“We won’t know for sure until we examine you,” a young paramedic says. “We don’t have x-ray vision.”
“Find him first,” you say, folding your arms.
“Fire rescue will find any other survivors,” a burly police officer says. “Let these men do their job; it’s what they’re trained to do.”
“You’ll be acting against medical advice if you don’t let us look at you,” the paramedic adds.
With a sigh, you relent. This argument just wastes more time.
“My name is Sergeant Wilson. I’d like to take your statement, if you’re up to it,” the policeman says. He scratches his nose with his pen before uncapping it.
While the paramedics check your pupils and blood pressure, the radio strapped to the policeman crackles to life. A voice on the other side says, “Lab was rented out under ‘Julius Petri.’”
Sergeant Wilson frowns. “Actually, we’d better do this down at the station, just to be safe.”
• “Only if you tell me who we’re dealing with. Why does that name give you pause?”
• “Actually, I’ve done my civic duty. I’d rather go home, but feel free to call with questions.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Ironically and Erroneously
“You’re here to help?” she says, “Scissors, right? For a moment there, I thought you might be the cause of the fire.”
“I almost thought the same about you!”
“Especially after you fled from the cops after the accident. I mean, I had to go check on my kid. What’s your excuse?”
“Ummm…I didn’t want to expose my secret identity?”
She pauses for a moment, then says, “Trueché.”
“Did you just combine ‘true’ and ‘touché’ into one word?”
Catherine grins. “Look at you, flying around like that. Nice outfit, by the way! I need to get a costume….”
“You can call me The Phantom! But first, let’s go rescue these people.”
She nods. The two of you storm through the building, Catherine smashing though doors and walls like the Incredible Hulk and you pushing flaming debris out of the way. The fire doesn’t affect her skin in the least, but the smoke seems to get to her, so you shatter windows to keep the air as clear as possible.
Together, you round up those who were unable to flee, trapped in the floors above the blaze—and get them to safety. It goes smoothly, with you standing by an open window and floating each survivor down to the waiting firemen in their ladder baskets.
“Well done,” Catherine says after you’ve hovered the last man to safety.
“All in a day’s work, right?”
Then the ceiling collapses. Catherine dives toward you, shielding you from the rubble. As the floor gives out, you try to flee in panic. You fly toward the window, but a flaming bookcase comes down at the last possible second. You turn onto your back and shove at the debris; it shatters into countless pieces of flaming ash.
The resultant shockwave collapses the upper floor. As you’re smothered in ashen debris, falling through the collapsing office floor, it’s impossible to tell up from down or left from right. You can’t even breathe.
Everything goes black.
* * *
Beep….beep….beep….
When you open your eyes, you’re greeted with white ceiling tiles and harsh fluorescent lights. That beeping is your resting heart rate on the electrocardiogram machine. You’re bandaged and immobilized, encased in gauze and plaster, electrodes suction-cupped to your chest. The hospital room is otherwise empty, save for the woman standing by the window.
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 you recognize Catherine immediately.
“Who’re you supposed to be?” you ask.
Startled, she turns your way, but her expression quickly blends into a smile. “Hey there, sleepy-head. You can call me ‘Diamond.’ It was my kid’s idea—some kind of charm of invincibility or whatever. From one of his videogames. Whaddaya think?”
“I like it.”
She nods, then the smile disappears. “Well, there’s no easy way to say this. You’re going to be fine, but…”
Catherine—Diamond—grabs a handheld mirror and holds it up. You recoil when you don’t see your face in the mirror, but instead find a bandaged mummy. Slowly, she helps you remove the linens.
You expect to see a hideous monstrosity beneath, but The Phantom stares back at you, and this is somehow comforting—despite the skin that is seared and boiled around the edges of the mask. Thick pink keloid scars grip the edges of the Phantom eyepiece, which is no longer pristine white, but stained with ash.
“The doctors said if they removed the mask, they’d have to take half your face with it.”
“I am…forevermore…The Phantom.”
“Diamond and Phantom against the world? Whaddaya say, teammates? We saved all those people….Are you up for it again?”
“The…” you say meekly.
“What?”
“It’s The Phantom, not just Phantom.”
“Okay, Diamond and The Phantom against—”
The door opens and an orderly enters.
Wait, no, it’s Nick from the experiment, except he’s in all-white from head to toe. Right down to white-framed eyeglasses, hipster-thick, like white-wall tires outlining his coarse black hair. He carries a small, wrapped package; large enough to hold a bottle of wine or champagne.
“Hey, you’re up!” he cries. “Dorian White, genius extraordinaire, at your service. I made you a present; go ahead, open it up.”
Rather than reaching forward, you unwrap the gift right out of his outstretched hand, using your telekinesis to peel off the paper and open the lid of the box beneath.
“That’s fantastic…” Nick says with breathy adoration. Your face might be permanently scarred, but your powers are stronger than ever. “Careful!” Nick says as you float the contents from the box.
It’s a small, cylindrical object, what looks to be a lightsaber prop from the movie Star Wars. You slide the switch with your mind, and sure enough, a red beam of energy slides out to complete the weapon. It’s not a prop at all; this is the real thing!
“Pretty cool, huh? It works too. MIT guys theorized it was possible a few years back and once I heard that our resident Jedi was hospitalized, I thought it might be a fun challenge.”
“You built a working lightsaber in three days?” Diamond asks.
“Ah, just this morning, actually. I’ve been busy building—”
“I’ve been out for three days?” you ask.
“Yeah,” Nick says. “Scared the shit out of the hospital staff too, what with making stuff fly around the room the whole time. Catherine had to stand guard.”
“Diamond,” she corrects. “So you get a hero, who wears all black, a red lightsaber after they’ve been tragically burned and are forced to wear a mask the rest of their life? Isn’t that a bit ironic?”
“Actually, it can be several colors, see?” He twists the base of the lightsaber and the energy beam switches to blue. “And no, it’s not ironic. Coincidentally humorous, sure, but irony would be the fact that someone puts on a Phantom of the Opera mask and then gets tragically burned, forcing them to wear a mask to hide their hideous scars after the fact. No offense.”
You shrug.
“Whatever. You’re the super-genius,” she sighs.
“Okay, pleasantries aside, if we’re going to be a super-team, I should be the one to lead it. I’ve already got the Lucasfilm guys on board to rename you Phantom Menace in exchange for lightsaber rights. Those guys’ll do anything to rebrand that awful film as something positive. Once you sign off on that one, we’ve got a pretty lucrative comic book deal that’ll most certainly translate into movies, maybe even a TV thing, and that should make us financially independent eno
ugh to fight crime with all the latest gadgetry. We’ll have to put a Nike swoosh on top of that Diamond logo, but—”
“I don’t think we need a leader,” Catherine interrupts.
“The fact that you think that is exactly why I need to be the one to lead us.”
She folds her arms across her chest. They both turn to you.
• “I don’t want your toys, and I don’t want your help. Just leave me alone—both of you!”
• “Okay, you can be the leader, but I’m not going to be called Phantom Menace.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Janitors…of Justice!
“Seriously?” the clerk asks. Then, in response to your silence, he adds, “Some meth heads robbed the place a few nights back.”
“Yes!” Nick says with a fist-pump. “How do we find them?”
“Stiff Jimmy would know. He’s a pimp who works this street, and also happens to be their dealer. He’s a real asshole, but he’s a tight asshole and I doubt he’d tell you anything.”
You fold your arms across your chest. “Leave that to us. How much for the costumes?”
The clerk shrugs. “Tell you what. You take care of Fuckleberry Finn and his boys, and we’ll call it good.”
The Cleanup Crew’s first payday! You quickly put the costume on over your street clothes; a nice bonus, because that means you can carry your superhero disguise around in a backpack and change behind a dumpster when duty calls.
When you step outside, you see a man in a cheetah-print trenchcoat. He’s tall and gaunt, but not very intimidating. Especially not to you. That must be Stiff Jimmy! You walk around a black SUV parked in front of the costume shop and cross the street toward the pimp.
“Hey, Slim Jim!” Nick calls out.
The man turns and glares, but keeps walking.
“Stiff Jimmy, wait up!” you say.
Now the man starts to run. You chase him, easily catching him as he rounds the corner into an alley. He turns, panic written all over his face, and shouts, “What do you want?!”
“Are you Big Stiffy?” Nick asks.
After a moment’s hesitation, Jimmy goes for the inside of his coat and produces a handgun. Just as he fires, Nick ducks behind you. The bullet hits you with stinging pain and you angrily rush toward the shooter. With a single strike, you backhand the pimp through a brick wall.
It’s over. When you look down, you see a bullet hole in the hazmat costume, but it didn’t break the skin. You’re completely unharmed. Stiff Jimmy, however, is dead.
“Awww, how do we find the meth heads now?” Nick asks.
Almost in answer, a scream comes from the alley opening. A prostitute tugs on her feather boa before fleeing in terror, her red pumps clacking against the pavement as she runs. Nick darts out to cut her off, his hands raised in supplication.
“Hey, it’s okay. We just want to know where the party room is. Where do the kids go to shoot crystal? Hello?” He snaps his fingers in front of her face. She points to a run-down stoop nearby. That must be it!
You slap a flat palm on the door, splintering it open with ease. A trio of drug-addled men jump up, dropping glass pipes on the floor.
“Who robbed the costume shop?” Nick calls from behind, using you for cover in case another gun comes out.
A guy high enough to think he’s invincible charges at you and punches you in the face. His hand breaks from the impact and he screams and falls to the floor.
“L-leave us alone!” another meth-head yells.
Nick steps forward and puts out a hand. The man looks at his own hand in disbelief as it clenches into a fist. He then punches himself in the face repeatedly.
“Why don’t you stop hitting yourself?” Nick says, as he telekinetically forces the man to do just that.
The third man jumps up. “We don’t gotta tell you shit! You cops? Where’s your fucking badges?”
Nick releases the other meth addict, who stops punching himself, but then the college student lifts himself and floats into the air. He’s flying!
“If you don’t want to have the worst trip you’ve ever had….” Nick says before he’s interrupted.
Someone says, “Okay, that’s enough. How about you get lost, eh, fellas?”
You turn around to see a man in a black suit, holding an FBI badge. Nick lowers himself down to earth. The meth-heads take the opportunity to flee, sprinting around you and out the door.
“I’m Agent Brendan Droakam, Supersoldier Program. I was hoping I could have a word.”
You share a look with Nick.
• Grab a sack of meth crystals, slam it on the floor like an impromptu smoke grenade, and disappear!
• Hear the guy out. Maybe he wants to create a Bio-Hazard signal to shine onto the clouds whenever he needs help from The Cleanup Crew!
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Jingoism Unchained
“Oh, I haven’t killed anyone,” she says.
The handgun then floats out of the corpse’s grip and you find your own hand involuntarily rise up to greet it. You try to resist the move, even tugging at the arm with your other hand, but there’s nothing you can do.
When your hand curls around the pistol, you squeeze the trigger, blasting Bloodnight in the chest until the weapon clicks empty.
“Nelson Bloodnight murdered my husband and I was powerless to stop him. The police are in his pocket and, clearly, so are you. But you reap what you sow, and in this new world, I deliver instant karma.”
She leaps off the balcony and disappears into the night sky. You rush inside the penthouse and call the elevator, but the trio of advisors have already fled and the elevator is on lockdown.
You turn back—the mirrored sliding door to the balcony has hidden everything. From an outside perspective, you went out with the casino boss to the balcony one moment, and the next minute, he’s been shot to death, along with his security, and now you have powder burns on your hand and your fingerprints on the weapon.
Is there any way you can prove your innocence when the police arrive? Your superpowered mind thinks on overtime, but the setup is perfect. Does this state have a death penalty?
THE END
Joining Forces
“Agent Droakam, Nick Dorian. I told him all about the Supersoldier Program, and he’s in.”
The agent looks at the college student, unimpressed, then back to you. “Can I have a word alone?”
Nick nods, then steps away so you can speak with Droakam in private.
“You did the one thing I said not to.”
“Well, it was either that, or make the situation worse. What’d you want me to do, kill him in public?” you whisper, gritting your teeth.
The agent doesn’t respond, and you can tell he’s coming to terms with the new situation.
“What’s better than one supersoldier?” you ask, putting a hand on Droakam’s shoulder.
“My superiors won’t like it. Orders are orders.”
“They’ll come around.”
He nods. “I’ll make it work. We’ve got our first mission, a chance for the two of you to prove yourselves.”
“Great!”
He steps back to the center of the room. “Dorian! Welcome to the team.”
Nick walks toward you. “What the hell is this place?”
“Your new home. And as such, I’ve got a present for both of you. This is a day I’ve been waiting for my whole career. Ready for your new identities?”
Without a word, the man walks over to a crate in the corner, claims a nearby crowbar, and starts to open her up.
• Follow Nick and Agent Droakam to your new future.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Juggling Act
Saw blades and sleep darts spring from the walls, but Catherine pushes them away. Trap doors beneath the floor try to drop her, but she floats over each. Nets and bolas hope to ensnare the Shadow Priestess, but she dodges and redirects each one with the power of mind.
And she does all of this simultaneously.
>
“I’m a single mom who, until very recently worked three jobs. And you thought I couldn’t handle this?”
As she flies your way, you glance over to Nick and Baxter. Nick’s superhuman prowess gives the college student coordination on par with a parkour expert, but with combat programs active, the robot moves with dizzying speed. Still, the award for pure strength goes to the young villain who calls himself Drillbit, and the odds tip in his favor.
Baxter parries a blow, then delivers one of his own. The robot ducks in close and extends a hand as its right forearm activates and releases a potent knock-out gas through the outstretched palm. Nick’s eyes roll back and he falls to the floor, unconscious.
You turn to Catherine just in time to see a sawblade slide right through your forehead. She stops, stunned when the weapon passes right through you and leaves you unharmed. Good thing too; that would’ve hurt!
She raises both hands and pushes with all her telekinetic might. Your hologram remains unfazed, and you laugh from your secure location inside the Projection Booth. Catherine realizes she’s being tricked and turns, just in time to block a blow from Baxter.
She extends a hand to force the enemy away, and the newly installed sound-wave amplifier embedded in Baxter’s left forearm hums to life. The robot blasts concentrated sounds at Catherine, who shrieks in agony.
That’s when you notice Nick barreling down the hall. Damn! His metabolism must be astronomically high if he shrugged off the knockout gas so quickly.
“Baxter!” you shout, too late. Nick evokes his Drillbit namesake and punches two fists through the robot’s back. He comes back with handfuls of wires and machinery, and your companion falls limp at the catastrophic loss of power.
“NO!!!” you shout, rushing out of the Projection Booth to your friend’s side. You cradle the lifeless head in your hands, willing the machine to wake up.
“Please, please, please…” you repeat, holding tightly to the one intellectual equal you had in this world. Catherine puts one hand against Nick’s chest, keeping him at bay. They stare at you.
SUPERPOWERED: Are YOU a Superhero or Supervillain? (Click Your Poison Book 3) Page 22