SUPERPOWERED: Are YOU a Superhero or Supervillain? (Click Your Poison Book 3)

by James Schannep

  She picks up a car that was parked curbside in front of the bank, then starts spinning it like pizza dough. Droakam gets back up on his feet, his gun held with both hands.

  “Put the vehicle down right now! Place your hands on top of your head and face the building!”

  Catherine laughs. Better do something to diffuse the situation….

  “Wait! Look around, we’re heroes,” you say. “If you kill him, that’ll change. Let them be the villains. Today, right now, there’s nothing they can do to keep us here. Let’s just go.”

  After a moment, Catherine tosses the car back to its parking spot, though the axles give out when it smashes against the pavement. “It’s your lucky day,” Catherine says, pointing a finger at Droakam.

  Then she sprints away from the bank with inhumanly long strides while you leap into the sky.

  * * *

  Catherine eats with ravenous hunger, like a half-feral hiker just rescued. You watch, fascinated, as she downs an enormous proportion of Chinese food.

  “Do you really think Nick cracked the experiment?” she asks through a mouthful of egg foo yung.

  “Maybe,” you say. “He’s certainly smart enough. It’s possible he’s actually working with Agent Droakam now out of spite. Or it could be a bluff. Either way, we’re going to have to deal with Nick and the Supersoldier Program eventually.”

  She stands up as her third plate is cleared, and goes for more food. You consider the possibilities while she’s gone. How do you outsmart a super-genius? Another full plate of food is smacked down on the table and Catherine takes her seat.

  “And we can’t just kill ’em?” she asks while spearing forkfuls of beef-n-broccoli.

  The bill and two fortune cookies are plunked down in front of you. You look up to the server.

  “No! No more! No more for you!” a stout Chinese woman shouts, flailing her arms. The elderly woman—evidently the owner of the restaurant—jabs her fingers at Catherine.

  “It’s a buffet. All-you-can-eat,” Catherine protests.

  “No! Limit reached! No more!”

  Catherine growls. The restaurant owner leaves, offering no room for argument.

  “Wait! I’ve got it,” you say. “See these fortune cookies? What do they say?”

  She shakes her head, still frustrated at being cut off.

  “What?” she says.

  “You don’t know, right? And that’s the whole point. It’s a surprise. That’s the only way we’ll ever beat Nick. We have to surprise him, we can’t outsmart a genius. He didn’t anticipate my joining up with you; it was a surprise. To him, it was random. So…we do something totally random.”

  “Like what?”

  • “We rush the lab, right now. Unprepared, we just go for it. He’ll be caught off-guard.”

  • “We destroy the city’s power-grid. As the heroes, it’s a totally unexpected action. He won’t have any access to his mega-computer, he’ll be powerless.”

  • “We do nothing. We keep fighting crime and protecting the innocent, and we ignore Nick and Droakam. It’s the one thing he won’t expect—it’ll drive him mad!”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Freedom Fighters

  The crate is about eight feet tall, half as wide, and tapered like a coffin. Agent Droakam pries it open with the crowbar, then steps aside. Before you is a mannequin in a red, white, and blue camouflage military uniform.

  “You’re looking at what could have been the future US coalition combat uniform. Of course it’s flame-retardant and durable, but what you can’t see is that it’s smart-tech. Antennae woven into the mesh transmit and receive valuable statistics. Full bio readout available in real time. The fabric is mostly microcircuits, allowing cognitive performance analysis. All this to say, it’s a badass supersoldier suit.”

  “Two questions,” Nick says. “Why is there only one? And what’s the camouflage good for—fighting in a used-car lot on Memorial Day?”

  “The answer to both is, it’s a prototype. The color scheme was supposed to invoke patriotism and therefore a better chance at budgetary approval. Obviously, that failed. On the basic decision-making level, it’s too expensive to give our troops this level of protection.”

  “So who gets the suit?” you ask.

  “You do—you are now known as codename: Freedom Fighter. Kid, don’t worry, you’re up next.” Droakam walks over to a crate stenciled with DinoSkin Mark IV. He opens the lid to reveal a mannequin wearing an olive-green bodysuit, scaled and reptilian.

  “The newest and best in body armor,” Droakam explains. “Too expensive to be put into combat on a mass scale, but nothing else comes close. Lightweight, breathable, and incredibly durable. The scaling provides multilayer protection against gunshots or knife attack. A reinforced plate on the chest and spine provide added shock protection against explosives. But the best part? You should still be able to fly around in this thing because it’s so lightweight.”

  “Sick! What’s my codename?”

  “I’m thinking Kid Liberty.”

  “Yeah, no. Think again. Nothing with ‘kid’ in the title, and don’t name me after a woman.”

  “What about Scales of Justice?” Droakam suggests.

  “No.”

  “But get it? It’s scaled. Scales…of Justice.”

  “No, I get it, but Justice is also a female. Plus…no. Just no.”

  “We’ll worry about the name later,” Droakam says. “For now, we’ll call you Freedom Fighters as a team.”

  “You know that’s synonymous with ‘terrorists,’ right?” Nick says.

  “We’re taking it back,” Agent Droakam says firmly. “Now then, after you complete your first ‘official’ mission, we’ll be back to full funding. But that means going legitimate. Fingerprints, blood samples, background checks—standard for secret agents.”

  “Cool…”

  “Good luck with the blood sample,” you say. “I mean, if bullets can’t penetrate my skin, what chance does a needle have?”

  Agent Droakam paces back and forth, mulling it over. “It’s important before committing you to combat operations. I mean, we don’t know if there’s a kryptonite out there that would sap your strength. If we need a blood transfusion, we need samples on hand. Even better if you’re weakened; we could give you super-blood.”

  “Fair enough,” you say, “But how?”

  “What if you bite yourself?” Nick asks.

  “Kid, you’re a genius!” Agent Droakam cries.

  It works. Seemingly nothing can hurt you, save for yourself. So you go through the rigamarole of protocol: donate blood, get fingerprinted, and fill out questionnaires that go back to who your best friend was in kindergarten.

  Your stomach growls loudly near the end of the process, so Agent Droakam opens a crate of MREs—Meals Ready to Eat, the insta-food the military uses in the field. Hope he’s got more on hand, because that crate is going down tonight.

  “It’s getting late, so I think we can reconvene in the morning. In the meantime, you’ll be sleeping here. There are some cots and sleeping bags in the offices on the far side of the room for now—we’ll upgrade to beds soon. Get some sleep—first mission begins tomorrow.”

  After saying your goodnights, Agent Droakam leaves. You turn to Nick.

  • “He’s right. Let’s tuck in and hit the streets hard in the morning.”

  • “There’s no way I can sleep right now. I’m going to see what’s in all these crates.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Freeze-Frame!

  That’s it! You’ve won. You formed the Earth’s mightiest hero team and stopped the biggest threat on the planet. Peace and justice is ensured; your work is finally done. Unless, of course, the movie based on your exploits makes blockbuster money, in which case there will certainly be a sequel.

  Well done, but know this: the path you chose was only one of many. Now you can go back, try out the other powers, and make different choices. SUPERPOWERED has three unique storyli
nes with over 50 possible endings, but only one best Hero or Villain ending for each power. So, if you’re ready to give it another go, click to RESET or go to THE END for the full chapter list.

  If you enjoyed the book, it would mean a lot to me as an author if you were to leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads. As an indie writer, word-of-mouth is the true source of my power, and reviews are the #1 way to help Amazon promote a book to new readers.

  INFECTED—Will YOU Survive the Zombie Apocalypse?

  MURDERED—Can YOU Solve the Mystery?

  SUPERPOWERED—Will YOU Be a Hero or a Villain?

  PATHOGENS—More Zombocalypse Survival Stories!

  MAROONED—Can YOU Endure Treachery and Survival on the High Seas?

  SPIED (coming in 2019)—Can YOU Save the World as a Secret Agent?

  * More titles coming soon! *

  Sign up for the new release mailing list

  Or visit the author’s blog at www.jamesschannep.com

  Frightened Rabbit

  As fast as you can, you turn and fly back to the casino, dart into the nearest entrance, and sprint toward the security room and Nick.

  “Move!” you say to the pair of security guards posted outside the room.

  But they don’t. They look at one another, hoping the correct answer is on the other man’s face. You reach out and mentally squeeze each man around his testicles.

  “It’s not a request,” you say. Doubled-over and holding their manhood, the guards let you enter.

  When you rush inside, you’re greeted with an incredible sight—like you’ve just entered the belly of a mechanical whale. Wires flow everywhere. Circuitry runs in an indiscernible pattern. A mechanical arm, starting at the elbow and ending with bare metal fingers, sits suspended in a glass pneumatic tube surrounded by an ethereal blue light.

  “What the….”

  “I said I was not to be disturbed!” Nick cries, emerging from behind one of the computer terminals. “Oh, it’s you.”

  “Listen, it’s urgent. The Experi-mentor is alive!”

  Nick’s face remains still, blank. “What’s the urgent part?”

  “He’s teamed up with the FBI! They have more glass pods, like the ones used on us.”

  “Are there more superhumans?”

  You pause. “I’m not sure…”

  “Doesn’t sound urgent. If you don’t mind, I’ve got a long night ahead of me.”

  “Nick! Don’t you think we should, I don’t know, do something?”

  “I am doing something. Against the only person who could possibly stop me. And all you’re doing is slowing me down.”

  Your brow furrows. “Hmm, what’s the word for overestimating your own power?”

  The computer terminal hums to life, and a disembodied electronic-filtered voice says, “Hubris. One, an excessive pride or self-confidence; arrogance. Two, defiance of the gods in a Greek tragedy, leading to their wrath.”

  “Gods…?” you say, stunned. Siri OS-T1000 just spoke to you. What the hell has Nick been up to in here?

  “Ah, but we are the gods now, my friend,” Nick says, putting a hand on your shoulder and leading you toward the door. “It’s not hubris when you’re unbeatable, is it?”

  “That is correct,” the computer says.

  “Now get some rest and forget about these mere mortals,” Nick says. “If they choose to challenge us, they’ll be the ones in defiance of the gods.”

  • Good point. Head up to your own Mount Olympus, drink some ambrosia, and sleep soundly, like Hypnos intended.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Fugitives

  “I agree. Let’s live to fight another day,” Nick says, a decisive look on his face. “Get your DinoSkin suit, I’m going to trigger the warehouse to detonate.”

  Wait, what? Did you just hear him right?

  “The original laboratory setup came wired for self-destruct in case of a communist takeover. If we’re lucky, maybe they’ll think we’re dead.”

  Subtext being, if you’re not lucky, they’ll come to kill you. And dissect you.

  “Okay,” you say. “But where will we go?”

  “Don’t worry, I have a plan.”

  You head out to grab your personal effects and the DinoSkin suit while Nick enters a coded series of commands into the computer system. As you return, you see him pocket a thumb drive.

  “Okay, I’m giving us five minutes. We’ll want to be far enough away that it’s more of a fireworks show and less of a mortar attack.”

  The two of you run from the government warehouse, Nick sprinting hard and you flying beside him. Several blocks later, he stumbles as a great BOOM rocks the area. The night sky lights up orange and red. It’s instinctive—you both look back to the site of the explosion.

  You set back down on solid ground at the outskirts of the warehouse district, watching what’s left of the government Supersoldier Project burn. A giant piece of debris comes flying at you like a meteor strike, but you’re able to deflect it away with a mental push.

  “That was close,” you say.

  “I think we should hide out tonight and get some rest. There’s a new vacancy on that Top Ten list, and we’ll need to keep our wits about us if we’re going to stay off it,” Nick says.

  * * *

  Toast, danish, fresh fruit, coffee, oj, and all the prepackaged cereal you could ask for. On TV, a weatherman describes a cold front coming in off Mercury Bay. An elderly man sits in the corner sipping Earl Grey tea and reading the morning paper, while a family of four is two tables away.

  “The Comfort Inn. It’s no Fortress of Solitude, but it does have free continental breakfast,” Nick muses.

  “So…what’s the plan?” you ask.

  Nick opens his mouth to reply, but suddenly stops and looks up at the flat screen mounted on the wall. You turn and see what’s got his attention. The weatherman is no longer onscreen, and instead reporter Alison Argyle stands at a police barricade with a special report.

  “I’m here at the downtown Mercury Bank, where a robbery is in progress. A team of armed men have taken control of the bank, and it is believed there are hostages involved. Our analysts tell us that robberies are common during major events and crises, and after the two terrorist attacks in the warehouse district last night, police forces are spread thin.”

  Two terrorist attacks? One must have been that warehouse fire, but the other….Is that how they’re covering up your detonation? Alison Argyle turns away from the camera in response to shouts from the gathered crowd. Her cameraman pans and zooms to catch the action.

  A costumed woman runs toward the bank entrance. She wears a tight, midriff-exposing black t-shirt emblazoned with a playing-card-suit red diamond logo, fingerless gloves, and black yoga pants tucked into crimson-red boots. Her face is concealed behind a red domino mask, but as she smashes through the security doors and rushes into the bank, there can be little doubt in your mind as to who this superpowered woman truly is.

  “I bet if we teamed up with her….” you say.

  “One thing at a time,” Nick replies. “I’m sure they’re already looking into that angle too. No, I think the only way they’re ever going to leave us alone is if we give them what they want.”

  “And what’s that?”

  He pulls out a thumb drive, the same one you saw him remove from the mainframe yesterday, and holds it up for your inspection. “Why, the plans to recreate the experiment, of course,” Nick says with a smile.

  • “No way. I really don’t think we should empower the people who want to dissect us.”

  • “Wait, you actually managed to recreate the experiment? Do you really think if we give them the plans, they would leave us alone?”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Gambled, Lost

  You bust into the Planet Mercury Casino, kicking down the unlocked door and flashing your warrant. It looks a bit ridiculous, what with your star-spangled camo, Nick’s skin-tight scales, and Catherine dressed like a bystander who followe
d you in.

  “Uhhh, the boss isn’t here right now,” a bruiser in a black suit says.

  “Likely story,” Nick says.

  “Let’s talk to the head of security,” Catherine demands.

  “Mr. Halifax isn’t here either.”

  “Okay, get me the floor manager. Whoever’s in charge of operations.”

  The bruiser scratches the back of his head nervously. “That would be Mr. Stockton, and he’s not here, either.”

  “This is a federal warrant,” you say. “If you’re lying to us….”

  “Where’s Bloodnight’s personal assistant?” Catherine demands.

  “Su-Young? She’s with the boss.”

  “Who the hell’s in charge?” you growl.

  “Me,” the man says through a swallow.

  “That means they’re all on the goddamned yacht!” Nick cries.

  That’s when an urgent beeping on your belt sets off. It appears the belt-buckle on your super-suit is actually a high-tech pager. When you disconnect the pager, an armored cover slides back to reveal an LCD screen beneath. It reads: Distress Signal Active: Return to HQ

  “Not necessarily,” you say, showing them the screen. “I think Droakam’s in trouble…”

  “They were waiting for us to leave!” Catherine cries.

  • Hurry back to the warehouse!

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Get Bent!

  Rather than telling Nick off, you show him the tablet that controls your lair’s electrical system. “Many of the features are already installed,” you explain. “For example, a convenient garbage disposal system—waste is sent directly into a subterranean landfill. As this was an abandoned mine, the air down there is toxic. So anything hazardous can be sent to rot underfoot.”

  “What’s your point?” Nick asks.

  “This.” You move to a man-sized safety platform disguised as a nook for an electric torch, press the command, and the entire hallway flips 180 degrees. Nick falls into the toxic caverns below.