by C. C. Ekeke
The answer was a slap across the face. “Excuse me?” Greyson jerked back. What did this fetus, who’d never even left Amarantha, know about anything? Until the reasoning cracked through Greyson’s horror. “We intervened…and made things worse?”
“Your government didn’t like so many supers at their doorsteps,” Rodrigo had begun. “Their contractors gave some rich human families the tech to block our powers.” He'd shivered, growing angrier as he spoke. “The humans used that to overthrow the government and enslave supers. Now each family rules one of Amarantha’s big cities like royals.” Rising abruptly, he’d gone to bed, furious.
Greyson had stared in stunned silence for a long while.
Now Greyson’s unease grew as the inmates headed into a soap-smelling room. “Where are we going?”
“A shower,” another prisoner replied, a frog-faced older woman with dusky skin. The thick Amaranthine drawl confirmed her as another local. “Gotta get prettied up for the auction.” Once the prisoners were ushered into a vast space, the guards ordered them to strip.
Greyson looked around in embarrassment, stripping in front of strangers, but got it over quickly.
The guards barked again, and the naked prisoners entered a round container.
The mood grew awkward. Greyson covered his privates timidly while standing there.
Abruptly, hundreds of scalding water jets blasted from the surrounding walls. The container filled with screams from three dozen prisoners hopping about. Greyson shielded his eyes, fearful his skin would boil off. The showers lasted a few more minutes before shutting off. Greyson and the prisoners stood or sprawled in various states of shock. Seconds later, the floors shot pressurized gusts to dry everyone off. More screams and frantic hopping.
Greyson fell to his knees, eyes squeezed shut. Intense gusts blasted the moisture off him. In only two months, his previous life in St. Louis seemed like a faraway, magical dream.
As the winds stripped Greyson’s dignity further away, he held on to Connie. More than ever, Greyson had to save her from this horrible place.
Finally, the vents ceased and the container reopened. Greyson joined other shell-shocked inmates in putting on fresh prison jumpsuits provided by the guards. One inmate, the mountainous Briggs from the barge, eyed the nearest guards murderously. For a moment, Greyson thought the big man would attack.
Instead, Briggs deflated and pulled on his jumpsuit. They were then ordered back into two single-file lines and marched into another well-lit room.
The guards were different, in head-to-toe tactical gear with scarier rifles. Greyson kept quiet without Rodrigo’s prompting. Maybe beyond that curtain someone knew about Connie. Two at a time, prisoners stepped through the curtain and never returned. A low-level dread crawled up Greyson’s torso when his turn came. Brief hesitation earned him a hard shove from behind. Greyson stumbled onto a small stage, almost faceplanting. Thankfully, Rodrigo entered the stage on the other line and caught Greyson before he fell.
“What is this?” he asked his cellmate.
“The auction.” Rodrigo glanced around the darkness beyond the spotlight. “Representatives from the Families are watching through cameras. Scanning for our power levels. Then they bid.” He looked to Greyson, still drooping in his arms, and scowled. “Stand up or else they’ll classify us as sex slaves.”
Greyson stood properly in the spotlight. Again, he and Rodrigo waited.
“What’s taking so long?” Greyson murmured without turning his head, after over five minutes.
“Either some high bidding or no one’s interested,” Rodrigo murmured back.
Greyson disliked both options. “What happens if no one’s interested?”
Before Rodrigo could answer, a door in the center slid open. Greyson stared, unsure what to do.
“Step forward, prisoners,” a voice boomed in American English from ceiling speakers.
Rodrigo beamed, somehow optimistic. He strode to the door. Greyson timidly trailed him.
They stepped through the doorway, into the company of half a dozen new guards. Their light armor was red and gold, carrying pikes instead of basic rifles. Greyson and Rodrigo were joined by Briggs and three others. Besides Rodrigo, every prisoner was an American from the barge.
“Prisoners!” one shorter guard barked in English. He was well-built, with thick, chestnut-brown hair, lighter skinned than Rodrigo. “You belong to House Carneiro, Ruling Family of Dourado! Your collars are under our control. Your sole purpose is to fight and die at the pleasure of Dourado and the Carneiro family.”
Greyson exchanged wide-eyed stares with Rodrigo. His cellmate had told him about Amarantha’s Ruling families, which read like a feudal throwback with a Caribbean twist. House Carneiro was the wealthiest family on the island, thanks to Dourado’s plentiful mines. To be purchased by the Carneiros must mean that Greyson and these other five held value. Purchased…like a bag of grapes. Greyson nearly choked. Another nail in the coffin of his old life.
“Now we leave for Dourado. Know your place and keep quiet!” The six prisoners were prodded into a single-file line as the group marched toward an exit.
But Greyson would never forgive himself if he didn’t ask about Connie. “Excuse me.”
Rodrigo’s eyes bulged. “Greyson!”
The gilded guards turned. Hard-bitten and battle-tested, all could break Greyson by flexing their biceps.
Greyson raised both hands. “No disrespect. I was with someone on the barge of supers.”
The guards’ leader nodded at one of his men, who handed over a tablet. The leader pressed a few buttons. “Their name?”
Greyson almost cried for joy. “Constance Ishibashi? Goes by Connie. Short hair, not tall—”
“Don’t need a life story, yea,” the leader snapped. After skimming through his tablet for a minute, he looked up. “No record.”
The news stunned Greyson. “Maybe Connie wasn’t chosen for the auction.”
The leader shook his curly head of hair. “There’s no record in our prison systems,” he clarified. “Meaning she never got picked up.”
Greyson swallowed hard. “Then…Connie drowned.” Speaking that truth sucked the verve out of him. His legs folded, and suddenly, he was kneeling. With Connie dead, Greyson's purpose died with her.
Whatever the leader saw on Greyson’s face reached him. “Sorry about your friend, yea,” he replied with unexpected sympathy.
“Screw this!” Briggs roared and launched himself at the guards.
Greyson, submerged in grief, now saw guards being thrown left and right by the massive Briggs. The leader swore in his native tongue and advanced to contain the situation. The other four prisoners were shoved into the walls by three other guards.
Briggs reached for the pike of one guard he’d leveled. “I’ll die before I stay longer!”
“As you wish,” the leader said coolly, clicking something on his pike.
A crackling sound preceded Briggs's whole body going rigid. He clutched his neck collar, eyes wide, choking sounds emerging from his open mouth. Briggs fell over, spasming, eyes gawking up at Greyson. The voltage continued cooking Briggs’s insides until his eyes were leaking blood and smoke curled from his nose. His spasms soon became death throes.
Greyson just watched, disconnected even from the stench of Brigg’s deep-fried intestines.
When the leader finally shut off the electricity, Brigg went limp. His eyes burst, leaking down his cheeks.
“There's plenty more where you freaks came from,” the leader stated. “Now MOVE!” He then barked at his subordinates in Amaranthine.
The other four prisoners, Rodrigo included, were marched down the hallway briskly. The leader himself wrenched Greyson to his feet and dragged him forward.
Greyson kept glancing back at Brigg’s sizzling corpse, regret needling through his numbness. If I’d known about Connie earlier, Greyson realized in hindsight, that’s how I should’ve died.
Chapter 17
Quinn craned her head back. One had to when taking in the full height of Olympian Worldwide Tower, one of San Miguel’s tallest skyscrapers. The steel-and-glass building, wide and cylindrical in shape, posted the dazzling gold OWE logo on top. With Olympian Worldwide’s global reach in media, music, theme parks, and much more, this headquarters packed a lot in one location.
Today marked the first official day of filming for the Missy Magnificent profile. And since today’s filming focused on Missy’s Extreme Teens past without her, Quinn got to conduct these interviews. And she couldn’t have been happier. Or more racked with nerves.
“Ready for this?” Quinn asked her lanky videographer, Colin. They’d carpooled from her apartment. Another dreamless night, thanks to his ministrations.
Colin ran idle fingers through his shaggy hair. “Ready.”
OWE Tower’s lobby 3D holograms of OWE Animation characters and the Extreme Teens roster near the center water fountain. Quinn didn’t need research to know that OWE owned the teen superhero market. This included New England’s Liberteens, the Young Samaritans to reach Bible Belters, the more college-aged Americools in Austin, and international heroes like Mexico City’s Velocidad. But Extreme Teens was OWE’s biggest franchise since the Wunkerkinds from the 1990s put the entertainment company on the map.
Colin’s childlike wonder while recording all this won a smile out of Quinn.
They stepped off the elevator on the thirtieth floor into a madhouse. Assistants and execs running around like headless chickens yelling at each other. Quinn sidestepped all this to reach the reception desk. “Jamie Goldstein.”
The young black man behind the desk nodded. “Please sit while I grab her.” He dialed on his computer. Quinn and Colin parked themselves in seats on the lobby and waited. The purpose of today was getting views of Missy Magnificent from former Extreme Team colleagues and OWE executives. Quinn had devised this approach to give more balanced coverage for Missy’s road to redemption.
About five minutes later, a slim woman with curly black hair and a strut in her step approached. She dressed entertainment casual: a clingy maroon tee with BAYWOOD PARK in white across the chest, and dark-blue skinny jeans. She clutched a Red Bull can like a lifeline. Quinn and Colin stood.
“Hello! Jamie Goldstein,” she greeted briskly. Her handshake was as forceful as those intense, pale-blue eyes. “Head of Content, Programming, Live Events, et cetera for all things Extreme Teens.”
“Quinn Bauer. Reporter,” Quinn said, poking at Jamie’s self-importance. “Is that on your business card?”
A smile split Jamie’s pretty face. “Should be, right?” She gestured for Quinn and Colin to follow.
They entered a corner office overlooking downtown, Rio Luis coiling around San Miguel, and lofty Bishop Peak in the distance. If Quinn didn’t know this woman’s job, she’d have labeled Jamie a stalker. Her office was packed with Extreme Teens paraphernalia: posters, toys, platinum records. A flatscreen TV hung across from Jamie’s desk playing unedited dailies from the Extreme Dreams show. Quinn expected to sit with Jamie on her couch. Instead, the executive beelined for a ping-pong table.
“I think better moving.” Jamie snatched two paddles off the table. “Wanna play ping-pong?” Jamie demanded, blue eyes gleaming. “Let’s play ping-pong.” She chucked the other paddle at Quinn, nearly smacking her face.
“JG vs. QB.” Jamie smirked, bouncing on her heels. “What do you want to know about Katie Epperson?” She served first with a gentle overhead swing.
Quinn, seeing no choice, paddled the ball back. She knew parts of the story behind Missy’s ugly split from the Extreme Teens. Like OWE owning the “Missy Magnificent” name, forcing Katie Epperson, aka Missy Magnificent, to legally change her name. “Describe Missy when you first met her.”
Jamie beamed as her paddle strikes grew more violent. “Katie was an adorable twelve-year-old country girl from Nebraska. Sweetest kid you’d ever meet.” Jamie’s eyes grew unfocused, the memories transporting her backwards. “Katie had that It factor you can’t teach. With powers tailormade for a marketable teen superhero.” Jamie then detailed Missy's year-long training at Crownwood Hero Academy before debuting, all while returning Quinn’s serves with vicious glee. By her emotional tenor, Jamie still clearly cared for Missy like a big sister.
Those genuine emotions pulled Quinn’s thoughts to Annie, who’d always looked out for her. And vice versa. If Annie was in a bad place, Quinn had to help her. She pushed that turmoil aside as Jamie detailed creating the first Extreme Teens roster seven years ago.
“The first team was built around her.” Jamie sailed in with a vicious overhead swat.
Quinn ducked, nearly getting smacked in the forehead.
“POINT!” Jamie cried.
Quinn stared back at the executive, who looked slightly demented. She tossed the ping-pong ball back to Jamie without protest. “Care to explain?”
Jamie served the ball so forcefully that Quinn almost shied away from a return serve. “We made sure Katie liked each teammate and had chemistry with them.” She braced herself and returned Quinn’s serve with a backhand paddle. “Then we discovered Luke Shinoda.”
Quinn rolled her eyes, serving back. “Blur.”
“Yup!” Jamie nodded, dialed into the ping-pong game she was winning. “Those two’s chemistry was unreal! So we built the team around #BLISSY.”
Quinn returned the ball. Jamie swung her paddle savagely. “POINT!”
The ball rocketed past Quinn. She walked over and grabbed the ball from the floor as Jamie dove into the Blur/Missy saga. Missy Magnificent’s story wasn’t complete without covering her nearly four-year relationship to the speedster Blur. Even after their split two years ago, gossip blogs and magazines held out hope for a reunion. Quinn couldn’t handle the absurdity her research had unearthed. Some crazypants fans, aka Extreme Teamsters, thought Missy and Blur were secretly together with kids.
“Who created the Missy Magnificent persona?” Quinn asked, now ten points behind Jamie.
The programming exec considered this while casually slapping away Quinn’s serves. “The creative team behind the Extreme Teens concept. They wanted an All-American girl next door who could kick ass. Kinda like Lady Liberty and American Maiden.”
Another overhand swing, forcing Quinn to duck or lose her head.
“POINT!” Jamie was bouncing like some prizefighter, twirling her paddle. “Wanna another game? Let’s play another!” She reached for a new ping-pong ball.
Quinn, huffing and wheezing, placed her paddle on the table. She needed breath to interview. “How about...walking and talking?”
Jamie warmed to that idea.
As they prepared to leave, Quinn scowled at Colin choking back laughs. “That was amazing!”
“Thought I was gonna lose an eye,” Quinn murmured, watching her volume with Jamie nearby. They found a vacant upper floor and strolled about while Quinn and Jamie talked. According to the programming executive, Missy’s first two and a half years on the Extreme Teens were her best. Quinn agreed. After the team had debuted, Missy soon became America’s sweetheart.
“But the cracks started forming.” When asked for the cause, Jamie replied instantly. “Katie’s moneygrubbing redneck parents.” She didn’t mask her hatred for Mr. and Mrs. Epperson. “Katie became the sole breadwinner at thirteen. Her family exploited that poor girl, letting OWE work her to death.” Jamie hugged herself, unable to face the camera. “Katie did everything without complaint because she loved them and loved being a hero. Eventually, she had to get emancipated at fifteen.”
Jamie’s openness surprised Quinn. “Without her parents, the fame got to Katie’s head. Then the partying…” The programming exec paled. “The wrong people entered Katie’s life to leech off her.”
Such an abdication of duty turned Quinn’s stomach. She kept the judgment from her tone, but not her question. “Why didn’t OWE protect Missy?”
Jamie bristled. “OWE protected her as best we c
ould. You think we’d have let her within fifty yards of that super-zero she just married?” She sucked her teeth in disgust, referring to Missy’s husband, Montgomery Major. “We forced Katie into rehab twice. Then Luke ended things with her.” Jamie’s shoulders sagged from the sad memories. “That broke Katie.”
Quinn softened, fleeting guilt churning inside her. “Then what?”
Jamie’s sigh was ragged with pain. “Katie got swallowed by Missy Magnificent. She started hating being on the Extreme Teens with Luke still there and was acting out. Season One of Extreme Dreams was our highest rated because of her antics. Behind the scenes was a nightmare.” Jamie rolled her eyes. “Missy’s teammates got sick of her behavior, which got their parents involved. Katie’s declining mission performances from either being drunk or high were putting them in jeopardy.” Her voice trailed off.
Quinn gave her no breathing room. “How bad was her partying?” She wanted to make Jamie squirm for her neglect of Missy Magnificent.
The executive exhaled loudly. “She OD’d at some party a few years back.”
Quinn went cold all over. Yet she had to dig deeper. “How did the team and OWE respond?” Distress tremored through her question.
“We staged an intervention.” Jamie's sad smile humanized her in Quinn’s eyes. She looked exhausted speaking on this. “Missy responded by getting out of her contract. Felt she could be a bigger star without the Extreme Teens.” Jamie straightened in posture as her features hardened. “But now, our crisis team won’t be there to edit out her stupidity and self-destructiveness.”
Following that, Jamie was done with this interview.
Quinn couldn’t blame her, feeling dirty herself. Would all this dirt make a better profile? She’d figure that out in editing. Getting details from Missy’s former teammates might work better.
“I can get Roadblock and Cyberpunk,” Jamie said after they returned to her office. “Maybe Sunrider. The others are fighting weredragons in Seattle.”
“Weredragons,” Quinn repeated in bald shock.