“Thanks, Warrick. I don’t know why I did those things I did. My powers… they were dark, and they did something to me.”
“Maybe if I had visited you, you could’ve known how much I felt like I had failed you when you and your dad got shot. I really was sorry.”
“I don’t know. But thanks for helping me clear my head. My powers were so strong, I felt like I was possessed when I used them. I didn’t mean to hurt you or anyone else. Really. I just… it was so out of control.”
“Well, when you get them back, we can work on that.”
Tony’s face brightened. “Really? You’ll coach me?”
“You bet.”
I shook the memory of the conversation away and returned to watching Cameron playing cards, laughing as she figured out the superhero game we’d made up as easily as if she’d been there the whole time. Now our team was complete. Bolt, Carly, Andy, and Kevin were all there too. Just the way I liked it. It was good to have fresh blood on our team, though we rarely had any down time now that we had Cameron. Her power-draining abilities had sent many super powered criminals to prison. Most didn’t have the potential for rehabilitation like Tony, and I knew the consequences of bottling up their powers forever wore on Cameron’s mind.
I watched her warily, but from the looks of it, she had accepted her fate as I had mine. She turned and sweetly smiled at me. It was a smile that now lit up my world like nothing had before. She leaned forward, touching my hand with hers and giving it a squeeze. One thing was for sure, things were looking a lot brighter for me.
“Your turn, Warrick. Don’t worry, I’m still going to win. I’m totally slaying you all.”
“You’re just a quick study.”
She winked. “Only when it matters.”
“When you’re involved, it always matters.”
A Word from Alexia Purdy
Thank you for reading my short super hero story, “Mercurial.” It was a blast to write it. I must admit, reading comics in my youth was a rare occurrence. Even so, I made a point to gather some Archie and X-men ones fascinated by the stories they told and awed by the artwork. How did they produce these mini works of art? It seemed so tedious to make a whole book full of mini frames telling a story in tiny words. So much happened inside them.
This only added to my fascination of telling stories and imagining worlds. I wanted to dive into those frames and watch these heroes and villains come to life. When Saturday morning cartoons dumped some of them into motion, I was hooked. These were the type of heroes I could write: strong, unafraid, loving, yet fierce. Darn if I wasn’t going to try to do this my way, so there stemmed my love of writing. Unbeknownst to me, comics had fed into my already growing interest to write.
“Mercurial” was the type of story I would’ve made into a comic for I’d always wondered what would happen when superheroes were no longer in the main spotlight, somewhat aged, and worn out. Let me know what you think of "Mercurial "or just drop me a note via email here. If you’d like to find out more about me or read more of my stuff, sign up for my monthly newsletter. It’s full of awesome free stuff!
I’m known for my award-winning Reign of Blood Series now titled The Vampires of Vegas series and my Dark Faerie Tale Series. My third series, The ArcKnight Chronicles, propelled me to USA Today Bestselling author status in 2016. Paranormal Urban Fantasy and YA Fantasy are my loves, but I also write Romantic Suspense thrillers. I’m a jack of all trades but I hope you enjoy my takes on different niches, especially this superhero stuff!
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ONE LAST TIME
BY ANDY PELOQUIN
ONE LAST TIME
BY ANDY PELOQUIN
George made the foolish mistake of checking his email before clocking out. He groaned at the unopened message waiting in his inbox.
For a moment, he considered leaving it unread. Mr. Henderson, his boss, loved to use the “Urgent!!!!” headline for anything he considered important. Given that the spreadsheet he wanted re-drafted wasn’t due for another three weeks, his request didn’t qualify as mildly necessary.
Stupid company email. George sighed. If he didn’t deal with it now, Mr. Henderson would let him have it the moment he walked into the office tomorrow.
Sighing, George clicked on the email, downloaded the spreadsheet, and set to work. The colorful flyer beside his computer monitor drew his eye. “Fight Crime!” it declared in bold white letters on a red background that featured a yellow serpent dragon. “Defend Yourself!”
George winced as he shifted in his chair. The radio on the janitor’s cart droned in the background. “…Bright City has grown dangerous since Mighty Man’s last confrontation with Doctor Mastermind. The superhero barely managed to foil his arch-nemesis’ evil plans to blow up City Hall, and the villain escaped to continue wreaking havoc on the innocents. Since then, Doctor Mastermind’s goon squad has been working overtime, leading to an increase in street crime…”
George tuned out the announcer’s voice. The recent crime wave had included the mugging and beating of one George Peters two weeks earlier. His bruised ribs hadn’t yet healed.
He checked the clock. Crap. At this rate, he’d leave work too late for the last class at the Gold Dragon Kung Fu Dojo.
His eyes strayed to the next cubicle, and his heart sank as he saw the lights switched off and the seat empty. He’d had a crush on her for the three years he’d worked here but never had the courage to say more than an awkward greeting. He’d finally resolved to talk to Doris Murcheson tonight; he’d spent the day practicing his nonchalance in front of the mirror. The coke-bottle glasses and freckled face staring back at him hadn’t helped build confidence.
Removing his glasses and rubbing his tired eyes, George relaxed in his chair for a full minute—the longest break he could afford before Mr. Henderson texted him asking why he hadn’t replied to the “Urgent!!!!” email more quickly. Then he sat up, replaced his spectacles, and reached for his thermos of room temperature coffee. He’d go over the stupid spreadsheet one last time before clocking out, and Mr. Henderson would just have to be happy with it.
• • •
The irritating voice of QKYZ 104.3’s morning DJ broke into George’s sleep around the same time his brain registered the pounding on his front door. His dreams of using his newfound Kung Fu skills to slam Mr. Henderson’s face repeatedly into his cherry wood desk faded in the face of reality. George slipped on his slippers, shivered at the morning chill, and padded across his one-room apartment.
He pressed his eye to the peephole. “Hello?”
The well-dressed man looked sorely out of place against the faded, peeling wallpaper, moth-eaten carpet, and dingy lighting of the hall. He removed his sunglasses and gave the door a broad smile. “Does a George Peters reside at this address?”
“I…er…” George stammered. “W-Who wants to know?” He had no idea why someone with a decidedly “Big Brother” look would want to talk to him. He’d paid his taxes, voted in the last election, and had never come close to committing a crime.
The man drew out a leather wallet, flashing a badge. “Agent O’Malley, Department of Extra-Powered Affairs.”
George’s eyes widened. What could the DEPA want with him? Maybe the agent had come to ask more questions about the Mastermind henchman who had assaulted him. The BCPD detective who’d taken his statement hadn’t even managed to be half-hearted.
Removing the chain, he unlocked the deadbolt and tugged the door open. “Have you found the man, Agent O’Malley? I’d be happy to give another—“
The well-dressed man shook his head. “I’m not here about you
r assault.”
“Oh.” George’s shoulders drooped. “Then may I ask what this is regarding?”
“Just a moment.” Agent O’Malley drew a palm-sized tablet from his breast pocket and frowned down at it. “To confirm, you are George Rehoboam Peters, born to James and Elizabeth Peters on June 1, 2450?”
George nodded, his curiosity returning. “That’s me. But—“
“And you live here?” Agent O’Malley looked around, struggling to hide his displeasure at the linoleum floor, bland wallpaper, and walls devoid of any decoration save for the drab stock image George hadn’t bothered to remove from its frame. “At 12986 Hunter Lane Apartment 13D, West Hawk, Bright City?”
“Yes.”
“And your current place of employment is at The Grandiose Corporation’s headquarters at 3452 Main Street?”
Again, George nodded. “Would you mind telling me—“
“Place your index finger on the screen for the final confirmation of your identity.” The DEPA agent extended his tablet.
George’s face scrunched in confusion, but he complied. After a moment, the tablet gave a strident beep and a robotic voice proclaimed, “Biometric match, identified. George Rehoboam Peters.”
“What is this?” Panic gripped George in a vise. “Am I in some kind of trouble?”
“Congratulations, Mr. Peters.” Agent O’Malley pocketed the tablet and extended a meaty hand to shake George’s. “You’ve won the Mighty Man Lottery.”
• • •
“Welcome to Power Broker Labs,” a feminine voice proclaimed from the hologram behind the front desk. “We’ve been expecting you, Mr. Peters.”
An hour and a ten-mile ride in Agent O’Malley’s sleek D.E.P.A-issue car later, George still wasn’t certain what was going on. He walked in stunned silence, barely conscious of the well-dressed man guiding him by the elbow toward an elevator.
The artificial voice continued speaking from the screen set into the elevator’s control panel. “For twenty years, Power Broker Laboratories has provided extra-powered protection to Bright City. Weapons, protective exo-suits, and antidotes to defend the innocent citizens of our fair city against the predations of supervillains.”
“But the threat of Dr. Mastermind demanded a new form of protection. Bright City needed a hero of their own. Thus, Mighty Man was born.”
Everyone in Bright City would recognize the face that flashed across the screen. The chiseled jawline, pearly white smile, and perfect musculature could only belong to Mighty Man.
The elevator doors slid open, revealing a gaggle of men and women in white lab coats. They broke into a round of applause as George stepped into the polished marble floor of the lobby.
“Welcome, Mr. Peters!” A middle age man with a broad smile that stood out against his dark skin broke from the crowd. “I am Doctor Patel, and I must admit that I feel truly honored by your presence.” He pumped George’s hand.
George finally found his voice. “Er…thank you?”
“Come, come, we’ve much to do to prepare you for the procedure.”
“P-Procedure?” George stiffened.
“Ah, yes, of course.” Dr. Patel’s wide grin returned. “I assume Agent O’Malley failed to properly explain to you what winning the Mighty Man Lottery entails. Allow me to rectify that. But first, if you’d be so kind…” He motioned down one hallway.
George fell into step beside the doctor.
“As you know, Mighty Man has protected our city for over twenty years. Power Broker Laboratories developed the serum that provided him with his powers—invulnerability, super strength, flight, X-ray vision, all the usual abilities. Unfortunately, the serum has its…limitations.” Dr. Patel winced. “The exertions placed on Mighty Man’s body by his abilities speeds up cellular aging exponentially. Despite all our research, we have failed to solve the problem, and thus have been forced to restrict the serum’s effects to eleven months, two weeks, and three days.”
That seems an oddly specific timeframe, George thought, but was too polite to say aloud.
“Do you remember the first encounter between Mighty Man and the evil Sea Lord Kahnar?”
George nodded. Everyone remembered the day the world believed Mighty Man dead. The city mourned his loss for a week before his triumphant return.
“The real Mighty Man did die. We were forced to find someone to replace him, but the transformation process takes time. When the second Mighty Man approached the end of the serum’s viability, the DEPA helped us to find the next candidate. You.”
“What?!” George’s jaw dropped.
“I know it’s a lot to process, but—“
“Why me?” George couldn’t help asking. “What makes me the next Mighty Man?”
“The operant word is the Mighty Man Lottery, Mr. Peters. Certain genetic markers are required for the serum to take effect, but there must be an element of unpredictability to the selection process. Doctor Mastermind figured out our process years ago and killed off dozens of the most likely candidates for the procedure. The Department of Extra-Powered Affairs was forced to institute the Mighty Man Lottery, which is used to locate a substitute before the current Mighty Man’s serum wears out. All at random so Doctor Mastermind cannot know who will be chosen beforehand. Agent O’Malley and his fellow DEPA agents are able to retrieve and protect the candidate, bringing them here for us to transform into Mighty Man.”
George could scarcely believe his ears. It hardly seemed possible that he would become Bright City’s greatest superhero, yet he saw no deceit in Dr. Patel’s expression.
“I understand that it is overwhelming, Mr. Peters, but you will have a great deal of time to come to terms with the change after it is complete. Mighty Man has a week before his powers expire.” He stopped at a door with a sign reading “Do Not Pass: Authorized Personnel Only” and lifted a clipboard from the hospital-blue wall. “I am legally obligated to ask if you understand what is about to happen, and that you agree to undertake this procedure of your own free will, of sound body and mind.”
George glanced at the contract on the clipboard. The listed side effects included prostate cancer, elbow warts, spinal shrinkage, and mononucleosis, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the words “super strength, flight, invulnerability, and X-ray vision.” Excitement set his hand trembling as he reached for the pen and scratched his signature onto the form.
Dr. Patel grinned at him. “From this moment on, you are no longer George Peters. You are Mighty Man, Bright City’s defender. You have no other identity—remember that, for Doctor Mastermind will seek to use your loved ones against you. The DEPA will be preparing a story to explain your disappearance, but…”
George stopped listening as Dr. Patel began explaining the plethora of complex medical procedures he would be put through. None of it mattered. He took off his spectacles and tucked them into a pocket, uncaring that he could see little more than the blurry shapes of Agent O’Malley and Dr. Patel. He was going to become Mighty Man, and nothing the doctor said could discourage him.
“Are you ready, Mr. Peters? Are you ready for your life to be changed?”
He took one last breath as George Peters, then nodded and stepped through the doors. “I am.”
• • •
“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the defender of Bright City, the one, the only, Mighty Man!”
The throng gathered before the stage broke into a deafening cheer as Mayor Hinton pumped George’s hand. Mighty Man’s hand, with a grip strong enough to pulverize concrete and crush steel.
The face displayed on a thousand T-shirts in the crowd and a million TV screens around the city belonged to him. He’d stared at the chiseled jawline, pearly white smile, and perfect musculature a hundred times in the last two days, and still it felt like something out of a dream.
Dr. Patel’s team of plastic surgeons had worked magic while he lay comatose for three days, recovering from the grueling procedure to change him into Mighty Man. When he awoke, the power f
lowing through his veins had made him feel invincible. Which he was, thanks to Power Broker Labs’ super serum. The days spent training with his newfound powers had passed in a blur.
He’d flown to the annual Mighty Man Ceremony, swooping through the city skyscrapers with a speed and coordination the old George hadn’t come close to approximating on his video game console. Raw energy coursed through every muscle. He could run a thousand miles without fatiguing, fly twice that, and lift a thousand tons. Every shred of his limited self-control went into stifling the urge to turn his X-ray vision on the gaggle of Mighty Man fangirls clustered at the front of the crowd. Thanks to their strategically torn T-shirts and thigh-high skirts, he caught more than an eyeful without it.
Mayor Hinton stepped up to the podium. “Citizens of Bright City, today we celebrate the 20th Anniversary of Mighty Man’s arrival to our fair metropolis. For 20 years, he has kept us safe from Doctor Mastermind, The Mad Genius, Captain Destruct-O, and others who would do our fair city harm.” He turned to George. “Would you like to say a few words, Mighty Man?”
George blushed instinctively. He had no idea what to say. The thought of speaking in front of the crowd sent a tremor through him, and he fought the urge to retreat.
“Mighty Man!” one voice called.
The crowd took up the cheer. “Mighty Man! Mighty Man!”
They called for him.
He stepped forward and cleared his throat. “My friends, you honor me.” Hearing the strong, commanding voice echoing from the speakers around the square felt surreal. “I am but one man, blessed with extraordinary abilities, but more blessed to live in a city of such strength and resilience.”
A roar swelled from the throng.
Excitement rushed through George. “Doctor Mastermind and his ilk may think you weak, helpless. They prey on you, steal from you, threaten your homes and lives. But they are wrong! You are not weak or helpless; you are strong. You stand firm in the face of their threats and hold your heads high.” His grip on the podium tightened, crushing wood. “I live in a city of heroes: each and every one of you. And it is I who am honored to serve you.”
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