The first order of business is some sharing so we all know what each team brings to the table. Magnum is a skilled fighter but completely human. Zip is a speedster, which is one of the rarer power sets. That would explain her behavior. I happen to glance her way, and she’s squirming like a five-year-old who badly needs to pee. She reaches into a battered Army surplus messenger bag hanging off her shoulder and pulls out an energy bar, which she devours the way Stuart inhales cheeseburgers at Carnivore’s Cave. Rando’s power set is highly unusual: each day she manifests a different super-power. She “reboots” around midnight and has so far rotated between superhuman strength, limited invulnerability, super speed, heightened physical senses, and rapid healing. Today’s she rocking the healing factor.
And then there’s Skyblazer, who is basically Concorde 1.0. He flies and can generate focused concussion blasts but does neither quite as well as Concorde. He claims he created the suit on his own, but I don’t need my powers to know he’s lying through his teeth. He seems decent, and he’s the only member of the Wardens who’s more interested in doing the job than in proving himself to us, but this kid is raising some major red flags.
Next, we bring the Wardens up to speed on our potential targets and what they can do. After that, Matt pulls out a tablet and brings up a Google Map of our target area. Ivy’s aunt, Becky Dunleavy, lives in a spacious two-story home adjacent to a corner lot. There are houses next to, behind, and across the street from it. The next closest building looks like it might be a school, but that’s not as much of a concern; chances of anyone being there on a Saturday in the summer are slim to none.
Matt declares that our first order of business is to determine whether any of our targets are actually in the house, which will be on me. Once I confirm their presence, the next step is to clear the neighboring houses and get those civilians out of harm’s way. To do that, Matt will drive me around the area so I can broadcast a telepathic message to the neighboring homes. Once those residents succumb to their sudden and overwhelming compulsion to leave, Matt and I will make a second pass at the Dunleavy home to see if we can end this mission peacefully.
“We might be able to take them down without a fight,” Matt says. “If Sara broadcasts a telepathic suggestion and tells them to surrender...”
“Hold on,” Rando says. “You don’t think a strange car driving slowly around the neighborhood will raise suspicion?”
“Only if they happen to be looking out the window when we pass — and even then, as long as Missy isn’t with us...” Rando narrows her eyes, a silent question. “They all know what she looks like. Long story. Point is, it’s not a big risk.”
“But it is a risk.”
I touch Matt on the shoulder before he can respond. She feels like you’re shutting her out on the mission, I say. Give her people something to do.
We have more important things to worry about than their egos, Matt replies.
Matt, right now you have you and me doing everything and the Wardens doing nothing. I’m sure you can think of a way we can accomplish our objectives that utilizes Rando and her team.
Matt sighs. “Fine.”
“What?” Rando says.
“Nothing. All right, we’re changing things up. Psyche and I will clear the neighborhood first, and your team will handle reconnaissance duty.”
Smart move. We might end up sending people away unnecessarily if it turns out Kurt and crew aren’t there, but better to be safe than sorry. And, bonus, everyone will get their weekly shopping out of the way.
“I could run around the house and peek in the windows,” Zip suggests.
“Not in that outfit you can’t.” Matt gives Rando and Magnum a once-over. “You two look more or less normal.”
Rando fights us on taking her mask off — she is adamant about preserving her secret identity — but Skyblazer convinces her to suck it up in the interest of the greater good. Matt hands her a pair of fake glasses with a miniature camera mounted in the blocky, unflattering frame then provides her and Magnum with tiny earbuds linked to our comms, a pair of plain black suit jackets, and a Bible. Voila — instant morning missionaries, out to spread God’s good word. As disguises go, they’re simple but quite clever. Whoever answers the door will be too intent on shooing them off the front porch to get a good look at their faces.
“Ask to come in but don’t be pushy about it,” Matt advises. “If you get inside, great, but expect to get blown off.”
“And then what? We’re not going to walk away empty-handed, are we?” Magnum says.
“If you can’t get in, we’ll have to risk Zip’s idea so we can try to get at least some sense of who’s in the house. Either way, you two are not to engage anyone. Get your intel and then clear out so we can figure out our next step together. Got it?”
Rando’s hand snaps up in a crisp yet sarcastic salute.
Operating under the time-tested theory that no plan survives contact with the enemy, Matt tasks everyone else with containment in the event something goes wrong and our quarry makes a break for it. He assigns Stuart, Missy, and Zip to cover three of the four intersecting streets near the target, and after Matt and I make our pass, we’ll park down the road to cover the fourth possible escape route. Meanwhile, Skyblazer will observe from the air to report locations and provide assistance as necessary.
“Any questions?” Matt says to the assembled teams. No one has any. “All right, then. Let’s move out.”
***
“Ready?” Matt asks.
“Let’s go,” I say.
Matt turns the corner and slows his car to a crawl. I sit back, take a breath, and clear my mind for the first and perhaps most important phase of the op: clearing out the civilians by telepathically broadcasting a suggestion that now would be a great time to go take care of the weekly grocery shopping.
The last several months have been extremely busy for me. On top of school, my relationship with Meg, my involvement with the school’s LGBTQ group, my burgeoning career in school and community theater, my weekly therapy sessions with Bart, and getting my driver’s license and working toward obtaining my pilot’s license — that latter task made possible by a generous donation by Edison Bose — I’ve somehow managed to squeeze in some training so I can use my powers more effectively.
I have a lot of raw power and no small amount of natural skill as a telepath and a telekinetic, but I’ve always been something of a blunt instrument, as Bart puts it — all force and no finesse. For example, I’ve used my thought-broadcasting trick on several occasions to great success. I have excellent range and can power through light psychic defenses, but until fairly recently I had only two settings: so focused I could influence a single person, or so scattered that I affected every mind within range — including any nearby allies. Now I can focus my power well enough to affect multiple select targets. It takes intense concentration on my part, but I can do it — so long as Matt crawls through the neighborhood at a lazy five miles per hour
Not that this tactic is foolproof under the best of circumstances. My telepathic suggestion is just that: a suggestion. I can’t motivate anyone to do anything they really, really don’t want to do. I couldn’t inspire a pacifist to punch the person standing next to them or convicne a staunch vegan to eat a pound of Spam. Similarly, if anyone in any of these houses is sick in bed or engrossed in a super-intense game of Call of Duty, they might not want to drop everything to run to Wegman’s.
Could I actually force someone to act against their will? Technically, yes, I am capable of that, but that’s a skill I have no desire to develop. I’ve been on the receiving end of telepathic manipulation, and I can’t bring myself to violate someone else like that.
We pass the Dunleavy house. I spare it a glance, but there’s nothing worth seeing. It’s a pale lemon yellow two-story job, though I couldn’t say what style the house is. The building itself is well kept, but the lawn is due for a mowing.
We finish our run and settle in against the curb a
t the end of the street. “We’re clear. All teams, eyes open, report in if you see anything. Rando, hold until further notice,” Matt says.
“Copy that,” Rando says.
Matt mutes his comm. “This is a mistake. We should have stuck to the original plan.”
“Matt,” I begin.
“It’s not about ego, Sara, mine or Rando’s; it’s about making the smart play, and adding a bunch of unnecessary complications for the sake of catering to the Wardens is not the smart play.”
“Fine, it’s not the smart play,” I say, rolling my eyes, “but we’re committed now, so stop griping.” Matt makes an unhappy noise but doesn’t press the issue, which means it’s time to move on to my nagging concern. “There’s something off about Skyblazer.”
“You mean the fact he’s wearing a suit that looks and functions suspiciously like Concorde’s?”
“You think he made it himself, like he says?”
Matt lets out a bark of a laugh. “No way. Granted, maglev technology as a concept isn’t unique to the Concorde armor, and yeah, there are a few people out there who could conceivably apply it the way Edison has, but I doubt Skyblazer is one of them. Besides, in order to power a suit like that you need nuclear micro-cells.”
“And those aren’t something you can pick up at Best Buy.”
“Nope. Someone else made that suit. The real question is: how did he get his hands on it?”
“Got some movement,” Stuart reports.
“What do you see?”
“Three people just left the house across from the school. Looks like they’re getting into their car.”
“Confirmed,” Rando says from her vantage point in the school parking lot. “They’re pulling into traffic now.”
Matt and I twist around in our seats. A minute later, an SUV backs out of the driveway across from the Dunleavy house and disappears around the corner. A couple minutes after that, the next-door neighbors head out.
“We’re clear,” Matt says. “Rando, Magnum, you’re on. Remember what I —”
“We got this,” Rando says.
Matt stifles a growl. I mute my comm long enough to tell him to have a little faith.
Come on, people, don’t make a liar out of me.
Matt fires up his tablet so we can watch the action through Rando’s glasses-cam. The picture is a little pixilated and jerky, but we can see what she sees well enough. Rando walks up to the front door, Bible in hand, and presses the doorbell. Several seconds pass before someone opens the door — someone familiar.
“What?” Kurt grumbles.
“Head’s up, people, we have visual contact on Kurt,” Matt says in a half-whisper, as if worried Kurt might overhear his transmission.
“Good morning,” Rando says brightly. “We’re from the local church and we were wondering if you’ve found our lord and savior Jesus Christ?”
“They’re from the local church?” Matt says to me. “Jeez.”
“Be cool,” I say. “Let them work.”
Kurt makes a disgusted noise. “Not interested. Go away.”
“Uh, sir?” Magnum says. “We’re really worried about your soul. It’s, um...you know. Full of sin.”
“Oh my God,” Matt mutters.
“We’d just like to come in for a few minutes and discuss Jesus with you.”
“Ivy? Who’s at the door?” a distant voice says — an old lady’s voice.
“We now have confirmation Ivy is also in the house somewhere,” Matt says, “along with at least one civilian.”
“It’s me, Mrs. Dunleavy,” Kurt shouts into the house. “It’s just a couple of Jesus freaks — I mean, preachers.”
“Missionaries,” Rando corrects.
“Whatever. We’re not interested. Go away.”
“Oh, well, okay, uh...thank you for your time, Kurt,” Rando says.
Oh, CRAP.
The door, on its way to slamming shut in our fake missionaries’ faces, reverses course. Kurt’s expression darkens, and he seems to transform into something not fully human. The last thing we see on our screen is Kurt’s lips peeling away from his elongated canines and two clawed hands lunging for Rando.
“Mother pus bucket!” Matt shouts. “Ground units, converge on the house, now!”
Matt and I sprint down the street as the distinct cacophony of a raging fight fills our comms. Stuart and Missy come around the corner as we reach the edge of the property. A bright green blur streaks out of the house. Zip tries to stop, but she’s got too much momentum built up; her feet skid on the slightly overgrown front lawn, and she and her luggage, an elderly woman in a mauve flower-print dress, tumble all the way into the street.
“Superbeast, stay here and guard them!” Matt says. “Kunoichi, circle around to the back!”
Before Missy can comply, a first-floor window explodes outward — and I mean explodes. A gout of flame punches through the glass and licks up the side of the house. Vinyl siding melts from the heat and drips to the ground like candle wax.
“Go!” Matt yells, throwing Missy a vague gesture. She catches his meaning and leaps through the demolished window.
“Trenchcoat?” Skyblazer says.
“Hold position!” Matt replies as we race into the house. “You see any runners, take them down!”
We follow the crashing and yelling into a large and, until a few minutes ago, tastefully furnished living room. On one side, Kurt has Rando by the throat. Her feet dangle several inches off the floor. On the other side stands Nadia, a girl-shaped bonfire. A telekinetic ram lifts her off her feet and slams her into the wall behind her, a wall she’s already turned into a giant scorch mark.
As she slumps to the floor, her flames dying out, Matt springboards off a toppled easy chair and staggers Kurt with a kick to the head. Kurt reels from the blow and drops Rando. I grab her and drag her clear so Matt can work.
Kurt lashes out to slice Matt’s head off. Matt ducks under his claws and comes up with his thunder gun in hand. A bass note that rattles my bones fills the room. Kurt goes flying and lands behind a paisley sofa that looks like it was made in the Sixties. There are, no kidding, doilies on the armrests.
“We got two!” Matt says, looking around the room. “We’re missing Ivy, maybe one other!”
“Intercepting Wyatt now,” Missy reports.
“And Ivy took off down the road,” Stuart says. “What’s the call, boss?”
“Stay with Zip and the civilian. Skyblazer, you’re up! Go after Ivy but keep your distance!”
“Copy that,” Skyblazer says.
With a roar, Kurt rises to his feet, bringing That Sixties Sofa with him. The sofa flips through the air, arcing toward Matt. I snatch it in mid-flight and throw it back at Kurt, but he’s ready for it. He scrambles beneath the projectile and lunges, nailing Matt with a crushing tackle. They fall to the floor, Matt’s gun tumbling from his grip.
Kurt raises a hand, ready to punch through Matt’s breastbone and pull out his heart. Unfortunately for him, that gives me something convenient to grab. I reach out to telekinetically snare Kurt’s arm and jerk him off Matt, and with an almost casual flick of the wrist, I throw him outside through the smashed window.
“Present coming your way, Superbeast,” I say.
“On it,” Stuart says, his response promptly followed by the sweet sound of Kurt getting pounded into submission.
“You good?” I say to Matt.
“Give me a minute,” he wheezes. “Man, he hits hard.”
“Stuart hits harder.”
I help Matt to his feet. After he retrieves his thunder gun we check on Nadia, who isn’t unconscious, but she’s definitely rattled. She spots us and raises a hand, flames flickering about her outstretched fingers. Matt calmly fires a single shot into her stomach. A yelp of pain catches in her throat, and she curls in on herself.
“Nadia’s been subdued,” Matt says as he reaches into his coat and produces one of Byrne’s inhibitor collars. It’s a useful piece of tech that nulli
fies superhuman abilities — useful but scary. Carrie had one slapped on her once, briefly, and she said it made her feel like she’d been heavily drugged. It didn’t sound fun.
“Kurt’s down,” Stuart says.
“Wyatt’s down,” Missy says.
Silence follows.
“Skyblazer?” Matt says. “Magnum?”
A groan guides me to Magnum, who I find sprawled out on the kitchen floor, shivering. No, not shivering: trembling. I glance out the open back door to see Missy perched atop the prone form of Wyatt Jules, one hand firmly on the back of his neck.
“You got zapped, huh?” I say to Magnum. He nods. I think it’s a nod. Maybe it’s a spasm. “Guys, I found Magnum. He’s down but he’ll be okay.”
“Where’s Skyblazer?” Rando grunts. I return to the living room. Matt reaches out to help Rando to her feet, but she slaps his hand away. “Get off me.”
“Fine, be that way,” Matt says. “Skyblazer, report in.”
“I’m here,” he says but there’s something in his voice, a note of panic. “We have a problem.”
***
That problem is a hostage.
After fleeing the house and oh-so-considerately leaving her friends and her aunt to deal with the crapstorm Kurt unleashed, Ivy bolted toward the center of town. She didn’t get far thanks to Skyblazer, but he underestimated Ivy on every level. She shrugged off a low-power concussion blast and took off again to wind up in the middle of a small park — a park full of children enjoying their first weekend of the summer, one of whom is now Ivy’s unwelcome new friend.
Matt stays behind to secure Wyatt and Kurt and sends me and Stuart to deal with Ivy. Rando insists on coming with us even though she’s all but useless. Kurt handed Rando’s ass to her but good; it’s a minor miracle she can stand, but I’ll give her credit for toughing it out.
We arrive at the park, which is now officially a crime scene. Police cruisers surround a tiny little playground, the only thing of note in what is otherwise a dull little rectangle of green space. The cops have their guns out but aimed at the sky — not for Ivy’s benefit but for the sake of the screaming little girl she’s hugging to her chest. Skyblazer stands at the edge of the playground, his hands up in a gesture of peace — or of pleading.
Action Figures - Issue Six: Power Play Page 33