text:
Posted: September 29, 2015 in Book 1
Tags: Aliens, Arlethae, Atlantis, Delta Division, Dreams, Elves, Fae, Heroes, Peace, Super Heroes, Super Villains, Villains
Eric's eyes opened slowly. He felt the olive-colored silk sheets beneath his fingers, replacing the death grip his nightmare had on him. He grabbed for the comforter, which he'd kicked off some time in the night, and instead touched the arm of the woman sleeping beside him. He relaxed instantly. Desperate to shake off the fear of his memories colliding with his dreams, he rolled over and wrapped Charity in his arms. Her soft skin and perfect form didn't still his pounding heart; but it beat at a fast pace for a different reason. With a deep breath, he took in the scent of her hair.
She reached around, and her delicate fingers brushed across the stubble on his cheeks. "It goes away eventually, love. I promise. Never completely, but enough."
Eric closed his eyes and held her close. At this point, he was just glad to be able to move. When the Fae had surrounded him, broken him, he had truly thought he'd never again see Charity's face staring at him so full of love. With so many bones broken, consciousness had been excruciating. He'd woken once or twice while they were healing him, and he remembered feeling all the more terrified. Aliens were hovering over him, every nerve ending flared with pain so intense he could no longer tell that the creatures he saw were only trying to help. He clung to his girlfriend and shuddered. Hot tears burned his eyes.
By the time he'd woken again in the Delta Division infirmary, the battle was over. Sam was defeated, and Drake was back in his own lab fixing Eric's suit. Eric had taken the long way down to the lab. Medically, there was nothing wrong with his body, but his mind still remembered the agony of shattered bones. The walk helped to catch his mind up to the reality that the Elves' magic had knitted his flesh back together. Being with the woman he loved helped too.
Charity rolled over and slipped her arms around his waist and looked into his eyes, letting silence ride for a moment. "So the execution is today."
"I heard." He wrapped his arms around Charity and pulled her closer to him, wrapping her in the down comforter. He'd felt smothered deep in his dreams. Now he just felt cold. "I feel like I should be sorry, but I'm not."
Charity was quiet for a moment. "She killed my best friend's brother. She made me relive the worst moment of my life. She jeopardized so many people, all for the sake of her need to control." She rested her hand on his cheek. "She hurt you. You know, capital punishment is never something I'd made my mind up one way or the other, but…dammit, if I'm not glad she can't ever hurt anyone else again."
Eric nodded. "I feel the same way." He stroked her hair. "I'm so glad to have you back." His mouth twitched. "Because this would be super awkward if you still thought you were twelve."
Charity laughed and punched him in the side.
"Ow, hey! The doctor told me to take it easy, just to make sure the magic actually healed everything properly."
"Aw, you're fine."
"Is that so? Well, I'm going to have to test that." He gave a loud grunt as he sat up in bed as if it was a heroic effort, then swiftly grabbed one of Charity's feet. "Also, I'll need to get you back, of course." He tickled her on her archway, and Charity gave a little squeal. She twisted her lithe form and grappled him around the waist, and they both tumbled in a mess of bedclothes to the floor. Eric chuckled as he rolled Charity onto her back and planted a kiss on her lips. He lingered.
Then he sighed. "So, are we going?"
There was no response for a moment, but then Charity nodded. "Yeah. Because if I don't see it happen, I will be forever looking over my shoulder to see if she's watching me behind designer sunglasses."
Eric agreed.
For the first time since their second arrival, and the last time in a very long while, Atlantis opened their doors to all-comers. Political leaders from all over the world attended, and the hall filled with United Nations representatives. It had been the UN's decision to turn Samantha Clive over to the Elves for trial. The powers that be had no illusions that the proceedings would end any differently; though some feigned ignorance, they were aware that their decision effectively sentenced Sam to death. Still, the decision had been made in hopes that it would garner some goodwill between the people of Earth and the trapped visitors from another world.
For the time being, it seemed as if Sam's dream of world peace might indeed be a reality. Quarrels were set aside at the marble passageway into the Atlantian amphitheater; men and women from feuding countries forgot their differences in the presence of the bastion of knowledge and its people. It seemed fitting that it was her death that brought about even a temporary truce.
Many Delta Heroes were there. Drake sat apart. He'd abandoned his Hawaiian shirt for a black business suit; it fit well with his somber brooding. Meryl was silent as Charity greeted them with a hug, then also embraced an equally stone-faced Jayson. Mitch Roberts made an appearance, wearing a disturbingly gleeful expression. "This is not something to be happy about," Liam scolded him, but that just started an argument about how he didn't get to vanish for over a decade then decide to be a father.
Charity moved on, and Meryl tuned out, not wanting to get involved in their family matter. She watched Charity make her way to Geoff Davis and put a hand on his shoulder. Guilt lined his face, and Charity knew that guilt was not something that went away. Meryl took a deep breath. The therapist in her wanted to help, to heal their souls from the lancing wounds Sam had left on them both, but she stayed rooted to the ground until Jayson made her sit. She could not muster the will. After everything, Meryl was so, so tired.
At that moment, the Elven Chancellor took the podium at the center of the arena. A hush fell over the crowd. It occurred to Meryl that she could mimic an Elf's language and thereby understand everything, but she hadn't the energy. Through magic Meryl didn't quite understand, Rio'kir's words were broadcasted, translated by the pearl-shaped ear plugs the Elves had provided so that each person in the crowd understood in his or her native tongue. "Bring in the prisoner."
Great doors opened, elaborate runes etched in gold catching the light that effused from the marble surface of the grand stage. Sam was brought in. She looked bedraggled and tired, her hair falling out of its usual pristine condition. Her hands were bound behind her back. Six Elvin guards guided her down the long, carpeted aisle and fastened her to a tall pole of onyx. The six guards stood before her in a linear formation.
"Samantha Clive." Rio'kir spoke her name without emotion. "Through the knowledge of the All, the Judge of Truth, you have been found guilty of consorting with those who would seek corruption of our people. Worse, you perverted knowledge, the sacred pursuit of perfection that each of us are called to emulate." He looked up, and his gaze rested on the area where Meryl and the rest of Delta's heroes sat. "Those are just the crimes against the Elven people. Against yours, they are worse."
There was a murmur from the Elven population. Meryl got the impression that Rio'kir's decision to acknowledge Sam's crimes against humanity was an unpopular one.
"Your actions have ended the lives of at least two good men and great heroes." Meryl gave a barely audible gasp at the reminder of her brother's assassination. A wave of nausea washed over her, though it wasn't just due to the words that Rio'kir spoke. With all of her drained willpower, she fought down the bile in her throat. The air grew just a little heavier; despite his stoic expression, Drake was not unaffected by his father's death.
"In addition to the suffering you have inflicted on your own kind, you have deprived your world of the knowledge and legacy that those men could have brought to your people." Tears pricked Meryl's eyes. Most Elves wouldn't care; Rio'kir's words were kind.
"That is a crime unforgivable by both Elf and Earthborn," he continued. Therefore, as our judgment is insufficient to fully castigate your lack of respect for knowledge, I decree that your soul will be given over to the All for his chastisement." He turned to the guards. "Execute her."
At the sharp command, they notched an arrow and drew their bows. Sam looked up, eyes glazed over, and smiled. The Elves fired. Six arrows hit her chest, and her head slumped over.
Meryl clutched Jayson's hand. This part, at least, was over.
After the solemn execution, those that attended gathered in the common room at Delta. They were met by those who had chosen to stay away. Allen perched stiffly on one of the brown leather couches, clinging to Tracy's hand. He knew very well where the others had been, and he wasn't happy about it. He hated Sam. Hated her with every fiber of his being, but he could not condone the taking of another life.
Marcus and Lindsay sat opposite them. Marcus had his arm around Lindsay, and her head rested on his shoulder. She looked defeated. Allen had heard Marcus ask her if she wanted to go, but all she said was, "I don't care," so they remained at the headquarters. None of them had been much for conversation.
"You're already here," Mitch groused at his dad as Jayson teleported them in. "You might as well stay for the afterparty."
Lindsay made a face at him. "That's morbid."
None of the others seemed to want to talk either. An awkward silence stretched, the atmosphere very much like a wake, instead of there being a funeral, it had been preceded by an execution. Allen swallowed. How did one celebrate someone's life when it had ended like that? Or when it had been filled with such evil?
"She truly thought she was saving the world," Geoff finally said to break the silence.
"She's a control freak," snapped Charity.
"Was," Eric reminded her firmly. "It's over."
Charity nodded in agreement.
"So the Fae…" Mitch began.
"Will scatter. They'll stop hounding anyone to the extent they have."
Mitch breathed a sigh of relief.
"Russia's going to war with China," Charity said. "A pre-emptive strike. I think they're hoping Trevor's designs will give them a weapon. They've even withdrawn their request to be part of Delta. The Elves have retreated back into Atlantis. They're not going to have anything to do with Earthborn wars—though what the UN is going to do with that statement, I don't even want to guess.""
"And us?" Lindsay asked.
"Us as in Americans? Probably wait to see which side will win and launch a decisive strike to win the war, if history serves. Us, as in Delta? Well, if we're not careful, we're going to be that decisive strike." She sighed and ran her hands through her hair. "I wish Jones were here."
Jayson just looked at her. "You know what he'd say if he were?"
Charity just looked at him and shook her head. A small smile appeared on her face. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, Jayson. You tell me."
Jay cleared his throat and attempted his best British accent. "He'd say 'this is your world now. What are you going to do about it, Miss London?'"
That was when they all, at last, smiled. Because it was a spot-on impression. Because he was right.
"At the end of the day, we all have to make the world our better place," Jayson continued. "That's what you always said, right Charity? For us…and for our kids." And then he gave a knowing grin and wrapped his arm around Meryl's waist.
Charity nodded. Then stopped. She looked at the two of them, wide-eyed. "You're not…"
Meryl grinned too.
"We're going to have a baby," Jayson said, positively bursting.
Charity squealed. Excited congratulations and hugging and back-slapping ensued. "I didn't even know you could have kids, with the whole…you know." That Meryl was technically not of this world.
"Neither did we," Meryl responded. "But it seems that is true. How many is the question."
"Well, are you having a whole damn litter at once, like a puppy or something?" Lindsay asked.
Meryl laughed. "No, no. Arlethaen have two children—twins, a boy and a girl. I understand that is not a pattern for humans, so I am uncertain how it will work when there is a bond between human and Arlethaen."
Jayson wrapped his arms around his wife. "But anyway, my point still stands. It's what Jones would say, but that's because it's true. This is our world. What are we going to do about it?"
Hours later, Mitch returned to his empty house alone. Some adolescent part of him had almost asked Liam to come back with him, but then a surge of seething anger had bubbled within him for some unfathomable reason, and it was all he could do not to tell the fucker to get out of his life forever. Halfway through a bag of chips, he realized that he had no idea where that anger came from—in fact, he wasn't even inclined to wonder where it had come from. It was curious, but the concept wandered out of his head in favor of the gruesome documentary on the television.
He glanced at the clock. It was nearly time for the local elementary school to be out. He was halfway out the door before he began to wonder why that was at all his concern. With an annoyed grimace he stalked back in, slamming the door behind him so hard it rattled the house.
Guilt leaped into his heart. That was loud enough to wake somebody if they happened to be sleeping in the middle of the day after coming off the night shift. Though why anybody would be doing that, Mitch had no idea. Driven by impulse, he made his way to the upper level of the small house he'd lived in since working at the Delta Division. He counted three bedrooms. He wandered into his, and suddenly tired, flopped onto the bed.
He stared at the ceiling plastered in metal band posters with a frown so deep that a nagging, motherly voice told him that it would stay that way. That thought wandered out of his head as well. It was replaced with another, much more insistent thought.
Why did he have the distinct feeling that he'd forgotten something important?
Chapter 21: The Moment of Truth (Part 4)
Tags: Atlantis, Delta Division, Elves, Fae, Heroes, Siblings, Super Heroes, Super powers, Super Villains, Villains, Winning
A crack of thunder shattered the battlefield. The air shivered with the cloying scent of an oncoming storm, and Marcus was thrown backward against Mitch, and they both toppled onto a group of Fae that let out a chorus of cackling screams and grabbed at them with tendrils of shadow that sent shivers through Marcus' spine.
"Watch it, London!" Mitch snapped.
Marcus ignored him. "Charity!" He took a couple steps toward his sister, jerking back as the ionized air kicked up shards of marble into his face.
"Marcus!" Jayson's commanding voice arrested Marcus' attention, and his head jerked toward the teleporter. He saw Drake hand Jay a device that looked like a mess of runic stones cobbled together into some sort of firing apparatus. "I'll back up Inferno. Help your sister!"
Marcus nodded. "Yes, sir!" He kicked his rocket boots into gear and took off into the sky.
It wasn't the first time Marcus had seen his sister shift into her energy form, but never had he seen her like this. She was a goddess, leaving destruction in her wake, and just at a glance he could see that the sentient electricity she had become could not discern between friend and foe. Her burst of charged particles had decimated the Fae that had gathered around Eric. With a moment of panic, Marcus realized he couldn't see his sister's boyfriend. Charity would never forgive herself if she'd incinerated him to nothing. However, a flurry of motion in the corner of his eye made him turn to see that Meryl had gotten Eric the hell out of dodge.
"Marcus!" Lindsay screamed for him as she struggled to her feet. She and Allen were deep inside the blast radius, and they looked worse for wear. Both of them were tough enough to take a tank to the face and keep walking, but unlike him, neither of them were immune to electricity. Charity's energy filled the air, and the longer they stayed within her area of effect, the worse off they'd be.
His heart twisted, but they had bigger problems than his wayward sister. "Behind you!" Sam was also getting to her feet, and she wasn't going to sit patiently while he got the giant ball of energy under control. Lindsay hesitated, and glanced at Charity with uncertainty. "Don't worry about me. I got this."
At least he hoped he did.
He cracked his neck and licked his lips, tasting the nitrogen in the air. "Charity!" She paid him no mind. His hands went to his head, clawing through his hair. How the ever loving fuck was he supposed to get through to her? His hands shook. Why me? My sister's going crazy, my girlfriend abandoned me, I'm having to be this hero, and I'm not ready! His frustration boiled in him. "Fucking goddamn it!" he bellowed. Nothing happened.
"Fuck! Come on, Charity! What the fucking hell is wrong with you! You're my fucking sister! No. Fuck that. You—I told you so many times that you're not my mother, but god damn it, you were right. You're all I've got. Where's your self-righteous rage at my trucker mouth? Huh? 'Swearing makes you sound ignorant,' well fuck that! You want me to sound intelligent? Then stop this bullshit and make me!"
He wiped his hand over his face and blinked back hot tears. "Damn it, Charity! This—this isn't you! You don't lose your shit like this! Whatever happens, you always keep your cool, always make sure I know what to do. I don't know what to do!" He bit back a sob. "Fuck. You're always telling me to pick up my laundry, nag me constantly about making sure the dishwasher's empty, drag me over to your high school so you can make sure I don't fuck up." He laughed, an edge to his voice. "You're always making me be better. There. You happy now? You make me better. You're the most stubborn-ass, obsessive control freak, and I don't know why, but that's important to you. I'm not going to let you lose control."
He swallowed. His jaw clenched. He repeated the words, calmer now, with a sense of surety. "I am not going to let you lose control." His hand extended, and he almost expected it to be shaking, but a stillness had settled inside him, spreading through his limbs and the tips of his fingers, even as they tingled with static and anticipation.
The upper limits of Charity's electric energy could not be safely tested, so she always kept an iron grip on how much she used for any given situation. The more energy she used, the harder it was to control it, she'd say. And if she lost control, people could get hurt. It was a lesson every energy controller had to be aware of.
Marcus, on the other hand, had never found out exactly how much electric energy he could absorb. Half the reason he resented working as Charity's sidekick was that he felt there was a constant set of training wheels, a steady source of electricity present so he didn't have to worry about resource management. He hated the implication that he was powerless without her—weak. It had never occurred to him until right that moment that Charity felt the same way—that her lack of control was her weakness. She projected it onto him, onto any energy controller she taught.
But she also taught that the purpose of a team was to help each other where they were weak so they could maximize their strengths.
Marcus smiled and moved closer to her, hand still extended. He could feel the energy coursing through his veins, and he wondered if this was what it was like to stand next to the sun. "So, that's it. That's why you have to control everything. I understand. But you can't right now. So I will control it for you."
Before him was a nuclear reactor, and somewhere in the center of it, his sister. He'd find her, even if it meant absorbing every wayward particle. It had taken months to learn how to absorb energy on purpose, and Charity had walked him through it, been with him every step of the way. She even made him read a dozen books on how to open oneself up to the energy of the universe, as if that was remotely the same thing. Weirdly, though, it was. After about the twentieth self-help book, it clicked in his head. He understood that a current ran through everything, and opening himself up, observing his place in the universe, allowed him to channel the flow of energy into his body—his core—his very self.
His muscles clenched in protest. His chest tightened like it was going to burst, and he forgot how to breathe. His teachers—Charity included—had all gone to great lengths to explain the relationship between matter, energy, mass, and volume. Right this second, however, he figured that physics could go fuck itself. He'd just breathed in a vortex of basically infinite electrons, and it felt like the doorway to another universe was doing its damnedest to collapse inside his esophagus.
"Relax, Marcus. Breathe. You're okay."
Marcus whirled around. At least, he thought he did. He still wasn't positive what plane of existence his body had chosen to settle in. Charity was gone. The energy was gone. No, more accurately, he'd succeeded in absorbing all the energy, and it clawed at his insides, begging to let it unleash holy hell on the mob of Fae that scrambled all over the shattered marble halls. Several pairs of eyes stared at him. Allen and Lindsay regarded him with stunned expressions, and even Sam took pause. Jay, Meryl, and the Elf leader gaped at him. Drake ignored them all and continued do his business at the console. "Yes, yes, wonderboy absorbed his sister, can we focus, people!"
I did what?
There was a sound, a laugh that seemed to echo around him. He spun again. No, it was in him.
"So, that's a thing. I've always wondered if that would happen. It's not super ideal to arrange circumstances that would allow for experimentation."
He knew that voice. "Charity?"
"Okay, just so you know, when you talk out loud, you will look like you're talking to yourself like a crazy person."
"You…you're…"
He couldn't help the words bursting from his mouth. "You're inside my head!"
Marcus clenched his fists and twitched his shoulders with annoyance. "Okay. This is beyond an invasion of privacy. It's like—like you're going through my bedroom and finding—well, never mind."
"Marcus, I already found your box of porn. Very old-school. I didn't even know they sold magazine format anymore. Though if you're computer's going to short out during—"
"Charity!" His whole face turned red, and his ears felt like they were on fire. Was it possible for one's whole body to blush?
"Oh, don't worry. I'm not mad. It's a perfectly natural part of your maturation."
"Please stop. We are so not doing this."
"Having a discussion about your teenage habits while I'm stuck inside your head?"
"Or ever, preferably."
She laughed again. She almost seemed to enjoy his discomfort, very much the big sister that liked to troll the hell out of her baby brother. But as much as Marcus could hear her voice, he could also sense her thoughts. The love and pride she had for him was inescapable. She would do anything for him. It should have been self-evident, even without a mind-meld, but it made Marcus smile a little to see that undeniable truth. And he could tell that she knew he felt the same way. She was his sister, and there was no way in hell he'd stand by while she was in trouble.
But with a wordless agreement, they both decided it was time to put aside the mushy stuff. Asses needed to be kicked.
So, that short burst of energy thinned the Fae ranks a bit. Infernos one and two can handle the rest for now. The main threat is Sam. Marcus could honestly no longer tell whose thought that was. Meryl's assault was more effective than it appeared, and she was holding back out of fear of hurting everyone else. We have more power together. Eric was the biggest threat. He may be neutralized, but his effort was not in vain. It's costing Sam to push the shield out again, and she may in fact buckle under the paragons' attacks. Still, best to end this quickly before she and the Fae have a chance to rally.
Marcus dashed toward the fight. It took him a second to realize he was flying under his own power—his boots were shorted out. It was an odd sensation, and not one he dwelled on for long.
With a loud crack of thunder that rattled the marble pillars that still stood, a bolt of lightning struck Sam's shield. It was followed swiftly by Allen's full-powered fists that slammed into the psionic bubble. Lindsay followed through with a bicycle kick. Sam pushed them back, but both Allen and Lindsay dug into the ground and refused to budge. Marcus was unaffected. Sam's psionic force could not dissuade him. Lightning struck again. Rinse, repeat, the three teens poured every last bit of their effort into putting the bitch down, and finally the shield cracked. Allen's fist sailed through and landed on the woman's jaw, and she flew backward, head making a loud smack sound on the mother-of-pearl. Allen dashed forward.
"Stop." Jayson's command put the breaks on Allen's charge. "She's down. We've won."
Marcus raised his gaze to the battlefield. The Fae had scattered. All that was left was the broken remains of the great foyer of the City of Atlantis. Mitch and Liam rested with their hands on their knees in uncanny symmetry. Lindsay was still in shock, and Allen remained aloft, uncertain as to what to do next. Eric's broken body lay nearby, and Marcus—no, Charity—felt a twinge of panic. A Light Mage worked his magic, and Eric's bruises began to heal. Drake collapsed, and Meryl caught him.
So, this was winning. Watching his friends get the shit beaten out of them, tearing up a city that had probably stood for centuries, and knowing that, even after all that effort, it wasn't bringing Stryker back.
Marcus literally had another person sharing his body. And never had he felt so empty.
Tags: Atlantis, Delta Division, Elves, Fae, Heroes, Purpose, Super Heroes, Super powers, Super Villains, Villains
Lindsay was the first to reach Sam. She lead with a roundhouse kick, then twisted into a follow-up knee to the face. Without Lindsay's speed, Sam couldn't dodge the attacks, but every time they almost connected, the air shimmered inches from the surface, making the effort looked like a badly choreographed action movie. Sam dug her feet into the ground, the marble cracking beneath her, giving her traction against Lindsay's onslaught. She didn't budge.
Allen slammed his fist into the ground right beside Sam. It quaked and split in all directions, causing Sam's anchor to crumble. From his crouched position, he shot into the sky. His fist connected with Sam's jaw, and the kinetic force drove her up and backward. She did an aerial twist and landed on her feet, unharmed.
Her arms thrust forward. She may have been unable to affect their minds due to the Elves' spellcasting, but her telekinetic blast packed a force that matched the paragons' strength. Lindsay lost control and spun into the air. Allen's heels dug furrows in the marble, now dull without its iridescent light, before he tripped and fell prone.
Marcus took a deep breath as he focused his energy gathering abilities. He raised his hands and orbs of electricity shot from his palms like bullets from a gatling gun. They bounced off Sam, but she ignored him in favor of a bigger threat.
Eric had had enough. His suit was built to fight the super powered, to neutralize them and even kill them. Though the specific sound frequency that nullified Gifted powers had been purged from the system, he nonetheless remained a force to be reckoned with.
"Power rerouted to weapons systems, armed and online. Targeting. Psionic shield detected. Calculating frequency required to counter shield. Calculations complete."
Eric fired. The sound rippled through the air, but shadows sprung forth and coalesced around him. Everything went dark.
"Warning. Interference detected. Sensors compromised."
"I admit, Mr. Herrington, I was rather surprised when you took lead on the investigation," Sam said smoothly. "It was a contingency I had not prepared for. I needn't have been concerned. You lack the request intellect to challenge me." Twin thumps sounded on her shield, still holding strong. Eric couldn't see anything, but he presumed Lindsay and Allen were attempting to battle her again.
"And believe me," Sam continued. "It is only intellect that could challenge me. Your physical prowess, even combined, means nothing without a mind behind it."
Eric grit his teeth. He could hear Marcus firing at her, but that wouldn't do any good either, not unless he had the time to gather the energy.
"However, even a mindless monkey with a weapon can be dangerous. I cannot allow you to live."
Eric's heart thumped as the sound of the threat hit his ears. Wait. Sound! "Vorg, visual targeting may be down, but audio sensors still work. Use echolocation to track Sam and translate that into a mind map so I can blow the ever loving shit out of her."
"Excellent idea, Eric. Calculating. Calculations complete."
A grainy image flickered before Eric's eyes—no, in his mind. He couldn't see well—it was like finding a shadowed outline in a black, empty void.
"Quickly, Eric! Zzzx—zouter defenses comprimizzxtz—"
He could feel the icy fingers of the Shadow Fae digging into his suit. It was a self-contained life-support system, and given the opportunity, could keep him alive in space, but the tiny, persistent assault of the Fae burrowed in like acid. He had to clear his mind and destroy Sam's suit. There! He targeted what he was sure would be Sam. "Load in that shield-destroying frequency and give her hell!"
The sound blasted into his target, and it flung back, bouncing off a wall, and into a heap on the ground. He could only hope to God it really was Sam.
He only had a moment to think that before his vision went dark again. Fear struck his heart. "Vorg? Vorg!" There was no response from his suit.
Piercing light struck his eyes, and cool air tingled on his skin an instant before fiery pain lanced into his arms, legs, and stomach, followed by the spreading warmth of open wounds. He might have screamed, but he couldn't hear his own voice past the sharp agony of every joint in his body dislocating at once. Darkness swallowed him once again, and he couldn't breathe. White light flashed in his eyes, but he knew that, this time, it was just his brain shutting down. He no longer cared. He just wanted it all to stop.
"Eric!" Charity scream shredded her throat as it closed up in fear. She was supposed to be targeting the Fae. You idiot! You let them past you. This is all your fault!
Reason didn't even have time to tell her that the damned creatures could teleport before she bolted toward Eric—the man she loved. Her feet couldn't carry her fast enough. Charity could barely see him through the horde of shadow creatures, but what she did see turned her stomach. Two grabbed each leg and twisted, while three others snapped an elbow. Three more twisted his other arm behind his back until a sickening, bloody snap broke a compound fracture through the skin. Shadows snaked all round him, slicing red ribbons through his loose t-shirt and dress pants.
I've got to stop them! She shot bolt after bolt at them, but where one fell, another Fae took its place.
Sam was down, for the moment, but struggling to her feet. Allen gave up on her in favor of lending Eric a hand. His mighty strength tore the creatures from the fallen businessman, but even he would soon be overwhelmed.
"Allen!" Lindsay screamed. "Leave him! We've got to get Sam!" She bolted into a running attack.
It was too late. Samantha Clive returned to her feet, and the air shimmered as her shield returned. Lindsay bounced off the shield, and Sam caught her in a telekinetic grasp, slamming her repeatedly into the ground. Lindsay clawed at the nothing that held her. It would take a while to strangle a paragon, but in time, even Sprite would succumb to such an assault.
"Shit!" Jayson shouted. "Meryl, back them—"
His command came too late. A single Fae popped out from nowhere and clobbered the girl on the head before she could mimic any invulnerability.
"They're all over the place," Charity sobbed to no one but herself. She scanned the battlefield. An army of unmatched strength ruled. The Elves defended their homeland well, but they were surprised and uncoordinated. The Fae fought with unparalleled valor, a single mind delivering a relentless onslaught. Mitch and Liam peppered them with fire blasts, and Marcus followed Allen's lead in defending the fallen hero, but it wasn't enough. He didn't have enough power.
You can stop this. Something calm whispered from her center.
I can't! I can't! Another sob escaped her lips, tears blinding her to the carnage.
You can. And you will. Eric will die if you don't. You remember Eric, don't you?
She didn't. She couldn't. Try as she might, she couldn't recall a single moment that happened outside of the last few weeks since she woke up.
You said you'd find a way back. You remember that? You promised. Why? Why, in your heart of hearts would you have promised to find a way back to him? Think, Charity! Your brain may not remember, but the heart doesn't forget! Trust that feeling!
"I can't." This time she said it out loud, muttering to herself. "I don't know how."
You've done this before. Marcus said I turned into this big ball of electricity, do that again!
But how? How do I do that?
Let go.
It seemed so simple. In all the stories Charity had ever read—and there were so many of them—the way to gain true power, true control, was to let go. She clenched and unclenched her fists, but her stomach tightened when Eric cried out again and lay still in the Fae's stranglehold. Let go.
Electricity sparked at her fingertips and arched over her back. Her hair stood on end. Power welled up inside her. She imagined it like a big ball in her chest, and with a groan, she pushed it out. Agony pierced her, like someone had driven a javelin through her heart. She couldn't breathe. Terror gripped her. Oh God! Oh God, it hurts! Every fiber of her being screamed at her to stop, that she was going to die, that this was the end. It felt like her head was sitting at the edge of an explosion.
You can make this stop. Just relax. Stop pushing. Get yourself under control. Who cares if they're all going to die?
I care!
With a terrible scream, Charity pushed her power out further. Wave after wave of unimaginable torment gripped her, spasming through her body. She felt as if she was being torn apart, each atom separating from itself—and in a way, it was.
And it unleashed the storm within.
She understood it, suddenly. The biochemical process that had wormed her way through her brain, blocking off the memories that were so dear to her. A nefarious parasite. It gripped her mind—controlled her.
The energy being vaporized the foreign substance, atomized it, turned it into even more power. Then that being turned her attention on the battlefield.
She had a purpose, that much she knew. As she beheld the chaos dispassionately, she found herself curious as to what it was. To destroy…something. Everything. That must be it.
She must destroy everything.
Posted: September 8, 2015 in Book 1
Tags: Arlethae, Delta Division, Elves, Fae, Family, Friendship, Heroes, Old Order, Peace, Purpose, Super Heroes, Super powers, Super Villains
Meryl hadn't known what to expect when she looked into the eyes of the one who killed her brother—the one who sentenced him to die. Even after Donald Kazuki's video said it was Sam—even after Meryl knew the truth—she could not equate the evil of the mastermind's conspiracy to the poise and grace of Samantha Clive.
Arlethaens had legends of demons, creatures with twisted horns on their heads and spikes on their bodies meant to lacerate their prey. Some were large and grotesque; others possessed a terrible beauty. Regardless, they had one thing in common—evil radiated off them like the toxic fumes from a river of industrial waste.
Sam had neither horns nor spikes, and her beauty was that of a classic European; but how had Meryl missed the unrelenting evil that spilled from her eyes, the set of her jaw and body posture? From childhood, Meryl could recognize the evil of those who wished her and her family harm. It was a matter of survival as the Gifted hid from the Old Order. It translated to her talents both as an artist and a therapist.
How had she missed an evil so vile?
This woman had sat across from Meryl in countless sessions, both mandated by Delta policy, and voluntarily as Sam had insisted she wanted to maintain a mental competency to run the most powerful agency in the country. Meryl had judged her to be motivated, cerebral, and surprisingly balanced. She'd never once questioned the woman's mental stability. Somehow, in some gross lack of judgment, Meryl had missed the glaring psychopathy.
In an effort to determine the mastermind's identity, Meryl had crafted a psych profile: highly intelligent, adept in social situations, charismatic. Sam used public appearance as a strategy—and evidently reputation as a weapon. Meryl's small hands shook at her sides, and her stomach flopped. Why had she not seen it?
Because she'd never wanted to. In retrospect, that was likely at least in part to Sam's mental influence. Even now, Meryl tried to consider the idea of mimicking Sam's powers, and then she'd know. She'd know for sure that Samantha Clive was as powerful as Donald said, powerful enough to attract the Fae. The Fae had mind powers. They were ideal partners in crime. Like drew toward like. Of course the Fae would follow Sam. She was one of them. Rage boiled in her. You're such an idiot. How could anyone be so stupid? This is your fault, you know. Joleon is dead because of you, because you couldn't lift your eyes and see the truth that stared you in the face.
And you're still not mimicking her powers.
It was with shock that she realized her mind had wandered away from the concept.
"Sam," Jayson said with a deadly calm. "We'd like to have some words with you."
His arm shifted. In his hand was the vial of nullifier. With a snap it shattered. Jay cried out and shook his hand, blood dripping onto the iridescent mother-of-pearl floor. "Shit." He held out his hand, the blue formula mingling with the scarlet blood on his skin.
"Certainly, Mr. Allison," Sam replied with a small smile born of the knowledge that she'd just caused Jayson's power play to backfire. Meryl's heart pounded. Instead of taking out her powers, Sam had taken out his, removing from play their most powerful teleporter. If this went badly, they had no quick exit.
There was a shout, and a blinding light flashed all around them. Fae had invaded the Elves' territory and they reacted accordingly. The fuzziness in Meryl's mind vanished—the Elves' magic, no doubt. Instantly, Meryl copied Sam's powers. All of them.
It took her breath away. Never had she felt so much knowledge and power compacted into one pocket of consciousness. She understood in that moment that reality hinged on a shared perception of every living being in existence. It was a collection of mental power that was innate in every creature that could observe the world around them. In most, it was so latent that they were unaware, content with a mundane life of their own. Mankind's very awareness held reality together, each mind a single molecule of water in a sea awash with power; but each thought they were alone, each so far away from the particles around them that they were unaware of the bonds that held them all together.
But for those who could recognize the metaphysics of that reality, who could seize control of that collective consciousness—the power that it granted! It was the power of a god.
Sam looked at her. "You understand, don't you? Mankind is a collective, and that must be protected at any cost. The organism of humanity is a being that must survive—but we are cancerous to ourselves. That cancer must be destroyed.
"I truly am sorry for what you suffered. It is a tragedy that, with the bad, one must cut into the good. Power such as this must come with benevolence, with mercy, but also with purpose. Your brother believed that—believes it still, for mankind's power extends beyond this mortal coil. Don't let the greater purpose of his sacrifice go unfulfilled."
Meryl took a step back. Her resolve faltered.
"Our world and yours are capitulating inevitably to entropy. Our world will end. My actions will not stay that forever. But perhaps it will buy a few years. There will be peace, and in that peace, who knows how many lives will be saved? A billion? A hundred billion?"
No more than a heartbeat of time had passed, but with their minds connected, Meryl felt she knew more about Samantha than what would come in a hundred hour-long conversations.
"Tell them, Merelise. They no longer trust me, and that's fine. 'Hero' and 'villain', they're just titles, a means to accomplish my goal. You are their counselor and friend. Tell them the truth."
"Wait," Meryl heard herself say. She looked around. Electricity arched over both Charity and Marcus London. Eric Herrington had fully suited up, and his sound blasters whined with their charge. Liam and Mitch Roberts were twin flames, ready to engulf Samantha Clive. Allen Gray's fist was clenched, ready to fly with rage at the woman who'd murdered his mentor, and Lindsay White wasn't far behind him. She stopped them all with that single word, and they looked to her for guidance. Sam was right. They would listen. They trusted her.
"Meryl." Drake called her name. Her head swiveled in his direction.
Drake was the most closed off person she knew. He showed up—late—for his mandatory psychiatric evaluation, but spent the entire time talking about his pet goldfish, which she was almost certain never existed. He hated the Fae. In the last few years, he'd gone out of his way to make sure that nothing was able to get in his head, and she wasn't sure that even the mind powers of Mythos—Sam—would have gotten through the mental barriers he'd trained in his mind. Yet, she slipped easily into his thoughts. He let her in.
"I see your hesitation. I understand. Sam's good, she doesn't need powers to persuade others to come around to her point of view. What's she telling you—that if we beat her, your brother's death has no purpose? But you can't let her win. Meryl, we don't do what's right because it makes the world a better place, we do it because doing the right thing is what separates us from the evil we face every day. She killed your brother. It's not on you to make that death mean something. It's on you to avenge it."
"Well, we gonna kick her ass or what?" Mitch snarled.
"I said 'wait', Mitchell," Meryl snapped. "Get in line."
She let Drake's power wash over her. He may have been dampened past the point of using them, but she could still mimic them fully. Her long blonde hair twisted around her, and her body levitated into the humming air. Her fists clenched and her eyes flashed gold. She may have been using others' powers, but she would beat this woman as an Arlethaen, as Gifted. She would not mimic another's appearance. "Thanks, Drake. I needed that. This one's for you."
She thrust her hands forward and blasted a wave of magnetic energy at Sam. It whooshed past her, an invisible attack against Sam's invisible defense. The woman took a step back, but otherwise remained unperturbed. The marble around Sam's psionic shield cracked, leaving a shallow, crescent shaped crater in the floor. The wall behind her began to crumble.
Meryl clenched her fists. To her magnetic senses, she could feel lines of power begin to form. They'd be gone in no time once she released her power over the magnetism in the air, but she only needed a moment. She switched powers. Her whole being became engulfed in electric energy. "This is for screwing with my best friend!" With a loud crack, a powerful lightning bolt snapped at Sam. It wrapped around her shield, but under the electric assault, it began to shrink.
The energy faded to a deafening silence. Meryl didn't let it ride for long. She dashed forward with blinding speed. Her hand punctured what was left of the psionic shield and grabbed Sam's neck. With powerful, strengthened arms, she flew her captive into the air. In a loud voice, she screamed, "And this is for my brother!" She flung Sam down at the ground, obliterating the crescent crevasse, and decimating the marble wall.
As the dust settled, Samantha Clive stood to her feet. She brushed the powdered marble from her business suit and shook out the pieces of her broken hair clip, letting her brown hair fall in waves. "That was surprisingly aggressive, Mrs. Allison. I was hoping we'd resolve this peacefully. You're no fighter, Meryl."
Meryl smiled as she landed beside her husband and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's a good thing the rest of them are."
Jayson smirked. "Mitch, Liam, Charity, back the Elves up and thin the Fae's ranks. Drake, support Rio'kir in getting the city's defenses back online. The rest of you…let's all give her a piece of our mind."
Marcus flashed a grin at his girlfriend, then at his best friend. All three smiled, but it was the smiles of pent-up aggression and rage. "This is what we've been waiting for. Let's do it!"
Tags: Aliens, Atlantis, Delta Division, Elves, Fae, Family, Friendship, Heroes, Super Heroes, Super Villains, Villains
Charity's heart pounded so hard that it hurt. Marcus reached for her hand, and she jerked away, all too aware of the static electricity that built up in her fingers. He may not have been the brother she remembered, but he was her brother nonetheless, and they'd grown so close. With him around, she felt much less like she was going to fall apart. The last thing she wanted was him to fall over from a heart attack caused by a surge of electricity, especially now when they were about to head into the most terrifying encounter of her young life.
That's not true, a voice in her head whispered. That's right. She was a hero, and an adult. She must have had worse experiences, even if she couldn't remember them. Bile rose in her throat. If those experiences were worse than waking up in a hospital bed after a nightmare-inducing, near-death experience, then she didn't want to remember. If they were worse than knowing that the only family you had left was a halfway grown-up teenage brother that was only five the last time you saw him, she'd rather they stay buried in the past.
He's got the electricity power too, she reminded herself. With relief, she held onto his hand. "Sorry, I forgot—I didn't want to hurt you."
"It's all right." Marcus smiled at her, but she could see his attention was on Jayson Allison, who was trying to contact Atlantis via his phone. A communication relay had been set up between Delta and the ancient magical city when the Elves had first arrived, but that did little to dispel the political red tape and language barrier.
Charity clutched Marcus' hand even harder. Maybe it would be better if I could remember going through something worse. Then I'd at least know I got through it.
"Just find me someone who speaks English!" Jayson yelled into the phone. Jay had more patience than anyone Charity had ever seen, but even he was at the end of it. She was reminded of her mother every time Anna London had to deal with an overseas customer service representative.
Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. Charity knew that if she started, the tears would never stop. She couldn't afford to break down and cry right now, not when she was supposed to be saving the world.
Why am I the one who's supposed to be a hero? I'm just a kid!
Except that wasn't entirely true. She was an adult, and people depended on her. She looked herself up on the Internet one time, and nearly lost a whole day researching Thundra. The woman was an icon. The work she did, the people that she saved, the little girls who wanted to grow up and be heroes just like her—was she really that person? Charity couldn't reconcile the helplessness she felt with the hero that the blogs and social media referred to as "the heart of Delta". Yet, there was that face, sans mask, looking back at her every time she glanced in a mirror.
"Finally! Thank God, Rio'kir, I was worried that all of man and elf-kind would be lost to the power of stonewalling. Look, long story short, Samantha Clive's behind all this. You want proof, then I've got it, but you need to let your anti-teleportation fields down so I can port my party in. I've got a handful of people that I trust, and you know you can trust me. We'll put our heads together and figure this out."
Charity's heart sank, and then she instantly felt guilty. Part of her had been hoping that Jay wouldn't make contact, that this horrible battle ahead wouldn't happen, that she wouldn't have to fight. No, Sam needs to be fought. She's evil.
But you don't have to fight her. You can walk away. You're just a kid, you don't have to fight. Just say 'no'. Let go of Marcus' hand, say you're staying. No one would blame you.
I would blame me.
She clenched her fist that was unoccupied with holding onto her brother, her lifeline. Images of this strong, powerful woman flashed in her mind, short, wavy hair and a silver cape tossed in the breeze. I am an icon. An inspiration. I make girls around the world believe in their own strength, make them want to stand up and fight for what's right. People believe in heroes—believe in me. I have to believe in me too.
"The shields will be powered as soon as the Elves' Dark Mages temporarily dispel them," Jayson said. "About ten minutes."
"Good," Charity said. Everyone turned to look at her. "That gives me enough time."
Charity had never changed so fast in her life, but at the end, the face of Thundra stared back at her. It was hidden behind a sky-blue masquerade mask with gold and silver filigree edging. Her black leather gloves edged in the same blue protected her hands, while the metal rivets conducted her electricity. Black pants were tucked into black, lace-up, heeled leather boots; her waist was encircled by a black leather belt with the symbol of the Delta Division functioning as a buckle. Her silver cape was fastened to the inch-wide straps of her electric blue, sleeveless shirt.
Her breath caught as she saw the hero in the mirror and realized it was her—but she didn't have time to gaze. She dashed back out to meet with everyone.
She wasn't the only one who'd taken the time to suit up. Allen was already dressed—he rarely took off his leather jacket with Delta's symbol emblazoned on the back—and the rest of his costume consisted of a pair of blue jeans and a red t-shirt. Eric's chitinous suit hugged him, leaving his face exposed for the moment. Meryl had donned her brother's golden flak jacket. It didn't suit her—the shoulders didn't quite fit her narrow frame, and the way the bulky jacket sat around her petite shoulders made her head look much smaller than it was. Nothing could hide the fierce anger in her eyes. The assassinated hero's jacket may not have fit her, but she bore it well and with pride as they left to face her brother's killer.
Jayson put a hand on her shoulder, and Charity almost jumped until she saw the smile and the tears in his eyes. "You know, there's something John told me before…before he was…you know. You'd gone to fight PSO, and I was worried about you."
Charity swallowed. "Not entirely unfounded, as it turns out."
Jay chuckled. "Well, no, but he was right too. He said that when we see horrible, terrible things, we have two choices." He looked up to include the group. "One is to buckle under the weight of the horror we have witnessed, to take a knee to evil. The other is to stand and fight." He looked back at her. "He also said that when it came time for you to make that choice, you would stand. Again and again. That you were a hero."
Tears itched under Charity's mask.
Jay turned to the rest of them. "That goes for all of you too. We've lost a mentor. A brother. A friend. We've been toyed with and manipulated and broken, but we will stand.
"We walk into this battle, and our head is going to be filled with so many lies. I know what that's like, to face an enemy so incomprehensively powerful—"
"Incomprehensibly," Charity interrupted, then quailed at the look of astonishment that Jay gave her. "I-I'm sorry, I—"
Jayson grinned. Marcus laughed, under his breath at first, then when Eric snickered, it seemed he couldn't help himself anymore. His low chuckle turned into a belly laugh, and he wrapped his arms around Charity. "God, sis. I'm so glad you're still in there somewhere."
Jay laughed. "Aw, to hell with the inspirational speech. Just remember this. We're heroes. Don't forget that, and we'll win for sure."
Tracy piped up with a smile. "Well, if anyone can do it, I know it's my hero boy." She kissed Allen on the cheek, and he blushed.
"Actually, I have a job for you," Jayson responded. "You and Geoff." He handed the girl the tablet with Donald's video. "I've already sent a copy to the Elf leader so he can watch it while we waited. Make sure this one stays safe. With or without powers, you're one of us. Combat capabilities or no, you can still protect the world." He glanced at Geoff. "Stick together. Hold onto this and get as far away from here until the dust settles. You're our backup plan in case anything happens. It's up to you two to safeguard the truth. Understood?"
Geoff nodded. "Yes, Sir."
Tracy also moved her head up and down, blue eyes wide. Then she turned to embrace Allen. "Promise you'll come back to me," Charity heard her say in a quiet voice that made her heart break. She stole a glance at Eric. Was it true that he loved her just as much? She had no memory of him beyond the last few weeks, but something inside her stirred every time she looked at him. Was that love? Eric was looking at her, and for the first time since she woke up, she didn't shy away from his gaze.
"I promise," Allen said, and Charity smiled at Eric. She would find a way back to him too.
The world around them shifted and resolved into a marble city, the glory of which took Charity's breath away. It was huge. They stood in the city square, around an oval metal framework. Its purpose was unclear. Elven art? It made Charity think of a gateway.
Every surface glowed with an iridescent light, making Charity's eyes cross. It was almost like a world made of LED screens, except with the brightness and contrast turned down low. The light was comforting and warm, but Charity also noticed something beyond the convenience of having the world illuminated. Their shadows were non-existent.
Jayson shook the Elf leader's hand, and Charity couldn't stop staring. Oh. My god. An actual Elf. Her hands shook. Somewhere a science fiction and a fantasy story had intersected and sucked her in. I'm a super hero standing in an ancient futuristic city watching one of my friends shake hands with an Elf—an actual real-life alien from another dimension. Giddiness welled inside her. She had to bite the inside of her cheek from laughing out loud and hugging herself with excitement.
"I'm going to assume you watched the video," Jayson stated flatly. Charity's excitement dampened a little. She'd almost forgotten the terrible reason why they were here.
The Elf leader—what was his name again? Jayson had said it, but Charity couldn't remember. Rio-something? The Elf gave a curt nod. "Enough to release your companion," he intoned.
Across the way, two Elven guards half-dragged a man across the glowing cobblestones. "Drake," Jayson breathed. He gave a small smile of relief. "Glad to see you're all right."
"Took ya long enough, ya rat bastard," Drake slurred.
"Drake, we found out who the mastermind was. It's—"
"Sam, I know."
Jay made a face. "I thought the Elves' prisons were supposed to make you slow."
"They did. And I still figured it out before you did."
Jayson rolled his eyes.
The shadowless place grew dim. Dark tendrils wisped across the floor, cutting off Jay's cheeky reply, then resolved into small creatures about two feet tall. Hundreds—thousands—of them scrambled through the city and converged on the group. Charity bit back a strangled cry. What are those things! She wanted to scream the words, but they stuck in her throat. All she knew was that one look in their beady, soulless eyes, and she was afraid—no, terrified.
"I was hoping to do this without a show of force," a woman's voice said. Charity jerked around with the rest of them to see Samantha Clive. "I would much rather not leave a mess." She smiled. "But I'm nothing if not adaptable."
Chapter 20: Dawning (Part 3)
Posted: August 25, 2015 in Book 1
Tags: Delta Division, Elves, Heroes, Peace, Super Heroes, Super powers, Super Villains, World Issues
Jay hit the pause button on the video, and Eric let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He had to bite his tongue to keep from losing his shit on poor Jayson, asking why he'd stopped, what earthly reason did he have for keeping this from them any longer. It was there—right there—and he'd just stopped. Meryl let out a gasp. Jay had retrieved her before playing the video, declaring that she deserved to hear this too. At that point, she seemed to be of the same opinion as Eric. Why the hell did he stop?
"Donald might be—might have been an asshole, but his info's legit. Which means what he says is the God's honest truth," Jay said. "Knowing this will risk your lives. I won't force you into that. Any of you. Walk away now, and there will be no hard feelings."
Eric held his tongue. Of course Jay stopped the video. These were a bunch of teenagers. Children. And Charity—could she even make that decision for herself right now? Instinct almost made Eric raise his gaze to this twelve-year-old inhabiting the body of the woman he loved. He jerked his head away, because he knew that looking into her eyes would be his undoing. His whole body ached being this close to her but still facing such uncertainty in their future.
"Do it." Allen spat the words out between clenched teeth. "This ends today. No more waiting, no more wondering. We need to know. And we need to finish it. We need to fight this. Donald he—" Allen stopped and ran his hand over his face. "He saved my life. And this person—no, this monster. They killed him. No more. No one else should die for this."
Lindsay nodded. "Agreed."
Mitch rolled his eyes. "Well, fuck. Whoever this is had better got some superpower that makes people agree, cause I'm actually with dumbass on this one."
Marcus put his hand on Charity's arm. "Maybe you shouldn't be here—"
Charity jerked her arm away. "You guys keep telling me I'm an adult, so stop treating me like a kid. Even if I am one, sort of. Look, it doesn't matter how old I am, I can see this world's screwed up." Tears filled her eyes and she wiped at them angrily. Eric's heart broke. "Everything's so messed up. Mom and Dad are gone, and…and I'm not even supposed to be sad about that anymore cause it happened a long time ago, but it still hurts." She took a quick breath and continued. "But that's not even the part that matters. The important thing is that this is part of the world we can fix. If there's something I can do to help, then I will. I must do it. Because that guy's right." Her jaw clenched. "This needs to stop."
Eric's lips parted and tears filled his eyes. This was Charity. It didn't matter what age or where she was in her life, Charity was a hero. She always would be no matter what. Despite himself, Eric smiled. His eyes grew determined. "Let's end this."
Jayson nodded and pressed play.
"If I am right," the on-screen Donald continued, "the only way the person I am meeting will know that I know that…" He paused, confused. "You know what I mean. They need the ability to read my mind. This is something we haven't considered. It is a missing piece of the puzzle that has plagued us for months. There is a certain person far more powerful than any of us have ever imagined. In fact, we've been deliberately kept from ever having imagined it.
"Years ago, I left Delta because I wasn't about to be told what to do by a bunch of portentous, self-righteous, pompous pricks. Say that ten times fast. Portentous pompous pricks. Portentous pompous pricks. Porpempus—okay, enough of that." He waved his hand dismissively.
"Anyway, separating myself from the likes of Delta never prevented me from knowing what was going on with them. I noted with little interest a pet project of the ever-lovable Dr. Derek Danesfield. He knew the little girl was a meta, but had no idea of the extent of her capabilities. However, he was convinced that all would be revealed after his repeated administrations. With such an effort, I was more than a little surprised to find out that this protégé had such limited capabilities. After all, post-cognition is so very limited, especially if you have to actually touch your subject.
"If you haven't figured out who I'm talking about by now, you must be under a rock. The person behind it all must be powerful enough to impress the Shadow Fae, and clever enough to organize not only them, but several other groups to do his or her bidding—including, by the way, Delta Division. Yes, Drake is all of those things. He's a perfect candidate for the blame, especially considering his past dealings with the Fae. What he lacks, however, is the motivation. Sure, it's the ultimate 'Daddy, look what I can do' bit—the boy's got daddy issues, what can I say—but he more or less got that out of his system when he beat the shit out of me. Fair and square, kid. You earned it.
"If we can understand Samantha Clive's true power, I believe we can understand how she pulled it off. She reads buried memories—is it not too much of a stretch to imagine her planting them? Imagine the power one has when they control the mind.
"By the way, you're probably right. This is no more proof than the Elves' magic mojo that buzzes out your brain waves, but consider this. If I'm wrong, then there is no reason to kill me. But if I'm right, and Sam knows that I know, I'm dead. The proof is in the pudding, is it not?
"So, there. I've told you all I know. There's only one thing that remains… what are you going to do about it?"
In the silence that followed, Eric considered dropping a box of pins just to see if he could count them by sound. He didn't know what to think. His mind's attempts to grapple with the revelation made him feel lightheaded, and he suddenly noticed he'd stopped breathing. His deep gasp broke the spell.
"Is he—is he telling the truth?" Lindsay whimpered. Eric was right there with her. His mind could not comprehend a betrayal of this magnitude, nor the level of manipulation it would take to engineer such a terrible, unnecessary tragedy.
"Only one way to find out." There was a darkness to Jayson's words. Anger seethed off him. Eric was sure that if he put his hand on Jay's shoulder he would feel a heat that rivaled anything Mitch or Liam could produce. "I'm sure the lab's got some nullifier. I'll grab some of that and port it into Sam. Then bring her back here. If she's truly as powerful as Donald suggests, then Meryl should be able to get the truth out of her with Sam's own powers."
Meryl gave a curt nod. She was a gentle soul, and it made Eric sad to see her so broken she would willingly and enthusiastically agree to such a violent and invasive plan. What if they were wrong? What if Sam was innocent, and this was just a matter of one sociopath framing another?
"Are you—are you sure?" Eric stuttered.
"If we're wrong, then we're screwing with Sam on the same level as she let happen to Drake. If we're right…" Jay trailed off and shook his head, leaving the rest unspoken.
"Be careful," Meryl said as he kissed her on the head. He vanished before Eric could make any more protests.
Geoff dashed around his desk without his customary grace, knocking over a stationary holder, scattering pens, pencils, and yellow and pink highlighters all over the floor. Samantha Clive turned to him with an amused smile. "Mr. Davis. Aren't we excited today? Were you able to set up the meeting with Rio'kir?"
"Yes, yes. A delegation will receive the United Nations at noon."
"Splendid. I—"
"I know who the mastermind is."
Sam blinked. "Is that so?"
Geoff hesitated. "Well, I can. I could. That is to say, not entirely, but I've been told…"
"Mr. Davis, you're not making any sense."
"There's a video. A file I received. It details who is behind the attacks."
"I see. Did you watch this video?"
"Not the whole thing. Director, he said if I knew, the information would get me killed."
"Who said?"
"That old man…Donald Kasuki."
Something changed on Sam's face. There was shock that she quickly disguised, and then aggravation. For a woman who let emotions play on her face only as a calculated move, that seemed out of character. Geoff was confused.
Geoff was perhaps not at a level of intellect that would pioneer a new future. He would never think enough outside the box to make a profound discovery, but he did process information faster than nearly anyone else alive. Instead of being happy that the biggest mystery currently plaguing Delta was solved, she was annoyed. The only reason she would feel that, and moreover feel it accidentally, was if it directly affected her. If she was the one behind it all. The poison attempt? A red herring to throw them off, never meant to work. Why? To make allies of the Elves. Geoff's lips parted.
Sam shook her head. "Oh, Mr. Davis. It's a pity, really. You were so useful. Utterly loyal and good."
This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. "Why?"
"Yes, I suppose you'd be wondering that, wouldn't you? Mr. Davis, we are at war. Japan and China have allied to force Russia to give over the child and his discoveries. It's unlikely they'll win, but the resulting confrontation will fragment the communications industry. Russia will expect us to intervene. We'll win, of course, but the world will be entirely convinced that metahumans are a threat. They'll react accordingly, and I'm sure even you could imagine the disaster that would be. This world will crumble under a war between human and metahuman."
"So, you add another enemy?"
"A common enemy. The Fae are a threat to everyone; human, metahuman, Elf. To combat their mortal enemy, the Elves can and will equip the human race with their technology and knowledge. Magic, Mr. Davis, just think about it!"
Geoff thought about it. "But…but what about all those people…Stryker… Oh, God, you had Stryker killed."
"I had Stryker turned into a martyr. He was the perfect scapegoat—so simple and willing to be molded. I made him into the world's perfect hero. I made him their cause. The world will fight together against a terrifying unseen force for that cause. I saved the world, Mr. Davis."
Geoff sat down heavily. "Do you really think it will work?"
"I know it will, so long as the truth remains hidden. I can play the villain for the sake of the world, but this world must still see me as a hero."
"And…if anyone knows, Stryker and everyone else died for nothing."
"I see. All right."
"All right?"
"Yes. I won't tell anyone."
Sam smiled. She pulled a chair up next to him and sat down, covering his hands with hers. "You've been a wonderful assistant, Geoffrey. I mean that. We work well together, and I've always appreciated your services. I felt I owed you at least an explanation."
I'm a dead man. The thought perhaps should have shocked him into action, should have made him run away. But he couldn't move. Pain spiked behind his eyes. Something warm and sticky ran down his lip and over his open mouth. "Before you kill me."
"Yes. I certainly believe that you believe you won't tell anyone. But one of the best things about you is your impressionability. Someday someone will convince you to reveal all you know. And then all will be lost."
The world faded to eerie gray outlined in white, then to pitch black, and he thought, this is it.
He became aware of warm hands that grasped about his shoulder. His life flashed before his eyes, though it was surprisingly short for what he could pack in a day, and looked an awful lot like the training room. Then he was in some kind of living room staring at gray, flower-patterned couches, pink carpet, and an entertainment center. For a wild moment, he wondered if this was heaven. If it was, it was a strange one. He never thought the afterlife would be so…domesticated.
He came to the conclusion that he was not dead at about the same moment his stomach violently protested having suffered through two fast teleports. He heaved, and the world shifted again, this time to the bathroom of the same homey domicile. That didn't at all help his condition, but he couldn't actually get any more nauseated. The entirety of his stomach contents ended up in the toilet, and then some.
"Are you all right, Geoff?" Jay Allison looked him in the eye, deep concern playing on his handsome face as he handed him a box of tissues.
Geoff shook his head, which made the world spin, and his stomach along with it. He dry heaved into his new porcelain friend.
Jay put a hand on his shoulder. "Take your time."
He left, and a few minutes later, Geoff finally managed to pull himself together long enough to walk down the hallway, through the kitchen, and into the welcoming family room where everyone had gathered. Low whispers instantly stopped as he approached.
Geoff blinked. "Mr. Allison, I ah…what happened?"
"He just saved your damn life, that's what happened," Mitch said in a rather snarky fashion. "Seriously? You handed the video to Samantha Clive?"
"Well, she is the Director. She…she…" It dawned on him all at once, everything his brain was trying to tell him, everything he was refusing to believe. "She tried to kill me."
"You're a loose end," Jayson said. "It seems she doesn't like those."
"You…how did you…"
"We also got the movie," Meryl said gently. For some reason, Geoff felt a profound relief to know that she was all right. The woman was the most understanding person he'd ever met, and certainly the kindest. She didn't deserve what happened to her.
"I was going to port a null formula into her so we could confront her like reasonable adults, but…" Jayson shrugged. "It seemed more important to get you out of there.
Geoff nodded dumbly, then looked around to see who was 'we'. He noted Mitch Roberts with some distaste, as well as Allen Gray, Lindsay White, and Marcus London. Charity London clung to Marcus, while Eric Herrington sulked in a corner, unsure what to do with himself. The older redheaded man was a newcomer, but Geoff had also seen his picture in Delta's rogue files. His gaze flickered to Mitch, who sullenly refused to look anywhere in the direction of his father.
None of that was important. "It…it was her, wasn't it."
Jay nodded. "You didn't watch the rest of it, did you?"
Geoff shook his head. Jayson handed him a tablet, and despite the protest of every fiber of his being, Geoff played it.
Afterward, he sat down heavily on what appeared to be a bench of some sort. "I…I'm sorry. I didn't know. I—I should have known, but I didn't."
Meryl put a hand on his arm. "Geoff, we don't blame you. Sam had us all fooled. It stands to reason that she would keep close to her someone who could never know the truth."
"I should have seen it. And I didn't. I'm so sorry."
"So now what?" Eric spoke up.
Jayson took a deep breath. "Well, we've lost the element of surprise. So the question is, what's Sam's next move?"
"Well, if she kills us all, people will start noticing," Eric said, not uncynically. "It's more likely she'll wipe our minds."
"Knowledge is power," Charity pipped up. "Can't we just tell everyone? Make that video go viral.
Jay opened his mouth, then shut it again. "I feel like that's a double-edge sword. Yes, they'll know of a woman's evil manipulations, but at the same time, all they'll hear is that a meta screwed them over. No, I think we should sit on that until we can spin it our way." He sighed. "Sadly, Sam's our best spin doctor. But…you're not wrong. Knowledge is power. And There's one people that have been screwed over just as much as we have." He held up the tablet. "The Elves deserve to know about this."
Geoff stiffened. "That's where she'll go. I'm sure of it."
A muscle twitched in Jayson's jaw as it clenched. "Good." He drew himself up to his full height. "Well, boys and girls, this is where it gets dicey. You wanted to fight your mastermind? Let's go kick some ass."
Tags: Delta Division, Elves, Fae, Heroes
Lindsay could feel Marcus' eyes on her. It had been a week since she'd returned, and in that time they'd barely talked. He was busy all the time with his sister, trying to uncover ways to restore her memories, and Lindsay wasn't going to spend her time moping awkwardly outside her hospital window. Besides, Sam had given her hours and hours of community service for running off.
And she was sure Marcus was still angry with her.
It made her want to cry every time she made the mistake of looking him in his hazel eyes, seeing all the anger and disappointment and hurt that he felt. She avoided being alone with him, and she didn't care how stupid or childish that was. She shouldn't have to feel so uncomfortable.
But she didn't have much of a choice now. They were supposed to be training together, the two of them plus Allen and Mitch, just like old times; however, she and Marcus had gotten knocked out of the fight early, so only the other boys remained in the simulation duking it out. Lindsay pretended to be interested in the card game that Tracy and Charity were playing not to far away, but Go Fish could only be so entertaining. Still, anything was better than having to talk to Marcus.
"Lindsay." Marcus put a hand on hers, and it nearly made her jump. "Listen, we don't have to talk about it. I-in a weird way, I think…I think I understand."
Oh, God, that's worse. She felt the impulse to look up at him, and fought it.
"I still love you, Lindsay. To me, that's all that matters."
Now she did look at him. Overwhelming guilt flooded her heart as it skipped a beat. He smiled, that sweet, awkward smile that made her melt. "It doesn't matter how far or where you go. Lindsay, I'll aways be here for you to come home to."
His hand never let go of hers, and his other one brushed back her short, black hair. She tipped her chin up. Their lips met. You wouldn't love me if you knew who I really was. No one would.
He didn't deserve someone like her. He deserved better. But at the same time, she owed him, because no one else would be waiting for her. She pushed him away, and still he held her in his warm embrace, the familiar smell of his deodorant that still clung to the sweatshirt buried in her unmade bed at home. "I love you, Marcus." The words sounded hollow. But they made him smile.
"I love you too, Lindsay."
The sound of a cleared throat interrupted them. Lindsay pulled away with a start to see Jay Allison standing together with Eric Herrington and an older man, carrot-colored hair fading to gray. Lindsay didn't miss the sidelong glance Eric made toward Charity.
"Am I interrupting?" Jay teased.
Marcus blushed. "Uh…no sir."
Jayson chuckled. "Marcus, why don't you get Allen and Mitch out of the simulation? There's something important we need to discuss."
Mitch's raw power was proving to be a match for Allen, though he wasn't about to give in to a tough opponent, third degree burns or no. There combat was interrupted by Marcus' disembodied voice. "Hey, buddy, I'm brining you guys out."
"Oh? Okay." He felt a twinge of disappointment for having a draw on record between him and Mitch—he wanted to clean house with the fire controller—but he figured there had to be a reason.
That reason was three men who had joined their small group in the training room. Seeing Liam, he smiled. "Hey! I was hoping you'd be okay after the…ah…fight in Montreal. Never did see you after that. Actually, I'm a little surprised to see—"
He was interrupted by a blur of movement from his left where Mitch had sat in his simulation pod. "You son of a mother fucking bitch!" Mitch launched at his father, fists ignited in fury.
Allen was faster. He grabbed Mitch around the waist just before his fiery fists connected with his old man. Liam didn't flinch.
"Let me go, Gray! This has nothing to do with you! Mind your own fucking business!"
Allen took a step backward, maintaining his vice grip. "Mitch, I get your pissed, and I get why, but just calm down and talk before you go flying off the handle. Sure, he owes you an explanation. Let him give it!"
"Actually, I'm not here for a family reunion," Liam said a little coldly. His eyes softened. "To be honest, anything I could say, any apology I could make…well, it wouldn't be enough. But my reason for exposing myself in a place that still gives me the heebie-jeebies is far more important anyway." He pulled an electronic tablet from a bag at his side. "Jayson Allison, Eric Herrington, Allen Gray. This contains information on the mastermind behind the power struggle that's been happening. The three of you are on my list of people to personally deliver this to upon the death of Donald Kasuki."
Allen let Mitch go. He was far too busy trying to hold himself together. His heart thudded twice, then stopped, only to start again in a quickened, unnatural rhythm. We found the mastermind? The thought warred in his head with Donald's dead? Neither made its way out of his gaping mouth.
He didn't realize he was shaking until he felt Tracy's hand slip into his. It took every ounce of control he had not to grip his lifeline so hard that he broke her hand.
Jayson was the one who took the tablet. "Then let's play this and finally put this bullshit to rest."
Geoffrey Davis was an ordinary man. He was born to an ordinary family in Northern Alliance City, to a mother and father who weren't rich, but they were comfortable. He had an ordinary childhood full of ordinary fears of monsters under the bed and an ordinary, amicable split of his parent's marriage. He had ordinary teenage problems, mostly revolving around his high school boyfriend. They had an ordinarily painful breakup, but even now, Geoff wished him well.
Sure, when he developed super speed, that seemed somewhat extraordinary, but after Samantha Clive's announcement that he was not alone, even his powers seemed quite ordinary. He joined Delta shortly after college. With an ordinary degree in business, political studies, and accounting, he applied for secretarial work, and quickly rose in his chosen, ordinary career path.
Yes, Geoffrey was an ordinary man, and he quite preferred it that way. He loved his job, and took a degree of personal satisfaction in bringing order to the potential chaos of working in a company that trained and deployed people with earth-shattering abilities. He enjoyed order and beauty. He considered himself something of an intellectual, but often felt frustration when true genius was attributed to those who ignored obvious reality in favor of what might be. His intelligence was practical.
It was entirely without irony that these thoughts crossed his mind while conversing with Rio'kir, an Elf, and for all intents and purposes, an extradimensional alien. The wonder of a new discovery was not something that occurred to him. Perhaps it was because the Elves were now an undeniable reality, not an eccentric theory. At any rate, he had no issue accepting their presence. If anything, he appreciated their stoicism, not given to unnecessary words and pleasantries. The conversation was profitable; a meeting between the Elvin delegation and Samantha Clive was easily arranged for that afternoon.
Geoff shared the Elves dislike for the Fae creatures. They were chaos incarnate, anathema to his ordered, ordinary mind. And they tried to kill Miz Clive. He found that quite unforgivable. If he were given to examining his emotions, he would find that he felt some affection toward his boss. She was kind to him. Yes, she pushed him, but that was nothing more than a welcome challenge. He appreciated it, and the class with which she conducted her business. If only others were like the woman.
An alert flashed in the corner of his holographic screen. He frowned. He sent and received thousands of messages in one day, but this one did not come to the inbox he usually used. It presented itself directly on his computer, with no record of its sender. He was ready to reach for his anti-virus software and have it expunged without looking at it, when he caught the title of the message.
The Mastermind's Identity.
Geoff's ordinary heart began to feel some rather extraordinary excitement and trepidation. Could it be this easy? After weeks and months of fear and horror, had someone actually figured it out? It may be a hoax, his mind told him practically, and that was true. Still, even the possibility was worth looking into—worth even having to beg the insufferable Drake Hachirobei to clean out his computer should the file contain a virus.
If he is ever acquitted. He felt a moment's guilt at his selfish desire to see the man freed so he could hypothetically clean his computer.
He opened the file, and a video began to play.
The image of an old man appeared. Geoff recognized him instantly. He had never met Donald Kazuki, but his file was extensive. He was Drake's father, and apparently even more of a loose cannon. He was a rogue agent, and someone Delta never could quite corral. Geoff disliked the idea of trusting anything that came from someone so chaotic, but he listened anyway.
"Greetings and felicitations, oh fellow… whatever the hell you are. I've been watching you all with some amusement, scurrying like little ants at the beck and call of the one who's had you under a magnifying glass in the direct sunlight." Well, that was flattering.
"If you're watching this, it means I've gone down fighting." Geoff sat up straight. He was dead? This was one of those "upon my death" notes. He felt his skin crawl.
"I have made a number of intriguing discoveries regarding someone we all know and love, and I'd like to share them with you, dear friends." There was an odd blend of sarcasm and sincerity in his tone. "I have long suspected that the Shadow Fae were not the only ones with superior mental capabilities. God only knows we see all kinds walk through Delta's foyer. In fact, I've made an acquaintance who's been so kind as to wipe the memory of this video any any other related facts before I went and had a discussion with a lovely person who likely just had me killed.
"I should perhaps explain, though I warn you, to continue further, you will be putting your lives in jeopardy. Should you be willing to take that risk, I promise you knowledge of the one who sits behind the curtain, the wonderful wizard of Oz."
When the old man on the screen stopped talking for a moment, Geoff hit pause so fast, he was momentarily afraid he'd cracked his desktop. Good God almighty, this is it. This was no hoax. This was truth.
A truth that would get him killed. I might die. Somehow, the thought hadn't occurred to him. Despite the death of the Paragon of Alliance City, despite his boss very nearly choking to death on her own tea, despite working in a profession that killed people every day, his own very ordinary mortality had never occurred to him. A shaky hand went to his mouth and he found himself very near tears.
"No." He made the statement out loud to the empty foyer even as he waved his hand at the screen. The image disappeared. He'd never asked himself if he would die to save someone else; that wasn't his job. He wasn't a field agent for the simple reason he was not cut out for it. He could not save other people, and he would not risk his life.
No, it was not his place to watch this tape. There was one person he could give this to, the one who needed to know of it the most. As if his thoughts summoned her, she teleported in. He stood, nearly knocking his thighs against the desk. "Miz Clive, I am so glad to see you."
Tags: Atlantis, Delta Division, Elves, Fae, Games, Heroes, Montreal, Peace, Philosophy, Super Heroes, Super Villains, Time, Villains, War, World Issues
Samantha Clive looked up at her closed office door. The noise outside meant that Mr. Davis had just arrived to work. She glanced out the window behind her. The sun was rising. The dawn of a new day. A smile drifted across her lips. How poetic and utterly appropriate. Just last night, the Prime Minister of Montreal had signed the papers bringing her country under the banner of the Delta Division. It would take some work yet to set up a chapter in Quebec and assign someone to oversee the operations within the country in the Eastern part of America, but that was just details. The bulk of the work was finished.
Still, that was one battle. One more battle won in her war for peace.
She crossed the room to the large bay window and stood to the side that allowed her a view of the shore. The protesters were out in force today, berating her 'hostile takeover' of Montreal. Already social media was calling her out on the "gestapo-like force with which she strong-arms the metahuman race into submission." But they were ignorant fools who missed the point. Metas needed to be heroes, because if the world didn't see them as heroes, they would treat them as villains. When a race of the most powerful people on the planet become vilified, Sam knew that it was a matter of time before that fear became a self-fulfilling prophecy. The result would be a catastrophic loss of life that could potentially devastate the planet and leave their very existence teetering on the brink of destruction. This wasn't about a hostile takeover of the planet. It was about protecting her people—those who had power and those who didn't.
Newscasters, bloggers, and others not so embedded in the media were beginning to ask if she meant to reverse the secession of Montreal from Canada—and by extension the North American Amalgamated States. Truthfully, she had enough political power that she could make that happen, but that move would be shortsighted at best; at worst it would indulge ignorance. Her goal was unity, but it did not matter which flag brought them together unless it had triangles of different colors. Without autonomy granted by their individual countries, Delta's influence would be nothing more than a dictatorship—and dictatorships always fell. Each country had something that made them unique, but it was their differences that made them strong. It would be unbearably myopic to take that away.
It would not be a flag that would unite Asia. Russia notoriously balked at outside political influence. Montreal, America's redheaded stepchild, would not be coaxed into family dinners by parliamentary persuasion. But what each country across the world shared—what each person experienced—was being human.
And everyone, young and old, rich or poor, they all had one thing in common. They loved a hero. And they hated a villain.
The real challenge was the Elves. Their new neighbors to the north had so long kept themselves isolated from humanity, even in their own world, that they were inclined to remain secluded in their bottled city. Still, their knowledge and resources would be invaluable to the world peace that Samantha Clive sought. The Elves also hated a villain, but to them, the human race fell into that catagory. Betrayed by them once, the Elves were reluctant to believe that the 'Earthborn' were capable of anything but unmitigated ignorance. She and other world leaders had been in talks with the Elves, trying to convince them to trust them again. After all, they had a common enemy. The Shadow Fae threatened them both, and humanity was helpless against an organized onslaught of their reality-bending power. If there was a people the Elves hated more than humans it was Fae. Sam was confident that their mutual hatred would be enough.
Sam had just finished the speech she intended to present to the Elves later that afternoon. Her heart swelled as she read over it, filled with the sensation that she stood at the brink of a watershed moment. These words would win the Elves over. They would fight the threat of the Shadow Fae together, of that she was sure.
She saved the document she was working on and copied it to her personal device, then exited the room. "Good morning, Mr. Davis."
"Good morning, Ma'am." He didn't ask what she'd been doing in the office so early, nor any other useless question, like if she'd slept at all. Of course she hadn't.
Davis was at the kitchenette, not too far from his desk. Without asking, he fixed her a bag of loose-leaf Earl Grey tea, placed it in a large teacup and filled to a quarter of an inch from the top with water just below boiling, then steamed some milk and filled the rest of the cup, topping it up with just a hint of foam. Most of the time she preferred her tea black, but just on special occasions, she liked the tea latte. This was one of those, and Mr. Davis knew it. That was the way he was: he didn't ask her needs, he anticipated them.
She savored the foam and the sweet milk. "Thank you, Mr. Davis. I don't believe I've mentioned recently that I quite appreciate your excellence."
Davis looked surprised. Sam didn't lavish praise unnecessarily, and so the compliment was unexpected. "Thank you. I must say, I enjoy the job. Director, you seem to be quite in a good mood today."
"Of course I am, Mr. Davis. Today, I save the world. Please contact Rio'kir of Atlantis. There is a matter of great importance we must speak of. Tell him it concerns the presence of the Shadow Fae and the threat it poses to Elf and Earthborn alike. Impress upon him the necessity that we speak today. I will meet him in Atlantis, or he is welcome to discuss things in my office, wherever he feels most comfortable."
"As you wish, Miz Clive."
"Now, I will be leaving for the morning. I have a short meeting with an old colleague, but it shan't take long. Let me know when you receive word back from Rio'kir."
"Yes, Ma'am. Will you be needing an escort?"
"That won't be necessary."
He nodded and returned to his desk to begin his morning work. He didn't argue her decision to go alone, didn't remind her that it had only been a short time ago that someone had tried to kill her under their very noses. Of course he didn't. He knew quite well that she was too intelligent to let herself be caught in a compromising position.
Teleportation technology wasn't widespread, but as the Director of the Delta Division, Sam allowed herself the occasional luxury, and instant transportation was one of them. Accessing the app on her personal device, she left the Delta HQ and teleported to Central Park in New York City. There sat an older gentleman of Asian descent behind a checkered stone table with a full set of chess pieces.
She gave the man an amused smile. "Playing chess in Central Park? Really, Mr. Kasuki? Isn't that a little anachronistic?"
Donald returned the smile. "I felt it was appropriate. Through time and fantasy, past, present, and future, this location has seen the intersection of lives, stories, history."
"So, which is this, then?"
"Why, Samantha, you are among the foremost thinkers of our generation." He moved a pawn. "Surely you of all people can see there is no difference. I'm sure you are aware that in a few months, it will be exactly fifty years that the people of our nation sat glued to the television watching the aftershocks of a disaster that struck without warning so close to where your Delta Division headquarters are today. I wasn't very old then but I do remember my mother telling me, ''Watch, Donald. This is history in the making.'
"She was right you know. That's when the Amalgamated States truly became one country. Oh, sure, the papers were all drawn and notarized a few years earlier, but that's when its people stopped thinking of themselves as American or Canadian and just became people. But you already know all that, don't you?"
"A child learns that lesson in high school, Mr. Kazuki. I hardly think we met to discuss our state public school curriculum. But I see your point. Our past influences the present which creates the future. To define these as different is to embrace the illusion of time." She moved a knight out in front of the pawns.
"Yes. Well…we must all embrace an illusion for the sake of coexistence. Do you remember what it was like, Samantha? Living within that illusion? Oh, don't look so surprised. I know you didn't have your abilities when you were a young child. In fact, it wasn't until the medical intervention of Dr. Derek Danesfield in your mid-teens that you began to exhibit them, am I correct?"
"I suppose I shouldn't be entirely shocked to find out you have that information. After all, you are the father of the Legendary Mister X. Allow me to express my condolences on his arrest."
He glanced up and for a brief moment anger and hatred flickered across his face before his neutral, enigmatic half-smile slid back into place. "Estranged father, but yes. The similarities to my son are not limited to our power. Though I suppose you are familiar with the concept of distant parents, as I understand."
Sam nodded. "My parents' marriage was that of societal convenience. They bolstered each other's proverbial coffers and political influence. My father's financial support won my mother the state election and so forth. Emotionally, they were strangers living in the same house. Where passion existed, it was brief. I was the only child of that union. I tell you this, of course, not to garner sympathy, because I wish for none. I find it rather nauseating, actually."
They were several moves into the game now, no pieces lost, and no clear winner. "You needn't worry on that account, Miz Clive. I have to say, for one who has no capabilities for empathy, you're quite adept at mimicking it."
Sam didn't take offense at that. In fact, she smiled. "That trait is what makes me such a good politician. There is no room for bleeding hearts in the field; though you'll never get votes without them. Check."
Donald moved a piece in front of the king. "Emotional vulnerability as a practicality. I can respect that. Which reminds me, I hear congratulations are in order for winning the hearts and minds of the powers that be in Montreal."
A smile pulled at her thin lips. "It must have been thrilling indeed to witness my moment of triumph. The preceding fight was juvenile, though, wouldn't you say? Though you can't have been too offended. You and your fire-breathing dragon did nothing to stop the children."
Donald's black eyes were like ice, though he still smiled. "One might overtake a creature's lair, but a dragon cannot be controlled, m'lady."
It was a bit disconcerting that, after that night, Liam Roberts had vanished off the face of the earth, no doubt due to Donald Kazuki's resourcefulness.
He continued his questions. Sam might have found them intolerable, but his interrogation was providing more information than the older man realized. "So, tell me of this medical intervention. Why was it so necessary?"
"I was brilliant, even as a child. By the time I was six years old, my parents were taking me to social functions so I could impress their small-minded colleagues with the precocious tongue of a baby expounding on the philosophies of Plato and John Milton. I always found it a dull affair. These men and women of society's center stage had experience without wisdom, knowledge without intelligence. It was in my eleventh year that the headaches began. They were debilitating, rendering me incapable of leaving my bed for days at a time. My parents feared for my life, though I do believe that sentiment was born of a fear of losing their trophy child. You see, they were nothing extraordinary without me, and they knew it.
"In my early teens, they were approached by Dr. Danesfield, as you alluded to. He examined me and took several tests before he told my parents he could save my life and stop the headaches. Then he took me aside and told me there was a special power inside me waiting to be let out. It didn't take him very long to find out he needn't talk to me like a child, so he proceeded to tell me that I was a metahuman, and that the headaches were a symptom of a limited physiology trying to use an unlimited power. Then he described in detail the procedure that would rectify that."
"Were you disappointed, my dear, to find your 'unlimited' power was only to know the past?"
"On the contrary. As you pointed out, the difference between the past and future is only an illusion. A chess game, for example, has limited moves. It's been said that there are three hundred eighteen billion, nine hundred seventy-nine million, five hundred sixty-four thousand possible way to play the first four moves of chess. That is a large number to be sure, but not unlimited. That number grows the more moves that are played, but it still remains, ultimately, finite.
"Now imagine one chess game being played by billions of people worldwide throughout history, each move a rippling effect across time. This game ebbs and flows, its complexity staggering in its scope, incomprehensible to the ordinary mind. And yet, mankind's moves are limited."
"Even when new players join the board, Miz Clive? Check."
Sam smiled. "Why, Mr. Kazuki, that's just another move. But I think you knew that already." She stood. "I'm sure you realize that I'll checkmate you within three moves. There is no possible move you can make that will prevent that. Thank you for the game. And the chat." She nodded politely and teleported back to HQ.
Donald smiled. He rubbed his thumb on his upper lip as warm blood began to run from his nose. Only knowing the past, my clever behind. He had suspected—known—she had the power to kill him with her mind when he walked into this confrontation. "You're wrong, Samantha," he said to the empty air. Not about the chess game. That he'd lost. He reached out and knocked his king over. His vision blurred and blood oozed from his eyes, and he knew then that he'd won the game he'd truly been playing. "Heh. Checkmate."
His lifeless body was found a couple of hours later by park officials.
Deep within the heart of the prisons of Atlantis, Drake thought. That wouldn't seem like a big deal to some—after all, billions of people thought every day; though some more than others. They thought about breakfast, whether to have scrambled eggs or a bagel or both; they thought about their daily work, whether to take their usual mail delivery route, or deliver to the pretty girl first; they thought about the cute boy in math class, and whether he would break up with his tramp of a girlfriend.
Drake's mind didn't work like everyone else's. Drake thought about the past. We never should have been on that mission. Jayson's words still bothered him, though he didn't know why. Consciously, Drake didn't see a connection, but he trusted that if his mind wouldn't give up the thought, there was a reason. But damn it all, he couldn't suss out what it was.
He tried to settle his breathing, in and out, making it the only sound in his mind. Except that hum. Good gods almighty, that hum was mind numbing.
That was the point, of course. Within the walls of the prison, there were hidden Darkness and Light Magic runes, their effects combining to dull his mind and make him unable to think, as well as nullifying any effects his powers might have. Chains bolted him to the wall, but that was irrelevant.
This cell was designed to hold people with astounding mental capabilities, to reduce them to nothing. He had been here for…well, he couldn't tell how long. Days, weeks, months, it had all lost context and meaning. He'd started counting days from the time that the Elves brought food and water, but it soon became clear that they did that at irregular intervals, so he gave that up. With no anchor to hold on to, he knew he was going to go mad.
We never should have been on that mission.
Someone had sent them there. To die? No. If the powers that be wanted the four of them dead, there were much easier ways to do it.
They are heroes.
That was Sam's words in her address to the public as she revealed the existence of the Delta Division.
Why are we heroes? What made us heroes?
That mission made them heroes. Not to the public, of course. That would come later. Drake played it back in his head. They teleported into a busy mall. A group of kids hung out at the electronic store. A teenage girl talked her best friend into buying an overpriced tee shirt. A child ran excitedly around Drake and his friends to meet his mother. Something wasn't right. Something about this bothered Drake. It had bothered him even then. He was surprised that they just appeared out of nowhere and no one noticed.
People are so stupid.
Well, that was true. On the edge of madness, Drake let out a laugh. Man, he'd been an angsty kid then. Bitter and angry at the world—no, that wasn't true, he was angry at his father. The father he'd kicked the crap out of a couple of times now.
For some reason, thinking of his father gave him pause. A bad feeling twisted in his gut, but he dismissed it as irrelevant. He'd analyze it later.
They didn't notice us appearing out of nowhere. People are so stupid.
Why was he coming back to that?
As the Legendary Mister X, he'd trained himself to see from others' eyes. To understand and calculate their range of perception, attention span, movements, and memory capacity. People were often actually that stupid, oblivious to a crime going on right under their noses. But sometimes, they surprised you. Those who went unnoticed, the homeless man begging on the street, the children playing hopscotch, the disgruntled businessman out for a smoke between drinks, these people noticed things, often without realizing it.
In a crowded mall, bored children hanging onto their mother's hand, a teenage boy looking to escape an awkward conversation, a shoplifter keeping an eye out for security…not one person saw them?
Man, I would kill for some strawberries right now. The thought of the cool, red juice distracted him for a moment. He could almost feel the sticky sweetness running down his tongue and out of the corners of his mouth, the tangy taste rippling over his taste buds, the scent catching in his nose and providing a pleasurable feedback between taste and smell.
Focus, dumbass. Remember their faces. Where were their eyes looking?
He brought himself back to the mall. Everyone laughing, talking all at once. He willed them to look in his direction, to see where their eyes were.
We shouldn't have been on that mission. Jones like screwing with us, but not at the expense of protocol. Shouldn't have been on that mission. Someone made Jones break protocol. Someone inside Delta made Jones break protocol.
Drake looked the mall walkers in the eyes again. And now, instead of countless faces, he saw one. One who manipulated them all. It was impossible. No, it was improbable. And with all possibilities eliminated, it had to be true.
Every man woman and child in that mall had been manipulated. Every man woman and child in Delta had been manipulated. For years.
Goddamn son of a bitch.
He'd figured it out.
Chapter 19: Protégé (Part 2)
Posted: August 4, 2015 in Book 1
Tags: Business, Delta Division, Heroes, Montreal, Villains
The couch broke against Lindsay's arms as she brought them up to cover her face. With superhuman speed, she grabbed a broken two-by-four left from the shattered pieces and flung it like a small javelin at Allen. He caught it, the friction warming his impervious skin. The force nearly pulled him back, but he steeled himself, then took off so fast it left spider cracks in the marble floor. Lindsay dashed forward in the air at speeds that produced a sonic wave that shattered the glassware at the bar. She went in for a right cross, which cracked Allen's cheekbone and drew blood that spilled from his nose and mouth. It left her open for his attack, a powerful kick to the side. A crippling pain spread through her lower back, and she doubled over, bile rising in her mouth. Allen followed through with a swift kick to her face, but she glanced up just in time. She caught his leg in a vice grip, gathered her wits out of sheer determination, and launched a counter attack. She spun and flung him bodily at the floor.
Allen picked himself up unsteadily and glanced over his shoulder in time to see Lindsay dash in for a body slam. He jumped to the side, then twisted, taking a boxer's stance with his hands protecting his face. As she recovered, she was met with Allen's fist when he jabbed it at her. She dodged once, twice, three times before she blocked it and offered a counter-jab of her own. He twisted, letting her fist skid across his face without doing much damage. He missed her follow-through. Her left fist connected with the bottom of his jaw, and he rocketed into the air, smashed into the ceiling, and regained control before slamming his right food, left knee, and a single fist into the floor amid a hail of tiles and plaster. He left the debris as a trail in his wake as he darted back into close combat. His face throbbed. Lindsay was fast, but Allen was tougher. He wasn't even close to being out of this fight.
"Quite the entertainment you have tonight," Tom's guest remarked.
Tom grunted. His opportunistic streak didn't come built with snappy comebacks. "You got the money?"
The man smirked. "Down to business, then." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. With a few taps on the screen, he set up a money transfer. His thumb hovered over the button that would complete it. "Let's see it first, hm?"
Tom's expression didn't budge as he slid his fist, palm down, across the bar, leaving the small, subtle device behind. "Does it work?" The man asked, "or is that the reason for this impressive display going on here?" His head twitched in the direction of the squabbling teens. "After all, I'd imagine Solstice would like to know what they're buying. You planning on nullifying one of those kids' powers? Do that and the victor's fist will go through the other's head." A twisted lust for violence glinted in the man's eyes.
"Uh. Sure," Tom grunted. "You gotta get close, though. It has a short range."
The corner of the man's mouth twitched. "So, who's gonna bell that cat?" he drawled, glancing over. "I didn't even see that flurry of punches, dunno about you."
Tom shifted in his seat. He had no idea how to answer that.
"This weapon is all about subtlety." Tom nearly hit the cracking roof at the sound of Lyndria's voice. His stern face nearly cracked. She slipped delicate fingers across the man's bony shoulder, trailed them up the turtleneck, then teased at the edge of his ear. "The right tool for the right job." A smile crossed her full lips. "Right?"
Tom gaped at her. For the first time in years, he felt his heart race with a foreign emotion that felt a lot like fear. Not the combat adrenalin rush, but the nauseating realization that you done fucked up and you were going to die like a coward for a stupid mistake. She smiled at him over top the man's head. Did he imagine the gears clicking into place that spelled his unceremonious end?
"Thanks for getting this meeting started," she told him. "I wasn't sure I was going to make it." She turned her charm on the Solstice contact. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Lyndria Wilson. I own that device. Tom has my authority to enact this business transaction. Don't worry your very pretty little head about that." Her fingers danced across his blond hair beneath his fedora.
"Then let me pose this question to you," he said, shifting away from her touch. "Does the device work?" Tom wished that distancing himself would be that easy. Should he run? Perhaps he'd underestimated Lyndria's ability to keep her family under control. Would she kill him for his betrayal?
Fear kept him glued to his seat, though all of his fighter's instinct told him to run and never look back. No! If you run, you will be running for the rest of your life. With any luck, you can talk your way out of this. If that doesn't work, you can always make the choice to take off again. He swallowed.
Lyndria smiled. "You want to see a display? I can arrange that. One of those fighters is my bodyguard. I've grown quite fond of her, and I do believe the feeling is mutual. I could go over there and tell them to stop fighting. She will listen to me. I can walk over there and shake the hand of her opponent, and his powers will instantly vanish."
The man smirked, raising his eyebrow. "If you claim to exercise such control over your subordinates, why are you letting them trash this establishment? I hear you're having cash flow issues. Why risk thousands upon thousands of damage? Not even using this fight to convince me to buy the device would be worth it."
"Because this fight is amusing. I'm quite in suspense. I want to see if my bodyguard will actually win against an opponent like this. Besides, a trashed establishment doesn't concern me. I imagine I'm not going to be able to make a lot of money off of this place after tonight. You see, there's going to be a murder."
Tom's heart leaped into his throat. Run! She is going to kill you!
The man chuckled. "I thought you said your man had your authorization."
"Oh, his isn't the murder I'm talking about. You see, I just said that to keep the conversation going between you and I. Subtlety really is the best weapon sometimes. I was stalling while the poison I brushed on your skin soaked into your system."
The man's eyes went wide. His skin paled, and he clutched at his throat, suddenly unable to breathe. Lyndria smiled. "Like I said…right tool for the right job."
The man jerked up off his seat, then collapsed, twice gave a full-bodied twitch, then stiffened, eyes glassy with death's onset.
Lyndria's gaze turned to Tom. Disappointment clouded her pouty face. "Oh, honey."
Allen held himself in a defensive position as Lindsay sped around him. Few could keep track of her as she moved faster than the eye could see, but the ability to process such movement came hand in hand with Allen's own super speed. She was slowing down. This fight was starting to wear on her. She was trying to use her speed to randomize the angle of attack, but that was becoming increasingly less likely. The tactic would have worked on just about anyone else, and even Allen had already taken a beating. He couldn't see out of one eye, each breath pained him, and the match had turned into an aerial battle because he could no longer put weight on either of his legs. However, Allen may have lacked full vision, the superior speed, and the three years of training that Lindsay had, but there was something else Allen didn't have.
He had no intention of giving up.
Allen could tell she was tiring, and patience was winning him this round. He watched closely. At the right moment, he stepped to the side, twisted, and jabbed his fist. Lindsay ran right into it. She flipped end over end, finally spilling onto a pile of broken tables. "Are you done yet?" Allen called.
She snarled at him. The dust spun into a whirling dervish as she sprung into the air after him, but the attack was lacking in conviction. Allen clamped his fists together and bashed them against her head. Lindsay hit the ground so hard it cratered. She staggered to her feet.
"Just stay down, Lindsay. Please." Allen touched down beside her, then remembered his fractured ankle and floated just a few inches. "It's over."
She snarled at him, but she was too exhausted to argue. She sank to her knees.
"I don't want to fight, Lindsay. I just want you to see what Stryker was really trying to tell us. There's gotta be a reason to fight. You're faster than me, you've been trained to fight longer, by all rights you're the better fighter…but you've let go of what you're fighting for." He floated down and knelt gingerly. The adrenalin was wearing off, and his whole body ached. He extended his hand. "Will you let me help you find it again?"
"I believe you've made your point, Mr. Gray."
Allen nearly toppled over in his haste to turn around. Samantha Clive stood at the doorway, now three times its size after a counter top had been thrown through it. She was the picture of poise, unsullied by the seedy filth of the destroyed bar. The raunchy music stopped, as if quailed by her arrival. Silence followed. Even the dust didn't dare stir in her presence.
Allen gaped at her. Lindsay spoke first. "I thought you couldn't be here! I-I mean, I thought Delta—"
"Until just a few minutes ago, Delta did not have jurisdiction in Quebec, it's true. However, the authorities felt they were unequipped to deal with conflicts such as two super powered teenagers coming to blows in a downtown bar." Her mouth tipped in a smile. "My thanks for your service, you two. You have been instrumental in bringing this country into our little family. I couldn't have done it without you."
Something about that didn't sit well with Allen. He glanced around for Donald and Liam; both had vanished. Donald seemed like an anarchist, and he didn't think he'd be affected one way or another by this new development. Liam, on the other hand, had moved a full country away from his family for the sake of freedom. "The way Delta forces kids into fighting their battles makes me throw up in my mouth a little." The fire controller's words rang in his ears.
Allen couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just been used.
Posted: July 28, 2015 in Book 1
Tags: Business, Family, Friendship, Heroes, Montreal, Solstice, Villains
Tom Carter was an opportunist. Some months ago, Jacob Wilson, self-styled patriarch of the Montreal metahuman mafia had hired him as muscle in a deal with an ambitious, rapidly growing gang of metas. The bartering collateral in question was a piece of technology that would revolutionize meta warfare. Powers were always an interesting element in a meta mob war, especially since no one really wanted the general population to know who had powers and who didn't. Tom wasn't a meta. He had no investment in the meta community's continued existence, except that some of them happened to pay his exorbitant fees.
Some tinkerer from this new meta gang had invented a small device the size of one's thumb that would instantly nullify a target's powers. There was some risk involved–one wrong move, and both parties would find themselves temporarily without their special abilities. Still, a number of these devices in the right hands could change the outcome of the war.
And it was something Solstice would pay dearly for.
The Jacob Wilson had no intention of such a thing falling into Solstice hands, and of course he had no love for his opposition. With metas inexplicably on the rise in the last decade, a few had joined forces with more than one rival mob family. The man didn't have powers himself, but his boys and his precious little princess had been born with meta abilities. Jacob didn't want to see his family put in harms way.
Tom, on the other hand, would sell his own grandmother if it would make him a buck.
He appeared to be a nice enough fellow, if not a bit gruff. He was ugly and snarling, but the heart of gold underneath all that was a double bluff. He gave exactly zero fucks about anyone but himself. With the old Jacob dead, Tom was the only person who knew the technology existed, save for leadership of the splinter group. A bit of money in the right hands, and that gang was eliminated, narrowing even further the list of people aware of the tech.
With the death of Jacob Wilson, it was time to make some real money. Solstice had unbelievable connections, and they were willing to do anything to get them a leg up in what they considered to be a crucial war for the sake of mankind. Metas, as far as they were concerned, were a diseased form of humanity that had to be purged before they plunged the whole world into entropy. It was all a bit high-minded, but as far as he was concerned, they could believe in a goddamned fish Jesus if it meant they'd pay him for bait and tackle.
Lyndria's club was busy. Tom threaded his way through partiers gyrating to the music under a canopy of smoke and light shows. Lyndria was wasted. A man of greater conscience would be troubled by stealing from her a device that threatened her very existence when the girl was dealing with the death of her whole family, but it was this death that gave Tom the opportunity. He wasn't about to pass it off.
Once in the old man's study, he opened the safe with the combination that he'd long since memorized. He might have been surprised that Lyndria hadn't changed it, but the girl didn't have two brain cells to rub together. Prototype acquired, he walked downstairs with his small cargo centered in the palm of his hand. He looked across the crowded room and gave a subtle nod to a man dressed in khaki pants and a fitted, long-sleeve black shirt. He had a close-shaved beard, with the rest of his face shrouded by the fedora he wore. A subtle tip of the hat was the non-verbal agreement Tom was looking for.
Lyndria deserved to be stolen from. She was so far gone now, Tom was certain she had no capabilities of noticing this deal going down under her own nose in her own club. Tom allowed himself a small smirk.
Something made him glance over to the door. For a reason he couldn't adequately explain, his attention was arrested by three people that joined the undulating crowd. One was a kid, barely of age, with brown hair and a leather jacket over a red t-shirt and jeans. Two were older men; one of them Asian, the other with a shock of flaming red hair. Tom shook his head. They were inconsequential. As he glanced away, he vaguely beheld them make their way to Lyndria. Maybe the kid was looking to lose his virginity. He wouldn't be the first dumb cluck to hit up the easiest chick in the country.
Whatever their reason, it had nothing to do with him. Tom made his way to the man at the bar.
Allen's heart sat in his throat. He was so nervous, he couldn't rightly tell if his palms were sweaty from the humidity or the fact that even his paragon endurance was put to the test with his excessive heart rate. He wiped them on his jeans. That didn't help.
He spotted Lindsay the second they walked in. She hadn't changed a lot, though she'd traded her simple trendy outfit to something that involved more leather and buckles. For some reason he half expected an emo makeup on her, though she didn't seem given to that cliche. He took a breath and walked forward. The plan was for the older men to engage this Lyndria person with questions about her family, but that wasn't Allen's main concern. Their conversation would free him up to talk to Lindsay. Donald was sure that the Wilson's family's disappearance was somehow connected to the shit that had been going on with Delta, and Allen couldn't come up with a reason for why that wasn't so; still he was singular-minded in his objective. Lindsay was the one person in this situation who mattered to him.
He weaved his way through the crowd until he stood by her. She didn't notice until he spoke. "Hey, Lindsay."
She nearly hit the roof. "Allen! What the hell? What are you doing here?"
Allen shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Looking for you." It sounded cliche, like wooden dialog from a movie he and Tracy would watch together in a bad movie marathon.
Lindsay wasn't helping. She crossed her arms and looked away. "Well, you found me. Now you can turn around and just walk away."
Allen sighed. "Lindsay…don't be like that. Look, do you know what you left behind?"
She said nothing, refusing to make eye contact.
"Marcus is–"
"Don't. Okay? I don't…I don't want to know."
"Why not? Lindsay, he loves you!"
"Don't you think I know that? God, he–" She glanced at Allen, and her eyes glistened with tears in the flashing purple and blue lights. "Just go. Okay? I just…I need some space."
"A whole country of space? God damn it, Lindsay! This isn't–"
"This isn't what? What a hero is supposed to do?"
"No, it's not. It's not what a hero would do."
She looked at him, and her eyes seemed sad. "That's fine then. Allen…I'm not a hero."
"Yes, Lindsay, you are. Okay, I know we never really got along that well, but you're a hero because Stryker said–"
"Don't you dare speak his name!"
Allen stepped back, startled by the vehemence with which she spat the words at him. For a moment, he was angry. He took a deep breath as the anger welled inside him, choking him like someone had just shoved a fist down his throat. "Linsday, I have had enough of your shit! You have no right to tell me what I should and shouldn't feel, and right now I am hurting because I lost someone I care about, and you can't say I'm not allowed to feel broken. Furthermore, I've got a best friend who's in pieces because his girlfriend abandoned him. I can't fix the first one, but I am not going to stand by and let the second one slide. I will do everything I can to help him because that's what friends do!"
Lindsay opened her mouth and shut it again, which was just as well, because Allen wasn't done talking.
"Do you honestly have any idea what you've gotten yourself into? Stryker trained you to be a hero, but you're not acting like it. I know you're in pain. I know that sometimes you just gotta do stupid things, but this? Do you even know?"
He glanced around. The girl Lindsay had been with had now vanished. For the life of him, Allen couldn't remember what she looked like, and he certainly couldn't pick her out of a crowd this size. But she wasn't there, and that was the important thing to drop this bombshell. "Your boss, the girl you've been guarding? Do you actually know who she is? She's Lyndria Wilson. Of the mafia family."
Lindsay's eyes went wide. Then it was her turn to get angry. "You know what? Fuck you. You come in here being all high and mighty, fucking mister perfect telling me how to live my life–"
"No! You're not! You're not perfect so stop fucking acting like it! You tell me that I have no right to tell you how to feel, well how about taking some of your own goddamn advice. You don't have the right either to tell me how to live my life."
"So you're just going to throw away everything you've been taught? Lindsay, don't you see? When you're with her–maybe you're right. When you're with her you're not a hero, or at least not acting like it. You're acting like a villain."
The words leaped from his mouth before he could stop them. Her eyes widened, and he wanted more than anything to stuff them back into his mouth. She looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Well, maybe I am."
Allen sighed. "No, Lindsay, you're not, forget I said that. I'm sorry. But that doesn't change one simple fact. This?" He waved his arm across the floor. "This is not what Stryker would have wanted."
Nothing prepared him for the fist that flew in his face. With a loud crack, Lindsay's fist sailed across his face. His neck jerked back, and he stumbled. The copper taste of blood coated his teeth. "Now I've had enough," she snarled. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"
Allen's fists clenched at his side. "I'm a hero. I'm Stryker's protege, and though I always believe that title could be shared by both of us, clearly I was wrong!" He smirked. "I guess if you're going to throw the first punch, that means there's only one thing left to do." He rose into the air. "I'm going to show you how a hero fights. How Stryker showed me to fight!"
He dashed toward her, but she slipped to the side. Allen noticed just in time to correct his course, though his countering punch lost a lot of its force. His fist slammed into her shoulder, and she rolled with it, unharmed. She brought her leg up to knee him in the kidneys, and he jerked his arm downward to block her with his elbow. His funny bone tingled as he slammed into her kneecap, following through with a right cross to her face. It landed with a smack. Color leaped to her cheek.
She pushed him away and picked up a lamp stand. With a feral scream, she broke it against his back as he turned to grab the nearby couch.
People screamed and scattered, which was just as well. They were going to have it out, that much was certain. The only question was, how much collateral damage was there going to be?
Allen didn't care. So long as there were no people inside, he would level the whole goddamn club if it meant he could convince Lindsay to come home. To come to terms with the loss they shared. Donald and Liam cleared the area, though a few stayed to watch. This was the most exciting thing to happen in their lives, and they weren't going to miss it.
It occurred to Allen that he was giving them a show. Every person that stayed behind had their phones out, and this was going to go up on the Internet right beside the video of his table throw in his high school cafeteria. That should have made him uncomfortable, but he was so far past caring. He flung the couch. "I will win this fight, Lindsay. Then we'll see who's really ready to carry on Stryker's legacy!"