“This pile of intricately painted paper is all it will take to bring them out of hiding?” Baxter asks.
“It’s not the paper, it’s what it represents. You understand how money works, don’t you?”
“Of course. It is a shared hallucination. Humanity has collectively agreed to hold a worthless resource above all other resources in order to give it value. Yes?”
“Something like that…”
“Ah, here they come, exactly as predicted!”
You turn to see a woman in a black cloak, the hood pulled down low over her face, walking next to Nick. The college student wears the same blue handyman uniform as in the news footage.
“Drillbit and Shadow Priestess, I presume,” you say.
“And you?” Nick says.
“You can call me Dr. Nobel.”
Nick nods. “Okay, we’re here. What do you and your toy want?”
“I am Baxter.”
You get to your feet and point to the pile of money with a sweep of your arm. “I wanted to show you that one doesn’t need to steal to be rich. That you don’t need to take to have power. You want money? You want influence? I can give you both. What I truly offer, however, is a chance at redemption. If you join me and help make the world a better place, the mayor is prepared to give you clemency.”
Drillbit stands aside and the Shadow Priestess steps forward.
“Just one question,” she says. “Where’d you get the money?”
• “Donated by the Planet Mercury Casino, simply because I asked for it. How’s that for power?”
• “The money isn’t the point. I’ve cured cancer! I’ve created artificial intelligence! With your skills added to my own, there’s no limit to what we could achieve as a team.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Omnicide
Catherine turns to you, horror-stricken, and says, “Two shots per charge, remember?”
“I’ll keep him busy! Just like Drillbit! C’mon!” you shout.
You charge at Nick, ready to battle titan vs. titan, just like you did with this world’s version of him, but the Nick from your world just picked up a major upgrade. With a flat palm, he stops you in your tracks. He opens his other hand toward Catherine and she explodes in a fireworks show of viscera.
Nick’s evil grin widens and he rockets into the air, dragging you with him in his telekinetic grasp. You’re powerless as he soars into the sky, taking you higher and higher.
Blue sky gives way to black space and Nick suddenly stops his flight, instead focusing on you. He slingshot-launches you into orbit, sending you sprawling away from this earth and all like it. You survive the fiery friction of atmospheric ejection, but the cold vacuum of space—and its lack of oxygen—is too much. Without the telekinetic flying ability, you can’t bring yourself down to safety.
THE END
On a Super-Walkabout
You leave your low-rent apartment, this time taking the stairs. After all, the elevator is still broken, and incognito is the name of the game today, so no flying.
It’s early enough that it’s still late for some. Up ahead, you see a pimp and his whore.
“You holdin’ out on me, bitch?” He holds her against a wall at knife-point. “You took in more, I know it. How many dicks you suck, huh? This ain’t a fuckin’ charity, honey.”
A few people are on the street, but they quickly leave—ducking into shops or turning onto other streets—not their problem.
• Pbshhh. Not my problem, either. Keep walking.
• Rush in and pull the knife from his hand.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
One-Hit Wonder
“Well, I’m not sure I can let you go around killing people, even if it is in the name of justice,” the man says.
“That was an accident!” you protest. “I couldn’t help it. You might as well arrest me for stepping on an ant.”
“Careful now, you’re heading into supervillain territory with talk like that.”
He’s got you there. After a moment, you say, “I will be careful, in the future, I mean. See you later.”
“Yes, you will. I’ll be following you, documenting your every move.”
“Good point,” you say. Then you walk over to the SUV and shove it onto its side.
“Hey!” the agent shouts as you sprint away.
After a few effortless minutes, you’ve left the agent several miles in the dust. FBI Supersoldier Program? Ridiculous! As Rock Star, you’re kind of de-facto anti-war anyhow, right?
Up ahead, half of the Mercury City Fire Department mans a roadblock. What’s going on? As a City native, you rarely look up at the skyscrapers, so it’s no wonder you didn’t notice the roaring fire high in the air. An entire floor, two-thirds up a building, is engulfed in flames.
You sprint through the barricade, ripping it apart like ribbon-tape at the finish line. Several firemen fall back and out of your way. Instinctively, you leap into the air and smash through the fourth-floor window. If there are any people in here, you’ll save them!
* * *
After saving the day, you stop by your corner grocery, spend all the money you have left, and head home. When you make it back to your apartment building, you’re exhausted for the first time since the accident. Although you managed to save a few people, smashing through the building made three whole floors collapse down upon you—with a few would-be survivors trapped inside. You can still hear their screams.
Now, clothes singed and skin caked with soot, all you want is a shower, a gigantic dinner, and to curl up in bed. Your lungs burn fiercely and your eyes sting from the smoke. The heat didn’t bother you, but you’re not fully invincible, it would seem.
When you come up to your hallway, you see you’ve got a guest. Even though her back is turned to you, from the curvy figure leaning against the wall while she checks her smartphone, you know exactly who the woman in the skirt-suit outside your apartment is: Mercury City’s famed reporter, Alison Argyle. What’s she doing here?
• Run now before she notices you! Get a hotel and steer clear.
• Play it cool; see what she wants. She doesn’t know you, and that shower will feel soooo nice.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
One Option
“What are you talking about?” Nick asks through a quizzical smile.
“You’re in danger. If you value your life, never use your powers again. Leave town. Pretend we never met.” You try to speak in grave tones, but it’s a difficult feat when you’re stuffing your face with hamburger.
“What—who…who’s out to get me?”
“I am. I’m supposed to kill you, but—”
Nick leaps up from his seat. “WHAT? You traitor! How could you? Why?” He slams the edge of his pint glass against the bar top, making jagged cuts, and points the makeshift weapon at you.
With anger billowing in your gut, you grab his wrist and pull it toward you—smashing the pint glass against your own face. The remaining glass shatters, along with the bones in Nick’s hand, but your face is completely unharmed.
Nick howls with pain, stumbles back and knocks over several barstools. He brings his good hand up, shapes it into a claw and squeezes the air. You feel something around your throat, but it’s only a tickle. Nick’s trying to constrict your larynx, but he can’t. You start to laugh.
Nick falters, then points his claw-hand at the bartender. The woman’s eyes bulge and she rakes at her own throat, choking under the influence of his powers. A waiter rushes to her aid, but Nick blasts the man across the room with the power of mind.
Almost from instinct, you punch Nick in the chest. It’s only a quick jab, but that doesn’t matter. The college student releases his grip on the bartender, grabs at his heart, then sputters blood. He falls to the floor, dead.
All eyes in the pub are on you, with some patrons holding up their smartphones. This is bad.
• Rush back to the warehouse!
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Outlaws
&
nbsp; “Practicing, huh?” you say.
Nick turns quickly, but recognizes you and is back at ease. “You could say that, yeah,” he replies. “All work and no play makes Nick a dull boy.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Will you join me for dinner?” You flash a stack of crisp Franklins and a mischievous grin.
“As long as you’re buying. There’s a great pub just around the corner.”
You scratch your chin. “How big are the portions?”
The pub is just far enough away to escape the commotion, but there’s a bit of a wait, so you opt to sit at the bar. After confirming that you can order food up here, of course.
“I’ll have one of everything,” you say, not bothering to open the menu.
The bartender brushes a shock of platinum blonde behind her ear, where it’s somewhat hidden amongst raven hair, smiles and says, “We’ve got a pretty big selection.”
“Better get the kitchen started, then,” you say, plopping the stack of cash on the bar.
Her eyebrows bounce up in an if you say so way, but she doesn’t protest. While you’ve got her attention, Nick pours two pints behind her back, using his telekinesis, and times the delivery perfectly so they sneak past her when she turns away. He floats one of the glasses with the Quicksilver Ale logo into his hand and offers the other to you.
“To taking what’s ours,” you say, raising the glass.
“I’ll drink to that.” Nick sips his beer and watches the news report of your exploits on the TV above the bar.
Blonde eye-candy reporter Alison Argyle says, “Police don’t know what to make of the mystery culprit from today’s robbery. Eyewitnesses have corroborated the incredible footage, and experts say these images are indeed genuine.”
The news desk feed switches to security footage from your robbery, whereupon you blast through the concrete wall and proceed to rob the place.
Nick turns to you, eyes wide and eyebrows up near his hair line. He points a finger and says, “You—you’re the…” Nick’s eyes dart towards the door.
“Don’t run. Listen, I want to offer you a job on my team. I mean, with these new powers, we can basically do whatever we want. I’m just thinking on a bigger scale than stealing a pint now and again.”
Nick downs the rest of his beer. “Okay, I’m in. What’s the plan?”
“As I see it, we’ve got two choices,” you say, wondering where your food is. “One: Give that reporter an exclusive. Announce that the city is ours, then crush any resistance. Two: Villainy from the bottom up—find the existing criminal organizations, and take over.”
Nick opens his mouth to reply, but a ruckus near the entrance of the bar takes his attention. You see the flash of red and blue lights outside; patrons are fleeing from the restaurant right into the arms of the police at the barricade set up out front. The bartender is gone.
“Or, option Three: Battle with the police.”
“We need disguises,” Nick says. He grabs an oversized black napkin, shakes out the silverware, and ties the cloth around his face like an Old West stagecoach robber.
“Maybe you do, but they’ve got my mug shot already. I’m bulletproof; what do I need a costume for?”
“Good point,” Nick says. He pulls a red tablecloth off a high-top table, saying, “Put this on.”
“Nick, I just said—”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re bulletproof, but I’m not. So you put on the red cape and with any luck it’ll work like a bullfight. They’ll shoot at you while I disarm them, you know, without getting shot.”
You shrug, tear a hole in the center of the tablecloth and put it on like a poncho. “Call me The Matador.”
He nods, then adjusts his makeshift bandana. “Pleasure to meet you, I’m Bandit.”
Not bad for an impromptu team-up, eh? Time for a shoot-out. No, a showdown. You head out toward the shouted commands for surrender by the Mercury PD and out into the street.
But instead of putting your hands on your head, you lift one of the patrol cars up and throw it across the street into a second-story business window. The police open fire, which does nothing but anger you. Big mistake. You roar with pain and rage, and the shooting suddenly stops.
One of the cops is walking toward you. His steps are stilted, like a marionette on a string. He’s resisting. He turns around, points his handgun at his fellow officers, and backpedals your way.
You turn to the pub entrance. Nick is standing there, deep in concentration with one hand outstretched. There’s your puppetmaster! The cop points the handgun at his own head.
“Demand a retreat,” Nick says.
“Flee, flee for your LIVES!!!” you cry, your superpowered lungs amplifying the call far louder than any bullhorn.
The police fall back.
“It’s working!” Nick cries.
Nick laughs like a psychopath as the police launch canisters of tear gas your way. You start to laugh, but choke. The gas stings! Oh God, it burns! You swat at the gas, but the canisters pour the cloud thicker and thicker.
“Time to regroup!” Nick shouts. “This way!”
• No time to think; follow Nick’s voice away from the poison gas!
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Overburdened
Leading Kingsley through the air by his throat, you push him up the stairs with your mind and bring the wanted man up to the rooftop. He gasps for breath, trying in vain to harangue you with rasping curses. You bring him over to the edge of the building and float him out over the abyss before stepping off the ledge, ready to glide down to the pavement below.
Nope.
The combined weight of your two bodies is too much for your abilities, and you drop like stones toward the earth. It takes just over two seconds to plummet to the pavement, and in that time the animal part of your brain takes over in a bid for survival.
You release your grip on Kingsley and bring yourself to hover mere feet above the sidewalk. Kingsley plows into the street, the six-story drop killing him instantly.
“What the fuck?!” Droakam screams, rushing from the car to the splattered body.
“I don’t know what happened, I—”
“Don’t you remember the crates? You can only carry so much. Goddamnit, you just murdered this guy.”
“I—I didn’t mean to,” you stammer.
“Christ. Get out of here. I’ll clean up this mess.”
You float there, unsure what to do.
“Go on! Before I change my mind.”
• Fly back to the warehouse.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Overthrown
You grab Nick with the force of mind and fling him up toward the high-domed ceiling of the Planet Mercury casino. When he reaches the top, you release him and let gravity do its work. Nick screams as he falls 60 feet down to land atop the poker tables. He folds.
You turn back—right into the full security team of the casino. Two dozen men, armed and ready to gun you down. You were right, you did waste too much time with Nick. Now you’re the one who’s wasted. There are too many guards for you to take at once.
THE END
Pantheopolis
“Okay, you win!” you say, your hands in the air.
“What? No way!” Catherine shouts. “Swarming hive—”
But her command is cut short when a dozen invisible tentacles slash through her at the same moment, in an Ultimate Punch of sorts.
“Yep, we give up!” Nick says.
Your new overlord and master lets you live, but that simply allows you to bear witness to the horrors ahead. He instates the Pantheopolis as promised, but Catherine’s gun is never far away from the mad scientist. All you can do now is hope that as he relegates every new power he discovers to himself, somehow it’ll prove too much for a mortal man.
But no such luck. Instead, he actually discovers a superpower that makes him immortal. As the new god of earth, his reign of terror is everlasting and ever-present. He changes his name to the Omni-mentor.
You live, b
ut this is not a win. Not remotely. Better start practicing your worship-chant: “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.”
THE END
Paper
You shoot your hand flat, in the sign for paper.
“I’ll be scissors, I guess,” Catherine says. She extends her forefingers, while the student, Nick, holds his hand clenched in a fist and says, “Rock.”
Now that the order is decided, the three of you move to your respective platforms. As you enter the chamber, a lid comes down from the ceiling and latches itself onto your pod.
The outer casing is sealed and an artificial atmosphere replaces the lab air through vents at your feet. There’s a rush of blood through your extremities as adrenaline kicks in; you take slow, deep breaths.
Like the hyperbaric chambers lauded during the golden age of science fiction, your body actually feels healthier in here. In fact, this whole set-up is like something out of Star Trek. Beam me up, Scottie!
Waiting for the experiment to begin, you look around. More cables drop off the platform edge, plugged into a row of eight outlets across a central spine. You can barely make out the warning sign buried beneath them, DO NOT OVERLOAD.
You’re about to point this out when the experiment suddenly begins. Sparks leap from the electrical connections, singeing the racks with black scorch marks. It’s getting hard to see, and not just because you’re steaming up the glass. Fog coalesces above the platform, black as death. A whirlwind of papers circles the lab just before a lightning bolt cracks down against your pod.
SUPERPOWERED: Are YOU a Superhero or Supervillain? (Click Your Poison Book 3) Page 29