by Andy Briggs
“Enough games, Hunter! If we can’t find out how you work when you’re alive, perhaps we can discover it when you’re dead!”
Jake pushed his hands in Chameleon’s direction and the hero was yanked off his feet by an invisible force and soared back out of the store and through an optician’s window.
Jake clambered to his feet and back into the dining area. The floor was slick with water, but the sprinkler system had done very little to smother the blaze that had spread now through several stores.
He saw Chameleon groaning under a pile of broken designer sunglasses. A sudden feeling of doubt crossed Jake’s mind. He hated Chameleon with every fiber in his body, but he still could not bring himself to kill the hero—Jake had committed almost every crime he could think of, but not cold-blooded murder … not yet. Jake had extracted the information he needed to start finding a cure for his family. Chameleon didn’t know where Psych was, so what would killing him solve?
If you don’t, he’ll hunt you down relentlessly, muttered a dark thought at the back of his mind. And he knew it was true. Chameleon and the Hero Foundation wanted Jake, wanted the secret of enhancing superpowers that was locked in his body. And Chameleon had not even bothered to disguise the fact that he was willing to kill him.
Chameleon pushed a display stand off his bleeding leg and looked up to see Jake slowly advancing. He morphed back into his human form, fear crossing his face for the first time. And fear was something that Jake’s old bullying detector locked on to. In the playground an expression of fear on his victims was a victory signal. People were always easier to manipulate when they were scared.
“What’s the matter, lizard breath? Finally met your match?”
“Hunter, think about what you are doing! You have untold power we could use to help mankind—”
“And why would I want to do that?”
Chameleon blinked in surprise. “Because … you’re part of it!”
“All my life people have told me what to do. Every time I rebelled against them I got into trouble. But now, I am the trouble. Who can stop me? Heroes, villains, doesn’t matter. I’ll bring you all down!”
“Indiscriminately killing heroes and villains just makes you another power-hungry thug.”
“Then I guess that’s all I am.”
The sound of distant sirens piercing the crackle of flames caught their attention. Then it was drowned out by a loud explosion as yet another shop unit caught fire. The mall was an inferno.
Jake was opening his mouth to respond to Chameleon—but was surprised to find he couldn’t move. A fine crystal coating encased his body as it spun from Chameleon’s fingers. The hero climbed to his feet, nursing bleeding cuts on his leg.
“You may be powerful, Hunter. But you’re inexperienced.”
Jake tried to move, but found he couldn’t. He remembered Chameleon using this power on Basilisk’s henchmen in a previous battle.
“Before the authorities arrive, you’ll be teleported back to where you belong. Diablo Island, maximum security. You will never see daylight again!”
Chameleon was nose to nose with Jake, the hatred visible on his face. The hero was so consumed by his own thoughts of revenge that he didn’t notice the crystal coating begin to crack around Jake’s fist as he clenched it.
With a splintering sound the coating broke away into a thousand fragments as Jake tensed his whole body. His fist arced around in a wide punch that clobbered Chameleon in the face, knocking him down.
Chameleon looked at Jake in awe. “That’s impossible! That stuff can stop bullets!”
“Nothing can stop me,” Jake replied.
Chameleon knew he’d lost this fight, and didn’t want to endure any further punishment. He closed his eyes and teleported in a sudden clap of thunder.
“Coward,” shouted Jake, furious that his enemy had escaped. But the crystal coating gave him an idea. If he couldn’t bring himself to kill Chameleon, then why not trap him, permanently encased in a prison he couldn’t escape from?
At least until he felt comfortable with the idea of cold-blooded murder.
Distant voices heralded the arrival of the fire department and Jake didn’t want to wait around any longer. He had the name of the hero he had to locate: Psych. Perhaps his mysterious benefactor would help in tracking the hero down? He just had to find somewhere to hide, a place that nobody would think of looking.
Jake shot from the ground and smashed through the domed skylight above, and out over the city. Crowds had gathered outside to watch the mall burn. Nobody saw Jake fly into the low rain clouds.
Nobody ever looks up.
Invitations
Knuckles and Big Tony entered the school grounds feeling very subdued. In the good old days they would have been walking with the psychotic Scuffer and the leader of their crew, Jake. But those glorious days of ruling the neighborhood had come crashing down the moment Scuffer had discovered Jake possessed super-powers. That had led them to accompany Jake to Russia on an insane mission. He had been carrying a huge amount of money in a case; cash that, as Scuffer pointed out, would be better in their pockets. So they had decided to rob their own friend.
A bad move that had almost cost them their lives. And in Scuffer’s case … well, both boys were repulsed when they had been picked up in Russia by a group of Enforcers and shown what Jake had done to their friend.
Despite the bullies’ quiet demeanor, other students still avoided them. And the two boys had absolutely no idea that they were being closely watched.
Jake peered out of a dark basement window. Seeing his old friends made him sick all over again at their betrayal. They had sided with Scuffer and it wasn’t something Jake was willing to forget. They were on his ever-growing list; he’d make them pay.
After fleeing the burning mall, Jake had reasoned that the best place to hide was the last place his pursuers would think of looking—school.
He’d stopped at his house to borrow a few things. He made sure he didn’t trigger the array of motion sensors in the garden, planted to detect his arrival. The Enforcers had ensured that every trace of Jake had been removed from his home, including digitally erasing him from family photographs. His family would still be out in town, no doubt watching the fire department deal with the blaze he had caused.
The first thing he did was to take a shower, washing off a month of grime. He hadn’t even been trusted with a cloth and bowl of water on Diablo Island. Then he slipped into Beth’s room and borrowed her laptop. Of course, with no memory of her brother, she would assume it had been stolen. Walking around his old home brought waves of sadness. Jake fought to control his emotions—supervillains don’t cry.
He returned to school that evening, and used his assortment of powers to slip past the basic school security and hide in a basement that was used for storage. He connected his cell phone to the laptop using Bluetooth and then jumped onto the Internet using the school’s Wi-Fi system. Even though he didn’t know exactly how to access Villain.net, the URL being a complex string of numbers and symbols, Jake managed to access it from the text message on the cell. He was pleased with himself; this was finally a real world use of what he’d learned in computer class. His teacher would be impressed.
The Villain.net banner appeared, and underneath it a string of icons. One of them was pulsing, attracting his attention. He clicked on it and was taken to a bulletin page.
The headline read: Hero.com OFF-LINE!
Jake quickly read through the story. It said that the Council of Evil was rallying its members to wage coordinated worldwide attacks now that there were no Downloaders—superheroes who leeched their powers off the Internet—left. Most of the cowardly Primes had run for cover, leaving the world to deal with the superthreat on its own. Jake was about to click on a link to exit the page when a name caught his eye: Basilisk.
Jake felt his cheeks flush with anger when he read that Basilisk’s body hadn’t been found on his island and the Council suspected he had escaped. Th
ere was a bounty on his head for anybody who brought him in—dead or alive.
Basilisk was definitely still alive? Jake’s immediate urge was to hunt him down. But he reined in his anger. His family was the most important thing right now.
After much probing and experimenting with the nameless icons on the Web site, he found a search function that allowed him to track down superheroes. He entered the name “Psych” and was rewarded with an old photograph of the hero. He was a middle-aged man with graying temples and a strong, hawklike nose. He wore an unfashionably high collar and struck a pompous pose. The Web site simply said his status was “inactive.” There was nothing about where he could be found.
Jake spent the rest of the evening eating dubious-looking food that he found in the school kitchen and downloading a few extra powers, choosing them at random, and relaxing in the energizing feeling that coursed through his body.
The arrival of students the next morning roused him from the best sleep he’d had in ages. He couldn’t risk being seen by teachers or other kids, but he was determined to confront Knuckles and Big Tony today. As usual the two bullies took the same long route to their class, a path that kept them away from the main throng of students and teachers. It was the perfect opportunity for Jake to make his appearance.
He intercepted them around the back of the science wing, where they were in deep conversation. They didn’t notice Jake blocking their path until they were about to walk into him.
“Hello, guys,” said Jake.
Their expressions turned from thoughtful to fearful in the blink of an eye.
“H-Hunter!” stammered Big Tony. “Didn’t expect to see you.”
Jake ignored Big Tony; he was the thick sheep who’d follow anyone. His grudge was with Knuckles, who was slowly walking backward.
“Keep away from me, Jake. I didn’t do nothin’! It was Scuff, he made me turn on you.”
“Sure. He made you point a gun at me.” Knuckles’s mouth hung open. “I don’t forget traitors.”
Jake raised his hand—at the same moment the school bell rang, breaking the standoff. Knuckles barreled through the science wing door next to him. Big Tony hesitated before he followed. Jake didn’t move. He couldn’t show himself in public and he knew the two bullies would be too scared to mention anything.
Jake just stepped into the shadows and melted away, back to his hiding place.
To those who didn’t know him, it seemed that Mr. Grimm had had his sense of humor surgically removed. Those who did know him were fully aware that he had never had one.
Dressed in his impeccable black suit, dazzling white shirt, and thin black tie—an ensemble that had become his calling card—Mr. Grimm read the message on the display in front of him. He adjusted his square-rimmed glasses and tapped his chin thoughtfully. It looked like it was going to be a busy day.
Mr. Grimm was a fixer. Somebody large corporations or governments paid to solve impossible, and often illegal, problems. He worked for money, not loyalty, and had no morals. Such a flexible attitude occasionally meant that he found himself working for opposing sides at the same time. He was a double agent. And to the best of his abilities, Mr. Grimm always made sure he carried out his client’s wishes. After all, that’s why they paid him so much.
He stared at the instructions on the screen as he rode in the back of a large black SUV with tinted windows. He had two jobs to perform; unusually they were both at the same location, and both for opposing forces. He would first deal with the one that interested him the most: Jake Hunter.
That name had been whispered through corridors of both the Hero Foundation and the Council of Evil. The boy was apparently a key to amplifying superpowers to extraordinary degrees and creating new ones not naturally found in Primes. That was something that Mr. Grimm found most interesting for himself. Mr. Grimm was a Prime.
He glanced at the satellite navigation system and saw that he would be at the school in twenty minutes. He relaxed in his seat and pondered the situation that had been presented to him.
Hero.com was temporarily off-line. Like its counterpart, Villain.net, the Web site was the first and main line of defense against the enemy. Now an ingeniously crafted virus had brought it down, created by the rogue supervillain Basilisk. The Foundation’s technicians were scrambling to fix it, and to stop the growing number of villains who were suddenly coming out of the woodwork and taking advantage of the situation. It also meant that each of the Council members was attempting to move into a more powerful position—including his client. It was the usual political power struggle found anywhere in the world—only in this one the participants had superpowers.
There were currently eight members of the Council and the role of chairperson was supposed to rotate regularly among the Council members, but for several years it had stuck with just one archvillain, much to the chagrin of the other Council members. Yet they were so involved in their own machinations that they simply couldn’t seem to work together to topple their unofficial leader, or even band together to make a coherent assault on the Hero Foundation.
And between them all stood an oblivious boy who could aid both sides.
Or benefit Mr. Grimm personally.
He closed his eyes and set about figuring what strings he needed to pull in order to look after his own needs.
Chameleon winced as the nurse pulled the final stitch in his arm tight. He looked as if he’d gone several rounds in a boxing ring and then been thrown through a window and beaten up some more. He didn’t possess the power of regeneration, and he wished he could trade one of his many other powers for it. Once the nurse left him alone in the secret Foundation hospital, Chameleon used his camouflage powers to hide the cuts and bruises—showing an injury to your opponent was never a good idea.
He then left the ward and took an elevator down to a control bunker beneath the hospital. From here, he had communication links with the rest of the Higher Energy Research Organization, or “Hero Foundation” as it was often called.
Chameleon sat down when he noticed the screen was flashing the message: INCOMING TRANSMISSION. He tapped the touch screen and waited for a video feed of the Foundation’s leader to appear. Eric Kirby was wrinkled from worry, and ran a hand through his white hair. A mustache sat under his nose like an albino caterpillar.
“Chameleon, I must be swift. We are relocating the headquarters in case our position has been compromised. What is happening in your sector?”
“Intelligence says that the Council has been issuing permits like crazy. We have a few Primes protecting London, Paris, Berlin, and New York but we are too short staffed. If you could just order—”
“You know as well as I that I cannot order any Prime to fight when our numbers are so low.”
“But now is the time! If the Council’s forces overrun the cities, then how are we to claim them back? And the Enforcers are overstretched due to recent UN budget cuts. If they can’t keep our existence away from the public, then you know what will happen!”
“Of course I know! It’s what we’ve dreaded for decades! Their faith in their governments will crumble; there would be a backlash against both heroes and villains, which would undoubtedly lead to protests and riots as people demand access to our powers.” The passion on Kirby’s face had twisted into a grimace. “The boy. The boy possesses the ability to absorb and amplify our entire catalog of powers. And you let him slip through your fingers!”
Chameleon sighed. He’d taken enough blame for what had happened on Diablo Island. Just because he was working for the good guys didn’t mean that everybody was nice to each other.
“Events at Diablo were completely unprecedented,” Chameleon snapped back. “I would like to have seen Commander Courage there, stopping him.” Chameleon winced the moment the comments were out of his mouth. Commander Courage was a pseudonym Kirby had used when he was much younger.
Kirby refused to get pulled into an argument. “I just want to know what you’re doing about things now.”
Kirby waved his hand dismissively. “I’m already on it. I have sent Mr. Grimm to talk to them, although it would help if you dropped him a video link to assure the cadets of his authenticity.”
Chameleon didn’t like the term cadets; it sounded too militaristic, but Kirby had old-school values. Chameleon also had reservations about Grimm. “I don’t trust Grimm any farther than I can—”
“I do. He’s a sound asset. One hundred percent reliable.”
“With Enforcer units stretched and most people in hiding,” Chameleon tried not to look at Kirby when he said that, “then there is very little we can do. I have heard reports of trouble in America and have spoken to the president and offered my services.”
“And the boy?”
“Hunter is in hiding too. And until he surfaces, there’s nothing I can do.”
“The boy’s powers are the key to our surviving this. Find him. Mobilize Teratoid.”
There was a long pause. Chameleon had been monitoring the Teratoid situation and still didn’t know what to make of it. “But that’s like using a … a …” Words failed him. “Teratoid is nothing more than a dumb animal. A shell of what he used to be.”
“By all accounts nothing has changed then.” Kirby laughed. “And Teratoid has a unique tracking ability. Unleash him and assign an Enforcer squad to cover him. He will lead us to the boy.”
The screen went blank. Unleashing Teratoid in public was like letting a caged lion run free in a school. Even though the room was pleasantly warm, Chameleon had goose bumps.