by R. L. Ullman
“Module loading,” GISMO replies.
You pick up all sorts of tricks hanging out with TechnocRat.
The barren room instantly transforms into a dark, smoky saloon filled with large, tough-looking men covered in tattoos. Some are drinking beer while others are playing pool. One of them is even wearing an eye-patch. I’m lost in the power of the simulation. The flickering neon lights. The music blaring in the background. The smack of pool balls colliding.
I check out the bar and notice all the seats are taken except for one way down at the end where a strange woman is standing. Her face seems young, but her hair is long and silver. She’s dressed in a dark business suit with white, vertical pinstripes. She looks totally out of place, which probably means that she’s somehow important to this simulation module. So, I mosey on down and take the seat beside her.
“What’ll it be, buddy?” asks the bartender, a beefy man missing several important teeth.
I’ve never ordered a drink from a bar before. I look over at the woman. She’s watching so I can’t blow it.
“I’ll have a Shirley Temple, please,” I say. “Shaken, not stirred.”
“Right,” says the Bartender, rolling his eyes.
“Hang on,” I say, turning to my companion. “Let me see what the lady would like.”
“Oh, I am no drinker like you,” she says with a strange accent. It sounds almost like Russian, but I’m not really sure.
I nod and the bartender goes to fix my beverage.
After a few seconds, the woman speaks. “Tell me. Are you the one?”
“What one?” I ask. I don’t know what she’s talking about.
The bartender brings my drink. I take a sip.
“Do not be funny, boy,” she says. “Are you the one sent by the Emperor? Are you the Meta who will help me find the orb?”
I do a spit take.
Did she just say orb?
“I knew it,” she says angrily. “I knew it as soon as I saw you. You are too puny. Too small.”
“Now hang on, Lady,” I say. “I’m a member of the Freedom Force.”
“I knew the Emperor would betray me,” she continues. “He will pay eventually. But you must pay now. Comrades, kill him!”
Well, that doesn’t sound good. All of a sudden, I have a flashback of Dad warning me to stay out of the Combat Room because it’s possible to be knocked out, or even killed, during the simulation!
I leap off my chair just as all the goons in the bar surround me. My heart is pounding so hard I think it’s going to burst out of my chest and fly straight out of the saloon. There’s no time to think. The man with the eye patch is standing in front of me, waving a pool cue over my head.
Then, he swings at me.
I duck and the cue shatters against the bar. A piece ricochets and hits me hard in the jaw. That hurt! This is for real! This guy’s actually trying to kill me!
“Get him, fools!” the woman commands.
Another guy lunges at me, but I somersault between his legs and kick him from behind, sending him headfirst into a chair. “Take that!” I yell, sort of impressed with myself. But, there’s no time to pat myself on the back. I’m well outnumbered. I look for an opening, but there’s none to be found.
“You are no Meta,” the woman says. “You are just a boy. Soon to be a very dead boy.”
I have to get out of here. But how? And then I notice the eye-patched man. If I can charge his blind side then maybe, just maybe ...
“I may not be a Meta,” I say. “But I’m certainly no weakling.”
I go for it, darting towards the one-eyed man, but I’m quickly caught up in a tangled mass of arms and legs.
“Let me go!” I scream. But no matter how hard I push, I can’t break free.
They’ve got me.
The woman laughs. She grabs a bottle and smashes it against the bar, leaving a sharp, jagged edge. “You shall be a warning to all of the heroes of the Freedom Force.”
Then, I remember that I can stop this if I want to. All I have to do is call out GISMO’s name and this nightmare will be over. But the eye-patched man grabs my head and pulls it back, exposing my neck. I try to say the words, but I can’t. I can barely breathe.
The woman approaches slowly, savoring every moment. She stands in front of me and pushes the edge of the broken glass against my neck. I can feel it cutting into my skin!
I’m going to die. I’m going to die in this room for being a Zero. A stupid, freaking Zero.
“Goodbye, boy,” says the woman.
I close my eyes and wait for the end.
But instead I feel a strange tickle by my ear.
Opening one eye, I see the familiar shape of a Hawk-a-rang wrapped neatly around the bottle. Then it snatches the glass clear from the woman’s hand.
Can it be?
As if on cue, Shadow Hawk appears, floating down from the rafters with his long, black cape trailing behind him. He lands softly, uncurling his Hawk-a-rang. His eyes are like narrow, white slits set inside his black cowl. His lips are curled into a menacing sneer. He stares at the broken bottle and says, “Didn't your mother teach you it’s not polite to hit a kid with glasses?”
“Who are you?” says the woman.
“Me?” he answers. “I’d say I’m your new problem.” Shadow Hawk flexes his arm and strikes the eye-patched man with his Hawk-whip. The man cries out in pain, dumping me unceremoniously to the floor.
I land on my back and look up to see the thug holding his head. And then, something weird happens. His face starts to flicker. And for a moment, I’m staring at something not quite human at all.
His skin turns pale orange. His one good eye molts from brown to neon green. His ears curl upwards, stopping in points beside his temples. Then he shakes his head and reassumes his human appearance.
“Get him!” the woman screams.
I look back at Shadow Hawk as the men approach, but the hero stands his ground. “GISMO,” he calls. “End program.”
“Training module ended, Shadow Hawk,” GISMO says.
Instantly, the saloon, along with the woman and all her henchman, disappears. Shadow Hawk and I are all that remain in the plain, white room.
“Aren’t you supposed to be grounded?” Shadow Hawk asks, helping me to my feet.
I nod, still trying to catch my breath.
“You realize that was an advanced combat module,” Shadow Hawk says. “You should never let a simulation get so out of hand that you can get seriously hurt.”
“No kidding,” I say, rubbing my sore neck. “I guess I got in over my head. Sorry I was such a goober.”
“A goober?” Shadow Hawk laughs. “That’s not what I saw. What I saw was inexperience. Someone who doesn’t yet understand his limits. But with practice you can make progress. And with progress you can get better every single day. Take it from me.”
For the first time, I see Shadow Hawk in a different light. Standing before me is a member of the greatest super team ever assembled who has absolutely no Meta powers. He’s a Zero, just like me, but he’s pushed his mind and body to the limits of human potential. And because of that, he’s probably one of the most dangerous members of the Freedom Force.
“Come on, kid,” Shadow Hawk says. “Let's grab a soda pop from the Galley. Maybe I’ll teach you a few things.”
“Really?” I say. “You’d do that?”
“Sure,” he says. “You’re part of the team, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I guess so.”
We walk a few steps and then I stop. “Shadow Hawk, can I ask you something?”
“Shoot, kid,” he says.
“Those guys in the simulation, they weren’t human, were they?”
Shadow Hawk smiles. “I was wondering if you caught that. No, they’re not human. They’re known as the Skelton, an alien race of shape shifters obsessed with conquering neighboring galaxies—including ours.”
We walk a few more steps.
“So, wait? Y
ou mean they’re real?” I ask. “They’ve tried to conquer Earth?”
“Oh, they’ve tried,” Shadow Hawk says. “Several times, in fact. But don’t worry, we’re the good guys. The Freedom Force has always been there to stop them.”
My mind starts spinning. So, if the Skelton are real, then is that orb the woman was yammering about the same as the one the Worm had around his neck? And, if so, what did she want it for? I was about to ask Shadow Hawk, but then thought better of it. What if he thinks I’m being ridiculous? After all, he just told me not to worry about it. Besides, I have a more pressing issue to attend to.
“Shadow Hawk, can I ask one more thing?”
“Sure, kid.”
“You’re not going to tell my dad I was in the Combat Room, are you?”
“Nah,” says Shadow Hawk. “I think you’ve had enough punishment for one day.”
We laugh and head for the Galley.
I BREAK THE LAW INTO A GAZILLION PIECES
It’s 10:57 p.m. and I can’t stop pacing.
I’m three minutes from either getting away with my pretend new powers or going down in a massive ball of flames. My parents haven’t mentioned the bank heist once since I shared my “dream” with them earlier this morning. In fact, I think they’ve forgotten all about it.
I glance at the Worm’s mobile again. There aren’t any meaningful texts since this afternoon, except for one ridiculous exchange where Brawler lost his costume. Forty-five texts later, he realized it was in the backseat of his minivan the whole time.
Freaking. Genius.
10:58 p.m.
I run my hands through my hair. This is crazy. Here I am, relying on a bunch of Meta 1 losers to hit a bank precisely at eleven o’clock so I can con my parents into believing I have Meta powers. What am I doing?
10:59 p.m.
Oh, god. What if they don’t hit the bank? I’ll look like a fool again. Grace will say this is just another ploy to get attention. She’ll say I’m jealous of her. She’ll call me pathetic. She’ll recommend my parents abandon me on a deserted island and pretend I never happened. Then she’ll break through our shared wall, and use my bedroom as her personal dressing room. I can see it now—the mirrors, the costumes, the hundreds of Glory Girl posters lining the walls. Boy, would she love that.
They have to hit that bank.
I peek at the phone again. Still no texts. I look back up.
11:00 p.m.
I raise my eyebrows, waiting for the Meta Monitor to sing its song. I stand silently for thirty seconds. Sixty seconds. Two minutes. But, there’s nothing. Those idiots! Where are they? They were supposed to rob the bank at 11:00 p.m.!
I stare at the phone. Still no texts. What the heck are they doing? I scream in frustration and collapse on my bed. How could I ever have trusted those crooks? Grace is right. I am pathetic. Just look at me. I close my eyes and let out a deep breath. It’s over. I’ll never be a Meta. Not even a sham.
“Alert! Alert! Alert!” the Meta Monitor sounds.
I spring from my bed and glance at the clock.
11:04 p.m.
“Meta 1 disturbance. Repeat: Meta 1 disturbance. Multiple signatures. Power signature one identified as Taser. Power signature two identified as Brawler. Alert! Alert! Alert!”
YEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!! They hit the bank! They hit the bank! Those idiots hit the bank!
I stop dancing and regain my composure. I run up the twenty-three steps to the Monitor Room to claim my big “I-told-you-so” moment. Luckily, Dad is on duty tonight.
“Elliott,” Dad says. “I was just about to call you. Did you hear the alarm?”
“The alarm?” I say, feigning surprise. “Yes, I may have. Whatever was it for?”
“Well, Keystone Savings Bank is currently being robbed. Wasn’t that your dream last night?”
“Oh, that’s right,” I say nonchalantly. “I had completely forgotten all about it. It was supposed to happen at eleven. Gee whiz, I forgot to look at the time. Is it eleven already?”
“You said there were three Metas, correct?” Dad asks. “The monitor is only showing two.”
“Two?” I say, confused. “Did you say two? Oh, well, perhaps I was mistaken. These dreams are so hard to decipher sometimes.” Where the heck is that third idiot? Now, Dad will see right through me.
“Alert! Alert! Alert! Meta 1 signature registering. Identity unknown.”
“Oh, there we go,” I say. “There’s your third crook.” Whew!
“If there’s an unknown Meta, we’d better summon the whole team,” Dad says. “I don’t know what we’re dealing with here. Did your dreams tell you anything about the third Meta?”
I can tell him the third Meta had the text handle “Makeshift,” but that would just raise a lot of questions I didn’t really want to answer. Better to say nothing.
“Um, no,” I say. “But maybe I should come along. You know, since it was my dream and all.”
Dad looks at me and smiles. “Sorry, Elliott. After the last incident, we can’t risk it. But you really got me thinking. I realized that out of all of us, you’re the one I admire the most.”
“Me?” I say. “Why me?”
“Well, we all have responsibilities around here. Whether it's stopping a bad guy or ejecting the trash. But you have the greatest responsibility of all.”
“I do?”
“I think so,” Dad says. “Who knows more about the Freedom Force than you? Who knows all of our secret identities, the location of our secret headquarters, all of our powers and weaknesses? You do. And, you keep it locked up tight. That's a pretty big responsibility.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I say, kind of shell-shocked.
“Well, I want you to know that you’re a big part of our family, whether you have powers or not. Remember, just having Meta powers doesn't make you a good person. Look at all of those supervillains out there. In the end, it's what's in your heart that counts, and I think you may have the biggest heart of all.”
“Gee,” I say. “Thanks.”
“Just believe in yourself, son. You’ll be amazed by what happens when you do.”
“So does that mean I can come?” I ask.
“Well, no,” says Dad. “We still don’t have a full understanding of your powers yet. And besides, you’re grounded, remember?”
“Yes, sir,” I answer. “I remember.” Wait, did Dad just say I had powers?
“Why don’t you go back to bed and see what else you can dream about. We’ll be back later. And remember, no monitor duty.” He pats my head and takes off.
I’m way too wired to go back to bed. Instead, I head down to the Galley for a late-night celebratory snack.
When I arrive, I hear snoring from beneath the dining table. It sounds like Dog-Gone has snagged someone’s leftovers and is invisibly sleeping it off. I open the pantry and grab the nearest non-nutritious snack I can find. I’m so pumped by what I just pulled off that I can’t sit still. I decide to take my candy bar for a stroll.
Today is a massive victory. Dad is convinced I have powers. Now I just need those knuckleheads to pull off another job. Another job means another dream. And, another dream means I can continue to convince the Freedom Force that I’m a Meta. Then, I can get my own costume and go on adventures with them.
There’s just one catch. I need those idiots to not get caught. I stuff the candy into my mouth, pull out the Worm’s phone and type into the bank job thread:
>Worm: Hey, FF coming! Run!<
Beads of sweat drip down my forehead. Now I’ve sunk so low I’m actually helping the bad guys get away. Did that make me a criminal too? I’m pretty sure I know the answer to that one. But, I need them. Plus, no one’s really getting hurt, are they? Now, if they’ll just respond. My phone buzzes. A text from Taser:
>Taser: WHAT? Really?<
They got it! I type again:
>Worm: YES! GO! NOW!<
>Taser: Tx bro!<
Great, I’m officially a criminal.
I look up to see where I’ve wandered to and, as if by some cruel twist of fate, I’m standing in front of The Vault. The Vault is the fortified chamber that stores the secret blueprints for Lockdown—the super-maximum Meta prison. The Vault is designed to be impenetrable. The door is 21-inches thick, weighs over 20 tons and is made of pure tungsten—the strongest metal on Earth. The only way in is to know the entry code, and only two people in the world know that—my dad and TechnocRat.
I study the keypad where you enter the passcode. There are nine individual spaces with only letters available, no numbers. I start working through some options in my mind.
J-U-S-T-I-C-E. Seven letters. Not enough.
L-O-C-K-D-O-W-N. Eight letters. Still short.
C-R-I-M-I-N-A-L-S. Nine letters. Maybe?
I punch it in and a red light flashes on the console with a warning. It reads:
ERROR. TWO ATTEMPTS REMAINING.
I keep thinking.
V-I-L-L-A-I-N-S. Eight letters.
P-R-I-S-O-N-E-R-S. Nine. Could be?
I type it in and up comes another warning. It reads:
ERROR. ONE ATTEMPT REMAINING.
Okay. Time to stop. Who knows what will happen if I get the last one wrong? I back away and turn around. I need to find something else to do before I get myself in even more trouble. All I need to do is just put it out of my mind. Yep, just think about something else. Something else entirely.
Well, that’s not working!
The password has to be something less obvious. Think! Okay, The Vault was designed by TechnocRat. If I were TechnocRat, it would need to be something meaningful to me that I wouldn’t forget. Now, what would I remember if I were a super brilliant, yet incredibly irritable rat?
Cats? No way. Secret laboratories? Definitely not. What are genius rats into these days? Super-conductors? Motherboards? Cheese? Cheese!
C-H-E-E-S-E. Six letters. Even if I added an ‘S’ it’s only seven ...
Not it.
Then it hits me. That crazy rat. Could it be?
I cross my fingers. If this doesn’t work I’ll either trigger an alarm that runs straight to my dad’s brain or set off a booby trap that will catapult me into outer space. Out of the two, I’d definitely prefer the latter. Here goes nothing. I exhale and punch into the keypad.