“Senator Williams has ordered that uniforms be made for each of you,” David explained. “These will serve as personal protection, and aid in public appeal.”
He indicated the example with an opened hand, and the man unfurled the garment. The square of blackish-green material rolled and stretched into a full-body unitard. “This will be an integral part of your gear.”
He looked past the congregation, indicating the others standing behind the recruits. “Gentlemen, whenever you’re ready.”
The trainees turned. Behind them, one of the team members had removed a coat, revealing a similar costume stretched over a grouping of muscle-like plates beneath. As they watched, another stepped in front of him, drew his sidearm, and fired point-blank into the subject’s chest.
The report of the weapon cracked the air around them. What had been a sea of blank expressions turned to an ocean of shock. It was dramatic, David knew, but it also worked. Everyone was blasted out of their fatigue, and now stood wide-eyed.
The targeted soldier stumbled, removed a small plate, and rubbed the fabric which had defended him from the bullet’s force. He pressed the unmarked spot where he had been hit, wincing a little at the probable bruise, but was otherwise okay. He smiled at the crowd.
David calmed them, and explained further. “This material is synthetic spider’s silk. It’s thin, lightweight, flexible, and stronger than steel.” He pulled at the stretchy garment. “The mesh will serve as your under-costume, and protect you from bullets, knives, and most shrapnel. With each hit, some pressure and force will be transferred to you, but little can break or tear the fabric.”
The crowd looked on in amazement.
He continued. “We’ve also brought in some image consultants to aid you with your costume designs.” He presented the rest of the small group, three people nodding in response. “Once active, this team will get a lot of exposure. We need everyone to look their best.”
__________
Jack Williams stood at the edge of the practice field, watching the group take in the news. His brown eyes scanned them, matching each with a name on his clipboard. He made a few marks on the page, and settled in to enjoy the rest of the demonstration. The pen stayed in his hand.
There they were, this team he had created. They represented more than a mere collection of recruits. They were his legacy, the end result of the decisions he had made. He felt accountable for each and every one, and their powers, perhaps even their lives, were his responsibility. He had made them.
Jack shook his head. He hadn’t seen the rains come that day fifty years ago. He had slept through most of the storm, his battle with Malorius and the procedure leaving him far too tired to enjoy any sort of weather. He had only heard about it later, his present knowledge having been gathered from stories pieced together in the intermittent years. Despite their informality, they left no doubt in his mind.
Three hours after Jack and Phillip had been ushered away by the unexpected soldiers who scoured the glowing pool, a strange cloud grew above the city. It had started dark and turbulent, like any other storm, but changed as the night progressed. The early morning hours brought a downpour tinted with green, falling like thousands of tiny shooting stars. People left their homes to watch, standing in the streets and gaping at the spectacle.
Even if they had recognized its danger, there was little they could do. The rains kept falling.
The tempest had covered miles, and somehow, Jack surmised, the radioactive liquid had been mixed within the rainwater. Blown by the wicked winds of the storm center, it covered the city, filling sewers and nearby reservoirs alike. He closed his eyes, listening to the gentle breeze across the practice field. In the end, little of the substance which had taken his and Malorius’ powers remained. It disappeared into the wild, and with no immediate effects, the incident was easy to ignore. It seemed no more than two lives had been affected.
How wrong they had all been.
“Senator?”
A voice broke his reverie. He opened his eyes to see Lieutenant Mead approaching. The man had the stature that Jack had once enjoyed, unspoiled by the ravages of time.
Jack cut through the mists of memory. This was no time for sentiment. He had a job to do. “Are they ready, Lieutenant?”
Beyond the safety of the training facility, pressures were mounting against Jack’s team. More attacks had occurred, and random preternaturals were being slain within their own homes. He appreciated the difficulty of training civilians for this type of work, but the subcommittee, and his conscience, pressed him for results. The longer these people spent here, the more lives were lost on the outside.
Mead looked serious, weighing his response. “They’re coming along, sir, but I wouldn’t recommend action just yet. There’s a lot they have to learn.”
The senator was quiet for a moment, taking in the group one last time. It wasn’t the answer for which he had hoped. Something had to be done. “Get your best together. I’m going to arrange a little test for them.”
David shook his head, and maintained a hard-learned grin. “If you want to see something, I’ll have them perform a powers demonstration. It’s pretty impressive.”
Jack remained somber. “That won’t be necessary. You’ll be receiving a mission within the next week.” The senator began to walk away. He stopped and turned. “I need them to succeed, Lieutenant.”
The grin had been wiped from Mead’s face. Jack received a quick nod.
He continued walking.
“Why the uniforms, sir?”
Jack was surprised by the question. He paused for a moment, putting his thoughts into words, but smiled as they came to him. “Costumes make it less real. The people will feel safer seeing them adorned in bright colors and dramatic shapes. Rather than life, it’s theatre. Entertainment.”
David nodded again, considering the response.
Jack continued his walk from the field, leaving the Lieutenant to his much needed preparations.
Chapter Twenty-two
When the call came in at 9:12 AM, Red was ready for it. The four of them had been on alert for several days, allowed to sleep and eat but little else. Red heard the alarms sounding and the Lieutenant’s shouted instructions, and more than anything, he felt relief.
He slid into his protective under-suit, made from the same stretch material that had the Lieutenant had shown them a week earlier. Next, he strapped on his outer armor, perhaps unneeded now, but something he wasn’t comfortable without. Let the others wear their tights; he wanted more substance between himself and the enemy. The government had obliged him, and provided the best in personal, defensive plating. In the very least, it alleviated his uncertainties.
Dressed as Faction, he exited the building and met the others on the platform. SkyRise, Beatdown, and Femme Fatale were already waiting, the latter two readying themselves to board the experimental Byrne-Rucka Z-73 jet-copter. The rotor blades were visible in a slow rotation, becoming less and less substantial with each pass. Soon, each blurred with swift motion. The three of them got in, leaving SkyRise to his own devices.
Once seated, the woman known as Medium piped the mission’s information into their headsets, and a monitor inside the chopper displayed further details, keeping them apprised of the situation. On it, a lone, armored car sat upturned along a street in the downtown district, a fortune in gold bullion spilling from its plated doors. Throngs of spectators had gathered on the sidewalks, but were now backing away from the stopped truck. They huddled in terror as a black-suited thief stalked among them.
The jet-copter lifted and sped through the sky in a blur. Red felt the speed press him into his seat, but he didn’t have to endure it for long. Despite the distance, the trip took a few short minutes, delivering the team in record time. A door opened as the chopper arrived on the scene, and lines were dropped to rooftops above the street.
The three of them exited, lowering themselves along the cords. They again grouped on the rooftop, waiting as Sky
Rise reconned from his aerial vantage. Red crouched, crawling to the building’s edge and peering over.
From the outside, the preternatural calling himself “Pheer” presented a spindly image, from his skintight bodysuit to the elongated fingers of his gloves. White eyes shone from an otherwise featureless black mask, itself set within a hood of azure cloth. The hood ended in small folds around his shoulders, but the same blue color continued across his body in a swirl of tiger-like stripes.
Red waited for further instructions. His team had drilled a specific order of power usage to maximize their effectiveness. Given Faction’s range and abilities, it was obvious that he was their first responder. He remained prone on the uppermost ledge, and after several minutes, SkyRise had confirmed that they faced a single foe. Red’s go-ahead was given.
He concentrated, projecting his persuasive ability downward.
He could feel the costumed man’s mind, and inside it, chaos seemed to dominate. Red saw a jumble of images and emotions, forcing him to close his eyes and focus harder. Gripping with all the skill he had honed in his solitary career, the haze of images cleared, becoming a thin line of decision. Red redirected its flow.
The crowd around the villain responded in an instant. They stood confused, but no longer subject to the terror that had paralyzed them a moment before. Some ran, but others began to close in around the criminal, seeking to subdue him.
The villain’s oversized white eyes narrowed, looking around. They surveyed the street-level, found nothing, and cast themselves upward until they spied the three figures outlined at the far building’s edge. Twig-like arms came together, and his fingers formed a spidery basket, as if holding a small ball. Sighting them within his grasp, Pheer flexed his fingers and released another burst of his preternatural ability.
For Red, everything disappeared, caught in the rush of gloom. He had botched his one job, and his chance to show his teammates that he mattered. He watched as they writhed with an unknown agony, and he could do nothing. Somehow, through all of his training and experience, he had failed to neutralize their foe.
Nausea and blackness dominated him, and he collapsed, holding himself as his gut churned. Anguish took control, and slanted, white eyes seemed to hover above him, projecting further waves of dread. He tried to fight, but lacked enough strength even to stand. He was a failure, and had let everyone down. The fight seemed hopeless.
Somewhere beyond Red’s cognition, SkyRise swooped down upon the villain, laying him flat with a jet-driven right hook. Red’s dread vision ended as the body fell backwards, slamming into the steel-plated truck and slumping to the ground.
The villain’s bubble of preternatural fear collapsed, and Red shook himself, realizing that it had all been an illusion. Pheer had hijacked his imagination, and used his own anxieties against him. He looked to his teammates, relieved to see them unhindered and unharmed. The images of their suffering faded, but the shame of his failure seemed to remain.
Femme Fatale jumped down from her spot beside Faction and Beatdown, landing with a soft crunch three stories below. She walked to their target, making certain that the enemy was incapacitated. After prodding him with a stiletto heel, she nodded, and the crowd around them let out a glorious cheer.
If it weren’t for their adulation, the four heroes would have heard the incoming missile.
A small, dark shape shot past SkyRise, terminating at the armored car. The vehicle jumped on impact, leaving the ground for heart-stopping moments and erupting in belching orange flame. It crashed down with a steel-twisting thump, the remains of those inside spilling out like molasses and forming their own puddles on the cracked pavement.
A cold cloud grew against the sun, accompanied by the echo of shrill laughter. Another missile, unseen in the fog, headed for the rooftop where Faction and Beatdown remained. Red could do nothing as it broke through the cloud and headed straight for them.
If not for his partner’s quick moves, he would have suffered the business end of the missile. Instead, it became a ball of flame mere yards away, knocked him to the ground. Dazed, Red looked back to Beatdown, realizing that he had thrown a rock to set off the projectile. They crawled again to the edge of the rooftop, gazing over the side to see the battle below unfold.
By now, everything at street level was engulfed in foul-smelling mist and flame. Above the cloud, a zombie-like form hovered. Another chilling screech of mirth issued from it, and near translucent flesh peeked from behind tatters of a medieval-style tunic and rusted metal armor. A ragged white cape trailed behind him, matching the rest of his decayed garments. His entire figure, pale and bleached as it was, intermingled with the ample mist he seemed to generate, appearing and disappearing within its veil. All that remained ever visible was his yellowed skull grin.
The voice of Medium again transmitted into their earbuds, and Red studied the preternatural as she relayed what scarce information they had. They faced something called the “Wight Knight,” a creature of wickedness and decay. Little was known about him beyond some blurred photographs connected with other robberies throughout the city, but it was suspected of doing a lot worse. This thing was no mere thief, but a being of authentic evil. Red shuddered as it laughed again.
SkyRise had already taken up the battle with this new enemy. For a moment, Red couldn’t see him, following the line of fog parting to intercept the villain. The two shared a few midair blows, each matching the other’s skill and maneuverability. Wind swirled with their frenzied movements, leaving empty trails in the cold mist to mark their passage. They fought as only two airborne humanoids could, forcing each other against the sides of buildings and through plate-glass windows. With each blow, the two worked themselves higher, until nothing surrounded them but open sky.
Each strike echoing over the city, the Wight Knight landed a stunning uppercut to SkyRise’s jaw. The hero flipped backwards, somersaulting in the air. Blood seeped from his lower lip.
Shaking it off, he caught himself, and shot two-fisted toward the villain. His speed surprised the enemy, and the soldier’s momentum struck home, fists landing in the creature’s gut and sending it hurtling toward the ground. The Wight Knight twisted and bounced from a nearby building, more of the putrid mist surrounding him. The cloud seemed to slow his descent, and he came to a halt ten feet from the sidewalk.
SkyRise was there, waiting. He unleashed another flurry of blows, battering the skull face. A few yellowed teeth fell away, but the villain did not yield. Two missiles launched from his mysterious cloud, their trajectories shooting past the Lieutenant. He turned as their wind tousled his hair, and traced their trajectories to the nearby group of innocent bystanders. He had no choice but to abandon his assault and head to their defense.
He blasted after the missiles, using all of his speed to catch them in midair. As he came alongside, he grabbed and pulled upward. The weapons resisted his efforts, but the enhanced strength of the flight suit aided in changing their course. Slowly, their angles shifted together, aiming toward the side of a building, then to the narrow sky. He released, allowing each a free ascent.
A moment later, their explosions flared in the heavens.
The decayed form laughed, preparing another volley.
From beneath him, Femme Fatale’s golden locks shot upward, penetrating the ground cover. She reached and pulled the fiend from his flying cloud, yanking him to the ground and beating him with her balled fists. He issued a sickening screech as the two fell back into the mist. The sounds of obscured battle followed.
By now, Beatdown had again gotten to his feet. He adjusted his armbands with a finicky precision and stepped to building’s edge. Listening to the sounds of unseen combat resonating upward, he finished his calibration. Stretching his arms so that his body formed the letter T, he seemed to aim, and brought his hands together with a thunderous smack.
Red could feel the rush of air against his skin, but saw the more concentrated effect at the heart of the street’s fog cloud. A wave of empt
iness rolled forth, pushing away the thick concealment. The struggle below revealed itself.
Femme Fatale continued to fight in the street’s center, dodging the zombie’s attacks. Around them, bits and pieces of the exploded truck became visible, and fragments of twisted metal decorated the avenue. The fog receded further, and a few gasping, injured bodies lay unconscious in its wake. Among them, bleeding but moving, was Pheer.
Red found Faction within himself again, and dug deep for the power. Reestablishing his hold on villain, he directed the preternatural’s abilities toward their new enemy. As before, Pheer raised his grasping claws toward his victim, and released. Nothing of the power was visible, but something turned in the Wight Knight’s soulless sockets. The grinning teeth parted, making way for a discordant shriek.
Femme used the opportunity to level her opponent, knocking him out cold. In another moment, SkyRise did the same to the controlled Pheer.
Seeing the battle end, Red rolled over on the gravel rooftop, and stared into the sunlit sky. A great gust of breath escaped his mouth.
__________
Stephen Detch clicked off the live newsfeed. He had seen enough. The government’s team looked raw and undisciplined, but they had won their battle and taken another two preternaturals out of circulation. He smiled. Phase Three was about to begin.
The plan had progressed just as Dr. Malorius had instructed him. The pawns were moving into place, and the end game was nearing. He opened a drawer and stared across the vials of tissue collected so far. A good number of empty holes remained, awaiting the collection of more preternatural DNA, but they would soon be filled.
Excitement overcame him. Stephen wanted to call the Aegis for another update, but knew that it would be impractical. The mercenary was busy, and any disturbances could throw the plan off kilter. Instead, he wheeled his chair from behind the desk and to the broad bank of windows that lined his office. He stared at the city that would soon be his.
Preternaturals: A Superhero Thriller Page 12