I ducked down, peering through the car window I’d crawled through.
“We need to run,” I said to Viola. I raised my voice to be heard over the pandemonium Silverback caused. “Can you unfasten your belt and crawl out this way?”
“I can try.” She wrestled with the seat belt. Each second brought Silverback closer. I felt in my chest vibrations from the tremors Silverback’s super-dense body sent rippling through the street with each step.
“Hurry!” I urged. If I used my powers to free Viola, it would be as obvious as a whore at a Boy Scout jamboree, though I’d do it if I had to. Do it meaning use my powers, not do the whore. What a time to channel Isaac’s sense of humor.
There was a ripping sound. Viola’s seat belt finally retracted, freeing her. She yelped, almost banging her head on the roof of the car when she fell onto it. Meanwhile, I tugged on the handle of the crumpled door so Viola wouldn’t have to crawl through the window. It was stuck. The vibrations from Silverback’s approach intensified. Stupid stubborn door. I gave my muscles a subtle assist from my powers. Too much. I staggered backward when the entire door ripped away from the car with a screech that made my teeth ache.
Viola crawled out and scrambled to her feet. I dropped the door on the street, hoping Viola hadn’t noticed my feat of seeming strength. I had a My strength is as of the strength of ten because my heart is pure deceptive quip all ready to go. No need. Viola was too busy staring at the approaching monstrous Rogue to think twice about the door. Despite the tumult she’d been through, her glasses were still in place, again thanks to a subtle use of my powers. At least her glasses weren’t immune to them. Too bad they weren’t a Rogue.
“Run!” Viola exclaimed. She grabbed my hand, turned, and followed her own advice. I trailed after her. Her blonde hair streamed in my face. Her hand was warm in mine. Who’s saving whom? I thought.
We dodged cars and darted left, off the street and onto the sidewalk. We pounded north. Others were running away from Silverback too, on both sides of the street. Still on his hind legs, Silverback moved to the left as well, advancing slowly yet implacably behind us.
Coincidence? Maybe. There were a lot of people running with us now. Silverback didn’t have to be after us. He could have been after one of our fellow runners, or after no one in particular. Besides, he didn’t know my secret identity. But why had he landed in front of Viola’s car? Just another coincidence? And why had it seemed he looked right at me before he started moving in this direction? If you piled a bunch of seeming coincidences on top of one another, pretty soon you just had a big pile of It Ain’t Just A Coincidence.
I scanned behind us with my telekinetic touch as we fled. My mind was awhirl with thoughts of whether Silverback was really after me. The distracting thoughts almost made me almost miss it.
“Get down!” I yelled. I lunged into Viola, tackling her, driving her toward the sidewalk. Simultaneously, I extended my hand toward the people in front of us, activating my powers, knocked them all down like bowling pins. I twisted as Viola and I fell, taking the brunt of the impact on the meaty part of my shoulder. Viola fell on me. Pain lanced through my shoulder and down my spine.
The streetlight Silverback had ripped from its foundation and hurled at us whizzed over our heads with a high whistle as it spun like a boomerang. It curved to the right and smashed into two parked cars. Glass broke and metal twisted. One of the car’s alarms started shrieking, adding a new layer of sound to the pandemonium.
I had to put a stop to this before someone got hurt. I also couldn’t continue to use my powers without risking revealing who I was. I needed to change into my costume double-quick.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” I urged. I pushed Viola off me, scrambled to my feet, and pulled her up after me. She was dazed. Her eyes looked unfocused without her glasses. The bent frames were on the sidewalk, their lenses smashed to pieces by our fall. If Viola ever learned about my powers, I hoped she’d forgive me for neglecting to keep her glasses affixed to her face this time. In my defense, I had a lot on my mind, including the streetlight that had nearly caved our skulls in. Better to lose your glasses than lose your head.
My ankle throbbed. I had twisted it when Viola had fallen awkwardly on top of me. I ran as fast as I could further up the block, pulling Viola with me. Silverback continued his inexorable advance behind us.
I turned left. I flung open the glass door of a tall office building, and pulled Viola inside after me. The sounds of the chaos outside faded slightly. A shiny stone receptionist’s desk matching the shine of the floor was in the middle of the lobby, with an empty leather chair behind it. Two vases of fresh flowers sat on either end of the desk.
A man jumped at our sudden appearance. He was right inside of the door. He had been craning his neck, obviously trying to see down the street through the clear glass to spot what all the commotion was all about. He wore tight gray slacks, an equally tight white shirt, and dress shoes so shiny I could have used them to shave. Tall and thin, he had thick, wavy, slicked-back black hair and cheekbones that could cut glass. He was the poster child for the phrase “pretty boy.” A thin headset was around his head. The receptionist, obviously. A waste of genes—he should have quit and become a model.
Now recovered from his startle, the man greeted us with a well-practiced smile. His cheeks were dimpled; his teeth were even and perfectly white. Of course they were. “Welcome to Myers Tower,” he said. “I hope you’re having a wonderful day. How may I help you?” Viola’s clothes were askew, and her hair looked like she had just walked through a wind tunnel. Blood dripped down my face from a cut on my cheek. I wiped it away with my palm. Despite our appearance and the obvious uproar outside, this guy was saying I hope you’re having a wonderful day? First impression? He was as ornamental as the flowers on his desk, and about as bright.
I ignored him. I’d already scanned the building with my powers. I said to Viola, “Go through the lobby, take a right, and then a left. There’s another exit on the other side of the building. Once you’re out and safe, call the cops. Take this—" I caught myself, almost saying idiot, “guy with you.”
“But what about you?” Viola said. Hopefully later, when things calmed down, she wouldn’t wonder how I knew where the other exit was.
“I’m going back out to see if I can help other people get away.”
“I’ll help too.”
The tremors caused by Silverback’s approach got stronger. “No offense, but it’s obvious you can barely see without your glasses. You’d just be in the way. Now go.”
Viola hesitated, looking like she was going to argue further. Then her face softened. She quickly kissed me on the cheek. “You’re very brave,” she murmured. She stepped away and jerked her head at the receptionist. “Come on, you heard the man, let’s go.”
“But I’m not supposed to leave my post,” the guy protested. Like he was the Queen’s Guard at Buckingham Palace or something.
Viola shot me an eye-rolling look. She said to the guy, “I’m sure your boss will understand. Let’s go, Fabio.” She grabbed his arm, and pulled him along as she half-walked, half-ran through the lobby. The guy followed behind her like he was a lost puppy. Cute but stupid.
The moment the two turned the corner and were out of sight, I dashed to the lobby’s nearest door. I yanked it open, then slammed it shut behind me. The tiny room was dark and reeked of cleaning supplies. A supply closet. Of course I was changing into my superhero costume in a closet. Could I be more of a cliché? The only thing that might’ve been more clichéd was if I made the change in a phone booth. Assuming I could find one in this age of cell phones.
I’d ducked into this closet because, though I hadn’t seen any security cameras in the lobby, I had little doubt a ritzy building like this one had hidden ones. Not changing into your Hero costume while on camera should be rule number one of the Hero handbook. Maybe, once all this was over, I’d write one. Unlike with my autobiography, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to let
my publisher name it. They’d probably name it something misleading like Coming Out of the Closet.
In seconds, my clothes melted and changed shape and color, reforming into my Omega costume. I skipped the cape this time. No need to dress to impress. I was going to an ass-kicking, not a wedding.
I laced my fingers and cracked my knuckles. “Time to batter Rogue butt,” I murmured. I winced. After all this time, I still hadn’t come up with a decent catchphrase.
Though probably my imagination, I felt the warmth of Viola’s kiss on my cheek. She said I was brave. She was wrong. I wasn’t being brave. Bravery was action in the face of fear. I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t even nervous. I’d dealt with Silverback before. Though him not being affected by my force field was a new trick, I still had him thoroughly outclassed. Now that I was in costume and wasn’t hampered by having to hide my powers, I would defeat Silverback easily. Though my powers apparently could not affect him directly, there were plenty of things I could do to him indirectly. Maybe I’d wrap a bunch of abandoned cars around his big body until he was immobilized and looked the like world’s biggest Christmas present to the Astor City Police Department.
I smiled at the thought of wrapping a chrome fender around Silverback’s neck like a silver bow. Maybe I’d hang around afterwards, make a statement to the press, and take a few photos with fans. Though my modesty-is-a-virtue upbringing always rebelled at the thought of making a spectacle of myself, my publicist Margot had been nagging me lately about goosing Omega’s Q Score. A Q Score was the measurement of the public’s awareness of my brand and how they felt about it. The fact I even knew what a Q Score was showed how much I’d changed these past few years. Some of my merchandise deals were expiring soon, and Margot wanted more leverage to negotiate for more money. When I had suggested that we already made enough money, she had looked at me like I had sprouted a second head and it spoke an alien tongue. Maybe ginning up some extra publicity off of Silverback’s defeat would get Margot off my back for a while. She was persistent as Chinese water torture.
Anyway, I was putting the cart before the horse. First I had to get out of this dark closet. Then I had to kick Silverback’s butt from here to the top of the UWant Building. Then I’d worry about my Q Score, and maybe a few other letters of the alphabet while I was at it. Like E, for Easy.
After doing a quick scan with my telekinetic touch to make sure no one was in the way, I raised my personal shield and shot through the wall of the closet. I felt bad about the damage I caused, but a building like this one was surely insured. It likely even had a Metahuman damage insurance rider. A lot of business in big cities did. Rogue attacks weren’t common, but they weren’t exactly unheard of, either.
Drywall burst, bricks shattered, stone cracked, and wood beams broke in a cacophony of sounds. I burst through the building’s outer wall. I skidded to a halt, hovering in the air a few feet off the ground. Screams, shrieks, and horns filled the air. People were still running. If anything, the chaos I’d left behind had increased. I twisted to look at Silverback.
Uh oh. I felt like Wile E. Coyote when he realized he had run off a cliff and was about to fall and break every bone in his body.
Silverback was no longer alone. Five additional Rogues were with him:
Mad Dog, in a garish green and maroon costume. No longer what Dad would call hard fat, Mad Dog was far leaner than when I had imprisoned him in The Mountain. He was still a big, muscular man, though. The red outline of a snarling dog’s head was on his chest. His head was unmasked. I’d know his bald head and pig eyes anywhere, having seen them more times than I wanted to when I visited The Mountain. He had still been there when I last visited, with his Metahuman power of spitting energy balls neutralized by him being in the holding cell I had inherited from Avatar. He glared at me. Even this far away from him, I felt the intensity of his hatred for me. It radiated from him like heat from an oven. I wondered where he had gotten his costume from, though that was the least of my unanswered questions.
Elemental Man, aka Frank Hamilton III, aka Trey, aka Isaac’s hated stepbrother. Trey had raped Isaac’s younger sister, a horrific act that led to her suicide. Trey was a muscular man in a white, red, blue and brown costume, each color taking up a solid quadrant of his body. I wondered if the colors represented the substances he could manipulate and control, namely air, fire, water, and earth. Though there was a black domino mask around his eyes, the rest of his head was uncovered, which was how I recognized him even though I had not seen this particular costume before. He had the strong jaw, pouty lips, and classic features of a male model. And an ego to match unless he had a personality transplant since I’d last seen him. I had given him the nickname Hitler’s Youth during the Trials because of his alabaster white skin, perfectly styled blonde hair, arctic blue eyes, and I’m-better-than-you attitude, all of which would probably have given Hitler a boner had he known Trey. I had defeated Trey during one of the Trials’ tests. Because of that defeat, he had failed the Trials for the third time and was therefore forever barred from getting a Hero’s license. According to Isaac, post-Trials Trey had told everyone who would listen I must have cheated because otherwise someone like me would have never beaten someone like him. He was wrong—I had beaten him fair and square. My cheating during the Trials had not come until later.
Brown Recluse, a tall, wiry figure in a brown and tan costume with the black outline of a spider on the front. He crouched down on all fours on top of an abandoned minivan. That pose, his costume’s colors, and his long, spindly limbs reminded me of the arachnid he had taken his name from. His costume covered him from head to toe, except for his hands, which were bare. He was a former licensed Hero and Trials proctor who had been bribed by the disgraced Sentinels to smuggle a bomb into the Trials to kill me. For his crimes, he had been sentenced to serve time in MetaHold. I doubted he was out on work release.
Iceburn, in the same pitch-black costume with luminescent ragged lines running through it I had last seen him in. The costume covered him from head to toe. Iceburn’s body glowed as if lit up from within. The half of his body that glowed orange-red generated heat and fire; the half that glowed light blue generated cold and ice. He too was supposed to be in MetaHold, serving multiple life sentences for killing my father, and killing and hurting others while he tried to kill me. He was also supposed to be paralyzed from the neck down. I had broken his back when we had last fought years ago. He certainly looked hale and hearty now, though. Maybe he had been taking vitamins in prison.
Last, but most definitely not least, Doctor Alchemy. His birth name was Ajeet Thakore. In addition to being Neha’s father, he was one of the most prominent Rogues on the planet. He was as well-known as Avatar had been, but for opposite reasons: Avatar had been famous, whereas Doctor Alchemy was infamous. Some mothers kept their wayward kids in line by telling them Doctor Alchemy would come and get them if they did not straighten up.
Like Hitler’s mustache, Doctor Alchemy’s costume and appearance were instantly recognizable, and for similarly evil reasons. The only Rogue here in a cape, the flowing dark purple garment combined with Doctor Alchemy’s imposing height and palpable physical presence made him seem almost regal. A slightly curved V-shaped piece of fabric rose from the neck of the cape to past his hair, serving as a dramatic backdrop to his head. The rest of his costume was a lighter shade of purple with black accents. His purple cowl exposed the top of his head and his mouth, nose, and chin, displaying his dark brown Indian skin, thick black hair, and a well-groomed shiny black mustache and beard. He had the same hooked Indian nose Neha and our son James had.
The tightness of Doctor Alchemy’s costume highlighted the musculature of a fit man decades younger. Only touches of gray at his temples hinted at his true age. Thick gauntlets of a dull gray metal were around his wrists. A small tube extended from the top of each. A utility belt affixed with rectangular containers of the same metal as the gauntlets was around his waist.
“Howdy kid,” Iceburn cal
led out cheerfully. He had to shout over the din of noise from cars honking and people running and screaming. “You’ve gotten some fancy new duds since I saw you last. I like ’em. Blue suits you.” Though I hadn’t heard his self-confident voice in years, I had listened to it often enough in my nightmares when I relived the night he murdered by father. Hearing his voice again was like hearing a song you hated that had burrowed into your head like an earworm. “My colleagues and I are the Revengers. Because we’re looking for revenge. Get it? A little too on the nose and dangerously close to trademark infringement, I know. My big buddy Silverback here wanted to call us the Super Fiends, but I said that was too cartoonish. I wanted to call us ‘The Six Guys Who Are Gonna Kill The Hero Formerly Known As Kinetic Because He Screwed Them,’ but that got voted down. Too wordy, they said.
“Silence,” Doctor Alchemy ordered flatly. He spoke with a pronounced Indian accent in a tone that brooked no dissent. He stared daggers at me. His left arm was raised. The metal tube extending from his gauntlet pointed right at me, like the barrel of a gun.
My watch buzzed like a startled rattlesnake. I did not take my eyes off the Rogues to look. It was no doubt Augur informing me of more Rogue sightings. Yeah, thanks for the heads-up, I thought. Too little, too late.
I stared at the assembled Rogues—the Revengers, apparently—scarcely able to believe my eyes.
I hadn’t been scared before.
Now I was scared.
CHAPTER 9
I thought of calling for reinforcements. Myth, Truman, maybe even Ninja. I dismissed the idea as soon as I had it. If I could not handle six Rogues—even if one of them was Doctor Alchemy—then I did not deserve the Omega spirit, the Omega suit, or even the name Omega.
Questions tripped over themselves in my head. How were all these Rogues here, especially the ones who were supposed to be languishing in prison? I doubted they would tell me if I asked. Close-mouthed bastards. Besides, this was no time to ask a bunch of fool questions, not when facing this many superpowered threats and with so many people around who could get hurt.
Rogues Page 9