Full Metal Superhero Box Set [Books 1-6]

by Haskell, Jeffery H.

  He’s been on the probationary waiting list for three years. He’s worked as a courier in Boston, New York, and LA. Currently, he’s living in Minnesota. His application to the State Militia there has already been denied. Why?

  Oh. I see. In field operations he consumes eighteen thousand calories a day. The average person eats a tenth of that. He has been known to consume as much as fifty. I can understand him being a problem where food isn’t readily available. In a city? He’s a no-brainer.

  Now, how to ask for him here? I hop over to our system and pull up the interface and log in as me. Turns out, any member can request a probationary, but only the team leader can sign off on full membership. Awesome. I fill out the form, request Fleet, and submit. Now, back over to my Mr. West’s sysadmin login and approve the request. Done.

  Now, with that taken care of, I can work on the other thing. With my sysadmin access I create a little back door, an unused port and an access code for it. Next, I write a quick worm. It will siphon off information about Cat-7. A file here, a folder there, nothing they will really notice. Store it, then I can access it through the back door, download it and go over it. I can’t actually have it search for anything—that would raise too many flags. I can have it scan files as they are accessed and copy them. It might take a while, but eventually someone will access a file that says what happened to my parents. Especially once they know who I am.

  I log out and smile. I’m one step closer to finding my parents. Also, we’re terribly understaffed. A speedster will round out our powerset nicely and keep us versatile. Heck, if all he did was evacuate areas in trouble it would be worth having him.

  “Arsenal?” I jump in my chair and let out a sharp scream.

  I throw my glasses behind my server, spin the chair around and lean over with an elbow on the desk to block the speaker’s view of my equipment.

  “Y—yes, that’s me!” I say too loud.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” says the man in the door.

  He’s in his mid-thirties, handsome if you're into movie star good looks and a gymnast build.

  “I’m Sam Sykes,” he holds out his hand.

  He’s four feet away from me and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

  “Oh, sorry. That was rude of me.” He walks forward and tries again. I reach up and take his hand. His hand is smooth like silk and his shake is firm but gentle.

  “I arrived via helicopter from the airport and the man in the intercom said you were on monitor duty. Is now a bad time to talk?”

  I glance around at my unauthorized computer, thankful it doesn’t have any lights to bring attention to it. I’m sure if the team needs me I can still respond.

  “Sure,” I say eagerly, “pull up a chair.”

  “Thanks. This won’t take but a few minutes.”

  He grabs a chair from out in the hallway and lugs it in. While he’s out I whisper to Epic, “Take over monitor duty, use your new voice.”

  “Affirmative,” I hear in my ear. Wow, it’s weird to hear him speak. I programmed him to have a masculine, gravelly voice. There’s this actor I love who does this mix of dark sci-fi and car racing movies, and Epic sounds exactly like him. Mostly because I sampled every movie and used the audio waves to program him. Even the movie where he only says three words the whole time!

  “So,” I drag out the ‘o’, “What brings a PR minion down from on high?”

  “Actually, I’m the vice president in charge of PR. You don’t recognize me? I’m at all the press releases and I do the TV spot. You know, When a storm rolls into town, you need to fight fire with fire, call Category-7!”

  I nod and force a smile.

  “Oh yeah, sure. You look taller in person.”

  “Thanks, I don’t hear that one. Usually, it is the other way around!”

  Even with my emotional guard up, he’s putting me at ease. I wonder if he has powers?

  “After Las Vegas, you’ve become something of a public figure. The fact that you haven’t done any interviews in or out of your armor only adds to your mystique. The only time anyone sees you is on YouTube.”

  Yeah, I kind of like it that way. They certainly aren’t getting me out of my armor and away from it for an interview.

  “We would like to do a series of interviews with you, do the morning talk show circuit, maybe even a few late night shows. There’s even a spot on Studio 50 for you. We just need to figure out the logistics.”

  “No,” I say.

  “No to Studio 50? It’s the biggest news show in the country. More people watch that than Jeopardy!” He doesn’t seem put out by my proclamation. Maybe he just doesn’t understand what I’m saying.

  “No to the whole thing. I’m not giving an interview out of my armor.”

  He furrows his brows for a moment and takes out his phone and taps in a few quick notes.

  “If it is your identity you’re worried about we can disguise you. This gentlemen here,” he turns the phone around; it’s a picture of a tall man in a mime costume. “He’s on the New York team, he can make you look like anyone else. It’s the perfect disguise. Would that do?”

  “Unless it’s an illusion or some form of mind control, you can’t hide my chair. But no, that isn’t why.”

  He purses his lips together. “I have to say, Ms. Lockheart, you’re a tough one,” he turns it into a smile, “but I’m sure we can come to an agreement!”

  He leans in a little closer. His aftershave smells amazing. I want to help him, he’s so handsome and I—

  Bastard. Pheromones. They couldn’t physically get me so they’re using sly tactics. I put my hand to my ear and fake an emergency call.

  “Domino, you’re in trouble? Hang on let me coordinate,” I put my hand over my ear as if I’m muting the microphone in the earpiece, “We’ve got a passable cafeteria if you want to go downstairs. We can discuss this when I’m off duty.”

  “I’m happy to wait here,” he says with a smile.

  I’m sure he is. A few more minutes of his proximity in a small room and I would be putty in his hands. I nod and turn around and proceed to work on my fake call. Think! I only have maybe five more minutes. From what I understand about Kate’s powers the longer you’re in proximity the harder it gets to resist her.

  I pull up my chat window and message Epic.

  Override HVAC and turn on the heat. As hot as you can get. Open any windows you can.

  Affirmative.

  I feel the vibration of the furnace kick in and suddenly hot air is blowing into the room instead of cold. A dry, hot breeze rolls in from the hallway telling me Epic opened a window.

  Within three minutes the only thing I can smell is the sweat in my armpits. Not to mention hot air rises. His scent is carried off to the ceiling where I hope it’s harmless.

  “I think there’s something wrong with your HVAC,” he says after a minute.

  I glance over my shoulder and he’s taken off his jacket. Sweat stains are forming under his arms. Good, maybe if his body is too busy sweating he can’t produce as much.

  “Maybe you could go find maintenance for me? They’re on the fourth floor. I can’t leave the room.” I say without looking back.

  I’m still typing furiously like I’m on a call and doing something urgent.

  “Sure, I’ll be right back.”

  “Can’t wait!” I say with false enthusiasm.

  Once he’s gone I fling my wheels back to the door, slam it shut and throw the lock. If I had any guilt or hesitation to go after these bastards for fear of hurting Kate or Luke, it is gone. They are going down.

  “Kill the heat, Epic, before it kills me.”

  23

  I’ve managed to avoid Mr. Sykes for three days now. The fourth day is the charm—for me.

  “Ah, Ms. Lockheart—”

  “Arsenal, if you don’t mind. I’m on duty.”

  He grins, “Of course. Now I’ve spoken to your team leader and he’s agreed to release you for two
weeks while we do this marketing blitz.”

  “One second,” I hold up my hand.

  I can’t wear a re-breather around him, and I can’t put on a mask, but I have a secret weapon.

  “Kate, can you join us in conference room three?”

  She was waiting for my word and walks right in. Stunning as always, she’s wearing a turquoise blouse and black skirt that goes down to right above her knees. She has the right makeup on, the right jewelry, everything about her is perfect. Down to her thousand-watt smile. He did say the company motto was fight fire with fire. Well, she’s my fire.

  “Mr. Sykes, it’s so good to meet you, I’m Kate Petrenelli.” She shakes his hand, “Wow, you’ve a firm grip.” Did she just giggle?

  “Well, uh, thank you.”

  “I also like your taste in clothes,” she takes the seat next to his and leans over to grab a glass of water. Her blouse is open enough to give him a good eyeful of her plentiful cleavage. I watch his eyes go wide and his pupils dilate. She wins. Good golly Miss Molly, I didn’t know how good she is!

  An hour later I’ve agreed to four interviews, all in armor. One in Phoenix, Austin, Las Vegas and LA. I have no real choice but to do The Studio 50 one.

  He leaves a very happy man after giving her his number and eliciting a promise from her to call. She cooed and smiled and acted all aflutter for him. She even asked his help to move a potted plant that looked far heavier than it actually was. Just so she could compliment him on his physique. In the world of emotional manipulation, Kate is Darth Vader.

  “I don’t understand, don’t they know who you are?”

  “The company? Oh yeah of course. When we sign the NDA about our base they sign the NDA about our identities. If any of our names were ever leaked or hacked, they would be out millions.”

  “Then why didn’t he know to protect himself from you?” I ask.

  “How did you protect yourself from him?” she counters.

  “I went and found you. I figured you could at least keep me level-headed.”

  She nods, “Empaths like me work on a few different levels. One, our powers literally make us good looking. I don’t mean we’re strong and agile, I mean the way our body works. I could go downstairs and wolf down three bacon cheeseburgers followed a half-dozen strawberry shakes and not gain a single size. I don’t ‘cause it’s gross.”

  I feign disgust, “You don’t like bacon cheeseburgers? I’m not sure we can be friends…”

  “Cute. I do, just not more than one. Okay, so level one, looks. Level two, pheromones. We all have them, they’re just stronger in an empath and we can control the ones we emit. Different scents have different effects on people. For instance, the scent I used on Mr. Sykes would, depending on the woman, have no effect, or make her irritated as hell.”

  I didn’t feel irritated, “I guess it didn’t have an effect on me then.”

  “I didn’t think it would, unless you’re into girls. I’m afraid Mr. Sykes is going to have a rather unfulfilled trip home. I’ve been emitting the pheromone for sex since this morning. I wanted to really amp it up and it gets stronger the longer I use it. I feel really bad for all the guys on the bus this morning, but…” she shrugs.

  “Okay, one and two explained. What’s three?”

  “Touch. My empathy is both passive and aggressive. By touching a person’s bare skin, I can shift their emotions toward where I want them to be. I can’t outright control them. If someone is genuinely angry and furious it’s unlikely I will do anything more than calm them down. But, when they’re in a neutral state, I can shift it toward my liking. For him it was attraction.”

  “What other witchcraft do you perform?” I ask.

  “Throw in basic psychology and you have a win. Men love to be complimented on their perceived strengths. He dresses nice, that one was easy, but he also works out, hence the plant. I let him do things for me because he wanted to be helpful, and I let him explain things to me because—”

  “—All men love to help the ladies understand the big wide world,” I finish for her.

  “Exactly. Poor guy, he never had a chance,” she says with mock sympathy.

  “Which begs the question, why aren’t you the head of PR for Cat-7?” I ask.

  “I’m not willing to sell my abilities to improve the bottom line. On top of that, there aren’t a lot of empaths. Out in the field I can do a lot of good. Behind a desk? What am I going to do, convince people to sign bad contracts? Ruin lives? No, this is where I belong.” She smiles and places her hand on my knee, “I’m sorry.”

  “About what? You really helped me out here.”

  She shakes her head, “No, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. There is no reason on Earth they would send Sykes, who makes a few hundred grand in salary, here to convince you to do a few lousy interviews. None. He was here to get you away from your armor—”

  “—Then they would steal it. Yeah, I figured as much.”

  “Why on Earth would they want to kill you for it?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to figure out why, and stop them,” I say with more conviction than I feel at the moment.

  “You’re not alone,” she says. It means more to me than she could know.

  24

  I’m finally back in my armor. My stitches are out and I can hardly tell I was ever cut. A week of monitor duty and I was about to go crazy. The extracurricular hacking of Category-7’s computers killed a lot of the time. Now I have to wait, that’s the hard part. I need to let my snooper program work.

  We’re all standing on the roof of our HQ, waiting for the latest member of the team to arrive.

  “I don’t remember asking for this guy,” Luke explains to Kate.

  “He’s a good candidate, Luke. Maybe there was a paperwork snafu,” she replies.

  “Honestly, I’ve been asking for new members for over a year. Ever since Stonewall left, and nothing. It’s like they want us to be underpowered. Maybe they finally listened.”

  I try to look innocent, which is easy while wearing my armor. I stifle a giggle. Maybe this is how I should do more work. I could use my own resources to hire us people to man the HQ. Right now, we have the front desk man. We could use a half dozen more people, not to mention some security. How is it the teams can have access to hi-tech equipment like the hoverbikes but not other things like security?

  There is an object approaching at high—

  Epic doesn’t get to finish. Fleet has arrived. He slides across the roof to stop in front of us, the air from his running catches up to him and blows past us like a sudden squall. Mr. Perfect puts his hands up to protect his face, Luke weathers it, and Kate simply turns her body so her hair blows behind her. I don’t have to do anything.

  Fleet’s costume or uniform, whatever you want to call it, is awesome. His top is armless, but it isn’t a tank, more like a workout shirt. It’s dark blue and outlined with light blue lightning bolts that run all the way down his pants to his shoes. His outfit is skin tight—I mean tight. You can see every detail of his musculature. I imagine it has to be since his friction field doesn’t extend much beyond him.

  Kate smiles at him as the wind dies down.

  “Welcome to Arizona, Mr. Shaw,” she says holding out her hand.

  He has very Asian features, his hair is buzz cut, and the sides have little lightning bolts cut into them. He isn’t much taller than me, which puts him even with the armor and an inch shorter than Kate.

  He smiles back at Kate and saunters over to shake her hand. I don’t know why but I expected him to use his speed.

  “It’s a pleasure,” his Boston accent is thick enough to notice.

  He goes through the team and then he gets to me.

  “Wow, I saw it on the news but this is something else.”

  I smile, even though he can’t see it through my mirrored faceplate.

  “Okay, you’ve met the team, why don’t you settle in and get some rest, we’ll go over the particulars tomorrow,” Luk
e says.

  Fleet shakes his head, “I don’t sleep. Side effect of my powers. I’m ready to rock now. I’ve been waiting for this moment for three years.”

  Epic flashes an alert on my HUD.

  There are several emergency calls at the airport. There is a man on fire attacking the planes as they take off. There may be more powered individuals but it is unclear.

  “Luk—Major,” I forget we’re supposed to use our code names when we’re in costume. Luke’s costume is a very tough looking green tiger striped vest with wide shoulder straps. On the center is the Marine Corps logo. Under it, he wears a black form-fitting long sleeve shirt. His pants are military style cargo pants with the same camo pattern as his chest piece. Boy does he love the Marines. We’re certainly a drab group. Mr. Perfect more than makes up for it with his red tuxedo and black cape and top hat.

  “Are you—” he’s interrupted by Central giving him the same report.

  “It looks like you are in for some action, Fleet. Follow my directions, don’t be hasty, and remember, protecting civilians and limiting property damage is always the priority.”

  “I’ve had the course. Tell me what you want to do and I will play it cool,” he replies.

  I like this guy more and more. I make a mental note to ask him what course he’s talking about.

  “Domino, can you port to him?” Major asks.

  “We just met—so no.”

  “She can port to me,” I tell him.

  “Fleet,” he continues ignoring me, “How long will it take you to get to the airport?” Major asks.

  The new guy slips a GPS out of his pocket and starts to type. He’s too slow for me, “Assuming three hundred is your max speed in a city, one minute thirty-one seconds. I can be there in thirty-five seconds.”