by R. L. Ullman
After Lockdown, we took K’ami’s body to the site of her father’s crash-landing. I thought it’s only fitting that they be buried together. The Freedom Force helped to clear the area and we gave her a hero’s funeral. I think about her a lot. She made me realize it’s important to stand up for what you believe in. And, the most important thing is to always believe in yourself.
It’s strange, but I keep expecting to hear something from the Emperor. Sometimes I find myself waking up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. I know I’ve had a nightmare, but I can’t seem to remember what it was about. Mom says not to worry. It’s probably just my mind processing everything that’s happened. Maybe she’s right, but I get a weird feeling every time it happens.
Speaking of weird, let’s talk about Grace. Ever since Lockdown, it’s like she’s had a brain transplant. Suddenly, she’s my new best friend. We started hanging out, doing stuff and laughing together. Now don’t get me wrong, we still have our moments, but they’re much less frequent. I tease her all the time about saving her life, but I also tell her I’m glad she’s my big sister.
I finally find Dog-Gone in the Galley. It looks like my popcorn is safe because he’s splitting an ice cream sundae with Makeshift. We realized Makeshift wasn’t such a bad guy after all. He’d just gotten mixed up with the wrong crowd. So we sort of adopted him. He’s not a full-fledged member of the Freedom Force yet, but he’s proving himself every day. It looks like his next challenge will be cleaning up the mess I’m sure Dog-Gone is going to deliver.
Yep, it’s just another day on the Waystation.
If only something would happen.
“Meta 2 disturbance,” blares the Meta Monitor. “Power signature identified as Dark Mauler. Alert! Alert! Alert!”
Yes! I’m finally going to see some action!
I leap out of my chair and sail down the stairs to the Mission Room to meet the team. But, to my surprise, they’re already there …
“Elliott,” Dad says smiling. “Now that your cast is off, the team has something for you.”
Grace stands up and hands me a box. “Here, Bro. The rat and I made this for you.”
I open it up. It’s a costume. My costume!
It’s a navy blue bodysuit and mask, with red gloves, boots and cape. On the front is a large, white Zero with a backslash through it. There’s also a gold belt with a large “E.” I can’t believe it. It looks freaking awesome!
“So, kid,” says Shadow Hawk. “I guess you picked a name.”
“Yep,” I say smiling. “Now you can call me—Epic Zero.”
“Epic Zero?” Dad asks. “Why Epic Zero?”
“Well,” I say. “The Zero is because I can turn other Metas into Zeros. And, the Epic is because I’ve been a Zero my whole life, and, well, I can’t even begin to tell you how freaking epic it is to finally be here!”
“Epic Zero,” Mom says. “I like it.”
“Alright, enough yapping,” says Grace. “It’s time for Epic Zero here to make his debut. Show us what you’ve got, but remember one thing, don’t block my good side.”
She hugs me and everyone cheers.
Then, I go on my first mission as an official member of the Freedom Force. And from that day forward, I know that wherever there’s evil, I’ll be there.
Epic Zero 2: Tales of a Pathetic Power Failure
I MUST BE THE LAMEST SUPERHERO EVER
Truthfully, I should’ve been blasted to smithereens by now. But somehow, I’m still standing
I slide across the hood of a parked car, wrap my cape around my derriere, and duck beneath the window. I desperately need a few seconds to catch my breath. Here I am, supposedly the most powerful superhero in the universe, about to eat it big time.
I hear crunching in the distance. I stay as still as a mouse in a snake pit. The thought, “please fall into a manhole,” auto loops in my brain.
But no such luck.
The crunching gets louder and louder, closer and closer, until suddenly, it stops.
I hold my breath, the silence drags on for an eternity.
Then, there’s a whirring noise.
I bolt from the car just as I hear the FOOP of a missile launcher. The vehicle blows sky-high, the force of it propels me into the air, over a spiked fence, and headfirst onto a schoolyard blacktop. I tuck my head into my knees and roll it out, but when I pop up my left shoulder is on fire with pain. It feels dislocated.
But hey, it’s not all bad news. Fortunately, it’s the middle of the night, so there aren’t any kids around. That means, the only life at stake is my own. And, at least for the moment, it saves me from more embarrassment.
Which is basically how my family sees me.
You see, I live in a family of superheroes—not just any yahoos in tights and capes—but members of the Freedom Force, the greatest team of Metas on the planet. A “Meta” is short for Meta-being—which is basically a person, animal, or vegetable (yeah, I know you’ve probably heard this before) with powers and abilities far beyond the scope of ordinary beings. There are nine Meta types, including: Energy Manipulation, Flight, Magic, Meta-Morphing, Psychic, Super-Intelligence, Super-Speed, Super-Strength, and the newest one—Meta Manipulation.
Each power type can be further broken down into power levels. A Meta 1 has limited power, a Meta 2 has considerable power, and a Meta 3 has extreme power. If you don’t have any powers at all, then you’re known as a Meta 0—or a “Zero” for short—which basically means you’re powerless.
That used to be me, but not anymore.
Although sometimes I’m not so sure.
I’m a Meta Manipulator with the ability to negate the powers of others. Basically my powers can turn any Meta 1, 2, or 3—into a 0. Other than Meta-Taker, the baddest of all bad guys who croaked in the battle at Lockdown, I’m the only Meta Manipulator around.
And, as I demonstrated when I took control of the Orb of Oblivion—a cosmic entity of ridiculous power—and saved the world from the Skelton—a demented race of alien shapeshifters, I’m pretty powerful myself. The latest tests have me down as a Meta 3.
On the surface, everything seems hunky-dory. I’ve got superpowers, I’m on the Freedom Force, I get to call myself Epic Zero, wear long johns and fight bad guys. I’m living the dream!
So, what’s the problem? Well, that’s the funny thing.
My powers are my problem.
Let me give you an example. Two weeks ago, the Meta Monitor picked up a break-in at ArmaTech, a government contracted weapons manufacturer. So, we loaded into the Freedom Flyer III and made it to the scene, only to find the Destruction Crew, a band of Meta 2 supervillains, shaking down the joint.
It had been a while since I went on a mission, so I thought I’d remind everybody of what I can do.
As soon as the Freedom Flyer skidded to a stop, I jumped into action. I figured if I could use my abilities to negate the Destruction Crew’s powers, the fight would be over before it started. Yep, that was the plan.
You should have seen how surprised those goons were when I marched out in front of them. Hey, I get it. I’m just a short, skinny 12-year-old kid. But Mom always says to never judge a book by its cover.
So, after they stopped laughing, I went to work. I concentrated like my life depended on it, and pushed my Meta Manipulation energy all over them. But they just shrugged me off. That is, until they tried to use their powers.
You should have seen their faces when nothing happened! It was awesome! I thought this superhero thing was a cakewalk.
But then, Dad, who goes by the handle Captain Justice, couldn’t use his Super-Strength.
And Mom, also known as Ms. Understood, couldn’t use her Psychic abilities.
And it was the same story for the rest of the Freedom Force: including my sister Grace, who goes by Glory Girl, and TechnocRat, Master Mime, Blue Bolt and Makeshift.
I guess you could say my powers worked too well!
Once the Destruction Crew realized we were all power
less, well, that’s when things got ugly.
Real ugly.
“Grab the kid!” one of the villains yelled.
They rushed me, took me hostage, and nearly escaped with me in our own Freedom Flyer! If it wasn’t for the street fighting skills of Shadow Hawk, the only one of us who didn’t have Meta powers to begin with, I’d probably be six feet under right now.
I admit that was pretty bad.
But then, it got worse.
“Sorry, Elliott,” Dad said. “You’re suspended.”
“Suspended?” I said. “You mean, like, no longer on the team?”
“Yes,” Dad said. “Exactly like that.”
Dad basically told me I’m on the bench until I can better control my powers.
Are! You! Freaking! Kidding! Me!
So now I’m off the team. At least, until I can prove I deserve to be back in the starting rotation.
Which is why I find myself in my current predicament.
The guy hunting me down is named Buzzkill. He’s a cyborg—part human, part robot with Meta 2 Super-Strength and a generally nasty attitude. Neutralizing his Meta powers was easy enough. But now I’m a moving target for the ridiculous array of weapons he can conjure up from the mechanical-side of his body.
Unfortunately, my Meta power has no effect on standard criminal tools-of-the-trade; including knives, throwing stars, guns, lasers, spitballs and, present case in point, heat-seeking missiles.
So, I’m in a wee bit of trouble.
I hustle off the school grounds and hang a right down the first alleyway I see. How am I going to deal with this guy before he obliterates me? I peer over my shoulder, but Buzzkill’s nowhere in sight.
That’s when I trip over a spilled garbage can and smash face-first into a brick wall.
Everything goes dark for a moment before I realize I’m flat on my back on a pile of trash bags. My nose is throbbing and there’s a warm, wet drizzle on my upper lip. Instinctively, I wipe it. Yep, it’s blood.
Marvelous.
I’ve literally run into a dead-end. What superhero does that?
I try to stand up, but my body has other ideas. I’m still shaking out the cobwebs when I sense the area around me darkening. I look up, only to find Buzzkill standing over me, blocking out the moonlight.
“Hello, possum,” he says with his deep, synthesized voice. His red, mechanical eye flickers in its socket like a metal-detector that’s hit the jackpot.
“Can we talk about this?” I ask.
Buzzkill extends his left arm. His robotic fingers retract into his wrist socket, only to be replaced with a giant spinning buzz saw. “Certainly, Epic Zero” he says. “Shall we dissect your situation piece by piece?”
Well, this sucks.
Buzzkill amps up his buzz saw, and then swings at me.
I barely roll out of the way as he slices through a stack of bricks like a hot knife through butter. That was lucky! But he’s not finished. Buzzkill wheels around for another shot. I spring to my feet, searching for a way out, but he’s blocking the only exit!
I back up against the wall like a trapped animal. My shoulder is still throbbing, and my nose is spewing blood like a faucet.
The human-half of Buzzkill’s face lights up in a menacing smile. “Game over, Zero,” he says, revving his buzz saw to full throttle.
My heart is pounding. All I can think is why? Why can’t I have super-strength like Dad, and break this guy in two? Why can’t I use telepathy like Mom, and knock him to his knees? Why can’t I fly out of here like Grace? Why am I so … lame?
Suddenly, Buzzkill steps forward and pins me against the wall by my neck!
He’s gripping so tight I can’t breathe! I want to end this, but I can’t say the words …
His buzz saw is rotating so fast it’s nearly invisible. Then, Buzzkill lurches back to deliver the deathblow.
I close my eyes.
This is gonna be messy.
“Drop the pizza cutter, Buzzkill!” comes a familiar voice. “The kid’s all mine!”
I open my eyes to find a woman’s dark, gloved hand wrapped around Buzzkill’s mechanical wrist. And then, I watch Mom sock the villain square across the jaw, sending him flying.
“GISMO, end program!” Mom shouts, rubbing her knuckles.
“Training module ended, Ms. Understood,” comes GISMO’s warm, mechanical voice.
Instantly, Buzzkill and the alleyway disappear, leaving Mom and me all alone in the stark white confines of the Combat Room.
Based on Mom’s expression, I suddenly wish Buzzkill finished the job.
“Elliott Harkness!” Mom lays into me, “What in the world are you doing here? You’re supposed to be sleeping.”
I try to avoid Mom’s penetrating glare, but even if I avert that, I can’t escape her superhero insignia of a giant eye which is staring me down, compelling me to tell the truth—or maybe it’s just a mom power. Unfortunately, I don’t have a good get-out-of- jail-free card.
“I’m sorry,” I say, sheepishly. “I’m just trying to get some extra practice.”
“I see,” Mom says. “Well, next time set GISMO on an easier training module. If I hadn’t tracked you down, who knows what could have happened down here.”
GISMO is short for Global Intelligence Simulation Model Operator. GISMO runs the Combat Room where the Freedom Force hones their powers. The Combat Room can create any situation imaginable, including my near-death experience with Buzzkill.
“Good thinking, Mom,” I say, sarcastically. “Because you know real villains will let me off the hook if I just ask them to go easy on me. If I can’t defeat them in a crummy training module, then what chance do I have on a real mission? I’ll never be back on the team.”
“Elliott,” Mom says, putting her hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got to give yourself time to develop. You’ll get there.”
“Yeah,” I say, “like when I’m eighty.”
“Oh, Elliott,” she sighs.
Just then, there’s a loud crackle overhead. “Freedom Force to the Mission Room,” comes TechnocRat’s high-pitched voice over the intercom system. “Freedom Force to the Mission Room.”
Mom and I hightail it out of the Combat Room, and hit the East Wing stairwell. Oh, I should probably mention that we live in a satellite headquarters in outer space called the Waystation. The views of Earth are amazing, but it can get pretty lonely when you’re left up here all by yourself.
Which I’m guessing is exactly what’s about to happen to me.
We make it up to the Mission Room to find all of the heroes gathered: Dad, TechnocRat, Blue Bolt, Master Mime, Shadow Hawk, Makeshift, and my 14-year-old sister, Grace.
“Nice of you to finally join us,” she says sourly, her arms folded across her chest.
“Sorry, we had an old tin can to dispose of,” Mom says, winking at me. “What’s going on?”
TechnocRat scampers onto the keypad and starts typing rapidly with his pink paws and tail. “Moments ago, we received a distress signal. A rather unusual distress signal. Take a look.”
The giant screen powers on, and there’s an image of a muscular, mustached man wearing a red mask and bodysuit with an insignia of a black atom on his chest. I know him immediately from his Meta profile. It’s the Atomic Rage.
“Freedom Force,” he says, desperately. “You have to help us!”
The terror in his voice sets the hairs on my neck on end. The Atomic Rage is a major supervillain—a Meta 3 Energy Manipulator that can fire bolts of explosive, atomic energy. He’s no chump change. So, why’s he so freaked out?
“He’s coming for us!” the Atomic Rage continues, his eyes bulging wide. “He’s coming for us all! Help us! Please! Help—”
And then, the video cuts out.
“Well that was awkward,” Grace says.
“What’s that all about?” Blue Bolt asks, downing four power bars in a millisecond. “Besides, isn’t he part of the Ominous Eight. Was he referring to them?”
&n
bsp; TechnocRat’s nose starts twitching. “Unfortunately, we’re not sure. That’s all of the transmission we received. The Meta Monitor pinpointed the location of the last power signature for the Atomic Rage. I also have readings for the rest of the Ominous Eight. I think we should investigate.”
“Hold on,” Grace says, “You want us to help those villains? What do we care if they eat each other? I mean, isn’t that a good thing?”
“We’re heroes,” Dad says, “We’re sworn to help all of those in need. Whether they’re villains or not.”
I glance over at Makeshift who smiles back.
“What if it’s a trap?” Shadow Hawk asks.
“The thought crossed my mind as well,” Dad says. “But I don’t think the Atomic Rage is that good an actor. Nevertheless, whether it’s a trap or if there really is someone powerful enough to take down the Atomic Rage and the Ominous Eight, we’d better bring the whole team.”
“Great idea, Dad,” I declare, “I call shotgun!”
Dad puts his hand on my shoulder. Here it comes.
“Sorry, Elliott,” he says. “You’re still suspended.”
Of course I am.
“Freedom Force,” Dad says. “It’s Fight Time!”
The heroes pour out of the room.
Mom lingers behind. “And Elliott, no—”
“—Combat Room,” I finish. “Yeah, I got it.”
I watch her leave, and then feel a soft nuzzle against my hand. Dog-Gone, our German Shepherd who can turn invisible, materializes beside me.
“Well, at least you didn’t abandon me,” I say, petting his head. “I guess we should grab a snack and go to bed. C’mon, let’s see what’s in the Galley.”
Dog-Gone licks his lips.
We’re halfway there when—
“Alert! Alert! Alert!” the Meta Monitor blares. “Meta 3 disturbance. Repeat: Meta 3 disturbance. Identity unknown. Alert! Alert! Alert! Meta 3 disturbance. Identity unknown.”
Dog-Gone and I hustle to the Meta Monitor room.
The Meta Monitor is our computer system that detects Meta powers. The Meta Monitor can read disturbances in the Earth’s molecular structure. Like fingerprints, each and every super power leaves a distinct Meta signature. The Meta Monitor reads this signature and matches it with its database of Metas to determine who, or what, may have caused it.