West Pacific Supers: Rising Tide

by Johnson-Weider, K. M.

  “I don’t know about that, but I do know you’d get a lot of monkey poop.” Mr. Awesome reached the top floor and quietly opened the door to the large assembly room. He was in utter darkness and below could see several tables and hundreds of the metal cylinders. A score or so with red danger stickers were piled up very neatly by the loading doors. Four people were working at the tables and there wasn’t any talking – probably not a positive work environment. He pulled out his micro-camcorder and began recording from the new vantage point; he decided to not even whisper anything to Annie until he withdrew from the area.

  “Lots of new equipment, they might well be synthesizing PGZ and fitting it into the cylinders as warheads, but they’re using manufactured components,” said Dr. Sterling. “You’re right this isn’t a wannabe, this is someone with cash and resources. If this is PGZ, these guys are looking to blow up a city or a mountain.”

  Mr. Awesome nodded, took some more footage, and then headed back to the staircase. He quietly opened the door and started walking down the stairs as he mentally went over the next part of the plan. The team had reasonable suspicion now and could charge into the place with the WPPD. It would probably take them an hour or two to get everything properly organized and they’d have to be careful; he wasn’t an expert but he suspected these guys had already assembled enough PGZ cylinders to take out the factory and probably the surrounding block.

  “The expense of synthesizing pentaglycerine is staggering,” said Dr. Sterling. “The cost of producing this stuff would be out of the range of most terrorist groups and supervillains. Honestly, I think…wait…ambient noise…Mr. A – someone is in the stairwell!”

  Mr. Awesome reacted instinctively, leaping back against the wall away from the railing. It was just in time; gunshots went off from below and bullets ricocheted around the stairwell and railing. Then the lights flashed on in the stairwell and likely across the entire factory complex. He turned and ran up the staircase towards the third floor door.

  A noise from behind made him glance back to see an older woman, her gray hair tightly wound in a bun, wearing a black jumpsuit and wielding two semi-automatic pistols. She was running quickly up the stairs after him and shooting at him as she went. He ran to the third floor door and slammed through. As he had feared, most of the area was lit up now, though a lot of lights were inoperative. Still there was more light than he liked. At least everyone down below was in a state of confusion, which was good. He threw himself behind the door and waited.

  The door was kicked open and the old woman came running on the walkway. Mr. Awesome grabbed her, swinging her into the nearby wall with a hard thud. The impact caused her to drop one of her pistols and give a muffled cry, but she recovered quickly and swung her left arm up, breaking his grip, and then kicking him in the chest. He could tell by her strength and speed that she was a mutant, which was a relief as he didn’t need to hold back. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem like the type to hold back against him either.

  She swung her right hand still holding a pistol at him, opening fire. The bullets hit him in the chest. His super density and ultimesh vest absorbed most of the impacts as he instinctively knocked the pistol from her hand and watched it fly down towards the factory floor.

  “Damn, you may be old, but you’re spry,” said Mr. Awesome as he failed to block another of her kicks. This one hit him in the shoulder; he took it without too much discomfort, he was nearly as dense as concrete. “You’ve got to tell me what vitamins you’re using.”

  She said nothing and was quicker than he was as he tried to grab or hit her. He was counting on her to make the predictable move. Sure enough, she dived for the pistol she had dropped on the ground. As she grabbed it, he drove his foot into her chest, lifting her off the ground and hurling her thirty feet across the walkway where she smashed into the railing with a loud crash. He turned and ran back to the stairs, taking them three steps at a time on the way down. He heard the door slam open above, but didn’t bother to look back as the old lady opened fire. One bullet hit his back and another hit his arm, and that one broke skin.

  “Damn it, Mr. A. how many are shooting at you?” Dr. Sterling exclaimed.

  Mr. Awesome pulled out his micro-camcorder and aimed it back up the stairwell. “Sending picture – apparently Sunrise Ultimate Security Nursing Home lost one of its inmates!”

  The woman took a couple more shots, reloaded, and then started jumping down the stairs, clearing a dozen steps at a time. He shook his head as he reached the first floor and slammed out of the stairwell. There were two guys with guns waiting for him. They were too close to the door so he reached one of them before they could do more than fire wildly in his direction. He grabbed the nearest gunmen and swung the man around as a makeshift battering ram into the second gunmen, crashing them both against the wall. He then took off down the hallway, pulling a flashbang off his utility belt. The moment he heard the stairwell door kick open, he turned and threw it. The old lady had hesitated leaving the stairwell - she must have expected an ambush - so she stepped out just as the flashbang hit the ground and went off with a deafening bang and flash. She retreated back into the stairwell.

  Mr. Awesome picked up his speed and exited through a side door. Once he was outside he ran for the nearest gate and climbed the fence. There was no further pursuit; he had escaped.

  “Any idea who Miss Daisy was?” said Mr. Awesome, jogging down the street for the team boat anchored at the public dock a half mile away. He knew he wasn’t seriously injured, but he would be sore and stiff for a week till he healed up and Patricia would give him hell, not to mention Abigail. They would be right of course; he had been lucky the old lady wasn’t using heavier munitions. He was too old for this, he thought again, as he felt his knee act up once more. He had ignored it as much as he could during the excitement but he knew that there were good odds he was going on Injured Reserve after his physical tomorrow.

  “You won’t believe this, but she’s a former pro: Erica Wilkie,” said Dr. Sterling. “She used to be Jane Error with the Southern League in the ‘70s, Victorian-style costume accessorized with guns. She had an on-again off-again problem with drugs, and eventually the Southern League cut her loose. In the ‘80s she went vigilante as Lady Vengeance, lost a trademark battle with the original Lady Vengeance’s estate, and then went as mad as Mr. Rochester’s first wife. She was caught by Ms. Omega after she killed three teenage gang members in DC, and she spent 15 years in prison. After she got out, she went corporate.”

  “Corporate? You don’t hire someone like that unless you’re expecting problems,” said Mr. Awesome as he approached the boat.

  “True, but it’s good to see you aren’t the only senior citizen in the Industry. Like I keep telling you, you don’t need to retire quite yet.”

  “Age and treachery, age and treachery,” muttered Mr. Awesome as he started up the boat. “Contact the WPPD. We need to storm that place within the hour before they can clear it out.”

  Chapter 2

  8:29 p.m., Friday, March 22nd, 2013

  242 Oceanside Avenue

  West Pacific, CA

  Dr. Noah Brandeis wasn’t supposed to be mingling, but the temptation had been too great to resist. His boss, Ian Roache, was hosting a fundraiser for Governor Fields who was up for reelection in 2014. The Who’s Who of West Pacific had turned out and Dr. Brandeis wasn’t about to miss this opportunity to rub shoulders with the rich and famous. He felt confident in his new Italian suit and reminded himself to thank Ian for ordering him to get it. He was now a mover and shaker, albeit a secret one, and he had to look the part. Of course, Pam suspected he was having an affair. It was the new clothes and how he was often gone for days at a time – she had told him as much. He had followed Ian’s advice to buy her jewelry and that seemed to have allayed her suspicions, but she did know he was up to something. He would have told her about the Plan, but he suspected she would either call the police or tell her sister and then everyone would know.


  Ian’s house was probably one of the most impressive mansions in West Pacific, though Dr. Brandeis admitted to himself that he hadn’t been in enough mansions to be able to make a truly informed opinion on the matter. However, the house had 17,000 square feet spread over two stories with a home theater (where Dr. Brandeis had first presented the Plan, upon Ian’s request, three years ago), a beautiful wood-paneled library, and enough rooms that Dr. Brandeis regularly got lost when he visited, though he did have a notoriously poor sense of direction. His favorite aspects of the house were the infinity pool, which looked like it stretched all the way to the horizon when seen from the house, the solarium with two-story windows that offered an incredible view of the ocean, especially at sunset, and the domotics. The house was completely automated with little cleaning robots and a fairly sophisticated computer system to manage climate control; in fact, Dr. Brandeis was logged into the system and when he entered a room the house’s computer would adjust the temperature to his preferences. If the house survived the Plan, Ian had offered to sell it to him, which was something he was strongly considering. Pam would love the house, though of course she would clutter it up. He enjoyed the Zen-like simplicity of Ian’s decorating.

  The mansion was a perfect backdrop for the fundraiser, with the moon hanging over the Pacific through the solarium windows and all the famous people mingling about. Over at the buffet table, he had actually shared a few words with Anastasia McKenzie of Sarah’s Serenade, not that he had been that witty, but he didn’t think he had sounded like a fool. He and Pam watched Serenade every Wednesday at 9 p.m. He had thought about getting an autograph for Pam, but guys in Italian suits didn’t ask for autographs. Then he had exchanged pleasantries with some baseball player named Jeffords who seemed as out of place as he was, nice guy, but Dr. Brandeis wasn’t really into sports. Of course, Ian did own the Samurais, so he was trying to learn the basics; Ian talked about baseball almost as much as he talked about the Plan. Dr. Brandeis had also met Congresswoman Winthrop, who, while a Republican, was a friend of Governor Fields; then he had met Mayor Bainbridge, who, while a Democrat, supposedly hated Governor Fields. Politics made no sense to Dr. Brandeis. More accurately he didn’t care about politics; all politicians were corrupt. He couldn’t even remember the last time he and Pam actually voted.

  The food was great, he had no idea what a lot of it was but it was delicious. Well not all of it, some of it was pretty foul, but he was sure it was expensive. The only downside was that everything was on sticks and there were no chairs in the designated mingling areas; apparently, this had to do with some new lobbying rule passed by the State legislature. The various politicians in attendance weren’t allowed to eat proper food as that would be an illegal bribe or something. Ian had explained this all to the team yesterday afternoon; it was highly ironic that they were determined to follow campaign finance laws given what they were planning on doing in a few months. Erica had actually cracked a smile when Ian riffed on the ludicrousness of it all. Erica was some retired supervillain or something; she was a stone cold killer, but she was a fan of classic rock so there was that to talk about. She was handling security this evening, which was one reason Dr. Brandeis was relatively relaxed. It was somehow reassuring to have the psycho killers on your side.

  “Dr. Noel Brandeis, right?” asked a man with dark features in a navy suit who looked really familiar, though Dr. Brandeis couldn’t place him.

  “Ah, Noah, actually, but yes… I’m Dr. Noah Brandeis,” Dr. Brandeis stammered. He really hadn’t expected to be recognized.

  “I’m Geoff Linden, you might remember me as Geode, we met at the Tucson Gem & Mineral Exposition back in 2007.”

  Dr. Brandeis looked blank as he tried to collect his thoughts. Geode was a superhero – that meant he was radioactive and should be avoided! Not that he was literally radioactive like the superhero Meltdown, but Ian had warned him that superheroes were clever and had to be avoided. Then again… maybe Geode was radioactive; Dr. Brandeis couldn’t remember what his powers were or where he worked – what was he doing in West Pacific? The city had more than enough superheroes as it was.

  “So what do you think about that?” asked Geode.

  “What?” asked Dr. Brandeis who realized Geode had been talking to him; he hated when this happened. “Ah, well, it is a complicated issue as you know.”

  “Yes, that it is, but the study was very promising. Though you are right, it is probably too optimistic,” said Geode thoughtfully.

  “Well, you know how studies and reports go, researchers can’t help but be overly optimistic,” said Dr. Brandeis, wondering what the hell they were discussing.

  “True, and given your presentation six years ago you do seem like you were ahead of the curve on this one,” said Geode.

  “Even a broken clock is right twice a day,” quipped Dr. Brandeis. Self-deprecating always worked, but what the hell had he talked about in 2007? Earthquakes… natural gas… asteroids wiping out the dinosaurs… he really needed to keep better notes. What if it had been about the Plan? Was Geode talking about the Plan? He had given that lecture lots of times at various events – damn it! Was there a study of importance to the Plan he didn’t know about? What if Geode had psychic powers? He could be reading his mind!

  “Dr. Brandeis, are you okay?” asked Geode.

  “Yes, I’m fine, of course. So why are you in West Pacific?” asked Dr. Brandeis. He needed to think about something else, like, like… sex! Yes, sex with Pam, no, that wouldn’t work, use your surroundings, adapt! Imagine Anastasia MacKenzie naked, she is right over there as a prop.

  “Noah, are you okay?” asked Geode with a worried tone.

  Oh, crap. He had been talking to him again, hadn’t he? Where did Anastasia go? He had lost her in the crowd, he had to say something. “Ah, I’m fine, just a little upset stomach. I’m lactose intolerant; bowels go all a-blended sometimes with dairy.”

  “Oh, right, well, good luck with that, I hope you feel better,” said Geode who moved away from Dr. Brandeis, shaking his head slightly.

  Dr. Brandeis quickly moved out of the living room and headed for the stairs up to the second floor and the command center, which was Ian’s study. His heart was racing. Had he just jeopardized the entire mission, was Ian going to be upset – was he going to have Erica kill him? Now it didn’t seem like such a good idea to have stone cold killers around and he slowed as he climbed the stairs, trying to buy himself a little time.

  Jorge met him at the top of the stairs: Doctor, is there a problem? Jorge was their psychic, he couldn’t speak – or, more accurately, Dr. Brandeis had never heard him speak. Dr. Brandeis just mentally reviewed his conversation with Geode and how he had babbled and endangered the mission; it was like confession done by download. Jorge nodded and rolled his eyes: It’s alright; Geode is not a psychic. I’ll see if he is suspicious, though I doubt it. Dr. Brandeis was relieved; he wanted to hug Jorge, because he wasn’t going to be killed by Erica, who really wasn’t that psychotic anyway and probably wouldn’t have killed him since they got along fairly well. Jorge shook his head and headed for the party. Dr. Brandeis sighed and opened the door to the command center. He was done mingling for the night.

  He was surprised when he entered the study and saw Erica for the first time that day. She was, as always, dressed in a black leather jumpsuit – she pulled it off despite being like 70 or something - but now she had bruises on her face and her nose looked a little off. He stared and couldn’t keep himself from asking, “what happened to you?”

  She smiled dangerously. “We had a problem last night.”

  Ian walked in and joined the conversation. “Yes, it appears West Pacific Supers stumbled on our operation at the factory last night and Erica has been working to cover our tracks today.”

  “What? Are they coming here?” blurted out Dr. Brandeis who imagined being pummeled by a superhero and then sent to prison for the rest of his life. No amount of money was worth that.

  “Hopef
ully not,” said Ian smugly. “Erica managed to herd most of our people off Industrial Island to Avalon One and to start a fire to cover our tracks, but the WPPD arrived shortly thereafter and I suspect there will be clues to be found.”

  “How did they find us?” asked Dr. Brandeis. He knew Ian claimed they were covered from psychic and magic divinations but that didn’t make him confident. He had seen a program on the Super Channel last month on how law enforcement and superhero teams could track down nearly anyone. He suspected that ever since the WPL break-in they were living on borrowed time.

  “Brian and Oscar are unaccounted for. Brian called in sick the last two days and Oscar took off running during our evacuation,” said Erica. “I suspect one of them tipped someone off.”

  “Jesus, they could identify me! They know me as Dr. B!” said Dr. Brandeis. “I’ve been to the factory! My DNA is all over the place!”

  “Perhaps. I suspect I’ve been ID’ed as well,” said Erica.

  “What are we going to do? We have to abort the Plan!” whimpered Dr. Brandeis.

  “No,” said Ian dismissively, “this possibility was factored in and those working in the factory were never informed about the full Plan.”

  “Sure, but they knew we were building deep sea charges and who knows what else they might have figured out – there was a lot of evidence there,” protested Dr. Brandeis.

  “Yes, which is why Erica is working to track down Oscar and Brian,” said Ian. “We will move all our operations to Avalon One and lock things down. You will tell your wife you are going to Argentina for a new project.”

  “We shouldn’t have stolen the PGZ; it was too flashy,” commented Erica.

  Ian shook his head. “It served two purposes: it gave us a needed material for the Plan and we were able to sell the formula to China for capital.”

  “West Pacific Supers isn’t a bad team,” said Erica. “They’ll run this down eventually.”