by C. C. Ekeke
Now Borealis was a retired civilian and close friend. That gave Titan’s weariness a brief respite. “One exception, out of countless failures.” He shook his head, staring out at the rippling ocean beyond San Miguel’s coastline.
Geist wasn’t finished. “So everyone who considers you a role model is wrong?” he demanded in a rough, angry whisper. “You’re what I can never be for millions in this city, this country, this world. A beacon of hope. Remember that.” Geist usually didn’t speak that much, more prone to curt retorts and grunted one-liners.
Titan turned his neck, glancing in the vigilante’s direction. A pair of glowing, blood-red eyes glared up at him from the shadows between the air vents and power generators. Despite the darkness, Titan’s 80/20 vision discerned Geist’s sinewy, coiled outline.
“I believed that once.” He turned from his friend. “Nowadays, Titan isn't enough.”
“Where’s this coming from?” Geist demanded. “I’m the cynic, not you.”
But Titan knew he was no longer an effective beacon. This new generation of heroes cared more about fame, endorsements and social media followers. Titan remained mute as the sun climbed higher.
Geist kept prying. “Is this because yesterday was the Chicago Massacre’s fifteenth anniversary?”
“I don’t know,” Titan replied, uninterested in revisiting that horrific event. The last few weeks had been rougher than usual. “Just thinking out loud—” He stopped as faint smoke tickled his nostrils, wafting from the east. Titan turned in that direction and listened, stretching his hypersenses out.
Trouble inland near Paso Robles, San Miguel’s largest suburb.
Titan tensed for action, glad for a distraction from his self-pity. “Building fire on Park Street,” he stated, turning to Geist. “Have to…”
Golden sunlight chased away shadows between the generators, revealing no Geist.
Titan smiled and shook his head. How does he do that? “Thanks for listening, friend.” The hero rocketed toward Paso Robles at top speed.
Chapter 1
Quinn Bauer stared at her half-eaten lunch with dwindling enthusiasm.
On paper, Mexican-Indian fusion sounded intriguing. But chicken masala burrito, naan lentils tacos and curry flavored black beans weren't good in execution. The young reporter, with a shock of big kinky black curls, peered across the table. “Thoughts?”
Annie Machado, her lunch date, also looked indifferent about her own unfinished lunch. She scooped up her glass of rose and shrugged. “The wine’s good.” Annie took a long sip, her sunkissed face flushed after two previous glasses.
Quinn snorted with laughter. “We’re in Paso Robles, Annie. The wine better be top-shelf.” The two friends shared a corner booth at a downtown Paso Robles restaurant. Bright sunlight poured over this fusion bistro’s sparse patrons through the windows. Quinn appreciated the Mariachi meets maharajah décor of Bollywood Baja, another of the chic new bistros that sprouted every few months. Quinn had written about this a few months ago. The continuous attempts to cement San Miguel and its suburb Paso Robles as foodie destinations or whatever. “Seriously,” she urged. “What do you think?” Quinn hoped her opinion on this blandified food was isolated.
Tossing back her flowing dark locks with blunt bangs, Annie forked another piece of her chicken and butter rice. She swallowed a bite and made a face. “Chicken’s too dry. Sauce's too runny.” Annie took another long sip of rose. “Again, great wine. You?”
Quinn frowned and adjusted her horn-rimmed glasses. “The food isn’t vomit-inducing or even underwhelming. I’m just…whelmed by the blandness. Which is worse.”
“Ruh-Roh!” Annie grinned, adjusting the collar of her designer blouse. “Bollywood Baja. Another victim of Quinn’s opinioned poison.”
“Hold up!” Quinn raised her hand as if stopping traffic. “Not yet. The review isn’t due until next Friday. They have another week to get their ish together.” This was her amended review policy after some readers accused her of being too harsh on sucky new restaurants.
“You’re right about the wine, though.” Quinn smiled and raised her glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.
Annie beamed. “Cheers.” The friends clinked glasses and tossed back the rest of their wine. As a junior reporter for SLO Coast Daily’s Lifestyle & Culture, Quinn reviewed shiny new restaurants. That came with perks and, as evident today, shortcomings. Annie willingly tagged along to many of these reviews, despite her demanding PR job.
Annie and Quinn had been each other’s ride-or-dies since meeting at Brown University seven years ago. It was Annie who had convinced Quinn, a proud east coaster in need of a fresh start, to make the cross-country leap. Having her BFF and extended family in San Miguel softened the landing.
Two years later, Quinn still considered that her best life choice ever. She loved how San Miguel’s streets crackled with newness and vibrancy. She loved how this young metropolis had whatever a young woman could want. Countless job options, beautiful beaches, (mostly) good food, copious wineries and a chance at reinvention.
That last aspect had intrigued Quinn most, knowing the City of Wonder was built on the foundation of an older Californian community. A 7.8-scale earthquake in late-1987 had flattened sleepy San Luis Obispo and most of its eponymous county. California officials’ initial decision had been to rebuild. Instead, several corporations and land developers had seen an opportunity to create a new metropolis. Five years and over seven billion dollars later, San Miguel emerged, drawing transplants from across America and the world. A California goldrush for the 21st century.
“Thanks for lunching with me,” Quinn gushed, unable to eat another bite of her bland meal. She slipped into her light blue jean jacket. “Maybe dessert won't suck?”
“I’m down to grab sweets.” Annie wiggled something under the table. “As long as…” She whipped out her left hand. “I show you THIS first!”
Quinn recoiled, blinded by a huge diamond ring waving in her face. She rubbed her eyes and looked again, slack-jawed. “Is that…?”
Annie nodded, a smile slashing her face in half.
Quinn’s heart swelled. “OMGeezies,” she exclaimed. “Jonathan proposed?!”
“Last night, finally!!” Annie squealed. She and Johnny, her boyfriend of four years, were practically married already. Annie thrust out her hand to give Quinn a closer look. “I wanted my bestie to know before posting on Instagram!”
Quinn leaped from her seat, arms spread wide. “Come here!” When Annie popped up, the squealing friends bearhugged in the middle of the restaurant, ignoring other patrons’ glares.
When they broke apart, Quinn looked upward to meet her friend’s gaze. Not surprising as she was a petite five-feet-four and Annie a voluptuous five-foot-eight. “I want details, Tatiana Machado!”
“So glad you asked, Quinnie.” Annie fanned herself overdramatically with the hand bearing the ring. “Johnny’s elaborate setup was extra AF—!”
A slight tremor running through Bollywood Baja silenced Annie.
Quinn glanced around in concern. “You feel that?” She spotted other customers’ pointed alarm. Please, not another earthquake. Quinn still hadn’t adjusted to those.
A more forceful jolt shuddered the whole street, causing cries and gasps. Every patron ducked for cover.
“That definitely wasn’t an earthquake.” Annie clutched Quinn like a protective mom.
There was a crack of thunder as a large object tore a cloudy path through the street right outside for yards. Everyone, Annie included, shrieked and jolted back. Quinn stared as whatever had crashed skidded to a halt. Columns of dirty smoke rose from the gash torn across the street.
Through the curling smoke, Quinn spied a man shake his head before rising. He was tall, six-feet-four and built like a chiseled building. The bright green costume he wore with a big golden T across the torso was unmistakable. His blocky and swarthy face looked determined, trademark silver Caesar haircut ruffled.
Quinn’s eyes
went saucer-wide as her chocolate brown skin flushed. She’d never seen him this close. But like the rest of the world, Quinn knew this superhero at a glance.
The Central Coast Saint. The Almighty. The one and only, Titan.
Immediately after, a massive SUV came flying, about to land on him.
Titan squared his stance and caught the Escalade like a beach ball at the last second. Lowering the car back to the ground, the superhero rocketed to wherever the vehicle and he had come from.
“Holy Shiva!” Quinn cried. “That’s—”
“Yep,” Annie announced from behind. Quinn found her BFF glued to her cellphone, of course. “According to Avngr, Titan and Lady Liberty are fighting Killawatt and Armordillo two blocks away…”
The whole restaurant instantly sprinted outside for a better look, waiters included. As she and Annie followed the crowd, Quinn shook her head in disbelief. Something else she hadn’t adjusted to.
Superhumans.
Whether they battled in costume as heroes and villains or lived normal lives, superhumans flocked to San Miguel like magnets. This city had the largest superhuman population in the US. SLO Coast Daily, headquartered in San Miguel, had a section dedicated to superhumans and superheroes. San Miguel PD created a task Force dedicated to superhuman-related crimes.
Another reason why San Miguel got labeled the City of Wonder.
Outside, Quinn got full view of the clash through dirty billows of smoke and ruined structures. The sight left her breathless.
Right down the street, living gods battled for supremacy.
Titan flew at a shiny, massive, armored creature shaped like an armadillo. The criminal known as Armordillo curled into a ball and somersaulted toward Titan at top speed. Floating higher was a woman in skintight crimson, showing lots of leg, fiery blasts shooting from her eyes. Lady Liberty.
Quinn’s stare landed on the second supervillain, long-limbed with several thick cords sticking out from his flabby body. And what resembled a three-pronged power plug sat atop his head. Killawatt. He matched Lady Liberty’s optic blasts with bluish lightning forks exploding from his fingers. Intense light bloomed whenever their energy projectiles collided. Last Quinn checked, Killawatt and Armordillo had been in San Carlos Supermax Prison.
They’d broken out, she mused, enthralled. Titan and Lady Liberty were trying to recapture them.
Several bystanders came running from the clash of supers, some snapping selfies or videos while fleeing. Titan’s fist struck Armordillo with a deafening ka-TANG, jarring Quinn from her stupor. Knowing what she must do, the reporter whipped out her phone. She turned ruefully to her friend. “Honey, I gotta—”
“Go,” Annie said before Quinn even finished, knowing her so well. “Get your story.” She pointed at the nearby battle, concerned but understanding. “Please don’t die, Quinn Marie Bauer. I need my maid of honor alive.”
Quinn smiled from ear to ear. She already knew the title was hers, but hearing confirmation made her giddy. “Noted!” Quinn scurried back toward the battle. Her kinky curls bounced as she weaved through civilians running the other way. “Go somewhere safe!” Quinn called over her shoulder.
“Will do!” Annie called back, slipping inside Bollywood Baja. “I’ll grab us a bottle of that wine!”
Quinn was already dialed in, recording the battle of supers while heading for safety behind a nearby building. Cars were never sure bets during any superhero vs supervillain battle.
In mid-sprint, Quinn spotted an older couple fallen on the ground, cowering at stampedes of people fleeing around them.
She dashed forward instinctively, helping both husband and wife up. "Follow the crowd. Get as far away as possible." Once the couple was on their feet and scurrying away, Quinn resumed her race toward the fight.
Armordillo lurched up and toward Titan again. Nearby, Lady Liberty dropped like a stone from the sky, felled by Killawatt’s lightning. She landed hard on the pavement, leaving a cracked depression. She fought to all fours, trying to shake the cobwebs off. Killawatt moved in for the kill, like a tiger stalking wounded prey. His whole body crackled with electric power. Can she recover and fight back? Titan and the massive Armordillo now traded blows, hitting each other so hard their strikes sounded like thunderclaps. Who’s gonna fall first?
Quinn found safety behind an ice cream shop. The reporter couldn't stop smiling as she recorded the suspense, drama and action from a hundred feet away.
“I was made for this!” Quinn remarked. Realizing the camera recorded her side commentary, she cringed and kept watching in silence.
Chapter 2
A shrill noon bell signaled the school year’s end.
The students of Paso Robles High excitedly poured out into sun-drenched streets.
Many gushed about their summer plans, especially if they didn’t involve summer school.
Hugo Malalou wasn’t thinking of summer. He thought only of this moment on the last day of freshmen year.
“Be cool,” he told himself. “Make your move.” The self-confidence booster wasn’t helping.
The fifteen-year-old stood outside Paso High trying to act cool as ice, convincing himself to approach. His wardrobe was decent, classic Titan t-shirt with baggy jean shorts. Dark curly hair fell just past his shoulders, just how his girlfriend-to-be liked it. Hugo looked and smelled good, despite the balmy June heat.
He’d done this approach too many times to count. But anxiety buzzed around his stomach like angry hornets. Because I get the same answer. But Hugo refused to surrender. He’d planned this moment since last week.
“You can do this.” Brushing his hair back, he weaved through swarms of students exiting school.
Hugo headed toward the six BFFs standing near the school entrance, snapping giggly group selfies. Six of the most popular girls in ninth grade, chicly garbed and very pretty.
Well, five of them would be considered very pretty. Compared to Briseis El-Saden, whom Hugo was in love with, they looked “medium-pretty.”
Briseis, nicknamed “Brie” by her friends, was a flawless fusion of Greek and Egyptian beauty. This teenage dream had almost two inches on Hugo, with sunkissed caramel skin and a trim figure sculpted by hours of varsity tennis practice. Stick-straight hair spilled down her back in flowing auburn waves, crowned by a golden headband. Overwhelmed by her face, Hugo barely noticed Brie’s summery clothes.
Jesus, that crazy beautiful face, impeccably plump lips and carved cheekbones. And Brie’s eyes were like piercing pale emeralds. Hugo wondered how many necks broke from doubletakes whenever Brie entered a room. He could stare at her face for hours…
“HUGO.” An irate bark snapped him out of his trance.
Hugo blinked. Six girls glared at him. Brie stood in front, arms folded with unwelcoming stiffness. Her perfectly-shaped eyebrows furrowed in bother. “Do you want something?” she demanded. “Or are you just gonna stare like a total creeper?” Snickers rippled through her friends.
Hugo’s insides lurched in embarrassment from the mockery.
“Silent or speaking, Hugo always creeps me out,” Spencer Michelman remarked, disgust on her foxlike face. Lia, Jordana and Natalie giggled. Brie snorted. Only Jen Thomas looked sympathetic.
They christened themselves the Sensational Six. The superhero fan in Hugo might’ve found that blasphemous if not for this group’s collective hotness. Jordana Buchanan, Brie’s petite BFF with coffee brown skin, long curly black hair and pendulous breasts, despised Hugo intensely. Jennifer Thomas, tall and willowy and freckled with a wavy ginger bob, was the friendliest of Brie’s squad. Natalie Rodriquez, full-figured and beautiful and vapid, was a product of our Instafame-obsessed times. Her popularity came from a baseball player dad and being a huge gossip. And since Briseis was the freshmen Queen Bee, then Spencer Michelman owned the title “Queen Bitch.” This decidedly medium-pretty girl looked like she’d been dipped in a pool of bronzer, her sleek black bob and fitted preppy wardrobe resembling a Gossip Girl villain. Acid-to
ngued with a tendency to sneer rather than smile, Spencer was the cruelest of Brie’s squad. And finally, Lia Kim, petite and modestly pretty. Beyond laughing loudest at Brie’s jokes, Lia had the personality of wallpaper.
Hugo inhaled a shaky breath. “Hey Brie. Ummm…I was...well…not trying to bother you—”
“Good lawd!” Jordana’s contempt as thick as her Bronx accent. “Speak, ya little he-bitch!” That earned full-throated laughter from Brie’s friends and stares from bystanders.
“That’s soooo funny!” Brie guffawed.
Can this get any worse? Hugo wanted to curl up in a hole and die.
After composing herself, Brie silenced her squad with a look. She turned back to Hugo with a toss of her magnificent locks. “Yes, Hugo?”
Hugo smiled, a sliver more confident under her friendly gaze. “Wanna grab lunch to celebrate the end of freshmen year?”
Brie’s demeanor frosted over. “The girls and I have plans.”
“Oh,” Hugo said in a small voice. Yet he pushed for a compromise. “Maybe I can tag along to wherever you guys are heading—”
“Hugo,” Brie snapped, curt and final. “I’m not having lunch with you.” She dismissed him with a swift hand wave. “Now run along with your dweeb basket friend.” Cascades of laughter from Brie’s squad crashed into Hugo. Her frigid green eyes didn’t express anger or irritation even. Just reproachful pity, making Hugo feel small. That he’d wasted enough of her time.
“Bye-bye.” Spencer shooed him off, her cold black eyes raking over the Samoan like he was trash. “Walk away.” More giggles poured forth.
Hugo’s heart sank. He didn’t bother masking his disappointment. “Okay. See you around.”
Brie had already turned away, forgetting him. She leaned into her friends with a snide comment and an eyeroll. Her squad laughed like trained parrots.
Hugo’s face reddened as he retreated, glumly approaching Simon Han waiting nearby.
The Korean boy, shorter and skinnier than Hugo, had a bowl-cut Bruce Lee hairstyle and Bose headphones slung around his neck. As they left campus, Simon looked back at Brie and her squad with pure loathing. “Told ya!”