by C. C. Ekeke
Hugo swallowed and softened. “Sorry.”
AJ gave a forgiving shrug. “You okay, uso?”
“Yeah,” Hugo lied, not inviting further discussion. The sound of two voices drifted up from downstairs. “Dinner guests.” It wasn’t a question.
AJ smiled. “Ms. Ortiz and Zelda.”
Hugo was annoyed. Not by Ms. Ortiz’s impromptu arrival, which occurred often. But that he hadn’t heard it. Wiping his tears, he trailed his brother downstairs. Hugo liked their eccentric neighbor and her sullen daughter, despite their oddness. Ms. Ortiz had been an amazing family friend after Dad’s death.
Mom had finished setting the table, wearing a shapeless red dress with her thick and wavy black hair falling down her shoulders. She looked up and smiled. Hugo smiled back. Relations had improved between them, but a subtle tension endured. Hugo wanted to move forward but wasn’t sure how. Dad had killed himself to escape them. Yet Mom kept lionizing the coward.
Hugo pushed away that ugliness and put on a friendly face for their guests. “Hey, everyone.”
Ms. Ortiz wore her usual hippy-dippy attire, this time a bulky tie-dye floral dress and blue-tinted sunglasses. Her long hair, in a massive braid, spilled over one shoulder. “Bogota!” The tall woman enfolded Hugo in a hug. “How's life in the bubble of academia?”
“Better than great.” He caught curly-haired Zelda giving him another strange stare. “Didn’t know you were coming over.”
“Stop it, Bogota,” Mom scolded, heading back into the kitchen. “Betty and Zelda are welcome anytime.”
“I didn’t…” Hugo began objecting, then stopped. Whatever.
AJ rushed over to Zelda, offering her a seat.
“This was Zelda’s idea,” Ms. Ortiz admitted, watching AJ. “She’s quite fond of you boys!”
“Mom,” Zelda protested. “Seriously??”
Hugo snorted out laughter. Poor Zelda lived in a constant state of embarrassment around her mother.
Ms. Ortiz gave a melodic, airy-fairy laugh and turned to Hugo. “Your aura is very…grey. Everything okay?”
Hugo gaped at her. Wow, she was intuitive. “Just working on something,” he replied, keeping things vague.
“Oooh, something fun?”
“Bogie was yelling at a wall,” AJ revealed.
“Quiet, uso,” Hugo snapped. “The project wasn't worth it.” Barely five minutes of listening to San Miguel was too much. I’m not brave enough to be a hero. The realization was humiliating.
Mom served out mashed potatoes. But her attention remained on him. “Sorry to hear, Bogota.”
Hugo masked the heaviness with a tight-lipped smile. “Me too.” Letting go of this superhero burden felt sad…yet liberating.
“Anyway.” Hugo pulled out chairs for Mom and Ms. Ortiz. “Let’s eat.”
Chapter 11
“You’re no fun anymore,” Jinn Chang had complained earlier after Greyson declined another happy-hour invite. The two friends had just left the community center where they volunteered a few times a week. “Doesn’t your new fitness regimen have cheat days?”
Greyson had internally cringed telling this lie. “Sorry, Jinn,” he’d replied, truly contrite. “Lauren and I are doing a trek deep into the Grand Canyon soon. Gotta get in shape.”
Greyson hated lying to friends and family. Dr. St. Pierre was right about the constant necessary lies to keep his secret. Luckily, being a superhero was temporary.
Speaking of Lauren, he recalled how his reaction to Lord Borealis’s stabbing had bothered her.
Greyson had felt zero sympathy. “Pardon my sadness.”
“Grey…” Lauren had gasped, shocked.
“After that piece of shit pretended to be Titan’s friend?” he had retorted with some heat. “On top of his other horrible crimes?”
Lauren had balked. “Didn’t know you were pro-death penalty.”
“No,” Greyson had corrected, stroking her shoulders. “Pro-punishment.”
Currently, he stood with a tank top and cargos drenched in sweat, eyes darting back and forth.
He and his teammates were in Dr. St. Pierre’s warehouse, killing themselves in another training session.
Training started with one mile around the warehouse, followed by fifteen minutes of hand-to-hand drills. Then came teamwork sparring, using their powers at a quarter strength in pairs.
Kathy got paired with Connie. The older woman swiped her arm-length blades at Connie’s high-density skin to test the hardness.
Greyson sparred with Big Izzie to fight Tom. The man codenamed Bravo disappeared and reappeared all around Greyson each time he attacked.
Dr. St. Pierre proctored the session, stroking his beard while coolly assessing his trainees. He wore his usual attire, white button-down and grey vest with matching pants. One difference was the walking cast on his left ankle, still weeks away from healing. Letty stood at his side in one of her vintage dresses and long braids. The petite, dark-skinned woman’s eyes brimmed with curiosity as she tracked the session.
Grueling as these sessions were, Greyson loved pushing his limits. I’d love it more if Tom showed his face so I can thrash him—
Tom abruptly appeared several feet away from Greyson in front of a crate box. He wore a Titan t-shirt, gym pants, and that dumb ear-to-ear grin.
Greyson glanced at the boulder of a man beside him and whispered, “Hard oak.”
Big Izzie, balding scalp shiny with sweat, smiled and touched a petrified wood ring on his finger. An instant later, Izzie resembled a human sculpture carved out of wood. And Greyson moved, lowering his teammate’s gravity field and hurling him at Tom like a javelin.
The teleporter smirked and vanished, seconds before Big Izzie exploded through the crate.
Greyson almost cursed, until a forearm slipped around his throat and pressed down. A palm forcefully pushed the back of his head forward, Tom gloating into his ear. “Gotcha, Tango,” he crowed. “Submit.”
Greyson never panicked, actually grinning at his dilemma. “Do you really?” He attracted his personal gravity field to a far wall as if it were the floor. Greyson got yanked back, sandwiching Tom into the concrete wall and himself. The air rushed out of the teleporter with a grunt. When Tom sank to the floor, Greyson switched his own gravity field to normal.
Triumph swirled inside Greyson’s belly. “Word of advice. Poking the bear isn’t wise until the bear’s truly beaten.” He offered his teammate a hand.
“Noted,” Tom wheezed and accepted.
“Bring it in for a few,” Dr. St. Pierre announced moments later from the warehouse’s center.
The team gathered around him. Greyson found himself shoulder to shoulder with Connie. She looked adorable in her training unitard and pulled-back hair. Greyson and she exchanged quick greetings. That was their new routine unless the discussion was team-related. Connie had grown distant since her failed seduction last week. Sadness tinged Greyson's heart. He missed their burgeoning friendship, but respected her space and didn’t push.
“I’ve been informed that I never provide positive feedback,” St. Pierre announced amid snickers from Tom and Kathy. “So here it is.”
The therapist cleared his throat and put on a genuine smile. “There’s room for improvement. But your performances and mastery of your powers keeps getting better.”
Izzie and Kathy both appeared delighted. Tom and Connie high-fived each other. Greyson’s heart lightened. He glanced at Letty, who winked knowingly. Always caring for the team, that one.
“Why I ride you so hard,” St. Pierre continued, no longer smiling. “A superhero's life isn’t easy. Even when you’re at your best, one wrong decision combined with so many variables can cost lives.” His stare raked across the five, making Greyson shudder. “Your teammates' lives. Or your own.”
“Like the Chicago Massacre?” Big Izzie asked quietly.
St. Pierre nodded. “Yes.” The mention of the Chicago Massacre chilled the warehouse. Greyson remembered watching the ca
rnage on TV, terrified that the world was ending. That one event caused stricter laws for supers. Like how all superhumans, no matter how minor their abilities, required OSA registration.
Connie seemed lost, raising her hand. “I’ve heard about Chicago but don’t know specifics.”
Kathy’s head whipped around. “Seriously?”
Tom scoffed. “Google that shit.”
Connie scowled. “Shut your pie hole, Tom.”
Greyson stepped in, hands raised. “Guys.” He led the team in the field and figured he should lead off the field too. “Not a dumb question.”
St. Pierre smiled at Greyson. “It’s okay. I’ve been meaning to tell you about that and the Midwest Miracles…”
With the team and Letty engaged, Dr. St. Pierre began. “I was a young rookie when the Midwest Miracles recruited me, less than six months into becoming a superhero.”
Greyson hadn’t seen the therapist’s eyes twinkle this way, as if he’d rewound eight years to the glory days of Middle America’s premiere superhero team.
“Us seven were riding high, kicking ass. Second only to the Vanguard, in our overinflated opinions,” St. Pierre added, drawing laughs. “Best three years of my life.”
St. Pierre’s nostalgia darkened, like clouds passing over sunlight. “Then the Controller invaded Chicago, with his minions and Paragon as his mind-controlled puppet.”
Pure ice coursed down Greyson’s spine. The Controller, one of the world’s most powerful telepathic supers and career criminal, had finally gathered a competent team. This had included Paragon, one of the first superheroes from the seventies. Superstrength, flight, enhanced durability, he was almost a prototype for Titan. Until the Controller sank his telepathic claws into Paragon and unmade him.
St. Pierre’s voice drew Greyson back to the present, discussing the Miracles’ attempt to stop the Controller’s attack on Chicago. “It was a bloodbath. Hundreds massacred.” The therapist looked haunted, the pain of those losses bubbling to the surface. “What happened to the Miracles…” Greyson glanced uncomfortably at his teammates, knowing what came next.
St. Pierre rehashed it anyway. “Paragon slaughtered half of us singlehandedly.” He bucked his teeth, fighting back tears. Letty came from behind and rubbed his back supportively. “The Vanguard’s arrival saved Chicago…and what remained of the Miracles.
“The battle leveled downtown Chicago, even with The Vanguard’s attempts to contain the collateral damage.”
Despite the devastating fallout, Greyson had geeked out over Titan vs. Paragon. The hypothetical battle so many fans had speculated over for years actually happened. The odds-on favorite, Titan, won and snapped Paragon out of Controller’s brainwashing. Horrified by his actions, Paragon choose self-imposed exile over jail and flew into space. No one had seen him since.
Tom spoke, unusually serious. “That’s why there’ve been no major Midwest superhero teams since?”
St. Pierre nodded, composing himself. “Pretty much,” he said, his voice a dull croak.
Greyson stared at the man, feeling pure reverence. “After all that,” he murmured, “how do you go on?”
That won a laugh from St. Pierre. “Almost didn’t,” he admitted. “For a while after that, there were no other superheroes in St. Louis. At least not any who’d go public. The surviving Miracles besides me retired.” The therapist pointed at himself ruefully. “The Hurricane was it.”
Kathy looked pissed. “And after all that sacrifice, the public turns on you for your absence,” she seethed, brushing her stringy hair in a huff. Connie and Izzie added their affronted agreement.
St. Pierre shrugged off the outrage on his behalf. “I can take the heat. Besides, I’ll be back on the field in a few weeks. Despite my husband’s protests,” he added with an eye roll, drawing laughs. “Our team…”
“Heroes Anonymous!” Tom added in.
“Shut up, Tom!” his teammates barked.
St. Pierre’s grin became a full-on smile. “Our unnamed team might not be what the Miracles were. But with your powers and my experience, St. Louis’s citizens will be safer under our watch.”
Everyone’s response was electric. Smiles and excitement abounded. Greyson angled a glowing look with Connie, who reddened and turned away.
“But…” St. Pierre raised a finger to highlight his next point. “Once I return, y'all have a decision to make. Continue this or return to your normal lives.”
Uh-oh, Greyson realized, while the others voiced their affirmatives. He’d promised Lauren not to continue and planned on sticking to that. Greyson opened his mouth to state that position. Better to blow things up now than wait and make things worse.
A sharp beep interrupted, startling everyone. Letty ran to her computer gear. She scanned her laptop and flinched away. “We got trouble in downtown.”
“Who?” St. Pierre asked as he, Greyson, and the others approached.
She turned to the therapist with an exasperated expression. “The Bashem Brothers.”
St. Pierre grimaced. “Them again?”
Greyson frowned in confusion. “Them?”
“I fought the Bashems last year,” the therapist replied. “Drove them out of St. Louis.”
“And their capabilities?” Connie inquired.
"Crashdown and Smasher have identical powers," Letty chimed in, tossing back her braids. “Super strength. Heightened durability. They can also combine into a massive eight-foot gestalt three times stronger than both brothers.”
Greyson studied the team. Despite flutters of uncertainty, Kathy, Connie, Izzie, and Tom looked determined and united. Because we’re a team. The awareness seared through Greyson. “We got this,” he stated. “Got a location, Letty?”
“Downtown corridor, robbing armored cars.”
Greyson turned to St. Pierre, awaiting orders. The therapist gestured as if to say You’re the field leader.
Greyson’s heart soared. “Suit up,” he announced. “We got brothers to bash.”
Everyone jeered, and Greyson winced. “Yeah, that bombed.”
The group hurried toward the locker room to put on their uniforms.
“Man, that was corny shit,” Tom commented as the five reached their lockers.
Greyson grinned, holding the door for Connie and Kathy. “From you, I’ll consider that a compliment.”
They began dressing, the air thick with urgency. New villains. New challenges. Greyson was going to miss this kind of pressure.
Chapter 12
The excited crowd gathering around the scene swelled by the second.
This was normal when supers battled in the open. Greyson hated that.
Dr. St. Pierre’s words about mistakes in a live environment filled his mind.
“Delta. Echo,” he spoke to Izzie and Connie respectively with a digitally distorted voice. “Crowd control.” Though their faces were masked, the brisk nods confirmed Greyson’s order. Connie moved to one end of the crowd while Big Izzie moved to the other, ordering the crowd back in distorted voices.
Greyson wondered how they’d gotten here, especially with their foolproof attack strategy.
Letty had tracked the Bashems to some fancy condo in St. Louis’s posh Ladue suburb. Greyson’s team had entered through the back for the element of surprise. Yet the Bashems were waiting, leading to a seesaw battle that leveled the confined quarters.
The conflict had then spilled out into a busy intersection, bringing them to this standoff.
Greyson, Kathy, and Tom had the Bashems surrounded. They stood out like giraffes, wearing matching red singlets and leather pants—resembling pro-wrestlers.
They could be, Greyson marveled. Both bald and building-sized brothers were seven feet tall. Both had hollow, steel-blue eyes nestled deep in their blocky faces. And both stood with fists clenched, ready to keep fighting. The only differences were Crashdown standing slightly taller and Smasher’s crueler sneer.
Greyson knew his team had to end this before things escalated
. Inhaling made his side throb thanks to a glancing punt from Smasher. His uniform blunted much of it, thankfully. Tom favored his left side but seemed able to continue. Kathy moved well, brandishing her shiny blades with confidence.
Seeing that, Greyson ignored his pain and the shouting crowd. His focus lasered in on the Bashems. “Last chance. Surrender or else.”
Crashdown chuckled. Smasher’s sneer deepened. “We were about to offer the same deal,” the latter replied.
Crashdown pointed at Greyson. “You got lucky,” he taunted.
“But luck’s for losers,” Smasher added.
“And how do the Bashems handle losers?” Crashdown asked, eyes gleaming.
“We bash them!” both Bashems cried, turning toward each other to bump fists.
NO! Greyson’s heart stopped. Kathy gasped. If the two Bashems bumped fists, they would combine into one impossibly strong colossus.
Greyson raised a hand at Crashdown. “No smashing for you!” He negated the taller Bashem’s gravity with ease, levitating him up and away from Smasher. Crashdown cried, floating higher.
The crowd roared approval, Izzie and Connie struggling to hold them back.
Smasher glowered at Greyson. “I’ll kick your ass into a new shape for that!”
Uh-oh. “Bravo. Echo,” Greyson called to Tom and Kathy. “Take Smasher.”
“Gladly.” Kathy rushed in, swiping her blades at Smasher’s chest. To Greyson’s surprise, Smasher dodged nimbly for his size. He growled an uncouth comment and swung his massive fist at Kathy. Greyson’s fear spiked, until Tom appeared beside Kathy.
Smasher swung at thin air. He whirled around in confusion. “Where—?”
Abruptly, Tom and Kathy were behind him. Kathy swiped both arm razorblades across Smasher’s shoulders. He arched his back and hollered.
Vmmph. Tom appeared with Kathy in front of Smasher. The Bashem swung at Kathy. She ducked and clasped her hands together, merging them into an oversized bowling ball. She sprang up swinging. The ball struck Smasher’s jaw, snapping his head back. A loud oooh roiled through the crowd.
Greyson smiled, still levitating Crashdown high above the action.