by Blake, Matt
I was dressed head to toe in black. Tight black jeans. Black suede desert boots. A black turtle-neck top, tight fit. To look at me, I looked like a magician or someone dressed for a night out.
And then I lifted the black cotton mask and pulled it over my head.
I felt myself transform when that black mask covered my face. To look at me, you wouldn’t know there were eye holes in the material, but I’d cut two tiny slots that allowed me to just about see. I felt warm. I felt like I was wearing a new skin. A second skin.
I wasn’t Kyle anymore.
I was someone else.
Just one final touch.
I lifted the stitching I’d found at an old thrift store in New Jersey. I pressed it up to my chest, stuck it on.
When I’d attached it, I couldn’t help smiling.
I was complete.
On my black chest, a circle. A dark planet with light beaming from around its sides. All around it, other little dots, little stars.
The very same image Orion used to wear.
The logo of hope.
I gawped at myself for a few more minutes before stepping away from the mirror. I felt self-conscious, but not as me, as Kyle. As my new self. As Orion.
But if I wanted to succeed, there were things I had to do.
Hope I had to restore.
As scary as it was, I had to draw attention to myself to show the public that there was another person with abilities, but that they weren’t all bad. That in the darkness, there was hope.
I had to draw attention to myself. Positive attention.
And there was only one place to start.
27
Harry Carson stared into the large metal container and felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
It was freezing. Freezing as hell. Sure, might’ve been summer, but New York was no Los Angeles, that was for sure. Everything was different about this place—the weather, the buildings. I mean, the Empire State Building. They don’t build ’em like that in California.
They didn’t do people trafficking like this in California, either.
The sounds echoed from the city. Sounds of nighttime partygoers, all going about their normal lives. The air was thick with the smell of sewerage and filth. The water splashed up against the side of the harbor, making the air seem even colder.
As much as Harry hated New York, hated his visits to this godforsaken place, he couldn’t deny his happiness at seeing what was inside the container.
“How many?” he asked as he stepped further into the darkness. The smell of sweat hit him first. He heard muffled cries. Rattling teeth. Shivering. But he distanced himself from it. He had to. After all, this was just business.
“Twelve,” Danilo said, leaning against the side of the container door. He puffed on a cigarette, which made Harry want to hurl. Never liked cigarettes, not since they killed his mother.
“You did good. They should shift a fair amount when I get them back to Los Angeles. Sure the trip’s gonna be okay?”
Danilo smiled, revealing a mouthful of golden teeth. “Perfect,” he said.
Harry took one last look around the container. Looked at the women inside—all of them beautiful as far as he could tell.
He saw the desperation. Saw them looking at him, eager for help.
And then he distanced himself from them and closed the door, stepped back out into the night.
The trip they had planned for these girls wasn’t ideal. A trip right through America hauling this container across so they could get the girls over to Los Angeles. It wasn’t easy—it’d take days, and that wasn’t including stops. But these girls went for so much money that it made the trip worthwhile. Besides, since the crackdown on immigration and state to state travel after the Era of the Ultras, it wasn’t like they had a better option. Planes were out of the question. Boats, likewise.
Driving was the only way to do it.
And if one or two of the girls didn’t make it there, well… that was just life.
“Ready to talk dollar yet? Danilo asked.
Harry slipped his glasses from his face and wiped his nose. “You know how it works.”
“Three times I make this trip. Three times I risk my life, same tiny deposit. I want more. More money. Up front.”
Harry was disappointed at Danilo’s sudden shift in mood. But he couldn’t blame him. In truth, he probably had ripped him off a little. “I’ll give you ten thousand up front. But no total pay rise. How’s that sound?”
Danilo tilted his head like he was considering. He’d better damn consider it.
“Ten thousand now, five thousand later. Final offer.”
Another pause between them. More silence.
Then, Danilo held his hand out to shake Harry’s.
It was when Harry grabbed Danilo’s hand that he saw the movement in the corner of his eye.
It was over on top of one of the metal containers much like the one the girls were inside.
At first, Harry thought it must be an animal of some kind. After all, nobody would be around these parts at this time. Everybody knew shit went down at the harbor. Shit you didn’t want to risk involving yourself in. You steered clear, stayed away.
So who the hell was this?
“Brad?” Harry had people waiting in the shadows. People watching. He walked over towards the side of the container, the one where he’d seen the movement. It was pitch black down there. He couldn’t hear a thing.
He walked a little further down it, holding his breath. It was too quiet. Way too quiet. Usually, he’d hear his goons saying something to one another. Never usually this quiet.
He went to open his mouth when he saw two of his men lying unconscious on the ground.
“What…”
He didn’t finish speaking.
A fist smacked his cheek.
He fell back. Hit the ground, slamming the back of his head against the concrete.
The seconds that followed were a blur. He heard Danilo shout something, heard a few shots fired, a grunt of pain.
When he looked up, the taste of blood in his mouth, he saw something impossible. No—something possible alright. He’d seen news of the new ULTRA earlier today.
But this wasn’t the same one.
This was someone else.
Some thing else.
He watched the way the figure in black moved. The way it jumped around Danilo, taunting him, shifting fluidly from left to right, knocking the gun from his hands, taking him down.
He watched the figure move over to the front of the container—his damned container—and open up the door with total ease.
He heard the figure mutter something in a… well, a higher pitched voice than he expected.
“Come on. Quick. Get out!”
Harry watched his women step out of the container. Watched them thank this… this monster in black. He saw the crest of Orion on his chest. Could it be? They said Saint had risen again. Did Saint have a competitor, just like the old times?
He watched his women leave, three of them, four of them, five, six… the rest.
And then he watched the man in black turn around. Look over at him. Completely at one with the darkness.
“Too slow,” Harry whispered, between a grimace.
He lifted his pistol and fired three times at the figure.
He heard a grunt. Saw a splatter of blood from the figure’s side.
Before he could fire and re-aim, he saw the figure run off, disappear into the shadows, limping away.
Harry leaned back and stared up at the moon, a grin on his face. Nycto’s competitor. Nycto’s competitor! He couldn’t stop laughing. Nycto’s competitor, and he couldn’t even dodge a damn bullet.
If that was Nycto’s competitor, then the world was doomed.
If that was Nycto’s competitor, then better get on Nycto’s side while there was still time.
28
You don’t know pain until you’re shot in the stomach.
I was back h
ome. The sky outside was dark, totally pitch black. The wind rattled against my window as I sat in the complete blackness of my bedroom. I’d turned the TV on just to cover any noise I might make crying out. I had no idea how I’d managed to drag myself back here, get inside, without making any sounds. I’d come all the way from the harbor over on Manhattan Island, and the pain in my stomach, right in the middle, was so sharp that I could barely breathe, let alone speed along with my ULTRA powers.
I lay back on my bed and lifted my clothing. My super black clothing I’d spent so much time perfecting the look of. I could feel dampness through my fingers. So damp that it was making my head spin, making me want to throw up. I knew what the dampness was. I knew what caused dampness like that. Blood. No doubt about it.
I knew I’d been reckless. I’d jumped down into the middle of one of the dodgy dealings at the harbor, which people talked about all the time because I knew it’d bring some attention my way. Some good attention. I wanted to ease people into the idea that more than one ULTRA was back—only not all of them were bad. This one wanted to help people. This one was good. Nycto might’ve been a sign that things were going to crap, but I wanted to be a sign of hope. A spark of light.
And I’d been shot. I’d been frigging shot.
I lifted my top. When I saw the wound on my stomach, I felt even worse. There was blood coming out of my body. I looked away. I didn’t want to look at it. Didn’t want to face it. I imagined all the people that were going to find me like this and never knew what I’d been capable of. I imagined Mom coming in during the morning, putting it down to some gang incident or other. Maybe it’d be better if I used the last of my strength to just fly away from here, to disappear forever. At least that way, my parents would live with the smallest hope that I was still alive, out in the world somewhere.
I tried to take a deep breath in, but it hurt too much. I squeezed my eyes shut, felt them sting. Being an ULTRA always looked so easy. The way they used their powers, it was seamless. But now I was finding out for myself that it wasn’t as easy as it looked. I’d trained. Hard. But I had a long, long way to go.
If I was going anywhere at all.
And then I remembered something.
The party venue. The doctors said I’d had injuries, but something had happened when I was unconscious. I’d… I’d healed myself in some way.
Maybe it wasn’t just a coincidence. Maybe if I focused on this bullet wound, I could heal it, just like I’d woken myself from my coma.
I looked down at my stomach. Tried to focus on the pain it was causing me—wasn’t exactly hard. I squeezed my teeth together. Heal. Heal. Heal.
But the pain just grew. More blood slipped out. I let out a little babyish yelp.
It was too hard. I didn’t have what it took to heal myself, so how the hell was I supposed to make people believe in me?
I was about to close my eyes when I saw what was flickering on the television screen in the corner of my bedroom.
It was a breaking news scene from the harbor over on Manhattan Island. Something happened. My head was so light that I could barely make out the words.
And then they clicked: MYSTERY MAN CAUSES CHAOS AT HARBOR: ULTRA?
I felt a twinge of pride inside. A speck of joy. They were at the scene of the crime. The police were apprehending the suspects. The women had got…
Oh no.
Oh God no.
The next shot showed that container that I’d saved the women from. Only there were a lot of stunned people standing around it. A lot of police, armed, and grainy footage of a man firing at the women as they ran away.
Most of them got away. Most of them fled.
But one of them fell.
“Obviously, this just shows what happens when an ULTRA tries to police the world,” the police officer said. “We had this here under control. Now… now it’s all fallen apart. We’ve got a young lady dead. And that’s all because of the ULTRAs trying to go about business in their own way, just like they did the last time they were around.”
I felt a twinge of responsibility as I saw that footage replay of the poor fleeing woman hit the road and go still. I’d started this chaos. I’d wanted to help those women—and maybe I had helped the bulk of them—but I’d caused a death in the process. I was responsible for the death of an innocent person.
As my head grew lighter, I started to wonder if maybe it would be better if I just faded to sleep. Maybe it would be better if I just…
I heard the floor to the left of my bed creak.
I felt a breeze touch my skin.
Funny story. Ever since I’d been a little kid, I’d sworn this bedroom was haunted. The sound of the floor on my left creaking—which it only ever did when someone stood on it. Always followed by a breeze from a window that I swore I’d shut. Always.
But never had I seen anyone standing over me. Never.
I turned over to look anyway. To check that the ghost who obviously wouldn’t be there wasn’t there.
When I saw the figure in black standing over me as I lay in my bed, I wasn’t sure how to react.
I tried to scream.
They covered my mouth before I had the chance, and then I was unconscious.
29
I opened my eyes and a splitting pain shot through my head.
I was in the semi-darkness somewhere. A light flickered above. The air was cold, and I was shivering. I couldn’t stop coughing, the taste of dust thick. Where the hell was I? And what’d happened? I tried to think back to how I’d ended up here, why I was waking up in an unfamiliar place, but my memories were blurry.
I went to lift myself upright and a shooting sensation spread through my torso. I looked down and saw the bloodstained wound. Shit. Oh shit. I’d been shot, that was right. I’d been shot when I’d gone down to the harbor to try and intervene in the shadiness occurring down there, to try and make a positive name and positive image for myself.
I’d managed to crawl my way back home. Find my way back to safety.
But… there was something after that. Something else had happened. What was it?
I tried to move my hands and my legs.
They wouldn’t budge.
I looked at them. They were pressed down on some kind of metal contraption like those people are tortured on in the goofy horror movies. It scared me a little, seeing them pinned down on one of these tables under a flickering light. Maybe the goofy horror movies weren’t so unrealistic after all. Maybe something really was going to happen to me in here.
The weirdest part about my pinned down arms and legs? I couldn’t see anything holding them down. No binds. No rope. Nothing like that. And it wasn’t as if I was paralyzed. I could move my arms further up, try to twist my knees a bit.
But my limbs just weren’t lifting.
I gritted my teeth, which rattled together with my shivering. I focused on the anger I felt at Nycto. The anger at him attacking the party venue. At killing Mike Beacon and so many other people.
I directed my energy towards my hands, towards my feet.
But every time it felt like my mind got closer to pulling them away, I was reminded of the bullet wound in my stomach, and my muscles gave up.
I gasped. I could taste sweat on my lips. I leaned back on this metal slab. Wherever I was, it was quiet outside. Whoever had brought me here obviously didn’t have grand plans for me to take me to somewhere so quiet.
But why? Who was it? Was it the government? Was it Nycto? Was it…
I got a flashback. A sudden flash to that presence standing over me. The feeling I’d always got of someone being inside my room when I was growing up. Only this time, there actually was. A man in total black, like me, only his clothes were baggier, and he wore a bowler hat atop his head, a long black trench coat, Doc Marten boots.
He’d reached for me. Lifted me from my bed with immeasurable strength. I’d tried to scream, to cry out, but before I knew it, I faded away into the darkness.
And here I was.
My breathing intensified. I tried to remember what that man looked like. Whoever they were, they can’t have had good plans for me.
I had to focus on the invisible ties, whatever the hell they were, around my arms. Maybe he’d given me something. Injected something inside me to paralyze me. Maybe he’d—
“You’re not getting off that slab with a wound like that.”
The voice made me go even colder than I already was. I looked around. I swore I’d heard the voice right in front, over in the shadows. But I couldn’t see anyone or anything there.
I felt my heart pick up. Pressure built up in my head. I needed to act fast. Needed to get away.
I focused on that bullet wound in my stomach. And as painful as it was, I put all my fear and discomfort flow into that patch of skin on my torso. I let the deepest, darkest memories come back. Memories I didn’t even know I had—memories of being dunked under water when I was just a baby. Memories of echoing voices. Of someone standing over me. Of muffled words that I couldn’t place, that I didn’t understand. Memories from dreams that seemed weirdly real. I didn’t know where they were from. I didn’t know where they’d come from.
I just knew that the memories were painful ones.
And then I realized my stomach wasn’t hurting as much anymore.
I opened my eyes and couldn’t believe what I was looking at.
The wound on my stomach was gone. Completely gone. No scars, nothing like that. Like it’d… like it’d healed over.
I saw movement to my left, snapping me right back into the moment.
Now my stomach was healed over, I put all my focus on my hands and legs. I strained so hard I nearly burst a blood vessel.
I kept on pushing.
Needed to get away. Needed to get out of here.
I kept on—
My hands came free.
My feet came free.
I flew off the bed and landed on my feet.
Startled by my success, I looked around this dizzying room. It was some kind of hangar. Abandoned, by the looks of things, by the amount of dust in the air. I looked around for a door, or for a window. Just some way I could get out.