Counterparts

by Lucas Flint

  “Rime?” said Talon again, except this time in a lower, more hesitant voice than before. “Can you hear me?”

  “He can, but he can’t respond,” said that same seductive voice again. “Not unless I give him permission to, of course.”

  From out of the shadows came a masked woman in a red dress. She stood beside Rime and rested a hand on his shoulder in a way that made Talon’s skin crawl. The woman was absolutely gorgeous, her dress accentuating her amazing body, but Talon knew that this woman’s looks were incredibly deceiving.

  “Colombina,” said Talon, slowly rising to her feet. Her claws popped out of her wrists. “I know you from the DVD.”

  Colombina showed no fear toward Talon; if anything, she looked a bit bored. “Oh, so you recognize me. That means we can skip the introductions.”

  “What did you do to Rime?” said Talon. “Why are his eyes red?”

  Colombina rested her head on Rime’s shoulder, wrapping her arms around him as if he was her personal toy. “This? He fell under my power. I can control a person’s mind and make them behave however I want. So useful for getting what you want … especially if ‘what you want’ is a man who doesn’t want you.”

  Talon found the implications behind Colombina’s words disturbing, to say the least. “But Rime was with Bolt out in a cafe near here. What did you do with Bolt?”

  “He’s fine,” said Colombina. “Rime told Bolt he was going to use the bathroom. I ambushed him before he could return and brought him here to deal with you.” She ran a finger down the back of Rime’s neck. “Then he’ll kill his family; after all, he failed to kill Bolt, which was part of the agreement. Now his family will die and then he will kill Bolt, too. After that, this poor man will have to go back to Ultimate Max, a tragic story of the misguided idea that a murderer like him could ever be redeemed.” Colombina sighed. “Neo Ranks already has this story ready to go, by the way. They’re quite good in that regard.”

  Talon couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You … you monster. Framing Rime for the murder of his own family … that’s stone cold.”

  Colombina shrugged. “What do I care? Rime will probably try to tell everyone that I made him do it, but no one will ever believe him, even though he can remember everything that is going on even as we speak.”

  “You mean he’s still conscious?” said Talon, looking at Rime in surprise.

  “Yes,” said Colombina, nodding. “He will remember everything you and I are saying, as well as everything I will have him do. He won’t have any proof that any of it happened, of course. Everyone will think he is either trying to avoid taking responsibility for his own actions or that he simply lost his frozen little mind. They might even think he has some kind of prejudice against Italian people if he starts ranting about Venetians.”

  Talon bit her lower lip. “That’s insane. And evil.”

  “But practical, too,” said Colombina. “Just how Mr. Mann likes to conduct his business. He’ll discard anything impractical, anything that gets in the way of his goals. It’s what I like about him.”

  “You knew that my friends and I were going to try this,” said Talon. “Why didn’t you kill Rime’s family as soon as you knew that he had failed to kill Bolt?”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” said Colombina. “Besides, Rime has anger issues. I liked giving him just a little bit of hope, enough to make him think he could save his family, just so I could rip it out from under his feet right before he succeeds. I can’t wait to hear about him killing himself in prison after everyone in the world has turned against him.”

  Talon’s fists shook. She didn’t think of Rime as a particularly close friend, but hearing Colombina talk in such gleeful tones about how she was going to ruin Rime’s life was simply too much. “And what is the point of this chamber? Why does it look like some kind of ancient temple? What is up with that weird stone gateway?”

  “Do you really think I’d reveal something as important as that to you?” said Colombina. “All you need to know is that a great storm is about to come upon our world, but Mann will save us. He’s the true hero here, not you or any of your friends.”

  “Heroes don’t kidnap innocent families and manipulate good men to do their dirty work,” said Talon.

  Colombina shrugged. “Mann is above our ordinary ideas of good and evil, but it doesn’t matter. You won’t live long enough to see the purge; in that respect, you’re quite lucky.”

  “Not unless I stop you first,” said Talon. She held up her claws. “I imagine that if I take you out, Rime will be freed from your influence and control.”

  “Key word: ‘If,’” said Colombina. “By that, I mean ‘if’ you can survive against Rime.”

  Colombina stepped away from Rime and slapped him on the back. Rime held up his hands and two thick, sharp ice swords suddenly appeared in his hands. Then he stepped forward, holding the swords before him with clear intent to kill.

  “Don’t worry too much,” said Colombina to Talon. “Rime will dispatch you effectively and then you will be joined by your friends soon enough. Unfortunately, I can’t guarantee that your death won’t be painful.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Stinger whipped his head this way and that, trying to determine which one of the illusions was the real Bauta. But they all looked incredibly realistic; even their tabarros would blow in the wind occasionally. Either Bauta’s illusions were more realistic than illusions normally were or Bauta was just really good at simulating environmental effects on his illusions.

  Not that it mattered either way to Stinger. Time was ticking and if he didn’t find the real Bauta quickly, he would not have any time to find out the truth.

  “Confused, Stinger?” said one of the Bautas, this one to his left, leaning against an expensive-looking black sedan. “If I may offer a clue, the real me is closer than you think.”

  Stinger didn’t respond. He just flew over to that Bauta and slammed one of his stingers against that one’s chest. Unfortunately, his stinger just passed through Bauta’s chest and slammed into the car’s hood, causing Stinger’s hand to burn in pain. He yanked his hand back and cursed, while all of the Bautas chuckled collectively, a disturbing sound amplified by the acoustics of the parking garage and mixed with the car’s alarm going off.

  “That clue was a lie, by the way,” said another Bauta, this one sitting in the back of a white pick up truck. “What, did you think I would help you find the real me? Where would be the fun in that?”

  Stinger looked around at the Bauta illusions. He was starting to realize that he had no way of knowing which one was the real Bauta. They all looked so alike; the only way to know for sure which one was real was to touch them, but Stinger didn’t have time to hit each one individually. Even if he did, it seemed like more just kept appearing; perhaps Stinger was simply bad at counting, but he was pretty sure that there were a few more Bautas present than there had been a few seconds ago.

  Don’t panic, Stinger, Stinger told himself. Think calmly and logically about this. Panicking will only make things worse.

  But that still didn’t help him figure out which one was the real one. Add to the knowledge that time was slipping away every second he spent standing there agonizing over what to do and he was starting to wonder if it just made more sense to run than to mess with Bauta.

  “You look awfully confused, Stinger,” said one of the Bautas, this one sitting on the trunk of a sedan. “Want another hint?”

  “No, thanks,” said Stinger, shaking his head. “I can live without your ‘hints,’ thanks.”

  “But you won’t be able to live when I put a bullet through your head in three minutes or so,” said another Bauta, this one leaning against one of the concrete pillars holding up the garage’s roof. “Unless you’ve got a super secret healing factor that you have been hiding from me, that is.”

  Stinger’s hands balled into fists. What he wouldn’t give to punch Bauta’s dumb little masked face, but getting angry wasn’t hel
pful. He flew into the air, or as high as he could given the ceiling of the parking garage, and hovered in the air for a moment, looking down at all of the Bautas, who were in turn looking up at him, though it was less out of fear and more out of amusement. Stinger went back and forth, trying to determine which one was the real Bauta, but flying around didn’t help him much at all. In fact, he started to feel even more confused than before, causing him to land on the ground and look around again.

  Come on, Stinger thought. There’s got to be some way I can quickly identify the real Bauta.

  It was becoming clear that there was no way that Stinger would be able to identify the real Bauta; indeed, he was starting to suspect that the real Bauta wasn’t here at all, but probably watching from a safe room inside the Mann Building somewhere via a secret camera. That’s what Stinger would do if he had Bauta’s powers, anyway.

  If he’s not here, then I don’t need to be here, either, Stinger thought.

  Once again, Stinger flew into the air, but this time, he ignored all of the Bautas, who were now watching him in confusion. He zipped through the air back to the rental car, landing expertly beside the car and hopping in before any of the Bautas could stop him. Firing up the engine, Stinger pulled the car out of its parking spot, the roar of the engine drowning out the shouts from the Bautas, and drove it toward the exit. He knew that Talon and Electrica were still inside the Mann Building, but he decided he would come back for them later. Right now, he had to escape Bauta; and if he couldn’t come back later, well, he figured Electrica most likely had an escape plan figured out anyway.

  One of the Bautas was unfortunate enough to be standing in the way of the car and Stinger ran over it. The fake Bauta vanished into nothingness as the car passed through it, while Stinger didn’t slow down at all. He was determined not to slow down even if all of the Bautas got in the path of his car; if none of them were real, then he could run over all of them if he wanted and not feel bad about it or ruin the car. And if the real Bauta also put himself in harm’s way and got hit, well, that would solve a lot of Stinger’s problems.

  All of a sudden, however, Bauta appeared in the passenger seat. Bauta’s sudden appearance—though he was probably just another illusion—caused Stinger to start. Stinger lost control of the vehicle, which went skirting across the concrete floor of the parking garage uncontrollably for several seconds before Stinger managed to slam his foot on the brake and make it come to a stop before it crashed into one of the other parked cars. Panting, Stinger looked over at the passenger’s seat, but the fake Bauta was gone now.

  Of course he’s gone, Stinger thought with a scowl. Well, at least I’m not hurt. Time to—

  The sound of a bullet piercing glass caused Stinger to duck. He looked up and saw that a bullet had pierced the windshield, although he realized that the bullet had actually come from the back of the car. He looked past the back seats and saw an identical hole in the back window from which the bullet had entered. Not that he had much time to look, however, because he heard another gun shot and ducked even lower than before as another bullet shot past him.

  “Time is up, Stinger,” came Bauta’s voice, which seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. “I must admit that your idea to use your car to escape took me by surprise, but I am good at improvising when the need arises. Now you can either come out and let me shoot you or I will keep firing bullets until I force you out or get lucky and hit you. And I have a lot of bullets, so don’t think you can just wait until I run out.”

  Grimly, Stinger took satisfaction in the knowledge that the real Bauta was here after all. Of course, that didn’t help him find the real Bauta, but at least he knew that Bauta was somewhere close by.

  He’s got me trapped like a rat, though, Stinger thought, wincing at another bullet, which passed through the head of his seat and sent fluff flying from his seat’s headrest and onto his back. If I leave the car, he’ll shoot me, but if I stay, he’ll still shoot me. It’s a Catch-22.

  Biting his lower lip, an idea suddenly came to Stinger’s mind. He risked a glance at the rear view mirror long enough to see at least a dozen Bautas, each one aiming a gun at his car, standing behind the car. He only saw them for a brief moment before lowering his head again, just in time to avoid another bullet. He still didn’t know for sure which one was the real Bauta, but the way he saw it, it had to be one of those dozen, because they were all standing behind the car and the bullets entered the car from the back.

  Still keeping his head low, Stinger put both hands firmly on the wheel, changed the car’s drive to reverse, and then slammed his foot on the accelerator. The car immediately zoomed backwards, straight toward the crowd of Bautas who were still aiming their guns at the car. Stinger looked out the rear view mirror, watching as he drew closer and closer to the Bautas, but none of them moved until he was about a yard away from them; then one of the Bautas split off from the rest of the group and ran toward the cars.

  Bingo, Stinger thought.

  Stinger kicked open the door to the car and jumped out. The car—still speeding backwards at a ridiculous speed—went through the Bautas like they weren’t there and back-ended into another parked car, creating a loud crunch that Stinger totally ignored. He zoomed through the air toward the fleeing Bauta, who was apparently trying to find a hiding spot among the cars.

  All of a sudden, however, Bauta whirled around and fired several bullets at Stinger. Stinger dropped out of the air, dodging the bullets easily, landed in the back of a truck and rolled against the tailgate. A bullet struck through the tailgate just then, barely missing his head, but Stinger jumped up and out of the car. He landed on the concrete floor just as Bauta—who now stood between two expensive-looking black cars—aimed his gun at Stinger and tried to fire, but his gun clicked uselessly, as if he was out of bullets.

  Knowing that he didn’t have much time left before Bauta put in a new clip, Stinger prepared to fly again, but just before he could take off, he was suddenly surrounded on all sides by dozens, perhaps even hundreds, of Bautas. There were so many that they even clipped through the cars; everywhere he looked, he saw Bauta’s masked face looking at him. Stinger realized that Bauta had created hundreds of identical illusions of himself in order to give himself enough time to refill his gun’s ammunition; a clever move, but one that Stinger was not going to let distract him.

  Stinger zipped through the air, going in the general direction in which he had seen Bauta standing moments before. He passed through illusion after illusion, not even wincing as he went through them, because passing through an illusion felt like passing through nothing at all. He soon spotted the real Bauta, who was still clumsily trying to reload his gun, this time with his back to Stinger. Stinger landed behind Bauta and thrust both of his stingers at Bauta’s back.

  But at the last second, Bauta whirled around and pointed his now reloaded gun straight at Stinger’s chest. It was too late for Stinger to dodge or move out of the way. Bauta pulled the trigger and a bullet slammed into Stinger’s chest. It was like getting punched by Bolt; although Stinger’s bulletproof suit kept the bullet from piercing his skin, the impact of the bullet still knocked Stinger flat on his back. He gasped, because he had never been shot before, even in the Training Room, and so hadn’t really known what to expect.

  Before Stinger could recover, Bauta appeared above him and pointed the gun at his face. “I’m done playing. Rest eternally.”

  Bauta pulled the trigger, but Stinger instinctively turned his head to the side. The bullet smashed into the concrete just inches from his face, the sound of lead striking concrete ringing in Stinger’s ears, but he didn’t let that stop him. With a roar, he slammed his right stinger into Bauta’s left leg. Though Stinger wasn’t very strong, the impact of his stinger against Bauta’s left leg nonetheless caused Bauta to stumble to the side and lean against a car for support.

  “Ugh,” said Bauta, shaking his head. “You have quick reflexes, I will admit, but it will take more than that to stop
me.”

  Stinger sat up, rubbing the back of his head. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

  Confusion appeared in Bauta’s eyes before realization replaced it. Bauta hastily aimed his gun at Stinger again, but his trigger finger froze. Bauta cursed, but that was the last thing he said before his whole body froze in place. Bauta still held the gun in his hand, but with his whole body frozen, he couldn’t even pull the trigger.

  Gasping in pain, feeling hot and sweaty, Stinger rose to his feet, albeit slowly and carefully. His adrenaline was already wearing off; his chest felt like it had been cracked in several different places thanks to the bullet he’d been shot with. Stinger would need to see a doctor at some point; for now, however, he just removed the gun from Bauta’s hands and carefully placed it on the ground. The venom shouldn’t wear off for hours, but Stinger didn’t want to take any chances.

  Rubbing his chest, Stinger leaned against another car. He rested for a few seconds, his chest feeling tighter and tighter, but eventually the pain started to subside, allowing him to think more clearly than before.

  He looked at Bauta and smirked. “What’s the matter, Bauta? Cat … cat got your tongue?”

  Bauta, of course, did not respond, but Stinger thought he saw the deepest loathing and hatred in Bauta’s eyes. Not that Stinger was afraid; after all, Bauta was totally powerless now and couldn’t harm Stinger even if he wanted to.

  I should contact Talon and Electrica and see how they’re doing, Stinger thought. Might be worth giving Bolt a call, too, and letting him know that I caught one of the Venetians.

  Stinger raised his suit-up watch close to his face, but before he could call anyone, he heard the sound of several sets of footsteps rushing through the parking garage. Wondering who it could be, Stinger looked around just in time to see half a dozen armed security guards rushing down the main pathway between the parked cars. The guards were running like they were desperately trying to get to the scene of a terrible crime before it was committed, but Stinger decided that he would get their attention and let them know that he had apprehended a supervillain.