Preternaturals: A Superhero Thriller

by Allen Kensington

  The Aegis stood where he was, listening. “And what is his will? Why has he brought us together?”

  The false Malorius straightened his posture. “I’m glad you asked,” he said, seeming to ready himself for a speech. “You are all gifted, my brethren, and while you have each committed . . . shall we say . . . small scale crimes, your true potential remains vast and untapped. I’m here to help you.”

  He smiled. “My proposal is simple. I will ask you to complete a set of tasks, and if you accomplish my goals, you will be richly rewarded.”

  Billy took in the request, feeling both fear and pride. At long last, he was getting the respect he deserved, and the lure of “rich” rewards intrigued him. A question about the consequences of failure arose in his mind, but he decided not to think about it. They seemed clear. He pushed it aside, and listened further.

  Iguanus spoke, his voice low and sibilant. “Cut the drama. How much are you offering?”

  The man on the screen folded his hands, staring straight into the camera. “Shall we say one million dollars for each successful undertaking?”

  Hearing no reply, Malorius continued. “I’m asking you to work together, to align yourselves for a common goal, if only temporarily.” He sat back, squeezing his gauntlet into a fist. “You think the world was unprepared for you before? Together, we have the opportunity to rule them.” His voice became impassioned and deliberate. “I’m offering each of you the chance to become gods. The choice is yours.”

  Billy stepped forward, moved by the villain’s words. He was afraid, but the promise of wealth and power seemed too great to resist. Speaking with the deepest voice he could muster, he conveyed his assent. “I’m in.”

  The others followed his lead, and Malorius beamed.

  The screen changed again, a collection of lines drawing boxes of various sizes across it. The assortment became a floor plan. A long hallway divided two parallel rows of small chambers. The image split, and a photograph of the building appeared. Billy recognized it on sight. It was a place he hoped he’d never see in person.

  “Hawkin’s Prison,” he said aloud.

  “Correct,” Malorius replied. “Your first task is a simple one. Free a prisoner from her cage.”

  The screen again flashed, and a mugshot casted its highlights into the room’s darkness. Its subject was a petite woman with dark skin and bright eyes. Scars adorned her cheeks, some reaching up to prevent her hairline from taking its natural shape. A lopsided smirk hung from her mouth.

  “They call her ‘Rangda,’ and gentleman, she’s one of us.”

  Iguanus hissed. “I have no concern for her. I was promised wealth. This mission brings me none.” His thick, silver tongue flicked about as he spoke, sibilating his consonants. His tail began to twitch.

  “Valid points,” Malorius said to the primordial beast. “But she is required for my plans. I will compensate you, of course, and if we find her too annoying, we will reap the benefits of her talents, and kill her.” He flashed a devilish smile.

  The creature seemed satisfied, and Billy began to realize the propensities of his new company. The initial rush subsiding, he covered his unease as best he could.

  __________

  The next day, Senator Jack Williams held a bundle of calla lilies as he entered the dreary hospital room. He moved with hesitation, eyes glancing to the bed with a strangled hope. Sybil rested there, unmoving and unconscious. The bouquet drooped in his disappointment.

  “I brought you these,” he said, entering and scooting a seat nearer to the bed. He tossed his coat and hat across its unoccupied neighbor, discarding the flowers there as well. He hoped beyond anything to see her open those violet eyes, but they remained closed.

  “I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am about what happened. They didn’t tell me there was a risk like this.”

  The bedside monitors beeped a constant rhythm, allowing Jack to listen to something beyond the awful quiet. He looked up at the electrocardiograph’s display. It drew jagged lines across a black void, interrupted by brief peaks and valleys. Its numbers rose and fell as he watched.

  “They’re making modifications to the unit now. It will be better, I promise you that.” He clasped her hand within his, hoping to channel some strength into her frail form. He could sense a slight tremble, but from where it emanated he was unsure. He bowed his head, forehead resting against the bed’s railing.

  Jack sat like that for a long time, listening to the electronic beeps and staring at the floor. He wasn’t sure what to do. There was nothing he could do, only watch and wait and hope. He had felt so close, the first members of his team waiting somewhere on the list in his pocket, but none of that mattered now.

  His ambition had almost killed this girl. In trying to ensure the safe management of the preternaturals and their powers, he had blinded himself to the possible sacrifice of those helping him. It wasn’t her fault that she was mixed up in all of this. He had made it so. Ever since finding her, he had begged and manipulated until her aid was guaranteed. Where once he had marveled at his good fortune, he now regretted taking her from that sleepy, little town in Louisiana.

  His mind drifted back to that little girl, hiding in the doorway of some ramshackle brothel. Her skin had been less white then, stained with the greens and purples of fresh bruising. How much had she endured when he found her? He had always thought that he had done her a favor, that they had helped each other.

  Seeing her now, he wasn’t so sure.

  A nurse stepped in, eyeing the scene, yet holding her tongue. Her arrival caught the senator off guard, and he prepared to leave. He squeezed Sybil’s hand a little tighter, shifting the intravenous tubes trailing into her arm.

  “Sleep well,” he said, patting her. “I’ll be back in the morning.” He moved a half-step, allowing her hand to glide back onto the bed. With one last fretful expression, he gathered his coat and hat, and exited.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jack’s limousine stretched across three spaces in the hospital’s underground parking garage. The engine idled, and Phillip sat in the driver’s seat, ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Jack returned to the vehicle, but instead of leaving, they waited. Romita had agreed to meet them here, away from the prying ears of the rest of the staff.

  The man stepped out a nearby exit door and joined him, his nervousness apparent. Jack opened the door and waived him inside. The doctor sat, looking around the vehicle’s interior with a muffled anxiety. The faster he could give out this information, the quicker he could leave. After some last minute organization, he handed over the papers.

  Maintaining his dour expression, Jack smiled to himself. His leather-filled inner sanctum always had an effect on his underlings. He took the sheets, read a few paragraphs, and looked up again. “Bottom line it, Doctor. I’m a busy man.”

  After another pause, the doctor responded. “She’s failing fast,” he said, forgetting the bluntness of his words. “Her blood pressure is erratic, and her muscles are seizing at random. We’re trying everything we can, but it’s difficult to predict how our medications will affect her. With her physiology, there are no guarantees.” His voice didn’t break its professional tone. “I don’t believe she’ll ever make a full recovery.”

  Jack looked over the reports, the last remnants of information that they had retrieved before Sybil’s seizure. He gritted his teeth at the memo. The technicians were calling it a “malfunction.”

  He read as he spoke, not wanting to look at the man. “And the machine?”

  The doctor wiped his palms across his lab coat. “We’re working on it. The techs have disassembled the gyroscope. They think the malfunction may have occurred in one of the neural receptors.” He shook his head. “We’re all very sorry about Miss Sybil. No one wanted this to happen.”

  Jack’s mood softened. “Very good, Doctor. Do what you have to do. I don’t want her feeling anything until she walks out of there under her own power. Do you understand me?”

/>   Romita nodded.

  “If she wakes, tell her nothing. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Phillip opened the side door, freeing the doctor from the luxurious prison. He got out, almost running from the vehicle. A few yards away, he exhaled, disappearing back into the hospital.

  Jack looked after him, then back to the list of names at the end of the report. Like the others, the readings had been cross referenced, and addresses located. The first of this new batch of discovered preternaturals, a man known as Red Cunningham, was already using his powers for the greater good. According to Jack’s sources, the man had taken to some form of vigilante justice, calling himself “Faction.” He seemed the perfect person with which to begin.

  Jack paged through the dossier. His researchers had found a few pictures of the subject, both in costume and street clothes. This Red Cunningham looked like an honest man, someone willing to help his country. Jack hoped the initial impression was accurate.

  Closing the file, he wondered how to make the first move. How do you contact someone regarding their secret life? It promised to be difficult, especially without his telepathic backup, but the project needed to move forward. Despite the obvious setbacks, he wasn’t about to lose everything.

  Jack closed his eyes and leaned back. Sibyl was supposed to be with him through the initial interviews. It had been part of her planned assignments. With her gifts aiding him, Jack could convince anyone to join the team, but without her, he was in the dark, having to rely on body language and motivational power alone.

  It was indeed a challenge. Revealing the government’s secret knowledge about a person did not make them a prime candidate for enlistment. Why would they help the very government that had spied on them? Jack expected one of two reactions – fear or anger. Neither was a good recruiting mood.

  Unfortunately, he had no other options. He’d have to muster all of his charm for each of the interviews. He looked at the profiles again. This Red Cunningham, he would be an excellent start. If Jack managed to convince him, everything may yet fall into place.

  Phillip waited in the driver’s seat for his next command. It wasn’t long before he heard it. The limousine exited the parking garage, and headed down the street. There was no reason for delay. The recruiting would start now.

  __________

  An hour later, the senator sat at a scuffed, wooden table, looking around a cluttered kitchen. Red Cunningham, having slept a short few hours, poured a cup of tea from the kettle on the stove. He knew who the politician was, had seen him on the television countless times, but that didn’t mitigate the shock of having him in the kitchen this morning.

  He carried the cups over to the man, self-conscious about his well-worn T-shirt, but too tired to do anything about it. He sat in a wobbly-legged chair, and offered the drinks. Taking one, the senator nodded his thanks. Red blew the steam from his cup.

  “Listen Jack, I’m a decent guy. I pay my taxes. Your offer is generous and all, but what’s Uncle Sam want with me?”

  The senator seemed caught off guard by Red’s candor, but held his calm. “Frankly, Mr. Cunningham, we think we can help you.” He took a sip of the tea, “think of yourself as an independent contractor. The government has need of your skills, and we’re willing to pay quite well.”

  Red grunted at the words. “And what skills are those?”

  The senator leaned over his tea cup, and gave the man a stare that meant business. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it, Mr. Cunningham. We’re interested in special skills. Faction’s skills.”

  At first, Red wanted to bolt, but he knew that reaction was silly. This was his house, and there was no running from the situation. His knuckles whitened around the teacup’s handle.

  How had the senator learned his secret, and what else did they know? Had they been following him? Blood rushed through Red, and he felt like hitting the politician. How dare this man? He had walked into the kitchen and upset the balance of Red’s entire life with a single phrase.

  The senator continued speaking, strong and sincere. “We know about your nights on the town, Mr. Cunningham, and we applaud you for your efforts. I feel that you would be an ideal recruit for my project. All I ask now is that you consider my offer.”

  Red was scared, impressed, angry, and tempted all at once. He loved his country, but this visit from the government scared the bejesus out of him. Somehow, they had learned his most precious of secrets.

  They had no right to pry so deeply into his life. Who did they think they were? He had never hurt anyone, never even laid a hand on them. How his activities had been discovered, he had no idea.

  “If I decline?”

  The senator straightened. “Take it or leave it, the information stays secret. That, I will guarantee.” He broke his steady stare, relaxing in his chair. “We can help you, Mr. Cunningham,” he said, taking another sip of his tea. “Your life doesn’t have to be so difficult.”

  There was nothing that Red could say, not yet. This was all coming at him too fast. He thought about his wife, Cynthia, her fears, the risks, and the money. None of it came together into anything cohesive. “I’ll need to speak to my wife.”

  “Of course.” The senator smiled. He stood, placing his teacup on the counter next to the sink. “Take whatever time you need, but before I go, I would like to ask you one thing. Why do you do this, Red? Why do you risk your life every night?”

  Red downed the last puddle of tea in his own cup. He leaned forward, looking to his knees. A part of him had heard the offer, and it was tempting. Becoming a government agent had a certain appeal, and the money would be a nice change. His nights out hadn’t paid anything.

  But he needed time. Sleep, too. For now, he just wanted to get the senator out of here. It would all look different without this politician staring him down. “Leave your card, Senator. I’ll call you later with my decision.”

  Jack Williams grabbed his coat, and slung an arm through. “I look forward to your response, Mr. Cunningham. I can’t overstate the importance of my offer.”

  Red held the door as the senator stepped through. “It’s for my family,” he said, finishing a thought. “I do this to make a better world for them. It’s the only reason to be out there.”

  Jack smiled, clasping a hand upon Red’s shoulder. “Then think about how much better off they will be with the support of the government behind them.” He nodded a good day, and returned to his waiting car.

  Red watched as the limo pulled away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Billy Moffet strolled through the consumer electronics store, admiring the expanse of products before him.

  Whoever the manager was, he sure knew how to grab the customer’s attention. Vast television screens, like the one hanging back at the warehouse, boomed with clips from last summer’s action movies, an array of speakers rumbling with each explosion. To Billy’s right, the newest in digital recording media tempted, and to his left, a land of graphics accelerator cards, multi-gig processors, and gaming goodness.

  For Billy, this was home.

  He had never had a lot of money, not like Malorius’ promised wealth. He had pulled a few successful heists, rich college kids losing the toys that Daddy had bought them, but never anything this grand. His new employer had given him a healthy “signing bonus,” and promised more yet to come. He gulped. The mission would leave in the morning. He just had to hang on for the ride.

  Billy focused on thoughts of the new number in his checking account and his plans for the future. Shopping was fun, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew the rules. Dramatic changes in lifestyle often brought suspicion, and that was something best avoided. This trip wasn’t about buying, it was about looking. Planning. He admired these items that he would one day possess, and that day was coming sooner than he had ever expected. Big purchases like these would be researched and pondered. Even with a lot of money, especially with the money, intelligence was the key.

  His new smart phone, one of the requirements o
f working for Malorius, chirped. He felt a sudden twinge of unease sweep through him, never knowing when the boss wanted to meet. He pulled it from his coat pocket, and looked at the display. The unease turned to delight, then to nervousness. It was Meredith.

  Meredith Kirkman sat in front of him in their History E125 class. They had gotten to know each other recently, both in and out of class, building a friendship that had grown into something more. Every day, while taking notes on Napoleon’s rise, he would stare at the back of her neck, tracing the gentle slopes with his eyes. She was tall, slender, and very well proportioned. It came as no great surprise that she was a dancer. One look at those legs, and anyone could see. She was an angel, the type of woman for which the word “beauty” was created, and now, she was calling him.

  The group project, that had to be it. He had shared his contact info with them all, and promised to coordinate the bibliography. It was a small task compared to the rest, but no one else seemed interested, or even willing. Those were the best kinds of jobs.

  He answered, greeting her with the most natural sounding tone that he could manage.

  “Hi Billy,” she replied. “I wanted to update you on a few more sources.” Hesitant small talk ensued.

  He grinned as he spoke, pacing from aisle to aisle. She had called about the project, and though their conversation was short, he traversed the entire store, seeing none of its wares. Consumer electronics had left his mind.

  About halfway into their dialogue, somewhere around the digital cameras, she changed everything. “Billy, I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner some time.”

  Billy stopped cold. A spike of panic split into him, boring straight to his gut, and even though this was something that he had wanted, he had no idea how to respond. His mind went into overdrive, yet it covered the same loops of thought. Did she just?

  Speaking became more difficult, and his lack of response made her panic. She tried to backpedal, to explain herself in some way that would ease the tension, but it was unnecessary. She had laid it on the line, and it was his turn to reply.