“So he made a deal with the devil. The Hip Sing Tong would give him the money to continue in exchange for getting some nanites of their own to play with. I honestly don’t know why they wanted them, but there we were.”
“Did you know about that?” Janine looked up at me and I felt a dagger in my chest. In retrospect, the evidence had been there. I should have put it together and stopped the Prof before this whole mess started. Hell, I probably should have encouraged him to trash Type VII the second we realized they were potentially a weapon of mass destruction in a jar. But the student doesn’t question the master and in Prof’s own words, ‘one does not throw potential away out of fear’. Thanks, Prof.
“Not then.” I replied. “Not until . . .” About that time, I choked up a little. The events of that night were still burned in my mind. They always will be unless I manage to find and pay off a mentalist to erase them for me. And don’t think I wouldn’t do it in a New York minute. Finally, I collected myself, hugging Janine a little tighter. Not too tight though; I can bench a half ton after all.
“Not until that night. He came in and told me we had to dump the whole line of Type VII into the lab microwave. Burn them all out. Seems the Tong had grown impatient and was sending a guy to take the nanites whether they were ready or not.”
I remembered loading ampoule after ampoule of liquid the color of tarnished silver into the microwave. It had thrown off crazy blue sparks, then collapsed into blackened chunks after ten seconds. If I hadn’t been scared of getting shot or sank to the bottom of the Hudson, I would have thought it was cool.
“We didn’t make it.” I continued. “We almost did. The beakers holding the main colonies were still out and we were about to nuke them when the Tong hitter came in.” I decided to spare Janine the gory details. “He got the Prof. Got me too because it wasn’t good to leave a witness.”
She looked up at me. I don’t know when she had started actually crying, but her face was red and tear-stained. “He shot you? But you’re fine. I remember you spending a night in the university hospital, but they would have kept you for longer than a night, wouldn’t they?”
“If they had found a bullet. Or proof I’d been shot, yes.” I agreed. “But the hitter shot me through one of the beakers. The bullet lodged right in my spine . . . along with the nanites.”
Janine stopped crying and sat up, away from me. “Are you saying . . . they’re in you?”
Honestly, I don’t blame her for that reaction. They should have killed me. Medical nanites are one thing; stimulating cell growth, attacking cancers and whatnot. But they aren’t for long term use and usually, they’re implanted by doctors, not hitmen. “They saved my life.” I said. “They also disassembled the bullet into more nanites and repaired my spinal column – all before I even got to the hospital.”
“Are you serious?” She gasped. “That’s impossible. I’ve never heard of anything like this . . .”
“You never heard of type VII.” I pointed out. “They take their instructions from my own body’s electrical impulses. And apparently, my body’s instructions are ‘stronger, faster, tougher’.” That didn’t make her less incredulous. She’d just found out her boyfriend was a real life superhero, but this was giving her trouble. “Look, I know it’s hard to take, but I’ll prove it.” I looked around for a convenient iron bar to bend, but I was fresh out. “Uh, pick up my coat.”
If it were possible, I believe Janine would have looked even more incredulous. My coat looks like a cheap, light, plastic trench coat. I buy them in bulk and unfortunately, the cheapest mass produced trenches are the stupid white number made in Maine that have since become my unfortunate namesake.
I slit open the linings and fill it with plates made of ceramic material lined with titanium. With a command from my gloves, the plates magnetize and lock together, becoming a bulletproof armor. The upswing is that hiding the armor in the coat makes dopes like the Tong’s gunmen think I’m bulletproof. The downside is that after a few bullets, the coat falls apart. Hence my bulk buying.
But the other effect is that my coat weighs more than some large dogs and it’s awkward to lift without super-strength. Case in point: my tiny, tiny girlfriend. She gave it a good go, grunting and trying to get better footing, but she just couldn’t lift it all the way off the ground.
Smirking, I picked it up with one hand and tossed it on the bed. “See?” I asked.
“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” She said.
“Good.” I nodded, letting her come sit next to me again. “So, I woke up in the hospital the next morning with a spokesman from the university offering a non-disclosure agreement. Apparently, the other beaker full of Type VII had gone missing and the university was trying to cover its ass by covering up the Prof’s death.”
“And you took it.” Janine said, disapprovingly.
“I’m only human.” I said lamely. There really was no excuse. He offered me free tuition and a monthly check for the next decade in exchange for my silence. I took it because my student loans were already piling up and I couldn’t imagine a lifetime of debt. “I should have gone straight to the news providers with the story,” I said, “but I reasoned that doing that might not only cause panic, but cause the guys who took the nanites to panic as well.” This was true; though I came to this conclusion somewhere further down the line. Janine didn’t give up her disapproving glare, so I changed the subject quickly.
“Anyway, the Tong had the other nanites and without safeguards, they could have ended a lot of people by tripping.” I said. “So I went after them myself. Back then, I hadn’t built all my gadgets, so all I had was a bandanna to hide my face and a Kevlar vest I stole out of my dad’s closet.” My father the cop. He still doesn’t appreciate ‘busy bodies’ like the Whitecoat being in his business.
“You stopped them?” Janine asked.
I sighed. Sore subject, you see. Not painful like what happened to Professor Caldwell, but it pisses me off. “I got the nanites back and nuked them . . . but none of the goons I rounded up talked. The higher ups – the guys that ordered the hit, the guys that wanted Type VII for god knows what – they’re still out there.”
My wonderful understanding girlfriend smiled at me. “And you’ve been fighting them all this time. You even got a sidekick in on it too.” More tears, happy tears, sprang form her eyes. “You’re amazing.” She put her arms around me and kissed me.
“The, uh . . . sidekick wasn’t my idea.” I added hastily. I do not take responsibility for my super-powered fanboy. It took me three months to get him off my back and convince his parents to send him to the Academy in Langley. “But I promise, Janine, I’m going to get those guys. I’m going to stop them from doing this again and I’m going to make the Prof proud.”
Janine kissed me again. “You will.” Then she giggled; a very scary thing when it comes from Janine. “I bet you’ve gone all this time saving the city with no thanks or reward . . .” She put her arms around my neck. “I think I can think of something for my new favorite prelate.”
Somehow, I doubt I’ll have to depend on the shouts and waves of strangers to help me keep my spirits up anymore. In your face, Infinity.
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Rocco
R.J. Ross
R.J. Ross is the author of the Cape High Series, a YA superhero series that focuses on the teenage children of known superheroes and villains in the Cape High universe. The stories center around a newly found high school called Cape High, where the main characters go to school to learn to control their powers and decide which side of the “photo-op“ game they want to be on, Superheroes or Super Villains. While there are a few true super villains in the series, mainly the series is a fun, light-hearted approach to the genre, one aimed at all ages.
Follow R.J. on facebook at http://www.facebook.com/capehigh, read her blog and check out her store at http://capehigh.wordpress.com/ and follow her on twitter @nosidekickhere!
* * *
Thing is, not many of them can travel through shadows. It freaked me out the first time I did it—I had no idea how I did it in the first place, much less where I was going to come out at. Heck, some of the time I still don’t know. Shadows aren’t like doors. All shadows are connected through a giant space I like to call Shadowland. At least, for me they are.
The only explanation I could come up with is that my dad, that useless guy that I never met? He’s probably a super. Not a very good one, I bet, since I’ve never heard of a Hall member that could travel through shadows, but a super. It’s not that shocking. I mean, sure, there’s only a handful of them compared to normal people, but they exist. They even form a group called the Hall in America, one that has five branches of super hero teams.
So now I should probably say what I did to get on the most wanted list—and whose most wanted list that might be. Or maybe what my name is, huh? I will—give me a minute—
“I told you that you were supposed to be here at two!” The guy saying it is one of those creepy high dollar suits that do charity in the front of their shops and send out pre-teens with drugs in the back. How do I know? I’m watching him with a pre-teen right now, one that I like to consider a friend of mine. I wince as he backhands the poor kid across the room. “We have customers, Jamal!”
“I had to go to school,” Jamal says, wincing and barely touching his face as he tries to get to his feet. “If I miss any more they’ll call my ma—”
“Forget your ma! We had an agreement!” This is my cue. I step out of the shadows, right behind the kid. The man in the suit stares at me, until he sees the wooden bat in my hands. “You—” he says, reaching behind him. For a second I think he’s going for a gun, then he brings out a bag of white powder. “Here, on the house. Don’t say I never gave you nothin’, kid,” he says, tossing it to me. I automatically catch it, looking at it for a moment.
Do I look like a druggie? Tall, skinny mixed kid with reddish braids, torn up jeans that need pitched, a Panther T-shirt that’s seen better years, and run down sneakers that should be tied—okay, maybe a little, but still! That’s profiling! I toss the bag of drugs to the side. “Get out of here, Jamal,” I say.
The kid looks up at me, a worried look on his face. “But Rocco—” he starts out, only to stop and run as fast as he can to the door. I almost curse as the suit pulls out a small pistol, bringing it up to shoot at Jamal, but I don’t have time. I grab the man’s wrist, feeling the bones start to crack. The gun drops to the floor, going off. It’s only pure luck that it doesn’t hit Jamal.
“You’re finished, Mister,” I say as he futilely tries to punch me in the stomach. It doesn’t hurt—he’s got no skills and hardly any muscle. Like I said, business man. “You either stop peddling drugs through kids or I finish you for good, got it?”
He looks at me with a snarl on his lips and I’m certain I’ve got him. Then he does something I don’t expect. He bellows for help. “HELP! I’M BEING ROBBED! ANYONE!”
I wince, almost letting go of his wrist. “You really think that’s going to—”
The door bursts open and I dare to glance behind me, staring in shock at the very familiar looking woman standing there. Oh. Crap. I forgot that this was Central Hall territory. They’re the most famous of the Hall branches—and in my position at the moment? The most dangerous.
“Let the white boy go, kid,” Firefly says, “and I’ll try and make it easy on you.”
I let go of the “white boy“ and slowly raise my hands in the air. Can I accuse her of racial stereotyping for that term? Probably. I’ve never called anyone a “white boy“ in my life. But will I? When it’s an S Class super heroine with electric abilities? Oh hell no.
* * *
“Who are you?” The demand comes, as usual for me, from the other side of a table. There are some shadows around, but I can’t look at them yet—besides, none of them are big enough to walk through comfortably. Also, I’m not going to lie, I’ve always wanted to see the inside of the Central Hall. They were right, it is classier looking than the others.
“I have that information for you, Firefly,” a woman in a black suit says, stepping out of the corner and handing over a folder. I want to argue right now, tell them I wasn’t doing anything that deserves an interrogation, but nobody ever listens to me at this point. Or at any point, if I’m honest. I watch Firefly flip through the folder, focusing on her hair. I’m almost positive she bleaches it to get that white color, but with supers you can’t always tell. She’s white, with a white, blue and yellow uniform, and short, spiky white hair. She’s not bad looking, really, in a sharp way. She’s got blue fingernail polish that’s starting to chip on the edges. I didn’t expect that. I mean, you don’t usually think of super powerful beings painting their fingernails.
“Someone get a power blocker collar on this kid!” she bellows abruptly, making me jump. She must have found my power type. Otherwise I don’t think she would have bothered. There’s no way a seventeen year old kid—super or not—would be a threat to her.
“This is unjustified detention!” I say. I’m rather proud of that one. What? When you don’t go to school you have to watch a lot of news and Judge Judy for your education!
She just looks at me as two men in suits come into the room and try to snap a nasty looking metal collar around my neck. I shove them off, sending one of them across the room. “I didn’t do anything,” I say, only to find myself slammed down into my seat again—by a single blue nailed hand. She doesn’t even strain to pin me to my chair and snap the collar around my neck.
“I’d rather you didn’t run off in the middle of our little conversation,” she says, “Rocco.”
“I wasn’t robbing him,” I mutter, feeling drained. Not only is the collar making me feel choked, it’s making me feel a bit light headed, too. “I hate these things. Whoever invented them should be shot,” I mutter, swaying slightly.
“That’s my brother you’re talking about,” she says. “Please, go on, give me more reasons to want to throw the book at you—more than robbing Fort Knox.”
Yes. That’s what I’d been leading up to. Surprised? Not nearly as surprised as I’d been at the time. It’d been a mistake—I listened to the wrong guys, and wound up in the middle of the nation’s gold collection, surrounded by guards with really big guns. Back then I thought people would listen to me if I told the truth. Stupid concept, I know—I mean, I was in Fort Knox.
It was actually pretty cool, you know, on a level of one to ten, it’s definitely a ten when it comes to conversational pieces—
But anyway.
“Why did you rob Fort Knox, anyway?” she asks, now sitting on the table right in front of me as she reads the file. “It says here you were barely old enough to have powers at that time. Looking for drug money?” she asks.
“I’m not a druggie,” I mutter.
“Then why were you robbing one of the local drug dealers?”
“You KNEW?” I demand, jerking back to focus with that statement.
“Of course we know,” she says. “The cops have been looking for evidence on him for months—you almost ruined their sting.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I feel really stupid right now, not going to lie. I look down as much as I can with the collar on, wondering if Cape Cells will be as terrible as the stories I’ve heard.
“I’m going to be honest here, Rocco, nothing I’ve seen here is going to keep yo
u out of the Cape Cells. Marigold wants your head on a platter for that little Fort Knox trick, you realize that, don’t you? Breaking in on her watch in her district—boy, I’m surprised you’re not a road pancake already!”
Marigold is the leader of the East Branch of the Hall—remember I told you that there’s five different branches of the super hero group? Well, Marigold runs one of them. How do I know this? Marigold’s almost caught me a million times. “Marigold’s a pain in the neck,” I mutter.
“She’s got good reason to want you in the cells,” she points out. “Take him away, put him in one of the temporary cells,” she says to the men that hadn’t been able to collar me. “Let him wonder which Hall leader I’m going to call first,” she adds evilly as I’m hauled to my feet and dragged away. I am so screwed.
* * *
It’s a terrifying image. Jamal stares up at the gigantic statue of Lady Justice. She’s always scared him, he admits silently, especially when she’s the first one he’s got to look at before going into the Central Hall and admitting his sins to the most dangerous guys in the world. But—but Rocco had been helping him, so he sort of doesn’t have a choice, right? Not after Rocco swore he’d save him, and did, sort of.
He’s stood there too long, he realizes as a tall white man stops next to him. Jamal glances over quickly, turning back to the statue as if he hadn’t looked. There’s a cold chill running down his spine from that one little glance. Sure the guy is wearing a t-shirt and a pair of jeans with his face mask, but he knows he’s seen this guy on TV before.
“There a problem, kid?” the man asks casually. “With the statue, that is.”
“N—no?” Jamal offers. Man, why did he EVER get involved with the rich guy? A handful of cash for running a tiny errand turned into something that has him standing on the steps next to the most dangerous new guy in the Central Hall, looking at a stupid statue of a woman in a sheet! He really wants to run right now. Sure, Rocco’s a nice guy and all, and he’s got a bad rep, but this isn’t something a twelve year old can deal with!
The Good Fight Page 16