Rogue Superheroes

by Matt Cowper

  “Not now, Jasper,” Nightstriker said. “We have a crisis to avert. A teammate – a friend – of ours has...lost his way. His name is Blaze. You know all about him.”

  “He is the superhuman this ICE suit was designed to thwart,” Jasper said. “But are you sure you want to––”

  “I'm sure. There's no time for more testing, no time to worry about the core's stability. We leave for Washington, D.C. now. Run your diagnostics, and then power up the core to ten percent.”

  A long pause. “Very well. But I want you both to take note: I disagree strongly with this decision.”

  “Duly noted, Jasper,” Nightstriker said. “Now, Gal, I want you to morph around this armor. You can, of course, fly on your own, but you can't approach the speeds this armor can achieve.”

  She nodded. “OK. But first, I want you to promise me something.”

  Nightstriker stiffened. “What?”

  “Promise me you won't kill Blaze.” She grabbed the armor's shoulders and leaned into him until her face dominated his HUD. “He's done...terrible things, I know, but...I don't know what would happen to me if he...you know how I was before. Half-crazy. Transforming myself into stupid things. Unable to morph into my normal Siobhan form. Without Blaze....”

  Nightstriker wanted to tell her that he had to do what was best for the world.

  But seeing Metal Gal clinging to him desperately, generated tears running down her metal cheeks, her body shaking with sorrow....

  “We will stop Blaze,” Nightstriker said, “but without using lethal force. I swear it on my life.”

  A small smile formed on Gal's face, and she hugged the armor tightly. “Thank you.”

  After hesitating, Nightstriker placed his armored arms around her and returned the hug.

  For a long moment, no one said anything. Then Jasper cleared his throat: “Not to ruin this emotional moment, but diagnostics show that nothing's amiss – though that will surely change – and I've powered the core up to ten percent. We're ready to depart.”

  “Good,” Nightstriker said. “Gal?”

  Metal Gal nodded, and her form melted, sliding over the suit until it covered it like an extra paint job. The suit's HUD flashed warnings, which Nightstriker ignored. Gal formed a small face, no bigger than a hamster's, around his ears.

  “I'm ready,” she said, “though this suit is...odd. I mean, I can't feel things in the conventional sense, but––”

  “Well, I can surely feel something,” Jasper said. “It's not every day a voluptuous, charming cyborg melts into every crevice of your technological housing.”

  “Jasper,” Nightstriker said sharply.

  “Just so you know, Jasper, I'm taken,” Gal said, smiling.

  “Ah yes, you're in love with the young man who wants to incinerate the entire Earth. Well, they do say most women love the bad boys. I suppose I'll have to settle for some plain old AI with the personality of an uncooked potato.”

  “Jasper!” Nightstriker barked.

  “Yes, sir, sorry, sir. Excuse me for getting distracted. Hmm...all systems go. Thrusters activated. Next stop: Washington, D.C.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Blaze

  Frustration poured off him in the form of liquid fire. He was a living, breathing volcano, but he was flying aimlessly around Washington D.C. like a buffoon.

  He'd been searching for ten minutes, and hadn't found his enemies.

  He'd searched the White House grounds, hoping to find a bunker, but there was only a tunnel below the West Wing that led to the Capitol.

  So he'd searched the Capitol building. There were still a few entry-level Congressional staffers scurrying around, but none of the big names in Congress, and none of Lancaster's administration.

  He'd flown across the Mall, examined the Washington monument, entered the Smithsonian, examined K Street.

  He'd blown up some suspicious-looking buildings, and burrowed underground in areas that looked like they might have underground bunkers.

  Nothing. No evidence of any secret lairs, and everyone he questioned claimed to know nothing.

  Was Lancaster even in Washington D.C.? Or had he evacuated to some other location?

  Blaze hovered over the Washington monument, trying to stifle his impatience.

  It had only been ten minutes since he'd incinerated the White House. That was no time at all.

  He'd find Lancaster. Someone in this rotten city knew something. He just had to be thorough, had to focus his rage.

  The flames encircling him lessened, and he let out a deep, fiery breath.

  He had plenty of time. After all, who could stop him?

  Then something blue slammed into him, causing his Fire Shield to bend, but not quite break. To his shock, Blaze found himself hurtling towards the Mall. He plowed into the walking path and some benches before stopping himself.

  He stood up and stretched, searching for signs of injury. He was fine; his Shield had protected him.

  But it had bent – and that should've been impossible.

  A high-tech suit of armor floated down to him. Blaze frowned as he examined the dark armor and the glowing blue crystal-like object – likely the power core – housed in the breastplate. He'd never seen this person – if it was a person in there – before.

  As the armor got closer, Blaze again felt his Fire Shield bending. That armor was...cold? Incredibly cold. It was pulsing out a frigidity so powerful it was affecting his powers.

  Who – or what – was this thing?

  “Blaze.” A rough voice, enhanced by the armor's speaker system.

  “Nightstriker?!” Blaze said. “What the hell is––”

  A gray portion of the armor discharged, and Blaze readied himself for another attack. But the gray part poured onto the ground like wet concrete, then rose up into the form of a silvery woman – a woman whose blue eyes stared at him pleadingly.

  “Metal Gal?!” Blaze said. “What's going on? How'd you two get here so quickly?”

  “You know why we're here,” Nightstriker said. “This can't continue, Sam.”

  “Sam, please,” Gal said. “We know you're grieving––”

  “You don't know anything. You didn't...didn't see...their heads explode....”

  “No, I didn't,” Gal said, “but you're not the only one who's suffered, Sam! Remember what happened to me? When I first transferred my consciousness into this form, I was trapped as a puddle for two months! I couldn't manipulate my body like I can now. And when I finally learned how...my human body was long dead...and my partner, Keith....”

  “I know your story,” Blaze said, “but what happened to you was an accident. Those bastards deliberately killed my parents. Are you telling me they shouldn't pay?”

  “They should, and they will,” Nightstriker said. “But not by torturing and murdering them. Deep down, you know this, Sam.”

  “The typical patronizing Nightstriker,” Blaze said. “I'm tired of you. Of both of you. Get out of my way.”

  “Or what, Sam?” Metal Gal said, stepping closer to him, though doing so caused her body to ripple from the extreme heat. “Or you're going to kill us like you killed the Patriots?”

  “No, I won't,” Blaze snapped, “but I can't let you stop me.”

  “Very well, Sam,” Nightstriker said. “If we must fight, we might as well begin.”

  He raised his right arm, and a blue beam shot out of the armor's gauntlet.

  Blaze didn't bother to move; he only intensified the Fire Shield. But again, he was knocked backwards, into the reflecting pool, his fire instantly vaporizing the water.

  What the hell was this suit?! What sort of energy was it blasting him with? It hadn't hurt him – not yet, anyway – but it could move him.

  Then it dawned on him. The coldness. The incredible energy. The superior design. The fact that Nightstriker wore it, and that Blaze had never seen it before.

  Nightstriker had designed it specifically to counter him, then kept it hidden. It was only su
pposed to be used for emergency situations like this.

  Blaze floated out of the pool and readied a fireball. “Always think you're one step ahead of everyone, don't you, Nightstriker? Well, that tin can probably could've stopped the old Blaze, but it can't stop me. You didn't figure this level of power into your calculations, did you?”

  He hurled the fireball, but Nightstriker crossed his arms in an X, and a blue-white shield appeared around him. The fireball crashed into him, causing him to step back a few paces, but the shield held.

  “Sam, stop!” Metal Gal yelled, waving her arms.

  Nightstriker didn't join her in pleading. His boot-jets activated, and he raced towards Blaze, slamming into him and driving him into some trees and bushes.

  Blaze let out an angry roar, and fire and magma dripped and sliced off him, splattering Nightstriker's suit. But not only did Nightstriker not let go of him, the suit appeared to take no damage whatsoever.

  As they crashed through the glass entrance doors of the Smithsonian, Blaze knew he had a fight on his hands.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Nightstriker

  Jasper was shouting at him that they were in tremendous danger. Nightstriker didn't bother chastising the ICE suit's AI for stating the obvious. He was too busy grappling with a living star.

  The suit's shielding was holding – barely. Nightstriker could still feel the extreme heat mere inches from his skin. It was like standing inside by a glass door while the summer sun bore down mercilessly outside.

  Blaze was also yelling at him, but so much fire was spewing from his mouth that his words were hard to make out.

  They tumbled through the hall of the Smithsonian Natural History Museum, burning and freezing a display on the Jurassic era. A lifelike brontosaurus fell down on Blaze, only to be incinerated.

  “Blaze's strength is incalculable,” Jasper said. “We're running the core at fifty percent capacity, and his flames are nearly consuming us.”

  “I am aware of that,” Nightstriker muttered. He didn't want Blaze to know this suit had an AI; the less the berserk young man knew, the better. “If you're not going to be useful, keep quiet.”

  “I was going to suggest we raise the output to seventy-five percent,” Jasper replied. “That, or fly away as fast as we can.”

  “Raise it.”

  The suit hummed, and the floor around Nightstriker frosted over. Blaze stepped back, scowling. He could feel the cold, though at the moment it wasn't strong enough to truly diminish his fire powers. His Fire Shield still lashed around like the tails of some fire elemental, and the air around him still shimmered as if they were standing in a desert.

  Again Nightstriker shot a beam of combined ice magic and inter-dimensional energy, but Blaze formed a ball of blue fire around his fist and swatted it away. The beam exploded in the large corridor, filling the area with snow and ice shards.

  Now Blaze was on the offensive. He slammed his fire-fist into Nightstriker's armor, knocking him into the wall. More fire-enhanced blows followed, and the suit banged and hissed like it was being stomped on by an angry god.

  Which, in effect, it was.

  “You cannot take much more of this, sir,” Jasper said. “I recommend––”

  Nightstriker grabbed Blaze by the head and channeled a massive surge of energy into the gauntlets. When the overload warning began to beep, he released all of it.

  For a moment, Blaze's head turned porcelain-white, like he was frostbitten. His eyes glittered, their moisture having frozen over, and his breath condensed in the air.

  Then the fire returned, and Blaze was again glaring at him with glowing eyes.

  There was one major difference: smoking blood now ran from his nose.

  “That hurt,” he growled.

  He held out his hands, and a massive fireball appeared. Nightstriker didn't have to analyze it to know its heat and density was nearing physical impossibility. He told Jasper to jack up the energy output again, but it was too late.

  White light surrounded him. He was floating, unable to move in any direction. Miraculously, the suit's HUD still worked, and he watched as numerous systems were pushed to their limits or outright destroyed.

  He landed roughly, bounding across the ground like a football, before hitting what felt like a tree.

  Blinking, he stood up on shaky legs. He was back outside, on the other side of the Mall, having carved a trench the whole length of it.

  “Jasper, status report,” he said.

  “That blast stripped off our shielding like plastic wrap,” the AI replied. “Boot-jets offline. Structural damage all over the suit. Power core behaving even more erratically than normal. Need I go on?”

  “Restore shielding. Turn up power output to one hundred percent if necessary.”

  “Sir, the core––”

  “Do it.”

  The HUD notified him that the core was now at full energy output. The blue translucent shielding around the armor returned, as did the intense cold.

  But Nightstriker felt something else: a sense of déjà vu combined with an odd tingling sensation.

  The ICE core was, as Jasper had noted, compromised, and was practically warping nearby reality.

  Nightstriker didn't know exactly what would happen if it failed completely – and he cursed himself for not testing this thoroughly – but he knew it would be catastrophic.

  Metal Gal ran towards him, both of her arms morphed into cannons, her eyes an angry red.

  “Are you alright?” she shouted. “What happened in there?”

  “The suit managed to hurt him,” Nightstriker replied, “but not enough to slow him down. As for me, I'm fine.”

  “Are you sure? The suit––”

  “Prepare yourself, Gal. Here he comes.”

  A flaming object like a comet burst out of the Smithsonian, shredding half of its roof. It swung towards them, then landed a few feet away, sending out a shockwave that bent over the few trees still standing in the area. Metal Gal fell backwards, and Nightstriker was only able to remain standing by planting his feet.

  The comet shifted to a vaguely human form, that of their teammate. Blaze glared at them, a fireball ready in each hand. “Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

  “No!” Metal Gal shouted. “This has gone on long enough, Sam!”

  She stretched out her form until she looked like a billowing circus tent. Then she fluttered over Blaze, completely covering him. But Blaze's energy production was so extreme Nightstriker could see Gal's form turning from gray to orange, like a piece of iron being heated in a forge.

  “Gal, get away from him!” Nightstriker said. “You aren't capable of containing him!”

  “Have to...try....” she muttered.

  The ground rumbled, and Gal's form returned to its normal gray color. The waters of the reflecting pool roared up in a geyser, and Blaze emerged, still as bright as the sun.

  “That won't work, Gal,” he said. “I can just melt through the ground beneath me.”

  Gal morphed back into her humanoid form, though she appeared more sluggish. “Sam––”

  “Stop calling me that!” Blaze shouted. “Sam died with his parents. Now I'm Blaze, and nothing––”

  A tree crashed into him, instantly turning to embers. Gunshots followed, and Nightstriker saw bubbles in Blaze's shield where the bullets melted. Finally a few grenades exploded around Blaze, but they too did nothing.

  But though this attack hadn't harmed him physically, Blaze was as stunned as if they'd just flicked a switch and turned off his powers.

  Slab, Buckshot, Gillespie, and Nimbus had arrived, via a Siren transport they'd landed nearby. The Elites had linked up, and were about to try and take down one of their own.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Blaze

  Why couldn't they see?!

  Why were they trying to stop him? Why were they risking their lives?

  He didn't want to hurt them, but if they kept attacking him, he'd have to.

  And
that bastard Nightstriker, with that suit that somehow generated intense cold and a strange, déjà vu-inducing ability...why was he always in the way? Every time you turned around, there was Nightstriker, with some ingenious plan buttressed by his indomitable will.

  That energy blast to the head had hurt him. At first, it just felt like an ice-cream headache, but then the pain became so agonizing he nearly fainted. Only by jerking away and letting the fire again flow over him had he saved himself.

  That suit was the primary threat. The rest of the Elites were just window dressing.

  The ground shook as Slab ran towards him, turning his attention away from Nightstriker.

  “You know what happened to Prometheus, Sam?” the rock-man shouted.

  “What?” Blaze replied, though he knew the myth.

  “He stole fire from the gods, and was punished for it,” Slab said. “That's you: you've become too big for your britches. Someone's gotta put you back in your place.”

  “And that someone is...you?”

  “A man's gotta try!” He reared back, and sent a fist the size of a truck tire at Blaze.

  Blaze only focused his shield, and the fist stopped a few feet from his face. The rocks began to turn red, much like he'd heated up Metal Gal, and Slab howled in pain.

  But he kept swinging, futilely ramming his fists again and again into the shield. His hands were getting so hot they were beginning to melt.

  “Stop it!” Blaze shouted. “You can't get through, idiot!”

  A fire-enhanced kick nailed Slab in his stomach, doubling over the big guy. Blaze prepared what could accurately be called an atomic uppercut, but a beam from Nightstriker's suit extinguished the flame.

  Metal Gal fired her own beams at him from her cannon-arms, Buckshot fired his shotgun, Gillespie lobbed grenades. Nothing had an effect besides Nightstriker's projectiles.

  “You all are – huh?” Blaze said.

  Something tickled his throat. He coughed, but the sensation was still there, like hundreds of tiny fingers scratching him.