Omega Superhero 1: Caped

by Darius Brasher

  I landed behind the men. Three black, one Hispanic. Now that I was closer, I could see they were young. Closer to boys than men. Nonetheless, they towered over the struggling woman. I stretched my hands out. With my powers, I yanked the two young men closest to me off the woman and backwards, off their feet. They yelped in sudden surprise. I sent them sailing through the air past me, towards the opposite alley wall. Their shouts stopped like they had been turned off with a switch when the men slammed hard against the wall. I released them, letting them fall into the heaping piles of garbage below them. Though I did not turn to look, I used my powers to make sure they were no longer threats. One of them was still. The other rolled weakly in the filth a bit.

  Cursing, one of the two remaining men rushed at me. I stepped in towards his attack, creating a force field around my fists to avoid injuring them. I hit him with a left jab that was made all the more powerful thanks to the man’s forward momentum. The punch rocked him back. I followed up with a right cross that landed on the underside of his chin with a thud. The man’s head was flung to the side. He collapsed heavily on the ground like a felled tree.

  I turned my full attention to the sole remaining man. He frantically reached into the waistband of his jeans. He pulled out a pistol. He pointed it at me. The silver-plated gun glinted a bit in the moonlight. The gun shook a little in the man’s hand. Adrenaline, fear, or both? Regardless, the look on the man’s face clearly said he thought he had the drop on me.

  He said, “I’m gonna pop a cap in your ass you freak motherfu—” The man’s bravado was interrupted by my powers. His gun hand flew up towards his face, like he was puppet with his strings suddenly and violently jerked up. I of course was the puppeteer. The gun hit the guy square in the nose with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed out. The man screamed. The sound was somewhat muffled by his now ruined nose. He dropped the gun, bending over and pressing his hands to his bleeding face. The gun clattered on the ground. I sent it skittering away from the man with my powers. I didn’t think he even noticed. He was too busy clutching his face, shrieking like a little girl. It was hard to look like a tough guy when you were wailing like a spanked baby.

  I spread my left hand open into a claw, visualizing choking the bleeding man. The man’s screams abruptly stopped. He suddenly straightened as my power exerted itself around his neck. He was lifted onto the tips of his toes as I choked him with my powers. I pressed hard into the sides of his neck, cutting off the flow of blood to his brain through his carotid arteries. Gasping, his eyes bulging, the man clutched at his throat, trying to free himself from hands that were not there.

  The man’s struggling and twitching got weaker and weaker. In just a few seconds, it stopped all together. His eyes fluttered closed. His arms dropped limply to his sides. I released my hold on him. I just wanted to knock him out, not give him brain damage or kill him. He fell heavily to the ground. He did not move. I could had lowered him gently, but I was not inclined to be gentle with someone who attacked a woman and pulled a gun on me.

  The whole fight lasted no longer than a minute, and probably not even close to one. Other than the moaning, barely conscious guy I had flung against the wall, the alley was now quiet other than the loud gasping of the woman.

  Wide-eyed at my sudden appearance and what she had just witnessed, the woman pressed herself against the alley wall as if she was trying to merge into it and disappear. She stared at me like I was a strange dog who might turn on her. Her chest heaved. It was the first time I got a good look at her as I was too busy dealing with her attackers before. She was white, maybe in her mid-twenties, with shoulder length brown hair. She had pale skin, though her face was blotched with red spots as she gasped for air. Red lipstick was smeared wildly around her mouth, making her look a little clownish. She was pretty even in her panicked state, and a little on the heavy side. Neha, never one to mince words, would have said she was overweight; the Old Man would have said she was voluptuous; Isaac would have said with appreciation that she was thicker than a bowl of oatmeal. Her clothes looked expensive and stylish. One of her high-heeled shoes was off, gone who knew where. Her black skirt was scrunched up high on her bare shapely legs. Her maroon blouse was ripped open, exposing a white bra and deep milky cleavage. I realized I was staring at her chest. I tore my gaze away, forcing myself to look her in the eye.

  “Are you all right?” I asked her. She did not respond. Her eyes frantically scanned me from head to toe. In addition to my red cape, I had my mask on and my Academy uniform, over which I had thrown a blue hoodie. The hood was up over my head because I had thought it made me look older and more intimidating.

  “I’m a Hero. I’m not going to hurt you. Are you all right?” I repeated. The woman’s eyes lingered on my cape for a moment. She looked at the four guys on the ground. Finally, she nodded. Fat tears started to roll down her cheeks. Her body lost a little of its rigidity. She took a step away from the wall and towards me. She looked down, realizing how exposed she was. She tugged her skirt back down. She pulled her ripped blouse closed and held the fabric together in one hand.

  “I was on my way home from a bar. I walked past those guys, and they pulled me in here. I don’t know what they would have done to me if you hadn’t saved me,” she said. Her voice shook a little. It was higher than I would have expected. She sounded younger than she was. She managed to muster a slight smile. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” The Old Man’s orders to not use my powers and stay at the mansion while he was gone still rang in my ears. Though I felt guilty about disobeying the Old Man, I still felt pretty good. It was only the first night after the Old Man, Neha, and Isaac had left for their secret space mission, and I had already managed to help someone.

  “I’ll stay here with you until the police arrive,” I said to the woman. Using my communicator wristband, I called 911. I quickly described the situation to the dispatcher, and gave her our location. Meanwhile, the woman looked around and spotted her purse, which lay just a few feet away. Apparently the men who had attacked her were more interested in her than they had been in it. She hobbled over to it in her single shoe. She rifled through it. Since her hands were busy, her ripped blouse fell open. With an effort, I averted my gaze from her chest again, embarrassed. This woman was a victim, not someone I should be ogling. In my defense, she was the first female I had interacted with in a while. Well, there was Neha, as well as the female Academy trainees I had spent so much time with. And there was Athena, of course. But, those women were Metas. Comrades. This woman was a girl. Being around an attractive woman, even in this context, made me nervous. The Academy and the Old Man had taught me how to act as a Hero, not how to act around girls. Especially not one built as generously and as well as this one was.

  The woman looked up from her purse. Her eyes were blue. She had stopped crying. She seemed calmer now. She held up a wallet she had pulled from her purse. “Can I give you some money? You know, as a reward.”

  “No thanks. I did not help because I’m looking for money.”

  She stuck her wallet back into her purse. “I didn’t think you had. It just seemed like I should do something other than simply thank you.” She pulled a smartphone out of her purse. “If I can’t give you something, can I take something? A photo with you. I’ve never met a real-life Hero before.” She suddenly seemed shy.

  I was looking for publicity. Besides, she was cute. “Sure, why not?” I said. I walked over to stand next to her. She pressed up close against me. If she was aware her blouse was open, she did not seem to care anymore. I felt the softness of her breast against my arm. She smelled faintly of perfume. Something floral. My heart beat faster than it had when I had disposed of her attackers. The woman stretched her arm out and took a photo of us together.

  I blinked away the brightness of the camera’s flash in time to see hear the wail of approaching sirens. Soon the flash of police lights appeared at the mouth of the alley. Since I was not actually a licensed Hero and was breaking t
he law by using my powers, I had no interest in sticking around to talk to the cops. It was time to go. Besides, I had just picked up in my earbud which was tuned to the police band a new alert. There was an armed robbery in progress in the southeastern part of the city.

  I rose into the air. The woman craned her neck to look up at me. Her blouse was still open. I am not ashamed to admit I got a good bird’s-eye view of her considerable assets. I did not look away this time. I might be an Omega-level Meta, but I was still an eighteen-year-old guy. I was not made of stone.

  “I don’t even know your name,” the woman cried up to me.

  “The name is Kinetic. Yours?”

  “Amanda.”

  “Tell the police about me, Amanda. Tell your friends too,” I said. Amanda’s scent lingered in my nostrils. The side of my body she had pressed up against felt warm. Say something cool, say something cool, I urged myself.

  “Have a good night citizen,” I said instead. Ugh! I winced as soon as the words were out of my mouth. I streaked off into the night sky towards the southeast before Amanda could see me flush with embarrassment.

  Why didn’t you go full dork and say “Up, up, and away!”? I thought sarcastically as I zoomed towards the armed robbery call.

  I really needed to work on a good catchphrase.

  ***

  Four grueling days later, I sat in the Information Room of the mansion in front of its bank of large monitors. It was a couple of hours before midnight. I would go out on patrol yet again in a few hours. Despite the fact I had not gotten much sleep over the past few days, I was wired. My crime fighting spree in Washington, D.C. and the surrounding area was bearing fruit.

  The bank of monitors bathed me in light and sound. They were tuned to various news channels and to social media sites. I had wanted to attract the media’s attention, and had succeeded in doing so. I had already gotten the attention of local media a couple of days ago, but it was the fire at Georgetown University in D.C. I had helped fight yesterday that had finally gotten me national attention. Though I had not known it at the time, Dwight Gomez, one of the students I had saved from being burned alive, was the son of a United States Senator. That Senator was also the front-runner for the Democratic nomination for the Presidency. Focusing on Dwight, the news only made passing mention of the other twenty-six students I had saved from the fire. Yes, all men were created equal, but being the son of a prominent Senator made you even more equal than others.

  I was also trending on Twitter and Facebook. Well, not me Theodore Conley. Kinetic was. A thread about Kinetic had also made it to the front page of Reddit. Then I noticed a segment about me entitled “Hero or Rogue?” was about to air on CNN. I muted the other monitors so I could hear it:

  “Over the past week, a new Metahuman has made his presence felt in Washington, D.C. and the surrounding suburbs,” came the voice of a male reporter. A picture of me in my mask and cape filled the screen. I realized it was the picture I had taken with Amanda. I saw something in the picture. I leaned closer to the screen and squinted at it. Could it be? Yes, it not only could be, it was. I had a giant zit on my chin in the picture. Sheesh. Of course I did. I did not know how in the world I had not noticed it the night I had taken the picture with Amanda. The zit looked like Mount Vesuvius about to erupt.

  “This new Metahuman goes by the name Kinetic,” the reporter intoned. His voice snapped me out of beating myself up for not taking better care of my skin. In my defense, I had a lot on my mind. Slathering myself with Clearasil was not exactly high on my to-do list. “Since this image was first taken of him last Tuesday night, Kinetic has foiled a multitude of assaults, burglaries, robberies, and carjackings. He has also saved many lives, including that of Dwight Gomez from a fire at the dorms of Georgetown University in D.C. last night. Mr. Gomez is the son of Michael Gomez, the U.S. Senator representing the state of New Mexico. Here is some footage of Kinetic’s activities at that fire, filmed by a student with her cell phone.” The footage showed me rocketing through a window of the burning dormitory. I flew out a few seconds later with a sooty and coughing Dwight floating in front of me. I had not known I was being filmed at the time it happened. I was satisfied to see the footage was a nice clear depiction of me and my powers in operation. My vanity told me I looked positively heroic with my mask on and my cape flapping majestically behind me. Best yet, the footage did not get a close enough look at my face to pick up any blemishes. I did not think of myself as particularly vain, but what person in his right mind wanted to look a hot mess on television?

  “No one we have contacted for comment in the Hero community has ever heard of Kinetic, which begs the question of whether he is a properly licensed Hero or is a Rogue using his powers illegally. We reached out to the Heroes’ Guild to ask if Kinetic is licensed. Ghost, the Guild’s chief investigator, refused to either confirm or deny Kinetic’s licensing status. He said that, and I quote, ‘Commenting publicly about a Metahuman’s license status is against the regulations of the Heroes’ Guild.’ The D.C. Metropolitan Police has informed me they are on the look-out for Kinetic so they can question him regarding whether or not he is properly licensed. Regardless of whether Kinetic is in compliance with the Hero Act of 1945, some members of the D.C. community do not seem to care in light of Kinetic’s recent flurry of activity.” The screen cut away from a replay of the footage of me at the Georgetown University fire. The tall form of Senator Gomez walking down the halls of the U.S. Capitol now filled the screen. He was surrounded by reporters.

  “As a Senator sworn to uphold the law, I know I am supposed to withhold judgment on Kinetic until it is determined whether or not he is licensed in compliance with the Hero Act,” Senator Gomez said to the reporters as he walked. He stopped, and looked directly into the camera. “But, speaking as a father, I don’t care if Kinetic is technically a Hero or a Rogue. All I know is that he saved my boy’s life, plus the lives of many other parents’ sons and daughters. That makes Kinetic a hero in my book.”

  I had seen and heard enough. I hit a button that shut all the monitors off. I stood up, yawned, and stretched. Sitting and watching the monitors had taken some of the edge off of me being wired. I was suddenly exhausted. I had not gotten a full night’s rest in days. I had been too busy rushing around thwarting every crime I could find and saving every person I could. Frankly, I did not feel like going out on patrol again tonight. I would go anyway. “A man does what he has to do, whether he feels like it or not,” came the words of Dad floating to the top of my mind. Another Jamesism. I had gotten heartily sick of all of his sayings when he had been alive. What I would have given to hear him tell me more of them. I would have hung on his every word like a groupie hangs on the words of a rock star.

  I was engaged in this flurry of crime-fighting for Dad. Sure I enjoyed the fact I was helping people. But to be honest, that was not my primary purpose. My primary purpose was to make as big of a splash as possible so I would attract Iceburn’s attention. I did not know where he was, and had no idea how to go about finding him. But, if I drew enough attention to myself in the media, he would be able to see where I was. Maybe he would find me. He had done it twice before. I hoped to lure him into making a move against me again.

  This time, I was ready for him. Or, so I hoped.

  Bait was on the hook, and my line was in the water. Now, I just waited for my fish to come along and take a bite.

  CHAPTER 29

  I looked at my handiwork with satisfaction. It had been a bit of a struggle at first, but I had pulled it off. It was a job well done.

  I got up out of my crouch and stood up straight. My cape rustled as I did so. My hands were filthy. I clapped them together in a vain attempt to clean them off some. My back felt tight from me being bent over for so long. I resisted the urge to stretch it out. There were people across the street, filming and taking pictures of me with their phones. They were memorializing a hero in action. Stretching did not look heroic.

  I stepped up onto the sidewa
lk. “Looks like you’re all set,” I said to the woman I had come to the aid of. Her name was Mrs. Wilson. She looked like what would come up on your computer if you did a Google search for “little old lady.”

  “I don’t know what I would have done without you,” Mrs. Wilson said with gratitude. Despite her age, her voice was clear and strong. Her thin white hair was up in a bun, and her shoulders were slightly stooped. Her blue eyes were huge, magnified by her thick glasses. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  “I’m just glad I was here to help.”

  Mrs. Wilson glanced at the people across the street filming the incident. She shook her head in disgust.

  “All these people, and not a single one of them lifted a finger to help an old woman change her tire,” she said. “They’re more than happy to gawk when a superhero stops to do it, though. Other than people like you, are there no gentlemen left?”

  “What is the world coming to?” I asked in agreement.

  We were in Adams Morgan, a neighborhood in the northwest quadrant of Washington, D.C. It was dusk. In a little while the streets would be much busier than they were now as Adams Morgan had a thriving nightlife. I had been flying by on patrol when I had spotted Mrs. Wilson down below, struggling to change her own flat tire. I had landed and asked her if I could help. Thanks to the conspicuousness of my mask and cape and my newfound fame, a bit of a crowd had gathered as I changed the tire.

  Once I had loosened the frozen lug nuts, changing the tire had been a snap. I knew all about changing tires. Not because of the Academy. There were no automotive maintenance classes there. Dad had taught me how to change a tire before he even taught me how to drive. Thanks to him, I also knew how to change oil and do routine car repairs. If I got a car, I would not need a mechanic. If I ever bought a Kineticmobile, I was ready.

  Kineticmobile? Huh. I could work on the car itself, but the name still needed work.

  “In my day, things were different,” Mrs. Wilson was saying. “Back then, men would go out of their way to help someone. Now they won’t spit on you if you’re on fire. And the women were women. Now they’re part woman, part man, and half monster. It’s shameful.”