A Superhero's Legacy (The Legacy Superhero Book 1)

by Lucas Flint

  "All right," I said. "Here you go."

  I held up my hand and pressed the button on the Watch. As soon as I did, my costume vanished, leaving me in my normal street clothes. I took the Watch off my wrist and held it out toward the Injectors.

  "Here," I said. "Take it. And once you take it, I want both of my parents back. Just to be clear."

  Michael nodded. He said to one of the Injectors, "Take the Watch."

  The Injector nodded in return and walked over to me. He grabbed the Watch from my hand without looking at me and walked back over to his boss. For one crazy second, I had this idea of tackling the Injector to the ground and taking the Watch from him, but I didn't move, because I knew there was no way I would be able to survive without the suit. It made me feel weak and powerless, but it was the truth.

  The Injector handed the Watch over to Michael, who took it and turned it over in his hands interestedly. Christina leaned over toward him, her eyes locked on the Watch like she wanted it more than anything else in the world, but she didn't take it. Maybe Michael would give her the Watch after this was over, though for some reason I didn't think he would be terribly likely to just give her such a powerful weapon now that it was in his possession.

  "All right," I said. "I want my parents now. I've upheld my end of the deal. It's time you upheld yours."

  Michael looked up at me suddenly, as if he had forgotten I was even here. "Your parents? Ah, right. Well, I'm not very interested in handing over hostages, because I'm aware that you haven't actually upheld your end of the deal."

  "What?" I said. I gestured at the Watch. "Dude, I just gave you the Watch. And it's the real thing, too, not a fake or anything like that. The deal was that I would give you the Watch and you would give me my parents back. That's what we agreed to."

  "Did we agree to allow you to call one of your friends to have them call the police and inform them about the location of our headquarters?" Michael said, tilting his head to the side. "Because I certainly don't recall agreeing to that part of the deal, unless my memory is bad, which it isn't."

  I gulped. "What are you talking about? I didn't call the police and I haven't told any of my friends about you."

  "Liar," Christina said. "I have contacts within the Rumsfeld Police Department who informed me of a call from a teenager named Kyle Denniger regarding a tip about the location of the Injectors' headquarters. Of course, my contact has made sure that that information doesn't reach the police chief, but it's still obvious where that kid got that information from and what he was planning to do with it."

  "I--"

  "You have no excuses, kid," said Michael, interrupting me coolly and smoothly. "I suspected you might try something like this, because supers like you generally do. That's why I am not going to give you back your parents, because I don't deal with people who double-cross me."

  Then Michael suddenly barked at the Injectors, "Shoot him now!"

  Before I could do anything, the Injectors aimed their rifles at me and fired.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Bullets struck me in the chest, shoulder, and stomach. The impact of the bullets sent me staggering backwards, my arms swinging, until my foot met empty air behind me and I fell straight down to the street below, screaming my lungs out.

  This was the end. As I fell, my life flashed before my eyes, almost like a movie in my head. From my earliest memory of eating birthday cake for my fifth birthday, to the day I got the Trickshot Watch in the mail, it all flashed instantly. It disturbed me how short my life had been, but I guess sixteen years really isn't much.

  Not that I had time to think about my life, however. The street below was coming to meet my face and I could only hope that I would die upon impact, because I was already in more pain than I had ever been in my life. I could only stare up at the lights from the Peter Glow Building and the barely visible stars twinkling in the night sky above as I rushed toward my doom.

  I wasn't much of a praying person, but I did pray to God that my parents and Grandfather would be safe. It wasn't much of a prayer, given how I was screaming my head off and unable to think clearly, but it was a prayer nonetheless.

  That was when I felt something stir inside me, something that I had never felt before. It felt like power bubbling forth from within me, power I had never even known I had. It filled my bones and body like water, flooding my entire being and making me even more aware than I already was.

  And right before I splattered against the pavement below, I stopped. That's right. I just stopped in midair, hovering inches above the cracked pavement below like I was being suspended from a rope.

  And it occurred to me where I had felt this before: It was how I felt when I was flying in the Trickshot suit. But how was I flying now? I didn't have the Trickshot Watch, nor was I wearing the Trickshot costume. There was no way I should have even been able to float, yet here I was, hovering above the pavement below like I was lying on my back in a pool.

  I had no idea how that worked, but I decided not to question it. I immediately flew back up, straight toward the top of the Peter Glow Building. It didn't take me long to reach the roof again, and by the time I did, I was more exhausted than I'd ever been in my life. I landed on the roof and fell on my hands and knees, panting and gasping for air, my lungs burning.

  Looking up, I saw that Michael, Christina, and the Injectors had already gone back inside the building. Once again, I was alone on the roof of the Peter Glow Building, but this time, I knew why. I struggled to get back to my feet, but the pain from where I'd been shot was too much. I fell back down on my hands and knees, struggling to remain conscious, but even doing that much took almost all of my conscious effort. My head throbbed and my mouth felt dry. Blood leaked out of the bullet holes in my body and darkness was gathering around the edges of my eyes.

  Great. Just great. I'd somehow managed to retain the ability to fly, but it wasn't enough. Instead of dying as a splattered mess of bones and blood on the street, I'd just bleed out to death. Maybe my death would end up on one of those YouTube videos that likes to speculate about bizarre deaths no one can explain, which would actually be an awful way to be remembered.

  But a flash of light before me caused me to look up and I was surprised by what--no, who--I saw floating before me, looking down at me with concerned eyes:

  It was TW. He was fuzzier and more transparent than usual, to the point where I could barely see his face. Nonetheless, there was no mistaking the hologram floating before me for anyone other than my faithful sidekick and mentor, the guy who had been with me ever since I got the Trickshot Watch and taught me almost everything I know about it.

  "TW?" I said, my voice shockingly weak even to me. "What are you doing here? I don't have the Watch anymore. You shouldn't be here."

  TW smiled grimly. "Actually, I can project my hologram well beyond the parameters of the person who happens to own the Trickshot Watch. There is, however, a limit to how far I can project, and I'm pushing that limit farther than I ever have before. That's why I look fuzzier than normal. It's taking me almost all of my strength just to appear before you like this."

  "Wow," I said. I coughed and gasped suddenly. "Not that it matters. I'll probably die of blood loss soon. You'll just be the only witness to my death."

  "Not exactly," said TW, shaking his head. "Here, let me help you."

  TW leaned forward and brushed his fingers against my forehead. It was a surprisingly cool touch, more like a gentle summer breeze than an ice cube. As soon as his fingers brushed against my forehead, the pain in my body started to go away. The bullets in my body fell out of the bullet holes, while the holes themselves started to close up naturally on their own.

  Soon, the bullet holes closed completely and I no longer felt like I was dying, though I was still very tired nonetheless.

  "What the ..." I felt the spot on my chest where the bullet had struck. "No way. This can't be happening. I must be hallucinating this entire thing."

  "There's nothing fal
se about your healing," said TW, standing up straight again. "All of your injuries have indeed been healed. You're as good as new now."

  "But ..." I was at a complete loss for words. "How? I don't have the Trickshot costume. How could I have possibly been healed without my powers?"

  "I forgot to mention to you that the powers of the Trickshot costume linger for five minutes after the suit is taken off," said TW. "Granted, they linger in a much weaker form than normal, but they're still there and they can still work, including the suit's healing abilities, which I activated by touching you. Therefore, the remnants of your power must have saved you from your demise."

  "So that's why I managed to fly despite having lost the Watch," I said in a voice of gradually dawning realization. "That's amazing."

  "It's not amazing," TW insisted. "It's just the natural abilities of the suit. You see, when you wear the suit regularly, it does, at least to some degree, start to become a second skin. It forms a symbiotic relationship with the host, and the quicker it does, the more likely you are to retain your powers even after taking off the costume."

  "It's still amazing regardless." I slowly rose to my feet. "Thanks, TW. I really owe you one."

  "No problem, Jack," said TW. "I'm merely doing what Gregory would want me to do. Besides, I like you a lot better than I like my current owner and--"

  TW suddenly fizzled out of existence before reappearing, though now with a more worried look on his face.

  "Uh oh," said TW, a weird echo to his voice now. "I'm almost entirely out of my range now. Don't have much longer before I can no longer project myself to you."

  "Where is Michael Jones?" I said. "Can you tell me where he's going?"

  "Back to his office," said TW, his voice rising and falling in volume with his flickering body. "Your parents are there, too, and Christina. You should hurry, because--"

  TW abruptly vanished just then, leaving me alone on the rooftop of the Peter Glow Building once again. I wished that TW had stayed a little while longer, because I wanted to know why I needed to hurry. What was Michael doing that made my urgency important?

  Not that it mattered. Michael may have thought that the war between me and him was over, but as he was about to learn, it just got started.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I ran over to the door to the rest of the building and, opening it, peeked my head inside. I saw nothing except a set of stairs leading down further into the building, but I knew better than to just rush blindly into the unknown. They couldn't be that far ahead of me, given how I hadn't been falling very long. Still, without my costume, I'd have to be careful about moving forward, least I attract their attention and get into a fight I couldn't win.

  I began walking down the stairs slowly and cautiously. I wanted to walk quickly, but I was afraid of my footsteps being heard. So I moved as silently as I could, taking each step one at a time and pausing to listen for any sounds below. It was oddly quiet, but it made sense, given how they didn't expect anyone to come down from the roof. As far as they knew, I was a splattered mess on the street, where I couldn't hurt anyone. I couldn't wait to see the looks on their faces when they found out that I was still alive.

  Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I found another door, this one with a tiny window that allowed me to look out into the hallway on the other side. Peering through the window, I saw that the hallway beyond was empty. I didn't see either my parents or the Injectors, but I knew they had to be somewhere nearby.

  Just as I was about to open the door, however, one of the doors in the hallway outside opened. I immediately moved my head away from the window and went very still, listening to the sounds of footsteps on the carpet. Very carefully, I peered through the window again and saw two Injectors--who I recognized as being a couple of the jerks who shot me--walking toward this door.

  Uh oh. If they entered the staircase and saw me, I'd be dead for sure. I looked around for a place to hide, but in this small space, there was no real hiding place. I just moved over to the other side of the room and crouched as low as I could. When the door opened, it would block me from their view, which would mean they wouldn't see me immediately. And if they walked up the staircase, then I would also have to bet on them not looking down and seeing me, either. It was a terrible situation to be in, but it seemed like I found myself in terrible situations a lot nowadays.

  The door opened. It nearly slammed into me, stopping just inches from the tips of my shoes, and then the two Injectors entered the stairwell. Luckily, they didn't look around when they entered. They just started walking up the stairs, talking to each other all the while, while I stayed as still as I possibly could against the wall, hoping against hope that the Injectors would not look down and see me crouching there like a kid playing hide and seek.

  "This seems like a waste of time," said one of the Injectors in a low, gruff voice. "No way that kid could have survived being shot three times and falling from a six story building."

  "I agree, but the boss wants us to make sure," said the second Injector, whose voice was a lot louder than his friend. "Says that he doesn't want any 'unnecessary' surprises. You know how he is."

  I hid my surprise, but I found it difficult because I thought I had the element of surprise on my side. Perhaps I still did, because Michael Jones did not know if I was still alive or not. Regardless, I would have to move quickly now, because once the Injectors got to the roof and looked over the side of the roof and didn't see my body below, they'd probably rush back down to let Jones know about my survival.

  As soon as the door to the roof opened and closed, I rose to my feet and left the stairwell, walking down the hallway as quickly as I could. There were a lot of doors on either side of the hallway, but not one of them was conveniently labeled with the Injectors' name, which made it hard to know where Jones could be. Even worse, I didn't have all the time in the world to open each door and find out who was behind each one.

  "Jack ..." said TW's voice in my head suddenly, though very weak and faint. "Jack ..."

  I stopped and looked around suddenly. "TW? Is that you? Where are you?"

  "Third door from the stairwell on the left side of the hall ..." came TW's voice again. "It's unlocked, but hurry ... please hurry ..."

  TW's voice trailed off, which made it more urgent than ever that I find Jones' office.

  I backtracked a few doors until I found the door TW had described to me. It was an ordinary brown office door, indistinguishable from the five others in the hall, and completely unmarked save for the words 'JOE'S CAR WASHING, INC. MAIN OFFICE.' I frowned. The Injectors were doing business under the name Joe's Car Washing, Inc.? I guess it made sense, because no one would expect the office of a car washing company to be the front for a dangerous drug cartel, but at the same time, it also felt a bit silly. Couldn't they have used a cooler business than that, like maybe Ion Technologies or whatever?

  But it didn't matter. I cracked the door open just enough to peer inside without being seen. I was surprised by what I saw.

  It was a large, open office space with plenty of room for five or six people at least. At the far end of the room, tall windows overlooked the entire city of Rumsfeld, which glowed brilliantly in the dark night. On the right side of the room was a bookcase filled with books and folders, though they did not appear to be arranged in any particular order.

  On the left side of the room, however, was Mom and Dad, who were still tied up and unconscious. My heart ached when I saw them, but I didn't burst in right away, because Mom and Dad were not the only people in the room.

  Michael Jones and Christina Madison stood near the back of the room. Well, Michael stood, holding the Trickshot Watch in his hands and looking at it curiously, while Christina sat down in a chair in front of his desk with her legs crossed and her hands folded on her lap. Neither one of them seemed to be paying attention to their surroundings, so I opened the door, sneaked inside, and quietly closed it behind me before I hid behind a second desk that was currently unoccup
ied. Crouching underneath the desk, I peered through the small hole that was meant for wires in the back of the desk, watching Michael and Christina and listening to their conversation.

  "The Watch is a lot less impressive than I thought it was going to be," said Michael, tossing the Watch from hand to hand like a ball. "It doesn't look any different from the watches that ordinary people wear."

  "That's the point," said Christina. "The last thing we want is for it to look special, because then it would stand out to the wrong people who might want to take it."

  Michael smiled. "'Wrong people,' eh? Like me?"

  Christina smiled back, but it wasn't a very friendly smile. "Oh, don't worry yourself, Michael. You're not the 'wrong' person, though you are going to have to give me the Watch now. You remember our agreement."

  Michael nodded slowly, though I noticed he didn't stop throwing the Watch from hand to hand. "Of course, but suppose I want to keep it for a little while longer."

  "Then watch as Icon stops funding the Injectors," said Christina. She leaned forward, her catlike smile never leaving her lips. "And your entire drug operation completely falls apart. You know that the only reason your little gang has become as powerful as it has is because of the money you've received from us."

  I stifled a gasp. Icon was funding the Injectors? That made a lot of sense, actually, and explained a lot, but at the same time, I couldn't help but feel surprised. Why would Icon fund a drug cartel as dangerous as these guys? What was their actual goal? What was even going on here?

  Michael stopped throwing the Watch from hand to hand. "I remember quite well. I was just joking. As useful as the Watch would be to my business, I know what happens to people who let their greed get the best of them. I've had to kill more than a few Injectors who tried to keep money they were supposed to give to me to themselves. I'm not going to let that happen to me, not even for a weapon as powerful as the Watch."