by C. C. Ekeke
“Okay,” Helena jumped in. “Thank you so much for your time.” The three women shook hands and exchanged departing pleasantries. Five minutes later, Lady Liberty rocketed into the heavens without even greeting any former teammates.
Helena’s friendliness vanished. “What the fuck?” she hissed like a viper.
Quinn recoiled, quickly assembling a response. “The question popped into my head,” she replied honestly. “Felt like a good way to end an interview about Titan.”
“You should’ve shut your mouth,” Helena snapped. “After Jono’s stupidity we can’t have any freelancing.” She stormed off to the exit. Crane intercepted her at the door, visibly annoyed.
“Yes, ma’am,” Quinn said to herself. Today provided a swift reminder about Helena’s nasty temper. The reporter exited the conference room right as Crane gestured in her direction.
As she walked toward the headquarters’ guest lodgings, Quinn wasn’t convinced by Lady Liberty’s assertion. There was the matter of Lord Borealis’s drunken state and the missing drone footage. But she had no proof about either.
“One way to find out about the footage.” She turned around toward the training center.
Quinn found Seraph soaring high in the expansive training facilities wearing a white tank top and sweatpants. Her radiant wings spread wide as she dodged and looped around a cannon firing bean bags at 60 mph. Quinn watched until the session ended. Seraph spotted her below. She beamed happily while floating to the ground, her wings furling into her back.
The two embraced. “Thanks again for snagging us the Lady Liberty interview,” Quinn gushed.
“Of course.” Seraph smiled, pulling out the scrunchie holding her hair back. Dark, stringy curls tumbled down her shoulders. “Hope it helped.”
After the Robbie Rocket leak, most of Vanguard had cooled toward SLOCO Daily’s presence. Only Seraph remained friendly. Hence why Quinn approached her now. “We’re leaving for San Miguel soon.” She couldn't stop her hands from shaking before reaching the point. “Before that, I need another favor.
Seraph was all smiles and sunshine. “Name it, friend.”
Ten minutes later, Quinn followed Seraph into the lab of Raymond Carter. He was elbow deep into one of Dynamo’s armored bodies. The Dynamo AI had the ability to switch bodies at will. The body on the table before Raymond was Dynamo’s sleek stealth armor, midnight black with glowing white eyes. Knowing this fourteen-year-old genius created Dynamo still blew Quinn’s mind.
Raymond looked up from his work, eyes twinkling. “Hello, Mikaela. Hi, Quinn.” He rolled his wheelchair around the worktable to greet them.
Quinn smiled. “Hi, Raymond.”
“We need a favor,” Seraph declared.
“What do you need?” the youngster asked.
Quinn looked to Seraph, who nodded encouragingly. “Access to the OSA drones that monitored Lord Borealis?” the reporter asked in a rush.
Raymond’s eyes danced between both women. Quinn's insides lurched, expecting rejection.
Then Raymond’s mouth pulled into a toothy grin. “I can never refuse a pretty lady.” Quinn’s heart soared. She exchanged high-fives with Seraph. Raymond wheeled over to one of his desks sporting several large monitors attached to several laptops and computer towers. Quinn couldn’t tell where that technical monstrosity started.
She and Seraph waited behind Raymond, whose fingers danced across many keyboards. Within minutes, a black prompt screen filled one larger screen. “Got it,” Raymond crowed.
Quinn gaped at him and the screen. “Already?”
“I’m that good.” Raymond reclined in his wheelchair so cockily, one couldn’t help but be charmed. “What are we looking for?”
“A specific date. Around 9:30 PM…June 26th.” Quinn requested.
Both Raymond and Seraph gaped hearing that. “Okay,” he said softly, punching in the data.
Quinn remained glued to the screen as Raymond accessed that night’s footage. Lord Borealis, looking so normal in a white polo and dark corduroys, entered Paragon's at 9:27 PM Pacific Time. The darkened street looked familiar, possibly the San Miguel suburb Atascadero. Quinn’s heart raced, waiting for the footage to get corrupted or show stationary footage of the bar’s outside. Hopefully, this would resolve if Lord Borealis killed Titan and what happened to that night’s footage.
And when the timestamp on the footage hit 9:30, the drone’s footage went dark. Raymond frowned. “That’s weird.” He fast-forwarded until they reached actual footage, Lord Borealis passed out on a bushy front yard, covered in blood.
Quinn shrank back. Seraph turned away. Raymond looked baffled. “That blackout stretched from 9:30 PM until 6:41 AM.”
Quinn cleared her throat, equally puzzled. “Were those nine hours of surveillance corrupted? Damaged?”
Raymond shook his head. “The surveillance was shut off.”
Quinn’s heart dropped. Just like Lord Borealis said. And someone in OSA concealed it. “Please send to me a copy of that footage or lack thereof before I leave.”
“Sure.” Raymond watched her, questions brimming in his shrewd gaze. “Quinn, what’s going on?”
Quinn couldn’t tell him or anyone on the Vanguard until she had more proof. But this was a start. “Just confirming a lead. Don’t tell anyone!” She whirled and fled the lab.
Seraph wasn’t so easily daunted. “Quinn!” The hero jogged after Quinn in the hallway and grabbed her shoulders, holding the reporter stationary. “You’re lying,” Seraph decided sternly.
Quinn gaped at this cheater’s hypocrisy. She curbed her temper and replied civilly. “Mikaela. It’s better that you don’t know—”
“I trusted you with my secrets,” Seraph interjected, eyes gleaming. “Trust me with yours.”
Sharp and sudden guilt overwhelmed Quinn. She caved immediately. “I’m starting to think Lord Borealis didn’t kill Titan.” She glanced around to confirm the corridor was empty. “And was framed.”
Seraph leaned away. “Are you sure?”
Quinn shook her kinky head of hair, making it jostle. “That’s why I’m hitting up Paragon’s once I return to San Miguel.”
“Paragon’s?” Seraph echoed with a strange look.
“Yes,” Quinn confirmed. Paragon’s Pub catered to the superhuman community’s seedier elements. She wasn’t crazy about going there, but it might have answers she craved. “Someone must’ve seen something that night.”
“You’re not going alone,” Seraph declared.
Quinn laughed, until she saw that Seraph wasn’t joking. “Mikaela,” she said. “You’ve done enough. And are too high profile for Paragon’s.”
Seraph remained undeterred. “I have disguises.”
Quinn’s patience thinned. “You’re not listening.” She spoke slower to hammer this home. “I can’t involve you in a hunch that might lead nowhere.”
“And you don’t know how dangerous Paragon’s can be for baselines,” Seraph threw back, arms folded. “You're not going alone. Especially if this involves my former teammate.”
Quinn tried refuting and came up empty. She’s got me. Seraph, disguised or not, at Paragon’s could be a disaster. She scrambled for another excuse.
“Don’t try ditching me afterward in San Miguel.” Seraph wagged her finger. “I’ll just track you down.”
Quinn gaped, recalling how Seraph had located her before. In short, she couldn’t shake this stubbornly selfless hero from helping. The circumstances could be worse.
“Fine,” Quinn grumbled, complying. “Two nights from now.”
Chapter 30
Greyson reached Dr. St. Pierre’s warehouse before everyone else, still in business casual work clothes. For days, he’d been a mess, wrestling with how to tell them what happened without revealing what happened.
The others soon arrived, either baffled or annoyed at Dr. St. Pierre’s absence. Connie pulled off both.
“Why are you organizing the meeting?” Kathy demanded indignantly.
Tom, usually Mr. Positivity, was flummoxed. “Do you know what’s going on? My solo appointments got cancelled with no reschedules.”
“Mine too,” Connie chimed in, wearing the shit out of a curve-flattering red dress.
“What gives?” Big Izzy asked.
“Let me explain.” Greyson raised his hands to silence the loud and overlapping questions. “St. Pierre’s in the hospital.”
Everyone erupted. Big Izzy clutched at is balding head. “Goddamn!”
“Is he okay?” Kathy cried.
“He will be.” Greyson kept calm despite the group’s pandemonium. “But Dr. St. Pierre will be out of commission for at least three weeks.”
Tom paced like a caged predator. “What happened?”
Greyson had recited this story in his head countless times before. It wasn’t a complete lie. But the therapist’s secret identity wasn’t his to share. “He got jumped a few nights ago. Real bad. Broken ankle, cracked ribs, concussion. He’ll be in the hospital for a while.”
That drew more surprise, a gasp from Connie and dismay from Kathy.
“Why would anyone hurt him?” Connie demanded.
“It’s East St. Louis, honey,” Big Izzy explained snidely.
“Don’t call me honey,” Connie snapped.
Big Izzy raised his hands, backing away from the petite girl.
“Which hospital is he at?” Kathy asked, teary-eyed yet in Mom-Mode. “We’ll visit with a care package.”
Greyson winced. St. Pierre’s family stated for his silence unless they approve. “I’ll ask if that’s okay.”
Predictably, that wasn’t received well. Tom's expression radiated WTF. “Just tell us!”
“And how do you know this?” Big Izzy looked annoyed by the secrecy. More demands buffeted Greyson.
Only Connie said nothing, her eyes impaling Greyson. He avoided her gaze.
“I found him!” Greyson shouted over the group again. “In this warehouse. I had to go blow off some steam from some personal stuff. And the reason I can’t tell you is because his family asked me not to.” That shut everyone else up. Greyson hoped this would end their nagging.
Connie gaped at Greyson with dawning comprehension. “Oh my God!” She squeaked, drawing everyone’s attention. “Dr. St. Pierre’s The Hurricane?”
Greyson nearly swallowed his tongue. How the heavenly fuck?
Tom’s eyes bulged. “What?”
“Don’t be absurd, Constance.” Kathy scoffed, tossing her blonde hair back. “There’s no way—”
“There’s so much way!” Connie’s probing eyes seemed to paralyze Greyson. “Dr. St. Pierre got jumped the same day Hurricane got his ass kicked by Excessive Menace.”
Greyson gulped. His brain worked overtime on how to steer them away from the truth.
“There’s nothing excessive about those infants.” Kathy sneered. “Besides their brutality!”
Connie continued ranting. “Dr. St. Pierre knows a lot about training supers for a baseline. He moves like Hurricane.” She glared again at Greyson. “Even how he’s been teaching Greyson to fly with his powers mirrors The Hurricane's techniques.”
Tom whistled in amazement. “That’s pretty compelling evidence.”
Big Izzy wasn’t sold. “C’mon…he can’t be Hurricane.” He looked to Greyson. As did Tom, and Kathy.
“Greyson Michael Hirsch,” the older woman scolded, hands on hips, “Is this true?”
Greyson flushed under their accusing glares. “Don’t mom guilt me, Kathy!” Greyson wanted to keep Dr. St. Pierre’s secret. But Connie’s revelation left him flatfooted. And lying to these four who’d bared their souls to him for weeks felt like a betrayal.
Greyson glowered at Connie. “How did you do that?”
Louder gasps. Connie gave a smug nod. “I’m observant. You fidget behind your back when you’re nervous or hiding something.” She pointed at his hands. “Like now.”
Greyson stuffed both hands in his pockets.
“Holy crap.” Tom shook his shaggy head of hair. “The Hurricane is our therapist?”
“That’s a twist and a half,” Big Izzy remarked.
“Hence why I can’t tell you his location,” Greyson pressed so they’d understand. “Excessive Menace attacked two hospitals looking for him. If not for OSA with assists from Johnny Gun and Red Rabbit from Chicago, things could’ve been worse.”
Connie looked hurt. “You don’t trust us?”
“We can keep Doc’s secret,” Kathy promised.
Greyson wanted to, but it wasn’t his call. He sighed sadly. “Connie. Kathy. You’re great. But what if you make an off-hand remark or are forced to lie about where you’re going to friends and family? And that person gets suspicious or tells another?”
Connie’s dejected expression bothered Greyson for some reason. Kathy didn’t look happy, but she understood. “He’s right. What about Excessive Menace?”
“Yeah,” Big Izzy chimed in. “Doc St. Pierre…sorry, I mean Hurricane’s in no shape to fight them.”
“Someone has to,” Greyson murmured, more to himself than the group. Excessive Menace had vanished after their hospital attacks had made national news. Now OSA, the FBI and other federal agencies were hunting them. No one knew where or when they’d strike next. And with no nearby regional Midwest teams, who could handle them besides the Extreme Teens or The Vanguard?
“Correct,” Tom agreed with unshakable positivity. “Those someones should be us.”
Greyson waited for the punchline. None came. “What?” He snorted at the absurdity.
Connie snickered, turning to Big Izzy for assurance. “Is Tom joking?”
Izzy side-eyed her. “Am I a mind reader?” He turned to Tom. “Son, how about a cup of HELL NO?”
Tom looked mystified as to why his idea sucked. “Why not? A real superhero trained us to use our powers in combat,” he pointed out. “Let's use his teachings to stop Excessive Menace.”
“But we’re not superheroes, dude,” Greyson retorted. The thought of using his powers in the chaotic public rattled him to his core. What if people got hurt? What if he failed, got unmasked? Too many what ifs. “You saw what Excessive Menace did to Dr. St. Pierre. And he’s a veteran.” Nightmares had plagued Greyson about his therapist's attack, picturing Lauren’s reaction if that had been him. He shuddered.
“Still got control issues,” Big Izzy reminded everyone. He looked pained by his problems switching between absorbing other kinds of matter. “I'd be a liability.”
Tom looked undeterred. “Then lets vote. All in favor of fighting Excessive Menace, raise your hands.”
Only he did.
Tom seethed. “C'mon! St. Louis needs us!”
Kathy folded her arms, unmoved. “I got kids and grandkids. Can’t risk it.”
“Sorry, brutha,” Big Izzy said, shrugging.
Connie glanced at Greyson, awaiting his decision. “I wanna help. But if everyone’s against it...”
Tom turned to Greyson with pleading eyes. “Please help me. I can’t do stop them alone.”
Greyson had to look away. Too many fears ruled him. He was finally getting his life together. But to go out against a quartet of killers? “Sorry.” He forced himself to face Tom’s heartbreak. Everyone else, even Connie, turned away. “We’re just a bunch of normal supers. OSA will take down Excessive Menace. And if not, there are other superheroes—”
“And if they can’t?” Tom looked at everyone in disgust. “I expected more from everyone. Any more deaths are on you.” He teleported away, a curl of black smoke marking his departure.
The meetup awkwardly adjourned after Tom’s dramatic exit. What more could be said?
Later, as Greyson lost himself in the warmth between Lauren’s thighs, he couldn’t shake Tom’s words.
Any more deaths are on you.
But superpowers or not, Greyson was a normal guy trying to live his life. He ignored the burdensome guilt by thrusting nonstop into Lauren. A welcome d
istraction.
The next day at work, Greyson was ninety-five percent convinced he’d chosen right.
Besides, between huge projects at work and helping with tonight’s talent show at the community center, Greyson had priorities.
In the early afternoon, Jinn dashed into his office deathly bone white. “You gotta see this!”
Greyson straightened in his office chair. “See what?”
Jinn was at Greyson’s side in three strides, leaning over him to open a browser on his computer. He immediately went to SLOCO Daily, now a hotspot for super-related news.
Greyson frowned. “I already caught the Lady Liberty interview.”
“No, not that shit,” Jinn snapped. “Something’s happened at the center.”
Greyson watched his co-worker frantically clicking a headline.
As a shaky, handheld video played, he clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh my God,” Greyson whispered. Coach Wendell at the community center was onscreen, bloodied, battered and bound. Flanking him was Excessive Menace.
ShocKing grinned viciously, electricity crackling on his fingertips. He jammed those fingers into Wendell’s chest. Greyson jumped in his seat as the beefy man convulsed violently, eyes rolling back. Mr. Silk, The Illusionist and Brickhouse all laughed.
ShocKing withdrew his hand and Wendell lay gasping on the ground.
“Don’t worry.” ShocKing stepped on Wendell to get past him. “He’s not dead…yet. Neither are any of his troubled youths. Unless the Hurricane doesn’t meet our demands.”
Greyson exchanged shocked looks with Jinn before turning back.
“Hurricane…” ShocKing moved closer until his face dominated the screen, no longer laughing. “Let’s finish this. You versus Excessive Menace. Tonight, nine o’clock at the East St. Louis Community Center.”
His mouth twisted into a sneer, eyes glowing bright blue. “If you don’t show. Or someone comes in your place…we start killing hostages. One every fifteen minutes. And Excessive Menace keeps our word. Tick-Tock, muthafucka!!”
The video ended, leaving Greyson and Jinn in horrified silence.
Chapter 31
Two weeks in and Hugo was over sophomore year. So much for owning tenth grade.