The Siege of the Supers (The First Superhero Book 2)

by Logan Rutherford

  “We’re just trying to get a baseline. Something simple to make sure the Eximus isn’t messing with your brain in ways we don’t want it to,” Loren said. Her expression turned dark. “Your name.”

  Since when did the government care about what the Eximus did to my brain? It was already messing with it in ways that terrified me. They seemed not to care at all what their invention did to Supers. “John Doe,” I said with a smile.

  Loren reached into her pocket and without looking, dialed up the dosage of Eximus.

  My whole body went rigid as it seized with pain. The electricity coursed through me for a split second before it was dialed down. My breathing was fast and weak. I wasn’t sure how much of this I could take.

  “Tempest, your name,” she said, her frustration growing.

  It was fun seeing Director Loren getting upset, especially since I was the cause of it. In my own passive-aggressive way, I currently had the upper hand. “My name is Neil Armstrong.”

  Loren bumped up the Eximus again, sending another torrent of pain and misery my way.

  “I could do this all day, Tempest. I quite enjoy this,” Loren said. I could tell she wasn’t lying about enjoying torturing me, but her anger and frustration at me for not correctly answering her question mounted. Her right hand was squeezed tight in a fist at her side, while the other was in the pocket of her coat, ready to turn up the voltage once again.

  “Okay, okay,” I said. I was trying to hold back a laugh. “My name is George Lucas. I was kidnapped by Tom Cruise a—” A hit of Eximus interrupted me, filling my body with pain. I couldn’t speak, but my joke mixed with the frustration I was causing Loren caused me to laugh. I laughed uproariously through the pain. If I could see myself at that moment, I was sure I’d look like a madman. And maybe I was one.

  “It’s a simple question, Tempest. What is your name?”

  The answer hit me and I found myself laughing even harder. “You don’t know, do you?” Hearing myself say the words caused more fits of laughter to rush through me, followed by waves of the Eximus. “You don’t know!” I screamed.

  Director Loren let out a grunt in frustration and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. I continued laughing, turning my laughter partly into screams, hoping the sound would follow Loren down the hallway. I imagined the sound of my laughter following her down the halls, haunting her.

  I settled down and chuckled to myself. “They don’t even know my name,” I mumbled. Another chuckle escaped my mouth. But then it hit me. I stared at the ground, confused. “How the hell do they not know my name?”

  I’d been in their possession for who knew how long. I didn’t have my powers. I had no way to fight back. How had they not taken blood samples, hair samples, pictures, fingerprints, every bit of identifying information they could take from me and run it through the government database? How did they not already know everything about me, my friends, family, where I lived, went to school—everything?

  Something wasn’t right, and it was more than just the fact that I’d been captured and didn’t have my powers.

  27

  Welcome to the STF

  I looked down at the grey shirt I was wearing. Across the front in big black letters was the word TEMPEST. Below it were the letters STF in large bold letters.

  It might as well have been a bullseye.

  I looked across the commons room. There were three lines of tables, some couches in a corner, a bookshelf filled with the latest books along with some classics, and a TV with game systems hooked up to it. I looked up at the high ceiling where large stage lights were hung. In a ring around the ceiling were glass windows, behind which scientists were taking notes on clipboards, monitoring readings on computers and watching us like the lab rats they saw us as.

  I scanned the room and searched for anybody that I recognized. Specifically, I searched for Brian. He was about to find out who I was. It was inevitable. I just wanted to get to him before he was able to shout my name. He had to know that he had to pretend he had no idea who I was. If he gave my identity away, I’d lose what little leverage I had over Loren and the STF.

  “Holy. Shit,” someone said. It was someone sitting at the table closest to me, a young boy with dark skin. His shirt didn’t have a name on it like mine; his simply had the numbers 10927 printed across the front.

  He stood from his seat. The people around him stopped what they were doing and looked at him, trying to figure out what was going on. They followed his gaze, and it led straight to me.

  Soon, the whole room was looking at me. Staring. Reading the name on my shirt and then dropping their jaws. It was like clockwork.

  I stood there awkwardly, not sure what to do. Everybody was just staring at me. It was like they were waiting for me to start flying around the room. To burst a hole through the roof and lead everyone to freedom. It was miserable. I could feel the eyes of the scientists watching me from behind the glass up above. I wanted to rip my shirt off and tear it to shreds. I wanted to say it was a joke, that I wasn’t really Tempest. This was just some sort of test.

  Instead, I finally walked over to a water fountain nearby and got a drink. I heard whispers behind me as people began to speculate what I was doing there.

  “Well, shit,” I heard someone say. “I was counting on him to save us. Now I’m gonna die here.”

  “You think he’s strong enough to overpower the Eximus?”

  “I thought he was working with the government the whole time.”

  “You son of a bitch.”

  I turned around after the last one and saw Brian Turner standing inches away from me. His face was red with anger. He looked like a bull that was about to charge.

  I walked past him, toward a guy with large round glasses and shaggy brown hair. He was drawing something on the pages of a notebook.

  “Hey, I’m talking to you!” Brian yelled after me. People were starting to turn their attention back to me. I needed to act fast.

  I ripped a piece of paper from the notebook.

  “Hey, what the—oh, shit.” His face went white when he saw the name on my shirt.

  “Can I borrow your pen?” I asked. I looked over my shoulder and saw Brian sauntering over toward the two of us. I had a feeling things were about to escalate very quickly. And I didn’t have my powers to help me.

  The guy with the glasses stumbled over his words, not sure how to respond. I grabbed the pen from his hands. “Thanks,” I said as I started writing.

  Identity secret. They’ll go after Macy.

  I thrust the paper into Brian’s chest when he reached me. He grabbed it and was about to throw it aside when something caught his eye.

  He gave me a disgusted look and shoved the paper at me. “Watch your back, Tempest.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief and handed the pen back to the guy. “Thanks again…?”

  “Hank.”

  “Thanks, Hank. I appreciate it.”

  I realized everyone was still watching me. I looked around, and wherever my gaze went, people averted their eyes. Everybody pretended that nothing was up and that it was just a regular day.

  I looked down at the piece of paper in my hands. It was incriminating, to say the least. Brian’s confrontation could be explained away as someone who didn’t like Tempest confronting him, but if they saw what was on the note, they’d know that the two of us were connected.

  I tore the small section of paper that I’d written on off the rest of the sheet and crumpled it up into as small of a ball I could. Then I tossed the ball of paper into my mouth. I gave it a good hard swallow and the little ball of paper went down.

  “Huh,” Hank said.

  I opened my eyes and looked down. Hank was sitting there staring up at me.

  I chuckled nervously. “Oh, uh, sorry about that.”

  “Don’t worry, we all need our fiber,” Hank said, returning to his drawing. I noticed his hand was shaking and he was trying desperately not to call attention to it.

>   I sat down across from him. He looked at me over the top of his glasses and went back to drawing, trying to ignore me.

  “So, Hank, any pointers?” I asked, trying to start a conversation. It felt awkward and forced, but I didn’t want to just sit in the corner feeling everyone staring at the name printed across my chest. I wanted to at least try to fit in.

  “Well, if I were going to give anybody else any pointers, it’d be to not hang around with the most hated guy in the room,” Hank said, not looking up from his paper.

  I laughed nervously. “I guess my reputation precedes me?”

  Hank frowned. “Most of the people here aren’t one of the good guys like you. The good guys are better at not getting caught, usually because they’re not the ones trying to rob banks. Some of the guys are even here because of you—or at least that’s the way they see it. Hate and fear make more noise than anything.”

  “So which one are you?” I asked.

  Hank frowned again. This time he looked puzzled. “I’m sorry?”

  “What are you? One of the good guys, or one of the others?”

  “I’m just a sixteen-year-old kid who’s trying to draw.”

  I moved around in my seat, repositioning myself so I could see what Hank was drawing. I opened my mouth to ask him a question, but what came out was a yelp of surprise.

  I was pulled backwards from my seat and thrown to the ground. I scrambled up, trying to figure out what was going on.

  “Hello there, Tempest,” my attacker said. One look at his pale, scarred skin and I recognized him instantly. It was the teleport from Chicago, the one Holocene and I had taken down. “My name is Sven.”

  “Hi, Sv—”

  Sven slammed his fist into my face. My nose cracked and my head snapped back. Blood poured from my nose and a cacophony of ooh and aahs came from the people watching.

  I tried to regain my composure, but another punch hit my stomach, sending my air flying from my lungs. I dropped to my knees, gasping for air.

  Sven smashed his elbow into my back, throwing me to the floor. I was desperate to feel the popping sensation of my body healing itself, but all I felt was pain and the warmth of the blood pouring from my nose. I searched within me for my powers, trying to coax them out. All I found was static and pain.

  Sven got on top of me and punched me in the face as hard as he could. I felt the bones in my face give a little and after a few more punches, they cracked. I screamed in pain, but could do nothing to fight back. Sven held me down and pummeled me, his face filled with calm rage. He had every intention of killing me.

  Could he kill me? If my body couldn’t heal itself, it was certainly possible. Surely the STF goons wouldn’t allow that. They couldn’t. Could they? I did make Director Loren very upset.

  As if in answer to my question, the crackling of electricity sounded from Sven. His body went rigid and began convulsing as he fell in a seizing heap on the floor next to me.

  I lay there moaning in pain. I could feel my face begin to swell. My vision began to blur and the black stars in my vision weren’t going away.

  I felt myself being lifted into the air, the sudden movement sending waves of pain crashing through me. The hands set me down on a gurney and my gaze fell on Hank.

  He was sitting in the same position, drawing. I caught a glimpse of the image on his paper.

  It was my own bloodied face.

  The guards rushed me out of the room and once again all I could focus on was the immense pain.

  28

  Doctors Orders

  The guards wheeled me into a room filled with bright lights. I looked around as best I could and saw the room was lined with people in suits, watching everything that was happening very closely.

  “Is this his first time?” I heard one doctor say to another.

  “Yes,” one replied.

  “I’ll need a smooth surface for calibration, then.”

  A team of doctors was hovering around me, masks covering their faces. Some of them ripped my clothes off, leaving me bare and cold.

  Every touch hurt. I was aware of everything. The pain that coursed through me, the static in my head, the doctors sliding a cool metal needle into my veins, the cold patches they placed on my chest.

  The clippers shaving the hair from my head.

  The vibrations sent such severe pain shooting through my head it was almost unbearable. I thought I was going to pass out. I could almost feel the bone fragments in my face shake around like rocks on a conveyer belt.

  My hair fell in a pile around me, tickling my neck. Some clung to my eyelashes and I blinked it away. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what they could be shaving my head for. I didn’t even want to. All I wanted was to have my powers back. All I wanted was to have my regeneration back for just a split second. Just to heal myself a tiny bit—not even all the way. That’s all. Was that too much to ask for? Had I not earned at least that?

  “Okay, that’s good,” a doctor said. “Applying nodes.”

  I felt what seemed like lots of small fingers digging into my head. It felt as if a masseuse was preparing to give me a thorough head massage. It would’ve felt good had I not been distracted by my broken face.

  “Tempest, listen to me,” a voice said. This was one I recognized. Loren.

  I moved my eyes to meet hers. I could barely see through the slits they now were, thanks to the swelling.

  “We’re turning off your Eximus shocker for a few seconds. If you try anything, we’ll bring Sven in here for another round. Understand?”

  I tried to say something, but all that came out was a gurgling noise that she took for a yes.

  “We’re ready, ma’am,” a doctor told her.

  “Everybody stand back,” she said, taking a step back herself.

  I felt the static in my head fade away. The hum from the Eximus receded back into the device implanted into my neck.

  And the popping began.

  No, I told myself.

  No! I screamed in my head.

  I was trying to stop my regeneration.

  I’d realized what they were doing. They were studying what was going on in my brain when I was healing myself. I didn’t know what they would learn from the readings they were gathering, but whatever it was, they sure as hell didn’t need to know.

  The popping didn’t stop. I felt cracking around my eye socket as the bones fused back together.

  “Stop it,” I hissed under my breath.

  A huge pop came from my jaw and I yelped in pain. “No! Stop it!” I spat.

  “Don’t fight it, Tempest!” Loren snapped. “There’s no reason to fight it!”

  “Screw you!” I yelled.

  The bones in my body healed. I felt hair push out from my scalp, returning to the length it had been before they shaved it.

  I was back at one hundred percent.

  The static returned. My brain hummed. My powers were gone.

  “We have the readings, ma’am. Mission successful,” one of the doctors said.

  “Thank you, Pollocks,” Loren said. She walked into my line of sight, standing over me. “And thank you, Tempest.” She flashed a condescending smile.

  A doctor removed the device from my head. She ran her fingers through my hair. I tried to reach up to yank her hand away, but my hands were tied down. I hadn’t even realized they’d restrained me.

  “You did a good job. Keep it up.”

  29

  Familiar Voices

  I walked into the boys’ dormitory of the building the STF was holding us in. There were a dozen twin-sized beds lined up and down each side of the room. At the back was a doorway that led to the locker room and showers, while up above was a similar glass window setup like the one in the living area.

  I walked across the concrete floor, looking for a place to sleep. People watched me as I walked by, apparently puzzled by the fact that I was totally healed. I guessed they didn’t let people use their powers often, like they had me. Then I realized that
some of them might have not realized that I had regenerative powers, that maybe they’d thought I was just really tough or something. There were some powers there was no way they could know I had, like my super hearing or super vision. And if they didn’t, the STF probably didn’t either. Not that it helped me much in the situation I was currently in.

  Most of the Supers in the room were in their own self-made groups. Not quite cliques, because they weren’t so stereotypical. At least, not from what I could tell. It just seemed like two or three were in one corner, two or three more in another, etc., etc. I noticed Brian and Sven were in a group with two other people—a girl with black hair and olive skin and a dark-skinned man with a bald head and a serious case of Resting Bitch Face.

  In the back of the room was a spot between Hank and another guy. I walked over there and stood in front of the empty bed. “Is this spot taken?” I asked.

  Hank looked up at me from his notebook and smiled. “Good to see you survived. No, you can take it.”

  I nodded in thanks and sat down on the bed, then slipped off the white tennis shoes they’d provided me with. I looked over to the bed next to me and saw a Hispanic teen sitting there, writing on some paper. “Hey, my name’s Tempest,” I said to him.

  He looked up at me, smiling. “Name’s Wes.”

  “Nice to meet you, Wes.” I gestured to his notebook. “Where do you get those?”

  “They’re in the Common Room,” Hank said.

  I turned to him. “Cool, I’ll have to grab one.” I craned my head to try to get a glimpse at what Hank was drawing, but I couldn’t tell. I wanted to ask him about his drawing of me, but wasn’t sure when I’d get the chance. It was definitely a conversation I wanted to have in private.

  “That was a real scene Sven caused with you earlier,” Wes said.

  I turned my attention back to him. “Yeah, I guess. He seems like not a very nice guy.”

  “Especially since you’re the one who beat him to a bloody pulp.”

  As if on cue, a man I recognized walked by. It was the guy from the bank in Dallas. He shot me a look as he passed, but didn’t try anything. I got the message, though. I’d really have to watch my back.