Identify With
So…did you forget about all those cameras that saw your face during a robbery? Or all the public witnesses? Or the fact that they just used your name on television? Yeah, there’s no chance that they’ll think you’re someone else.
At trial, your lawyer will try to claim that the crimes against humanity were perpetrated by a shapeshifting alien who took on your appearance, but with lack of evidence, the prosecution is able to convince a jury that your powers were temporary and simply “wore off.”
Nick pretended he too was powerless, and later escaped from prison when the keys floated into his cell and the guards all found their guns didn’t work. Catherine was later arrested attempting to assault a federal facility and rescue her son.
THE END
Idle Hands
Though your heart threatens to pound right out of your chest, you do your best to relax. It’ll be okay, there’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just you, three chairs, a notebook, and a coffee-drenched interrogation room.
Despite any paranoid thoughts you may have to the contrary, they don’t rush in to shoot you, at least not yet. In fact, you’re left alone for the better part of an hour with nothing to do but watch the coffee dry.
“We’ve sent for…a specialist,” Sergeant Wilson’s voice comes in over the intercom. “In the meantime, I brought dinner. Please face the wall opposite the mirror and place your hands on your head.”
Are they afraid of you? You comply, take a step toward the far wall and touch your hair. As the door opens, you look back, and it slams closed in a hurry. They are afraid of you, aren’t they?
On the floor by the entry sits a cafeteria-style tray with your dinner: Steamed broccoli, chicken breast, and a lump of mashed potatoes. There are no utensils.
But you know why they’re afraid of you, don’t you? Deep down, you know that stuff flying around didn’t just happen. You reach out with your mind and the tray shudders at first, but then with more conviction you tell it to rise. It floats off the ground, and hovers before you.
Cool.
How about some broccoli? A single piece comes off the tray and into your mouth just by force of will. Chewing, you turn to see one of the overturned chairs. With the tray steady, you summon a chair to settle in place behind you and take a seat.
Life just got interesting, you think. Very interesting.
* * *
Some hours later, the door opens and a man walks in. He’s of average height, square-jawed and muscular, with the short-cropped hair of a military man. Yet he wears plaid golf knickers and a polo shirt.
“I apologize for my attire. I got on the first flight I could. I’m Agent Brendan Droakam of the FBI. Do you mind if I sit down?”
You smirk. Why not mess with the guy? One of the chairs rises up and scoots in behind him in response to your thoughts.
But he isn’t fazed. “Were you a telekinetic before the incident?”
Either his candor catches you off-guard or you can’t think of a reason to lie, because before you have a chance to mull it over, you find you’re shaking your head.
“Send in the other one!” He calls out to the mirror, then adds, “You don’t mind, do you?”
Nick enters the room and the door locks behind him. The Agent introduces himself once more to the college student. “Don’t you want to get him a chair?” Agent Droakam says to you.
Is this a test? Too late to pretend you don’t have powers now….You bring up a chair for Nick using force of mind.
“Fantastic,” Nick says. “So that must mean you’re here to take us to Area 51?”
Agent Droakam smiles. “Unfortunately, I don’t have the resources that popular television would have you believe. Sure, paranormal investigations were popular in the 1950s, but the budget was slashed until, well, now it’s just me. They jokingly call me ‘Crank Division’ because the job was essentially investigating hoaxes.”
“Looks like you’ve had a lot of time for golf,” Nick says.
He nods. “But now that I have you—”
“Have us?” you say.
“Sorry, not like that. I’m not going to hold you against your will, but I won’t lie to you—either we’ll be working together or that’ll be me in the ‘flower shop van’ outside your house for the rest of your life.”
“Hang on a second,” Nick says. “I didn’t agree to this. I’m just a normal guy with a normal life. My parents will kill me if I drop out of school. I’m the first in my family to go to college.”
“I see,” Droakam says. “Well, don’t leave town without checking in. It’s possible your abilities haven’t manifested yet, or we may need to call you in during our attempts to recreate the experiment.”
“Recreate the experiment?” you repeat.
“Of course. You’re the first real, concrete case of a superhuman in recorded history. We need to find out why it is you do what you do. I’ve got a team bringing the wreckage from the laboratory to our own facility and—”
“Wait,” Nick interrupts. “If you’re going, I’m going. I may not be able to summon chairs, but there’s something different about me too. I…understand things. My mind, it’s like I’m thinking on overdrive. I can help.”
“I don’t want to discuss too much right now,” the Agent says, casting a glance over his shoulder to the mirror, “but a pair like you could offer a lot in service to your country.”
• “Absolutely not.”
• “Okay, let’s go see what you’re all about.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
If You Believe in Magic…
…then this is the one time you’re wholly in the right as an audience member. For this magician—“The Great How-dini”—actually has magical superpowers!
Okay, so it was the best name you could come up with on short notice and some guy was already “Howdy Doodat.” The Final Countdown by Europe plays as the curtain rises. That’s your cue! You strut out onstage to mild applause and start with a burst of showmanship. You point to the right, a sparkler cannon erupts. To the left, another comes to life.
Not that this is telekinesis; you use “conventional” stage effects so the judges don’t get suspicious. No smoke or mirrors here, folks.
You pull out a deck of cards (they had plenty available in the stockroom), and start to shuffle—with flair! Dancing around the stage, you clap your hands over your head in hopes the audience will join in. A few do, but it’s a tepid response.
Time to ramp it up.
The next time you clap, you leave a rainbow of cards in an arch above your head. Then you bring your hands together once more and perfectly collapse the cards back into the deck. After three or four “floating” claps, the audience picks up their appreciation.
Now they keep the beat, so you bring your hands back to your sides and let the cards flow out, commanding them to orbit you. You can feel each card as it floats through the air, the energy field around them, and an energy field around you.
With the power of mind, you reach out and lift yourself. You’re flying! The audience lets out a collective gasp and now the applause picks up. Having fun with it, you let the cards “escape” in a steady stream out over the audience before flying after them, plucking each card out of the air one-by-one. You fly over the crowd to deafening cheers and applause.
Landing back on-stage, you’re greeted with a standing ovation. That’s five grand in the bag! You take a bow and head backstage. The next performer stares wide-eyed, and then a sinking realization manifests in a frown across in face. There’s no way he can compete with the show you just put on.
“Goddamnit,” he says. He drops his wand and top hat; a rabbit hops out.
You can’t help but smile. What better cover for someone with superpowers than a profession that pretends it has superpowers? Anyone who suspects you’re actually capable of magic will either be too embarrassed to say anything or be branded as a fool if they do. And if your mild-mannered alter-ego gets paid $5k a night, all the be
tter.
But then again, you’d be sacrificing your anonymity. Is it better to hide in plain sight or disappear into the crowd?
• That was fun, but I’ve got my sights on bigger fish. Time to head into the casino.
• Yeah, I just found my new career. Let the Magical Mystery Tour begin!
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Incognito
Whew, finally. All the cash sits piled in your coat closet, full to bursting. Anyone who opens the door would get swept away in a tidal wave of green and gold. Okay, what’s next? Time for a plan!
Your stomach growls. Time to get something to eat, then time for a plan. Better head downtown before the wanted-posters plaster your face around town.
Though money is no object, you don’t go to one of the fancier restaurants. You’ve seen the billboards; about three ounces of meat drizzled in gold dust or something—no, you’ve got an appetite these days, and you need a place that can match it.
Maybe one of those Korean BBQs where they pile the food so generously that they actually charge you extra if you don’t finish the meal? Yeah, either that, or a buffet. That’s your world these days. If you ever get an arch-nemesis, his name will probably be Famine. You don’t even want to know what life would be like after a few missed meals.
Something catches your eye across the street, red and flowing like a matador’s cape. An attractive young woman’s dress flies up and she struggles to keep it down, blushing in the process and evoking the famous poster of Marilyn Monroe. She moves away and the effect stops, but there was no vent beneath her. In fact, it’s just an ordinary sidewalk. How odd.
One of her friends—all of whom are laughing in disbelief—steps over onto the same concrete square to test out the effect and instantly finds her own skirt up over her waist. She quickly holds down the fabric and steps away, now embarrassed and concerned about who might have seen her panties for that brief moment.
A stout, weathered grandma, the kind who wears a babushka, then steps onto the same concrete square. Nothing happens.
That’s when you notice Nick leaning against a nearby lightpost, grinning like a fiend. He flicks his fingers and the older woman’s hat flies off and begins to tumble down the street under the force of a telekinetic wind.
Nick laughs.
• Keep walking. He’s king of his own world right now and so am I, but there’s only room for one Emperor of Earth!
• Go say, hi. Nick’s already up to no good, and you’d better start forming your pool of henchmen if you’re to be an effective supervillain.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Infamous
The nightly news just wrapped, so you’ve got to hurry if you’re to bring Catherine’s evil twin to the station in time. A public death will make the biggest splash, and images of Diamond bursting into the news station should spread across the news waves faster than the fear of Ebola.
News station K-HAN is in a downtown high-rise, and Doomsday’s “Maximum Collateral Damage Provision” means the robot throws cars through the windows of buildings, rips statues off their bases, kills innocent bystanders, and generally ravages through Mercury City like a tornado—destroying everything in its path. You fly above the robot, an aerial harbinger of the death on the street below.
By the time you make it to the TV station, word of “Supa-gurl’s” rampage has already arrived and news cameras are ready for you. The station’s chopper illuminates your floating form, plastering your mug on live national TV.
Shit.
The plan was for Catherine to be vilified, not you. What were you thinking, accompanying Doomsday Device on its very public mission?
The robot smashes through the building’s façade, leaving a body print slightly bigger than the holographic projection of Diamond that appears to rush inside. You cover your face, wondering how the hell you’re going to get out of this one, but it’s less than five minutes before one of the upper floors explodes outwards, revealing what appears to be Catherine Woodall holding the limp body of the city’s famed television reporter.
* * *
You’re vilified as “Supa-gurl’s” evil sidekick and equally hunted by the police and military. Nick disappears and you never see him again. Did the real Catherine discover his plans and take revenge? Did he distance himself from you?
Doesn’t much matter. Your face was onscreen clear as day, and it didn’t take long to identify you. Either Doomsday was left to plague the city as evil-Catherine, or the real Catherine turned evil after being vilified, because she quickly became the city’s biggest villain.
You, on the other hand, went to Brazil to escape extradition. There are some rather extensive crime rings down there and someone with your particular…talents…is able to do quite well for yourself. You’ll never see your home again, but it’s not so bad.
THE END
In a Single Bound
You leap into the air and soar to the top of the building. In flight, you shed the sweats and let them fall to the pavement below, revealing the DinoSkin beneath. No point in standing on ceremony. The homeless man below picks up the clothes like manna from heaven, adding them to his cart.
Grit crunches beneath your feet when you set down. Several exhaust ports dot the rooftop, steam rising from one, and a single door leads to the main part of the building. You tug at the handle, but it’s locked.
Using force of mind, you imagine the bolt on the other side. You shimmy the handle to get a good mental picture of the lock, then steady yourself and concentrate. With a mental twist of the mechanism, you psychically unlock the door.
Keeping the element of surprise, you gently pull open the door, wincing at each creak, and slip inside. No guard posted up here.
The hallway is cold and dark, with a single bulb to illuminate the stairs. Floating an inch above the stairs, you stealthily make your way from the roof access to the penthouse. Voices echo from levels further down, but it seems the Big Man is left to himself—assuming he’s behind the door ahead: apartment 14.
With a deep breath, you twist the doorknob and open the door. It’s unlocked.
Classical music plays softly. Incense burns. The man from the FBI photos—Roger Aleister Kingsley—sits at a massive desk, scrawling over ledgers, a glass of port wine by his side and a cigarette extended by a slim holder dangling in his fingertips.
Kingsley looks up.
“What in the bloody hell are you supposed to be?” he asks in a thick, noble-blooded English accent. Not waiting for an answer and sensing the danger of your purpose, he reaches into the top drawer of the desk and rises with a nickel-plated handgun.
As he raises the weapon he shouts, “Gua—!”
But he barely gets the first half of the word out before he chokes, drops the weapon and cigarette, and grasps at his throat, clawing with both hands. There’s nothing he can do; you’ve got his windpipe closed. You let up on your telekinetic grip, allowing him a wheezing breath, but only enough to keep him alive.
• Walk him downstairs as a hostage.
• Fly off the roof with him.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Into the Blaze
Before he can finish, you dart out of the building and leap into the sky, flying high above the warehouse district. Wind whips at you from Mercury Bay, but you’re completely in control. The sunset is beautiful up here. Sirens wail in the distance. From this vantage point you can see the billowing smoke from the warehouse fire only a few blocks away.
You arrive at the burning warehouse before any emergency vehicles, and immediately see the source of the blaze—one of the loading bays has been blown open. Three vans are parked nearby, with HiT stenciled on the side of each. The fire glimmers off their paint with menace. Most likely, this is the attackers’ transport.
Not waiting for police or firefighter reinforcements, you dive down into the building, performing a barrel-roll as you go. Coming to hover inside, you take a moment to soak in the scene.
Three teams of six men stare up at you, n
ot one of them trusting their eyes. Blink. Blink. So you just stare at one another. Everyone is frozen; transfixed.
One team is obviously security, and each of the half dozen men holds a submachine gun. The other two teams were loading up supplies onto carts. Electronic equipment, cables, computer terminals, and….
Three glass pods about the size of a phone booth.
Everything they’re loading you’ve seen before, in that lab experiment. Who are these people? Before you get a chance to ask, things turn violent.
The security team opens fire while the others take cover. Unlike movie villains, these guys are competent with their weapons. One of them wings you. You fall to the ground behind a crate. You touch your shoulder; your hand comes away bloody.
Angry, you look up and grab the nearest guard. He rises in the air and lets out a Wilhelm scream as you fling him across the warehouse.
More shots ring out, caught by the crates around you. You’re outgunned and outnumbered.
In a bid for survival, you leap up and soar towards the flaming exit, but the guards catch you like hunters waiting for a bird to flush from the bushes. Several bullets catch you in the back and you fall to the floor.
You lose consciousness just as the men swarm around you. Perhaps you weren’t quite ready for this.
THE END
Into the Fold
Nick agrees to stay as well. An ambulance arrives first, then a squad car, a fire engine, two more police cruisers, and a second ambulance. Despite your protests, the paramedics insist on taking your vitals.
“I’m perfectly fine. There was a man here—a scientist—who could be dying as we speak. He needs your attention, not me!”
SUPERPOWERED: Are YOU a Superhero or Supervillain? (Click Your Poison Book 3) Page 21