Leviathan

“Do you believe in God, professor? In Miracles? In poetic justice?”
Captain Ahab's voice boomed triumphantly as I squeezed my way through corpses, all held a feet off the ground, elite soldiers. They hung, lifeless and yet I felt their open, damning eyes fixed on me. We were at the epicenter of one of the most awful earthquakes in the history of man, and in a clearing in the forest of broken bodies I saw the beast that had caused it.
“White Whale, our Holy Grail!” He bellowed and sneered at the young boy at his feet. I stared into the lifeless eyes of the child that had wrought havoc and brought death to millions. Seven leveled cities, thirteen armies, all hell-bent on destroying this monstrosity lying dormant at our feet, rendered powerless by a special serum.
Ahab was the first of government's successful post-human experiments, a cyborg. Vengeful triumph blazed in his eyes as he spat upon the boy's albino flesh. I felt his loathing as he pulled the boy's hair closer, with his gun forgotten at his feet. He raised his military knife. This was his redemption. His family killed, and almost all of his men dead at the hands of the man-made monster within his clutches. Shooting just wouldn't do it. This was far more personal. He wanted to dismember that boy, hack away till the last drop of blood had been spilt and paid for every injury that had mutilated him, for every death he had to witness and that killed him again in his sleep every night.
But I wasn't going to let him do it.
He stared at me with eyes gone wide with shock. It was the stare of a man stabbed in the back, just as Caesar's must have looked at Brutus in his last moments. Ahab could no longer speak because of a nine millimeter bullet hole in his windpipe. He shuddered and gagged and blood sprayed onto the face of the boy as the captain hurtled backwards and trying to stem the flow and slid off the cliff into the crevasse. Pain had driven mad, but his obsession led us where we were and where I meant to be all along. He had been a useful pawn in a much grander game.
The boy looked into my eyes. I saw helplessness. I saw remorse. He was waiting to be killed because he had no control over his powers. He was a living weapon, with the strength to rattle seismographs and shatter continents. A product of a century's worth of illicit experiments. The boy could not control the beast lurking beneath his subconscious mind, a Kraken created in the hands of men who forgot that they were no gods. I had taken away his last possible chance at reprieve and relief from living and watching men die while the beast within him danced about delightedly hand in hand with Death and Decimation.
“You were born in man's pursuit of control.” I told him. “They want control, they want order. You are the chaos they fear. Come here, take my hand, I'll take you somewhere safe, I can teach you to control your powers.”
The boy shrank away, reaching for the gun. He rose and pointed it at himself.
“Don't be crazy, listen to me.” I urged him as calmly as possible. ”We can change the world for the better! Rid it of the likes of those who tampered with nature and and tormented you to bend it to their will!”

A tear glistened as it rolled down the pale, freckled cheeks of the scared young boy.
“My life is my own. Not yours, not theirs,” he said, and took it.