings sprouting from her back, her eyes multifaceted, and her entire skin tinted blue.
I understand, intellectually, that this wasn’t an expected development, but at this point our clinic must see roughly seventy percent of all Meta cases in Chicago. Evelyn herself must have saved three Meta patients in the last month alone, and yet she still couldn’t bring herself to touch her own daughter’s shoulders when the wings unfolded. She kept insisting it was just a growth, something they could “correct” once the specialists knew more.
Later annotation (2142): Early recorded flight-type manifestation.
Date: February 15th, 2094
Location: Chicago, Illinois
Things continue to evolve.
More and more, the clinic is under scrutiny for taking care of the untouchables. By now, the first cases have grown a little. Some of them are attempting to gain acceptance by helping—vigilantes, of a sort.
It’s too early to say whether it works, but I am not optimistic.
On another, related note, I have noticed several of my regular patients have failed to show up for their standard check-ups, and overall the clinic has seen less traffic—at least from the Meta side of our clientele.
I really hope it is not what I think it is.
Date: August 1st, 2094
Location: Chicago, Illinois
The disappearances are not restricted to Chicago. If one knows how to look for them, they’re all over the States, and they’ve been increasing each month for the past year or so.
No reputable journal has published anything about it, of course. But the internet cannot be so policed, especially the dark net. The forums are full of paranoia-induced rants and the like, yet I can’t say I’m surprised.
I’ve lived it, again and again: when I was helping the “coloured” flee and be free during the slave trade in the early 1800s, and again when the LGBT community started pursuing their rights.
The human race is, if anything, reliable in its predictability. One can always take comfort in that, at least.
Later annotation (2142): So it begins.
Date: December 27th, 2094
Location: Chicago, Illinois
Yesterday, the ER received a young woman and her daughter, brought in by the police under heavy security, both covered in dozens of micro-cuts. I focused on treating the child first: her skin burned anything it touched, and her hands ignited whenever she grew emotional.
It didn’t hurt her, of course. I wasn’t so lucky. And I couldn’t risk healing in front of these people.
That became increasingly difficult as the officers accompanying them kept insulting them—relentlessly, pointlessly. In the end, I had to order them out of the room. They only agreed reluctantly and hovered just outside the door.
By the time I removed all the embedded glass from the girl’s skin, she was in tears, and so was her mother.
I wish I could say that was the end of it. But the moment they realized I was done, the police took them both away—didn’t even allow me to give painkillers or basic anti-infection medication. They only said that “government-funded facilities” would take over.
I would eat my stethoscope if that kid survives to see her teens.
Date: March 12th, 2095
Location: Chicago, Illinois
I knew from the moment I opened my newspaper this morning that the day would be an exhausting shitfest.
Switzerland publicly and legally recognized Metas as humans, with the same rights as any other citizen. In doing so, they broke from UN consensus and isolated themselves.
I suppose kudos to the Swiss, but the amount of work it generated for me has been off the charts.
With all the commotion caused by strikes and street demonstrations, every medical facility was pulled in to help regulate the chaos—not just hospitals, but private clinics like mine.
So yes, the day was exhausting. Add to that the unusual clientele, and we found ourselves pulling double duty as school attendants just to make sure no additional fights erupted in the waiting room, where Meta and non-Meta patients were forced to sit side by side.
It’s a step in the right direction, sure, but it’s also incredibly stupid. Nobody else is ready for this. It’s too early, and Switzerland will pay for it in the long run.
And so will we, as America doubles down on its harsher measures.
Attached: contemporary news articles relating to the Swiss recognition of Meta citizens.
Later annotation (2145): Switzerland’s economy will endure a fifty-year decline following this decision, attributed to sanctions, diplomatic isolation, and mass Meta migration pressures.
Date: July 6th, 2095
Location: Chicago, Illinois
Evelyn and I were talking during our break. I haven’t been as close to her since her daughter’s Meta emergence—or, more accurately, her reaction to it. At this point, my own otherness is an open secret, and I’m not about to invest myself in someone liable to show too much prejudice.
We still work together, but we talk less about personal matters.
Today she seemed distracted, so against my better judgment, I asked. That was when she told me about the rumors: a man who can take and give quirks, a Japanese figure supposedly leading his own rebellion.
And Evelyn was thinking about setting aside money to take Eva to him.
I understand that she’s afraid both of and for her child. But aside from how undeniably shady it sounds, she intends to pay a stranger to remove what is, essentially, part of her daughter’s being.
If she actually follows through, I’ll request not to work with her anymore. I’ve never claimed to be a good man, but children should never be harmed—not when there is a choice. And deliberately choosing to hurt her daughter for her own peace of mind? That is a step too far.
Humanity is truly its own worst enemy.
Date: January 2nd, 2099
Location: Chicago, Illinois
This marks the start of my twentieth year in this world—one where children glow and command the flora, a world where I have yet to sense another of my kind, and where my immortality is dismissed as just another Meta-ability.
That part is new. In all my millennia of existence, I’ve never imagined being so open about my otherness—excluding, of course, the handful of times I passed myself off as a god, or the centuries during which I was Death on a white horse.
But in the modern age, with its advanced technologies, being openly more-than-human had, before being torn from my world, always been a death warrant waiting to happen. If not that, then an invitation to become a government experiment.
Here, that risk is still present—very much so—but I can almost see the writing on the wall. Those without power will slowly die out. Eventually, the Meta will be the norm. Better to ensure I am documented among them rather than against them.
Still… it is a strange feeling.
Date: April 16th, 2101
Location: Chicago, Illinois
It’s official: shit has hit the fan, so to speak.
For the past twenty-six hours, a viral video has been circulating across the net—taken down and reuploaded dozens of times. In it, a young man, a child really, can clearly be seen fleeing from what is unmistakably a military unit.
The footage shows him waving his hand, and the surrounding flora responds: tripping, tangling, prodding, and in one memorable instance, “eating” the hand of a soldier pursuing him. It makes it abundantly clear that the kid is a Meta—or, as people have begun calling them, “Quirked.” Which also makes the attack on him damning in every possible sense.
Eventually, he was taken down, but not before his abduction was filmed, uploaded, and shared with the entire world.
Desperate attempts to close the barn after the horse has bolted were made. The Secretary of Defense delivered an absolutely epic speech about how this “dangerous individual” was a terrorist, wanted by law enforcement for years, and that the public should not worry.
Well, the public worries. And the public angers. And the upheaval to follow is a certainty.
Things have been shaky at best these past few years, but we existed in an uneasy peace. That is now over. People are already choosing sides. Several demonstrations have been organized. Police stations have been attacked. Random teens have been brutalized in the streets.
As for me, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep my position here. The clinic is very well known for its liberal views. I can’t say how long we’ll be allowed to stay open.
Date: April 23rd, 2101
Location: Chicago, Illinois
Today, Doctor Vega—my direct supervisor—called me into his office.
I wasn’t particularly surprised to learn he’d been providing medical assistance to what is, without a doubt, the early formation of the Quirked war faction. Calling it a war might be premature, technically speaking, but it will come. Of that, I am certain.
He wanted my help and tried appealing to my supposed sense of belonging to their community. I should help my brethren, after all.
I will help—there’s no doubt about that. But not for any noble reason, and certainly not because of whatever arguments Vega attempted. I can almost hear the Highlander preaching about equality and doing the right thing… but I’ve lived long enough to know better.
I am a pragmatist.
History is happening right here, and I’ve seen the statistics. The Quirked may be outnumbered now, but “we” will be the majority within twenty years. I might as well fight for the side that will eventually win.
Besides, providing medical aid should keep me away from the frontlines—at least for a while.
Date: May 25th, 2102
Location: Oak Park, Illinois
This marks the first anniversary of the civil war.
At first, I spent my days in the clinic and my nights in the compound, moving from patient to patient, sewing bullet holes closed with more hope and prayer than actual suture. Mostly, I was an unknown.
I still am, really—at least to the normal populace. “My people” call me a miracle worker. Half of them don’t even know my name; they just call me Doc, and I like it fine that way.
Especially now that the clinic has officially been shut down. I had to relocate as well, since rumors of a Meta doctor working there had begun circulating. Hell, I know my apartment was raided less than a week after I left.
But I’ve chosen my side, for what little virtue that word still holds. And as I said before, I do believe this is the winning side—even if the lack of rations, the low morale, and the sheer number of wounded would suggest otherwise.
The die was cast long ago, in any case. I’ve made my bed. Now it’s time to lie in it.
Date: February 9th, 2103
Location: Unknown
Why in all the hells did I agree to this?
Jackson, the “general” of the faction I work with, came to me a few days ago talking about a woman with valuable intel—intel that could supposedly lead to the end of the war.
I know better than to believe that sort of thing. Especially when I was the only one who could believably infiltrate the place in question.
Either MacLeod’s overly optimistic view of the world has finally corrupted me, or this immortal-less world has softened me. Because I agreed. I trusted. And now I’ve been captured.
The scientists here quickly realized that nothing they did could permanently harm me, and they’ve taken full advantage of that discovery.
Of course, they’ll learn nothing about quirks by experimenting on me, but I’m not about to enlighten them.
Date: Between April 12th and 17th, 2103
Location: Unknown
Keeping track of the days of my captivity has proven difficult.
At some point, they discovered that I don’t just heal quickly—they learned that even if I die, it won’t be permanent.
I’ve died more often since my capture than in the last two centuries combined, and it has taken every scrap of hard-earned experience to keep my head about me.
I need to get out of here before they discover the one way I would stay dead.
Although… if they do, I suppose I would at least have the satisfaction of taking them with me. No mortal within a twenty-kilometer radius would survive my Quickening—especially with no other immortal present to absorb it.
Date: Sometime in May, 2103
Location: Unknown
Tomorrow is the day.
It took me some time to work it out; these people are used to dealing with overpowered beings with every kind of quirk imaginable. Finding holes in their security was time-consuming and complicated.
Mostly because I didn’t want to rely on anyone else.
In the end, though, I don’t have a choice. And if this works, at least five of us will be involved in the escape.
The key to all of it is my cell neighbor, who had apparently never been encouraged to explore her quirk enough. Both she and our captors believed it to be entirely vision-based. They thought she could create visual illusions—so detailed they were almost real.
I helped her realize she can make auditory and olfactory illusions just as well. And while the staff here have all the necessary tools to neutralize visual illusions, they have no protection against anything else.
That will be our opening move.
I’m old enough to know no plan survives first contact, but I’m also old enough to know how to adapt on the fly.
That will have to be enough.
Date: May 29th, 2103
Location: Oak Park, Illinois
It was enough—barely.
We escaped with far more of our fellow prisoners than I expected, though we also caused far more damage on the way out than I thought we would.
On a personal high, I made sure to stab the man responsible for my capture several times in the stomach, then left him in a cell where, hopefully, he died slowly and painfully over hours of excruciating agony. I’m petty like that.
The head scientist, unfortunately, got a quick death—a bullet to the brain—but I’ll take my victories where I can find them.
I also managed to wipe every local drive containing information about me, the other prisoners, and the resistance. That doesn’t guarantee there isn’t a remote backup somewhere, but again: I take what I can get.
It took some time, but I eventually made it back to the compound, where I took an inordinate amount of joy in informing Jackson that his so-called mole was actually a spy—and the reason for our months of setbacks and “bad luck.”
I’ll likely need months, if not years, before I can stomach practicing medicine again. Until then, I suppose I’ll help with good old-fashioned war strategy and firearms. That ought to assist with my recovery.
Because right now, I feel Death is very close—and I might as well allow our enemies to meet him.
Date: January 3rd, 2105
Location: Oak Park, Illinois
I need to take a step back.
I know I’m helping. I’ve been a general in too many wars not to be a good strategist. Hell, Kronos relied entirely on my plans whenever he didn’t simply overpower our targets. If it was good enough for one of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, it’s bloody well good enough for the Quirked sector.
But I’m realizing that this war will last a long time, and I don’t actually want to become a famous part of it.
I want to be able to fade into the background once things stabilize—if they ever do.
Regardless, I’ll speak with the other leaders. If nothing else, I should be able to guarantee that nobody records my name. Doc should be enough, even if I haven’t set foot in a medical wing in more than a year.
Later annotation (2142): Too little, too late. Still—despite my name ending up on several records, they did not bother me much after the war.
Date: October 30th, 2111
Location: Oak Park, Illinois
I need to see an end to this.
It has been a full decade since this began, and there is still no end in sight. Some countries have calmed down—Switzerland, which for a time was a safe haven for the Quirked, is now one of the least safe zones—but other European nations have finally pulled their heads out of their collective behinds and started putting fairer regulations in place.
As it stands, Switzerland, Japan, China, Taiwan, Canada, and the States are the most virulent countries against the Quirked in this era.
Meanwhile, neutral or at least non-lethal regulations are appearing in most other regions. Even in the Middle East there is less hatred toward the “Allah-forsaken,” as the Quirked are called there, than there is here.
And I’m getting tired of all of it.
War cannot last indefinitely. It drains the people, the economy, the culture—yet the human animal is stubborn, and there is still no end in sight.
Maybe I should try the healing ward again. It’s been long enough, and I’ve been working with a therapist—as much as one can in an active war zone. So perhaps…
Date: June 12th, 2113
Location: Summit, Illinois
This day has been a bloody disaster.
After months of effort, we finally managed to gather representatives from both sides in hopes of signaling the end of this godforsaken war.
They lasted nine minutes around the same table before shots were fired.
Sometimes, I hate human beings.
Attached: contemporary news articles relating to the first attempt at cease fire.
Later annotation (2145): In the end, the only losses were among the non-Quirked leaders. Having an immortal as your (reluctant) representative has its perks.
Date: January 22nd, 2118
Location: Summit, Illinois
I feel like I can finally see the end of the tunnel.
The war isn’t over, but by now even the most prejudiced of the prejudiced have to see reason. Statistics don’t lie. Over thirty percent of newborns manifest powers of one type or another. Fifteen percent of those are born with obvious mutations—at least, the ones recorded and not quietly snuffed in their cradles.
The rest manifest between ages three and seven. And the powers themselves grow stronger by the year.
Evolution is a well-established fact of science, and the human race is evolving, whether it wants to or not.
I could be wrong, but I think we may see the end of this war within the next year or so. After all, only Japan, Switzerland, and America are still holding out.
One can only hope.
Date: November 20th, 2118
Location: Summit, Illinois
It’s over.
Fuck, but I almost can’t believe it.
The ceasefire talks have lasted nearly a month. The future is still uncertain, but all the papers are signed. The new regulations are written, if not already in place.
Japan is the last holdout, and even they seem to have finally seen reason.
I’m not sure what I’ll do next. I’ve overheard some of my comrades discussing positions they’ve been offered within the new Senate. Others are preparing to accept the “Hero Licenses” that will allow them to keep using their quirks legally in public.
I have absolutely no intention of being put in either position.
I wonder what happened to that clinic. Perhaps I could reopen it.
I think I’ll check on Evelyn—my old prejudiced colleague. After so long on the front lines, I now know exactly who that man was who could take quirks. I hope she never managed the journey.
If only for little Eva’s sake.
Attached: contemporary news articles relating to the end of the War in America.
Date: January 18th, 2119
Location: Chicago, Illinois
I’m back in Chicago, and I’ve been anonymously funding the reconstruction efforts—among them a small private clinic in the heart of the city.
I’ll return there once it opens again. Until then, I’m working mostly in a public hospital where it’s all hands on deck.
The war may be over, but the establishment of new rules, the Heroes parading around, the quirk registration system and its enforcement—none of that happens overnight.
And one does not erase almost twenty years of war, prejudice, and hatred with a handful of signatures.
Nonetheless, I’m hopeful. After all, hard work is far better than all-out war, in this immortal’s humble opinion.
Attached: contemporary news articles relating to the end of the War in Japan.
Later annotation (2122): Japan, the last holdout, folded a month later.