Preternaturals: A Superhero Thriller

by Allen Kensington

  Red stopped his button pressing, landing on an all-news channel. As a reporter droned, he looked over to her. “Who are you?”

  “I was to be one of you. The first, in fact,” she said, a tear gliding downward from the corner of her eye. “I am the reason they found you, and I regret to say, brought you all together.”

  Red nodded, though he wasn’t certain she had answered him. Something inside him blurted another question. “What happened to Cynthia tonight?”

  Her voice seemed to have no source as she answered. “Bad dreams.”

  She pulled her feet up into the chair and hugged her knees. “Have you ever used your powers while asleep before?”

  He said nothing, her words confirming his worst fears. Turning off the television, a lump formed in his throat. Tears fought to spill from his eyes, but he did his best to contain them. He took a few moments, then spoke again, hoping that none of the emotion escaped with his voice. “You’re Sybil.”

  The petite woman stood and bowed.

  Red waited for something more, but nothing came. He caught himself thinking about Cynthia again, and got up to make another cup of coffee. “The Lieutenant spoke of you,” he said, looking down as he swirled the beverage and remembered the first day of the project. “What are you doing here?”

  “That is where my own guilt lies.” She faced him from across the room. “The senator is not all that he seems. There is a great darkness within him, Mr. Cunningham, something I sensed too late. It threatens us all, and there are but a handful left.”

  Red drank another mouthful. “What should we do?”

  “I cannot tell you much, but I do know that it is not over. We will fight him, I suppose. It is what we must do.”

  Red returned to the couch, wondering how to kill the awkward silence flowing into the room.

  “Mr. Cunningham?”

  “Yes?”

  “May we please watch television? The silence frightens me.”

  Pressing a button on the remote, the lobby’s stillness was again broken by color and sound. The blue glow and senseless chatter returned, and they watched into the wee hours of the morning. The television projected an oasis of relaxation, and just for a while, they allowed themselves to enjoy it.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  David Mead returned to the SkyRise hangar at a little after two o’clock in the morning. He swiped his keycard and entered, his footsteps echoing down the hollow halls. The building lay quiet, its corridors desolate as he made his way toward the prep room, where the spare suit waited. With any luck, he would be in and out in minutes.

  Entering the room, he closed the door and sat on a bench. It had been a long day. Between the preternatural battles and the frenzied hunt for Femme, he’d been running on adrenaline for far too long. His short nap at Red’s house had helped, but Femme’s strength and state of mind had not made for the perfect resting conditions. All he wanted to do now was sleep. If he could just rest, this day would be over.

  He ran his hands across his face, and continued through his hair. The police had no doubt removed the bodies from the attack, scooping Rangda’s brain matter from the Hall’s dirty floor. No prison was needed to hold her now, and no one else would die by her fiery claws. Better still, Iguanus had joined her. Two down, one to go.

  One to go. It held on both sides. Only he remained of the senator’s team, Femme Fatale being in no condition to fight, and Red Cunningham occupied with his wife. David and the Aegis were the last two, and their rematch beckoned.

  He looked out from the room’s upper-story window. The testing facility was empty, the demonstration area quiet. It seemed so long since he had left this place. So much had happened, yet all of the work, time, and effort he’d expended were wasted. The project was dead, the team fairing little better.

  “How was your rescue mission, Lieutenant?”

  The senator’s voice boomed in the quiet, but David didn’t react. He continued staring into the hangar’s unmoving darkness. He didn’t even face the man, watching his reflection in the window’s glass.

  “What the hell did you think you were doing?” Jack asked. “I told you that we would discuss any retaliation.”

  “With all due respect, sir,” David replied, anger slipping into his tone. “I was cleaning up your mess.”

  Jack Williams scowled, approaching the Lieutenant. “This is not the leadership for which I hired you, Mead. You put yourself and Mr. Cunningham at incredible risk, and you’ve endangered the whole project.”

  That was enough. David turned to face him, unable to contain himself any longer. “There is no project. Not anymore. You’ve seen to that yourself.”

  Jack shook his head. “I expected more from you.”

  “Me? You risked these people’s lives from the start,” David yelled, pointing a harsh finger. “I told you they weren’t ready, and you sent them in anyway. Now, there are only a few of us left alive, and the others are dead because of you.”

  The senator backhanded him, the force whipping the Lieutenant’s head to the left. It was a sharp blow, driven with more strength than David had expected. Recovering, he rubbed his jaw, more stunned than hurt.

  Williams stood, stone-faced. “Vigilantism is unacceptable, Mead. I thought you were aware of that. Your actions today have undermined everything that I’ve spent a lifetime building.”

  David rubbed his jaw. “We rescued Femme.”

  Jack shook his head. “There’s more at stake here than one life,” he said, walking back to the door and throwing it open. A rectangle of light was cast upon the far wall. “No matter the results, your actions were out of line.”

  “I did what needed to be done”.

  Not seeming to react, the senator kept moving. His voice escalated in volume. “You needn’t trouble yourself any more. You’re off the project.”

  David didn’t bother to respond; the man was already gone, his shadow growing smaller down the corridor. He pulled the jetpack from its storage locker, and buckled the straps across his chest. Donning a pair of goggles, he became SkyRise once more.

  They had rescued Femme, but more work remained. The Aegis’ freedom lingered in his thoughts, and although David didn’t look forward to facing him again, he knew it had to be done. At least with the suit, he would stand a fighting chance.

  With nothing left except his new mission, he went outside, ready to begin. Flames erupted from the pack, and the building shrank behind him as he ascended into the night sky. The search would be a difficult one, but it would be worthwhile.

  He was going to end it, once and for all.

  __________

  As the beginnings of dawn broke over the horizon, Stephen Detch hunched over his desk, face inches from the glowing computer monitor. His eyes moved with a ceaseless effort, pouring over the lines of code that would unlock his potential. He found a clause, tapped in a few changes, and continued. The text scrolled upward as he dug deeper into the programming.

  Dr. Kroncik’s technology held true promise. With a few tweaks, the nanites could target any type of DNA, not just prehistoric. As before, the tiny robots could be injected into a subject, but rather than pulling out some inhuman monstrosity, they would work under new orders. Instead of replicating what they had found, they would rewrite what was there, adding new information.

  Stephen smiled, working to complete the progression of logic that would change him forever. He saved a new file, and tested it. A small dish of silver liquid shuttered on his desktop. The program started, but failed.

  He frowned, diving in again. An inkling twitched in the back of his mind, and he pressed a button. The hollow column slid open, glowing eyes appearing within the treasured costume, giving it an eerie illusion of fullness. A faint breeze blew at the garment’s cape, and unknown forces turned its grim helmet to meet him. In Stephen’s mind, he could see the once great Malorius emerge.

  “You’re getting sloppy.”

  Stephen slid the screen back into his desk, taking with it h
is divided attention. He focused on the arch villain’s uniform. “Only minor flaws. Easily rectified.”

  The costume fluttered. “I do not have the time you so willingly waste. My plans are intricate.”

  “Then I will have them attempt again,” Stephen said. “Two remain in my employ.”

  “No.” The costume replied. “They have accomplished what was needed. Pay them and be done. Further deeds will involve you and you alone. We will reclaim that which was taken from us.”

  Detch listened, hesitant to relinquish his minions. Employees such as these could be very useful in future dealings.

  “Must I disband them?”

  “Retain one,” the voice said. “Test subjects are required.”

  Stephen smiled again. “I’ll assign the Aegis one last task,” he said, forming a steeple with his fingers. He relished the opportunity to best the mercenary. “He will be my first victim.”

  The eyes faded, and Detch was again alone. Reaching down, he pressed the buttons on a discreet keypad, opening a drawer in the desk. A sickening brilliance spilled out, challenging the rising sunlight within the room. He reached in, and retrieved the transparent canister. Turning it over in his hands, he tried to divine the final result of its power.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Hues of pinkish orange painted the morning, smoldering against the undersides of the horizon’s grey-blue clouds. The far-off blaze highlighted a dark, two-story building at the edge of the city: an austere, government facility surrounded by chain-link fencing. Pulling through its gate, an oversized car paused for clearance before going inside. A man left the guardhouse and moved to greet it.

  Jack awoke in the car’s backseat as it came to a halt. He hadn’t gotten much sleep, dream thoughts trailing through his mind. Between the bombing and the subsequent argument with Mead, things weren’t looking good. He shook himself from a slumber daze and looked out the tinted window.

  Phillip got out of the car, and was talking with a uniformed man, explaining their arrival. The guard checked a clipboard inside his hut and nodded. Soon, the wire fence parted, and the vehicle continued inward. The morning sun revealed the building, Jack’s final destination.

  “We’re here, sir.” Phillip said, looking back.

  Jack nodded. “Do you think the FBI is really the answer, Phillip? They haven’t been helpful with my previous requests.”

  Phillip considered it, allowing Jack to look upon his contemplative face for a few moments. “If anyone can help, sir, it’s them. We have little choice.”

  “Something feels wrong about it,” Jack replied, shaking his head and contorting his face to wake up. As the car parked, he opened the door and exited, the brisk morning air meeting him. He admired the sky as he walked to the entryway. Distant clouds flickered with far-off lightning.

  An agent with an expensive haircut and a mediocre suit waited to meet him. He shifted his posture, extending his right hand to Jack. “Good Morning, Senator,” he said, smiling.

  “Edlund, isn’t it?”

  The man nodded. “Yes, sir. Right this way.”

  After opening a door with a magnetized keycard, he directed Jack through a maze of cubicles and corridors. People in business-casual dress entered and exited doorways along the hall, notepads and tablets in hand. Phones rang, people typed, and in some areas, discussions raged. Jack knew that the FBI had a lot on their plate. Whatever they were doing, everyone looked busy.

  After twisting through enough areas to confuse Jack about their path, Edlund stopped. He turned, blocking the hall and ushering the senator into a small room. He shifted a plaque on the outer wall from “Vacant” to “In Use,” and closed the door. They both sat.

  Edlund flopped a file on the table between them. “We’ve kept track of him since the fifties, though in the last few years he hasn’t required much attention. At this point, he’s classified as a non-threat.”

  Jack snatched the colored folder. He ran his eyes over the information, reading the summary on the first page, and taking particular note of the address listed. He flipped through a few more pages of the reports covering Malorius’ history. It was all information that he knew firsthand.

  He continued reading the print-outs. His arch rival had spent forty years in prison, getting out early on good behavior. The travesty of the legal system had made few charges against him stick. As the man had always worn a costume, and had lost his preternatural talents, juries found it difficult to convict him without a reasonable doubt.

  Since his early release, the man had lived in a small, downtown apartment, helping the dregs of society deal with their problems in peaceful, confidence-building ways. He volunteered at a local church, and directed a discussion group for underage offenders. The file held nothing, not even a parking ticket, which indicated any misdoings within the last decade.

  Jack looked up, his eyes stern. “Are you sure this is accurate?”

  “Absolutely, sir.” Edlund nodded, smoothing his cheap, blue tie. “That’s why I was surprised when you requested this file. He’s a changed man. He teaches underprivileged kids!”

  Jack remained unconvinced. The report was as good a fiction as any he had ever read. Its subject may live under the same alias, but he was not the truth. Malorius was evil, pure and simple, and his deceptions were legendary.

  The mad doctor had once manipulated the world to the brink of nuclear war. With a few, key impersonations, the villain had moved two superpowers into opposition, readying himself to take control in the aftermath. Compared with that plot, which Jack had only foiled in the nick of time, this seemed obvious. How had the Federal Government again fallen prey?

  “Does this settle our arrangement, Senator?” Edlund’s eyes held genuine sentiment. “Can I consider the matter closed?”

  Despite the lies spread across the pages, one bit of information was real enough, and it was all that Jack needed. He returned the folder to the table.

  “That’s all for now, Mr. Edlund. Your secret’s safe with me. No one will learn about your ability.”

  Edlund closed his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief, and Jack left the room before they opened. He prepared to navigate back through the hallways and cubicles, the address of the fiend burning in his retinas.

  “Sir?” Edlund poked his head from the doorway. “Your project? Will it recover from yesterday’s attack?”

  Jack turned, and was going to answer, but something in his face must have been answer enough. Edlund cast his eyes to the floor, and retreated back behind the particleboard wall. Jack waited a bit longer, allowing the paper-carrying interns their paths around him, then continued toward the exit. It was a good question, and while Edlund may have been a bit imprudent, one worth asking.

  Unfortunately, Jack hadn’t the heart to answer.

  Not long after, the stretch limousine passed through the squalid remains of the city’s East End neighborhoods. Jack leaned against the window, watching as dilapidated buildings eased by. Each stood as a monument to a bygone era, and he remembered a time when they were thriving and new. Unexpected pangs of nostalgia tugged at him.

  This area had once been posh and elegant, a gem near the city’s center. Under Captain Valour’s protection, politicians and businessmen lived along its thriving streets, safe from the twin plagues of crime and poverty. Local shops flourished, and children thought nothing of strolling the sidewalks at night. It seemed an urban paradise, and thousands assembled to live in such comfort.

  The vehicle passed by an abandoned theatre and a large, overgrown lot. Most of those families had left by now, driven from the city with as much eagerness as their grandparents had immigrating into it. No one but the residue of society remained, the poor and the broken. It was a fitting place for Malorius to have ended.

  The vehicle stopped outside a complex of low income apartments, and the brick building seeming to stoop somewhat over the street. Garbage and cigarette butts lined its entry stairs, leading upward to an off-kilter door. Broken glass sparkle
d across its landing.

  Phillip started from his seat, but Jack waved him to stay. He got out himself, and moved to the front, passenger window. “Drive around a while. I’ll do this on my own.”

  Reluctant, the driver pulled away.

  Jack walked up and into the building, an unconscious sneer growing. He had spent his whole life trying not to hate anyone, trying not to be angry or vengeful, trying to do what was right. Now, stalking his old archrival, he could feel his temper bubbling within. Bitterness flooded back over the gulf of time.

  Up the creaking stairs, he came to Apt 2B, the door he sought. Swallowing whatever reluctance was there, he rapped upon it. The wood shuddered, nearly falling from its hinges. The door’s insignia wiggled upon their screws with every vibration. He heard movement inside, and it opened.

  Jack didn’t know who he had expected, but this wasn’t him. His heart sank upon seeing the short, frail man.

  Age had not been kind to Malorius. His teeth were yellowed, clothes worn and stained, and random, white curls struggled from under his shirt, matching those reaching upward from an otherwise bald head. He looked more like a spent wino than the criminal mastermind that he had once been.

  “Yes?”

  The voice was hoarse but kind. The old man waited for a moment, then the horror of recognition struck him. His eyes widened, and he backed away, leaving the door wide open.

  Jack stepped in, closing it. “That’s right, Doctor. It’s me, and I want some answers.”

  The man could go nowhere in the cluttered apartment. He backed himself against the kitchen counter, jarring a stack of dirty dishes and sending roaches scattering. His eyes were wide, his mouth open. There was no sign of hostility, only abject fear. He picked up a dirty knife beside him, holding it double-handed.