The Gathering Storm, Part 29

[ – To view a list of all current chapters, click here – ]

It was an alien feeling for Solstice alone in the skeez lab. It wasn’t her first time in such an environment, but usually when she was in a place like this, it was to kick ass, leave soon thereafter and call the cops.

Instead, she was alone and surrounded by all the equipment, chemicals and other accoutrements of a drug lab. All arrayed around her as if they were her own. In a sense, they were now. She’d claimed this place and Query’s hired hands had removed the people who had been here previously. They’d picked this lab out precisely because it wasn’t affiliated with organized crime or any gangs in the area. Just a boutique operation that hadn’t been gobbled up yet partly because it wasn’t really squarely in the middle of anyone’s territory.

Her drug lab.

What a weird damn feeling. And I’ve been here a night and most of a day so it just feels weirder and weirder, Solstice mused. I know the slow tink-tink-tink of the dripping pipe over that metal plate on the floor. I know the squeak of that one ancient ceiling fan. My drug lab. Even though I have zero interest in or intention of slinging skeez.

On the other hand, being the owner and operator of this skeez lab was precisely what Marty the Hun was supposed to think of her. That was the fiction that Query had slipped into ears of a few select people on the street—that Solstice had gone rogue and went over the dark side. That perhaps her crime-fighting before had been nothing more than a sham for winnowing out the competition.

It would be an easy thing for Marty to envision; it would resonate with his black heart, Solstice thought. His bigoted, sexist self would expect just that kind of thing from her, especially being a Goth, Wiccan, Asian transhuman who’d humiliated him and gotten him arrested.

If only he knew I was bi, he’d really think me the scum of the earth, probably.

Creating the notion this was her lab was precisely why she’d been camping out here for more than 20 hours.

By now, Marty the Hun knew where she was and no doubt he still wanted blood. Except now he thought he was doing more than getting revenge. He’d also be taking out someone whose own drugs and money could be added to his own—if, of course, Query’s team hadn’t removed most of the finished drugs and taken the money, too.

I won’t begrudge him the money, even though under other circumstances I would have helped myself to plenty of it after a bust; I’ve certainly gotten major assistance from Query on this little operation, so if he has his own plans for the cash, so be it, she thought. Now we’ll see if his help and this crazy plan Isabella and I hatched gets me killed or if I get clear of Marty’s wrath for good.

The screen of the smart phone Query’s team had left behind for her lit up suddenly, revealing a floor plan of the building and two flashing red circles that indicated someone had slipped in through the front and the back almost simultaneously, tripping a couple of the sensors Query’s people had installed inside the building’s perimeter.

Marty won’t be in the front of the crowd, but he will almost certainly be here with his goons, Solstice reminded herself. He likes hands-on, and given what he’s heard on the streets and from whom, this wouldn’t smell like a trap. After all, he’s been thinking all this time since he got off that I’ve been running and hiding from him, when I didn’t even know he’d been hunting me until Query told me.

Marty the Hun would also be here, she realized, because the lab was too valuable a target to let his crew be running loose here without him.

The intruders didn’t expect her to know they were here, so she moved swiftly toward the rear of the building to keep that edge. Marty wasn’t the type to slip in through the back of anyplace, and she wanted to deal with him last of all. She spotted three men slinking in, wary and guns drawn. Her Attractor powers yanked the weapons from their hands and as they all gave out confused cries of irritation, she tossed a flashbang grenade into their midst and slipped back around the corner, closing her eyes and covering her ears as the grenade made the room a frenzy of light and noise.

She had been a little too close to the action, she realized, as her ears rang and she felt herself sway a bit as she rose to her feet—not even realizing she had dropped to her knees in the first place. She mostly regained her bearings in time to see the butt of a shotgun stock rushing toward her face, and clumsily blocked it with her left arm. Her arm vibrated and throbbed from the impact as she heard the man shout, “Got her for ya Marty!” and swung the shotgun in a tight, hard arc as he added, “Softenin’ her up.”

Oh, Marty wants me intact so he can do me himself—how romantic of him, she thought, and ducked under the attack, dropping to the floor. She lifted her legs, wrapped her ankles around one of the attacker’s thighs and poured an intense burst of thermal energy through them, then ran her ankles down toward his feet, burning his leg all the way down. His pants smoldered and the stench of burning flesh assaulted her nostrils. As he screamed in agony, she used her feet to pull him off balance, and relieved him of the shotgun. Taking a cue from his attack on her, she slammed the stock of the gun into his head half a dozen times in quick succession.

Another man came into view in front of her, bringing his pistol around. She lowered the temperature around him abruptly to startle him and slow him down just a hair, and aimed hastily at his legs with the shotgun. Her  aim was sloppy, but good enough to take out one of his kneecaps, and she hurried over to his prone body to take his gun before he could recover his wits.

“G’night, bitch-whore,” came Marty’s voice from behind just as she touched the pistol, and the shock and humiliation of him getting the drop on her was enough to throw her off. Instead of reacting, she froze for just a moment. Just a moment too long.

I’ll never swing around in time and he’s going to put a bullet into my head and oh fuck and…

Marty grunted, and then his towering body fell onto her, a heavy dead weight. There was stickiness between their bodies and Solstice wanted to retch with the knowledge it was her blood, or his, or both. That she was finished.

But why did he fall? she suddenly considered, and frantically shoved at his body to prepare for another attack. I didn’t hear a gunshot why would either of us be bleeding? She couldn’t dislodge Marty’s body from her own and she began to thrash, keening with fear and rage.

“Calm down,” said a firm and quiet voice, and Solstice saw Query above them, a large Bowie knife in one gloved hand. “Hold still and I’ll cut you free. I shot him with a rubber slug and then hit him with a tangler. You got caught up with the tangler threads.”

There were a few quick slashes, and Solstice rolled free of Marty.

“I took the liberty of trussing up the guys in the back,” Query said, grabbing Marty’s half-stunned body by one arm and dragging him to another room. “Kindly take care of the guy you roasted, please, and the one you shot, while I see to Marty.”

Solstice got the burn victim’s hands behind his back and cinched a plastic tie around his wrists, did the same for the hobbled thug, and then followed Query to the office where he’d dragged Marty.

“What brings you to the party?” she asked. “I thought this was my mess to clean up.”

“I came because I’m not half the asshole I let you think I was,” Query answered. “I don’t like dead peers, not even the young, headstrong, sometimes idiotic ones.”

“Goddamn you’re a charmer, Query. The girl heroes must be throwing themselves at you.”

“Only when we’re sparring or one of them confuses me with one of the bad guys,” Query said, then jabbed Marty in the ribcage. “Evenin’, Hun. How’s it hanging?”

“You’re both dead,” Marty the Hun slurred as he regained his senses. Then, with more gusto: “I’m gonna see you fucked up in every possible way I can think of; both of ya!”

Solstice slipped up close, and got in his face, almost nose-to-nose. “Gonna be hard to do from behind bars, Marty. Especially given how long you’ll be going away, seeing as how I’m going to leave you here for the police with lots of nice, strong evidence that makes it look like you run this place. Judges like to put skeez-cookers away for long, long time. They send lots of cops to skeez busts, Marty. Not a chance that you’ll only have your pet cops on the scene. You get to go down, down, down—for years before you see any shot at parole.”

“Don’t matter, because I hold grudges forever. Same to you, Query. And I got ways to touch people from prison.”

“You’re a pretty decent-sized fish, Marty, but not that big,” Query said. “There isn’t anyone who’s going to have anywhere near the tenacity in going after us on your behalf as you would, even if you can lay hold of money to pay them. And I’m not sure you’ll have much in the way of support from your friends on the outside when the child porn comes to light after your arrest. In fact, you won’t do too well with the guys on the inside when that gets around.”

“I’m not into kiddie porn any more than this is my lab!” Marty growled.

“You may believe in the motto ‘old enough to bleed, old enough to breed,’ Marty, but fucking 14- and 15-year-olds is plenty sick enough for me—it’s kid-fucking—and Query says that shit’s confirmed. Not to mention all those women you tortured and killed thinking they might have been me. So I don’t feel bad at all planting downloads with little kids on your computer—well, the computer that’s going to seem to be yours, especially when we finishing putting your fingerprints all over it. When you do get out someday, Marty—you know, if you don’t get killed behind bars first by a convict who thinks you might fuck his little kid when you’re released—you’ll want to be rethinking this whole concept of ‘If you want something right, do it yourself’ and stick to letting lackeys do the work.”

“Dead! That’s all I got to say to you, bitch.”

“Congratulations, Solstice,” Query said. “You have your first arch-enemy. You know, if he gets out of prison. As my own little gift to honor that occasion, here’s a little of the lab’s cash,” he added, tossing a bulging fanny pack to her. “Also, I’m going to let you take credit for all this. I wasn’t here. You’re the hero who took this place down solo.”

“Oh, fuck no,” Marty hissed. “You’re gonna boost her street rep like that? Oh, no. I’m not only gonna tell everyone I know that she needed your help, but I’m gonna tell them she didn’t take down a single guy tonight and you’re covering for her. Let’s see how long she lasts in the streets when people think she’s a pussy can’t protect herself.”

“You might want to rethink that, Marty,” Query said. “Not one of your guys out there had any wits about him to see me here. And everyone knows I leave dirty, street-level shit like busting drug labs to the younger and more impetuous generation of heroes. Start trying to convince people the big, bad Query was here, and they’ll be thinking you’re the pussy who not only got his ass handed to him by a girl but that he’s not even man enough to suck up that fact.”

“Gosh, Marty, that would go together real well with your new kiddie porn rep,” Solstice taunted. “You’ll be such a bigger hit with the other cons then.”

“Dead,” Marty repeated. “One way, one day. Dead.”

* * *

On her third day in Fortunato’s high-rise, Zoe found herself in what she considered an obnoxiously gargantuan office, finally meeting her benefactor.

“I hope your stay has been pleasant so far,” Fortunato almost purred.

“Can’t complain,” Zoe answered disinterestedly. “Query said if you took me in you’d treat me right. I appreciate that you’ve given me up to four months to stay. Not sure if I’ll put you out for that long, but it’s nice not to have two transhuman psychos breathing down my neck for a while.”

Bowing his head slightly in acknowledgement, Fortunato said, “You could stay longer. Room and board for as long as you like, free of charge.”

“Oh. Really? Sir, I’m not in the market to become a kept woman. Ain’t going for the mistress look, no thank you. No matter how rich you are.”

Chuckling and waving one hand dismissively, Fortunato reached into a humidor on his desk and extracted a cigar. “Do you mind if I partake?”

“Only if I get to flaunt the city’s no-smoking-in-the-workplace laws, too,” Zoe said.

“Fine with me. Cuban or domestic?” he offered.

“Cigar? No. I’ll stick with good old Virginia Slims, thanks,” she said, retrieving and lighting up a cigarette from her purse as Fortunato toasted and lit his Havana with a wooden match.

As he puffed silently, Zoe regarded their slowly growing and mingling smoke for a minute or so before saying, “I’m still not interested in living here as some sort of sex-toy, by the way. Especially now. I’m not attracted to men who smoke.”

“Ironic. And hypocritical,” he said, eliciting only a shrug and a haughty exhalation of smoke from her. “But that’s not what I had in mind. I wish to employ you for your transhuman abilities. Query provided only a very meager file on you. No doubt to pique my interest so that I’d be more inclined to give you shelter in case I decided his payment for hiding you wasn’t good enough.”

“He paid you? Didn’t know his pockets were that deep. I bet your help is expensive.”

“It is. That’s why Query paid me in a currency more valuable than cash. But back to you and me, shall we?” Fortunato said. “I am in need of talented transhumans. You somehow got the very intense interest of Janus, which means you must be something special, perhaps even beyond just the powers Query mentions in the file. I’d like to hire you at a very generous salary and benefits, plus the free room and board I offered. A much bigger suite, of course, than you occupy now.”

Zoe took a thoughtful drag on her cigarette. “I’m not really the costume-wearing and crime-fighting type, sir,” she said through her exhale.

“Please, call me Fortunato. And I think it’s a career you should very much consider, since I’d be financing it. Not many transhumans who put on tights are able to find any kind of benefactor, much less one as flush as I am.”

“I rejected Janus and Underworld and hired Query to get them off my back,” Zoe responded. “They offered a lot to me as well.”

“True, but I think you like to fight—mostly in a verbal or metaphorical fashion but still, you’re a fighter. And I suspect that despite your recent and harrowing little adventure that a big part of you would like to find an excuse to put your powers into action again,” Fortunato said, pointing the smoldering tip of his cigar at her. “And the main reason you turned down Janus and his crew was because you’re not criminally minded. You have too many moral compunctions. Well, about robbing, killing and that sort of thing. You certainly didn’t mind hiding from the NCAA and your college that you’re transhuman. Now that’s something that could come back to haunt you.”

“Let me guess: If I don’t take your generous offer now, my college and the NCAA will conveniently find out about my fraud, and you’ll swoop in with a less generous offer of employment that I’ll have to accept so that you’ll bail me out of the lawsuit they’d threaten me with.”

“That’s a cynical line of thought,” Fortunato said.

“True, too, isn’t it, Fortunato?”

“I know Vanessa approached you. I didn’t know that she put such slanderous thoughts in your head.”

“The fact that you know she talked to me for less than a minute tells me that I should invite Query to my room soon to find the hidden cameras and mics,” Zoe said. “Also, it’s nice of you to confirm that you must have extorted her in some way because she really didn’t give me quite that much detail when she warned me about you.”

“Oh, I’m sure she dropped big enough hints to get your imagination going, Zoe. Allison…I mean, Vanessa…has some issues with me, but I assure you…”

“She dropped the name Allison, too. What the hell?”

“Sorry, it’s her codename for costumed work. Allison Wonderland,” Fortunato clarified. “I sometimes get it…”

“Anyways,” Zoe said, cutting him off, “it was Query who warned me you’d probably make a pitch and I should be on the lookout for possible snares and blackmailing.”

“Query? He has more issues with me than Vanessa…”

“Plus he gave me a file on you, just like he gave you one on me,” Zoe continued. Reaching into her large shoulder bag, she pulled out a manila envelope and tossed it onto Fortunato’s desk. “As you can see, it’s way bigger than the one you have on me. You have an interesting history for someone who’s on the side of the good guys. I think Query left out a lot. You’re probably even a way bigger ass than he’s letting on to me.”

Fortunato set his cigar aside even as Zoe reached over to the same ashtray to stub out her half-smoked cigarette, and he said, “None of that changes anything about my offer or about your circumstances.”

“No, but it changes the nature of our negotiations, Fortunato. I’ve had a few days to think, knowing this meeting was likely to happen after you did the due diligence and digging around about me, and I’ve decided that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to work more or less on the right side of the law since it’s clear I’m being dragged into this costumed world whether I like it or not. I’d probably have to leave the country to have a normal life in the short run, and I don’t want to do that. I’d also like to make some good money, because I’ve got grad school in my plans and a desire to get through life debt-free and without two bankruptcies like my parents did.”

“What, pray tell, is going to change about our negotiations simply because you expect duplicity from me?”

“First, you’re going to make sure that neither UConn nor the NCAA drags me into the courts, and that means you don’t tell them that I withheld information to get my free ride. It also means that if they come to that conclusion on their own, you’ll do whatever you need to in order to make sure I don’t get sued by the college. Like buy them a new library or whatever,” Zoe said. “You’ll also make sure that no one ties my civilian identity to my costumed one. If I’m exposed, or sued or any of those things I want you to protect me against, you will pay me the equivalent of ten years of my most recent annual salary with you in one lump sum, immediately. A penalty. Or severance. Or whatever you wanna call it.”

“You mean I’ll pay if I’m somehow responsible for any of those things happening.”

“No, you’ll pay regardless,” Zoe said. “Consider it incentive to be very protective of me.”

“That means that you could, theoretically, expose yourself at some point in the future on purpose, at any time in your life, and collect on ten times the last salary I paid you before you left my employ,” Fortunato said.

“Yeah. Well, you need to take risks for big payoffs. I’m pretty sure I’m a five-power transhuman, Fortunato. That’s about as rare as we come. So I’m worth it.”

“You’re more ruthless a negotiator than I expected, Zoe. I think I like you.”

“I don’t know if I can say the feeling’s mutual, but thanks. We can talk about the other details now, but I won’t be signing anything until I have a lawyer look things over. Query’s going to lend me his attorney friend.”

“Oh, how she twists the knife,” Fortunato said with a smile, retrieving his cigar. “Zoe, I might have to watch out or I could fall in love with you.”

[ – To view the next chapter, click here – ]

The Gathering Storm, Part 28

Quick Recap (since it’s been a while since I’ve posted a new chapter in this series):
Thus far in the series, a supervillain named Janus has moved his operations from the West Coast to the East Coast, with designs on the Connecticut city of New Judah primarily, it seems. One of his first acts was to target one of the city’s primary heroes, Query, as well as to recruit a semi-retired supervillain named Underworld. In addition to gathering various villains, Janus and Underworld aggressively and threateningly courted a young transhuman named Zoe, who then sought out Query for protection. Meanwhile, billionaire and former hero Fortunato has been drawn into Janus’ machinations, as well as scheming something himself. Query has fended off Janus’ attempts to abduct Zoe, as well as trying to nudge along a young hero named Solstice in growing up, and he has taken down a small part of Janus’ operation in the process. Zoe ended up unleashing her full powers in the last kidnapping attempt by Janus, and wrestles with the deaths that led to. In the midst of all this, a friend and fellow hero of Query’s, Mad Dash, has found himself in an unlikely romance with a violent vigilante named Ladykiller, who now also dresses up as someone named Honey Badger so that she can occasionally patrol with Mad Dash and not smear his reputation.
______________________________________________________

[ – To view a list of all current chapters, click here – ]

Two men in black faced each other across a desk. One in a tuxedo, after readying himself for a charity event; the other in body armor almost from head to toe, eager to be back on the streets.

One seated; one standing. One who no longer wore a mask; one who did. One who was lifting a tumbler of scotch to his lips; one who made almost a show of avoiding the drink that had been placed before him.

“So, tell me, why I would take this young lady in and provide her with protection against Janus and his machinations?” Fortunato asked Query, raising one eyebrow. “No matter how interesting she sounds from this…clearly very abridged…file you’ve given me on her.”

“Because you’ve been trying to reach me so damned hard for days now—well, weeks, really,” Query said, rocking back on his heels a bit with his gloved hands clasped behind his back.

“I fail to see the connection,” Fortunato said in a tone mixing a growl and a purr.

“Perhaps you’re not as smart as everyone thinks you are, then,” Query responded dryly. “Perhaps you’re not even as smart as I thought you were.” He paused for several moments, savoring the growing irritation in Fortunato’s gaze, then smiled, despite the fact the other man wouldn’t be able to see that grin beneath the full-head mask.

“What I am saying,” Query continued, “is that because you are so eager to speak with me about something—a topic that I would successfully dodge for years, until it became irrelevant, given that I find you so odious—and because I want safe harbor for Zoe…well, I will actually begin returning your phone calls and you can tell me whatever it is you want to tell me. Or pitch to me. Or plead for my help on. You’re a man with something in mind; guard her true and I’ll spare you my time.”

“I hate it when you lapse into rhyme, Query. Even near-rhyme. It suggests to me that your mind is getting ready to spin out plans that will confound my own.”

“Plotting and planning by someone theoretically on the side of the angels. Yes, it’s a trait I find pretty irritating in you as well,” Query retorted. “So, do we have a deal? You keep watch over her while I assess things, and I stop putting you off?”

“Doesn’t sound like an equitable trade,” Fortunato drawled, his accent lapsing into something more befitting his upbringing in a Latino neighborhood  than the Wall Street-style tonality he had perfected over the years. “Why could I possibly want that much for you to listen to me? I think you have misread the level of my interest in speaking with you.”

“Well, then, I’m sure I can throw a few shekels someone’s way for some babysitting or some recommendations of someone who can watch over Zoe. Cheshire always knows people…”

“Fine, fine,” Fortunato said quickly and irritably. “Negotiating with you is so irritating, since even my best poker face is useless. She can stay in a suite here in my building for a few weeks if necessary—or maybe a couple months. If you actually listen to what I have to say. Play me off or tune me out and she can hit the streets.”

“Excellent,” Query said. “Although I seriously doubt you could bring yourself to kick her out. Well, I’m all ears right now, even if you can’t see them. Talk.”

“Now I want you to wait for a while,” Fortunato said. “I have an event I’m already late in attending and some things to take care of first before we talk. New business, as it were. Until I settle that, talking to you would be premature.”

“Yes,” Query said. “And I’m sure that ‘new business’ has cafe-au-lait-colored skin and multicolored locs upon her head. And a very interesting—if abridged—file.”

* * *

Solstice couldn’t fault Isabella’s background work about the skeez lab; her stepsister’s research had been impeccable, and the floorplans she had unearthed for the building were nearly spot-on accurate. But apparently, a small bathroom—suited only for a toilet and sink—had been installed in the past year or two. That was the one thing not on the blueprints.

Also on the “unpredictable list” would be the annoying fact that one of the guys working in the drug house was using that crummy little bathroom because, presumably, someone else was occupying the better two toilets elsewhere in the building.

Which also wouldn’t be so bad, Solstice thought, if he weren’t armed and coming out of that bathroom just when she was halfway through a back window trying to slip in unnoticed. Normally, she was quicker on the draw with her chilling powers than people were with guns—especially people who’d just finished taking a piss and still had damp hands from washing them—but a bit of panic set in at her sensation of utter exposure and she thrust herself through the window in an ungainly lunge.

As she tumbled awkwardly to the floor, the man had his gun pointed at her. Her Attractor power took a few moments to focus, so there was no way she could relieve him of his gun in time. Instead, she began to lower the temperature around his body sharply as she kicked over a nearby trash and dodged. The sound of the can wasn’t precisely in sync with the gunshot as he squeezed the trigger, but it was close enough, she hoped, that no one would realize a gun had been fired.

She heard the bullet whiz past her, far too close for comfort, and she pounced—counting on the sudden chill in his muscles to give her an edge—and pinned his cheeks between both her palms as she set her thermal powers to work and burned him severely. It was more brutal than she would have liked, but felt better than killing him outright. The only thing keeping him from bringing attention to their struggle by screaming in agony was her bosom smashed up against his face as she mounted his torso—legs squeezing his ribs hard—and forced him against a wall hard while searing his face.

The awkward and blunt-force assault stunned him just enough to ensure his silence for a moment as she grabbed a mop from a bucket near the tiny bathroom and struck him in the skull several times. For long moments, she stayed quiet and crouched, awaiting an attack but hoping her panicked plan had worked and the whole brief fight had sounded like nothing more than the guy clumsily knocking stuff over.

When no attack came, she gagged him with a dirty cleaning rag and bound his wrists with one of the many plastic ties in a pouch on her belt.

She worked through the lab efficiently—trying to do so slowly even as her pounding heart and throbbing temples urged her to rush—and took out her opponents by ones and twos—five in all—somehow without getting shot in the process. By the time she actually got to the working part of the lab where the skeez was cooked, there were only four people left, all of them unarmed cookers, and they surrendered without hesitation.

Pulling out her cell phone after the last of them was restrained, she dialed up Query. The voice on the other end made a curt greeting, and she couldn’t quite place it. “Hello? Is this the Dark Jerk or is this his faithful sidekick, Portly Lawyer?”

Might as well get a little passive-aggressive dig in somewhere,  she thought.

“I don’t pay Portly Lawyer to answer my phone, and please don’t call him that again. Only I have authority to tease him. Would this happen to be Careless Impetuous Goth by any chance?”

“Yes. Operation Hun is a done deal. Part one, anyway. Can you come pick up the trash and drop off the merchandise?”

“Oh, darn, we’re going to get all professional and official now and cut the witty banter short?” Query said dryly. “In all honesty, I’m glad you pulled it off. Team will be there in less than 10. Good luck on surviving part two.”

“There’s still time for you to join up with me and help out so that I do,” Solstice said.

“Some lessons need to be learned the hard way, my dear,” Query said, and hung up.

* * *

Sitting with her legs drawn up to her chest at one end of her sofa, while Mad Dash wolfed down spoonful after spoonful of Raisin Bran that was filling half of a mixing bowl, Ladykiller blinked several times. “Um…did I hear you right? You want to take me to…a bank? In costume. As Ladykiller.”

Swallowing a mouthful of milk, soggy flakes and raisins, Mad Dash smiled. “Sure! Or as Honey Badger. Or we can do two trips and make it both!”

“Why? Weird date even by your standards.”

“Well, they always give out an iTunes or Starbucks gift card when you open your first new account,” he said happily, a little dribble of milk running from one corner of his mouth back into the bowl. “Way better than a toaster or a hair dryer or whatever they gave out back in the olden days. Well, at least Bank of America gives out gift cards. Not sure about Citibank and Wells Fargo. I’m not a big fanboy of B&A but they have the most market square.”

“Ummm…OK. I have a bank account already. Also, since when does B-of-A give out gifts for opening accounts? Also, don’t you think going to a bank as Ladykiller is a good way to make the guards think the place is about to get robbed? A lot of people assume the worst about me.”

“Well, of course B-to-the-A-izzle gives out inventives,” Mad Dash mumbled through a mouthful of cereal. “Fierce composition for the transhuman customers, ya know. Important market but not the biggest one. Only the national chains have the resources to do that kind of business.”

“I already have an account. At a nice little community bank in my neighborhood here. I’d think you’d be the sort of guy who’d support the little guys, Petey.”

Mad Dash smiled, frowned and smiled again, setting down the bowl. “I’ll finish the rest later when it’s ooper-dooper nice and mushy,” he said by way of preamble, then sat down near her on the sofa, setting his right hand on her clenched knees. “You’ve got an accounting at a bank, sure, but as Sarah. But you should have one for your dress-up self—whichever one. Or both, though I’m not sure what banking rules are about that.”

“Accounts for costumed weirdos like us? What are you talking about?”

“Wow! I know you were a…um…prisoner…um…here for a while, but you’ve been in costume for more than a year now and don’t know about things like Cape Checking and Super-Savings accounts? Masked Moneymarkets? Any of this ring-ding-a-linging any horns?”

“Dash, I’m spending the money of the dead man who kept me here as his sex-slave and have been for the past couple years,” Ladykiller answered. “The only reason I even have a bank account as Sarah is because I had it before I ended up in this crazy life. I don’t think it has more than a hundred bucks in it anymore. I’m an e-payment and cash economy kinda girl these days.”

“Honey-runny, you really, really didn’t care about costumed folks before you jumped into becoming one, did you? Or how they live.”

“Dash…Peter…I still don’t really care about them. I just dress and act like some of them,” Ladykiller said. “And now I date one. Anyway. The bank thing. What the fuck already.”

“Well, my cinnamon sticky bun…the big three banks will open accounts for your hero identity, with checks, debit cards and all that. You can even get credit cards—even loans sometimes—if you’re established enough. It kinda helps when you need to pay for things when you’re in costume, but don’t want to muck with a bunch of cash. I once had to rent a car to get to a meet-up when my boots were on their last treads. Sure, the Hertz folks blocked off an extra thousand bucks on my debit card to cover themselves while I was using the car and didn’t remove the block until a week afterward, but still, I wouldn’t have been able to doo-doo that if I was on a cash ecology.”

“I don’t want to tell them my identity and show my civilian ID and shit, Peter!”

“You don’t need to. Banking privacy for exotic customers law—or whatever it’s called. Don’t you know about that either? The big three pushed that legislation through to get the trans business years ago,” Dash said. “You confirm your identity with a thumbprint scan. Police aren’t allowed to demand print records from the bank to match to their own fingerprint files unless the transhuman is being charged with bank fraud or bank robbery.”

“I can’t believe that all of you would be that trusting. What if the laws change?”

“Do what I do—thanks to paranoia coaching from my buddy-pal Query: Do palm print instead, since police don’t do those. Or you can even do retina scan if you choose Citibank. It’s sort of their point of distinction. Wells Fargo has a voiceprint option. But Citi and Wells don’t have as many flexible account options as body odor of America. Main downside usually is that if your card gets stolen, you’re usually on the hoof for half of the charges to your account, unlike the civilian crowd. That’s the way the banks  help make it less risky for themselves. Also, the monthly fees for us can be a sung of a twitch.”

Ladykiller sighed. “Why would they even do that? How much money can that be worth to them? I mean, the villains wouldn’t dare open accounts there and heroes make lousy money usually—no offense.”

“Sure they would. Well, sorta,” Mad Dash said. “Most of the successful bad guys hire minor transhumans to do low-level hero work part-time for show and then launder their money through them. Use their debit cards. Stuff like that. As long as the money isn’t used for obviously illegal things, the banks don’t care.”

“I dunno. I have lots of money still left from Mister Master’s civilian accounts.”

“Sarah-baby-pecan-pie…you need to get out of here someday. Set up a life away from this. I mean, you were held prisoner here. Raped. Staying here in his old condo and spending his old money—it’s kind of dork and twizzler.”

Ladykiller paused for several moment to process that. She’d gotten better at figuring out his nonsense words here and there, but she was confused. Frowning, she finally ventured, “Dark and twisted, you mean?”

“That too,” Mad Dash said. “Besides,” he added, standing up and holding out his hand, “there’s a Bank of America branch just down the street, I want you to get an iTunes card for opening an account so you can buy me the latest Adele album and a Fruit Ninja app for my iPad, and by the time we get back the rest of the cereal should be really sludgy goodness.”

* * *

Zoe finished her latest chapter of The Girl Who Played With Fire, deciding that while hiding out in Fortunato’s building was as boring as it was safe, at least it offered a chance to catch up on her reading list. The free ride she had been given for the building’s commissaries and the small account set up for her at the gift shops didn’t hurt either. Not even two days into this hiding out thing yet, and she was feeling almost comfortable.

As she slipped the bookmark into the novel and set it down to return her attention to her mocha, she noticed a presumably twenty-something Latina looking directly at her from a nearby table. Before she could decide what to do or say about the unexpected stare-down, the woman got up, walked over to Zoe’s table, and sat down.

“Hi, I’m Vanessa,” the woman said, holding out her hand.

“Zoe.”

“Yeah, I know, and I don’t know if I’m too late yet, but when I heard about a transhuman in the building, I wanted to warn you.”

“I thought I was supposed to be under the radar here—and warn me about what?”

“Only a few of us know about you, and not much about you, at that—I think Fortunato told me as some kind of test. I’m probably about to fail it and get in a lot of trouble,” Vanessa said, then paused to take a breath before a rapid-fire delivery of: “Whatever he offers you, don’t take it. Don’t trust him.”

“He hasn’t offered anything yet, and I wasn’t planning to trust him.”

Vanessa stared hard at Zoe like a frustrated parent dealing with a stubborn child. She shook her head, gritted her teeth and leaned forward.

“I mean it, Zoe!” she hissed. “No matter how smart you think you are, don’t even start up with him. I’m telling you, I know from experience. I’m in a pile of crap so deep I feel like I’m drowning. And he’ll never let me out of it probably. I’ll be Allison Wonderland for him probably until the day I die. He’ll stoop lower than you think to snag you. Believe me.”

Zoe sighed heavily. “Vanessa, was it? Or…Allison now? I’m confused. But anyway, Vanessa, I appreciate your concern. Really. But you need to understand. I’ve been dealing with devils for weeks already, and I wasn’t exactly an easy mark before then. I don’t know how you got in your mess, but just because you stepped in shit doesn’t mean I will.”

Vanessa’s gaze darkened, and she frowned, and Zoe realized she’d just carelessly hit a nerve; the blunt tone of her voice probably hadn’t helped. But with the blood of two men already on her hands and Janus and Underworld sniffing after her, she didn’t have it in her to worry about someone else’s hurt feelings just yet. Still, the awkward silence wasn’t helping her mood, so she stood, turned, and left both her drink and Vanessa behind her as she sought a new place to continue her reading.

[ – To view the next chapter, click here – ]

The Gathering Storm, Part 21

[ – To view a list of all current chapters, click here – ]

After the tense visit by Janus’ men, a nearly half-hour-long flogging at Hush-a-Bye’s hands had been very therapeutic, and now—flushed and covered with a sheen of sweat all over his bare, bruised, welted and blood-streaked torso—GoodKnight stood near her.

“Ya did real well dealing with Janus, today, Hush-a-Bye,” he said.

“It isn’t your place to tell me when I’ve done well,” she noted imperiously.

“It is my place sometimes. You’ve come a long way, but yer still learning. I’m impressed but I’ve still got worries after all this time. Like ya don’t speak in the same style as the original Hush-a-Bye. Yer more formal and haughty. Especially tonight.”

“You hired me to fill the void she left so that you could continue to hide the fact that the sleep and silence powers actually are your own and have someone who presents the proper demeanor you require. You paid for extensive plastic surgery so that I could pass for her and no one would know the difference. I did not sign up to actually become her, however. I will carry the name and the duties and reap the rewards, but I am who I am. If anyone notices that Hush-a-Bye sounds more like landed gentry now, we can chalk it up to a change in demeanor due to the growth of our criminal enterprise and the rise of my power.”

“Our enterprise? Your power?” he responded, an edge in his voice. But there was a tremor there of something other than simply irritation. Hush-a-Bye wasn’t sure if it was hope, longing or trepidation. Perhaps a mix of them?

This might be the moment of truth; it’s been a long time coming.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I am our voice. I am the one who presents as the power behind this enterprise, while you make plans in secret and use your powers and let everyone think they’re my powers. I do that for you and for our mutual gain, but in the end, I am your mistress and you are my slave. That is the dynamic you seek, and that is what you hired me for. But long-term, I cannot simply be a hired domme with a submissive client. We must evolve to something more organic and permanent. You know that. Or are you not a true submissive? Do you simply plan to hire a series of dommes one after another and change their faces? Or do you want a stable relationship and a firm hand to ground you? To hold your leash and discipline you.”

GoodKnight gritted his teeth, but in frustration, not anger.

“Hush-a-Bye…”

“Mistress,” she interrupted him.

He paused, took a deep breath, and lowered himself to his knees, bending his head to gaze at the ground as he spoke. “Mistress, this is an awkward situation. Hush-a-Bye’s death was early. Unexpected. I always knew she might die or might wanna retire from being in the thick of things. But it was too soon. The plan had always been to find someone before then for her to train up. Someone who’d dominate me but be under her. In a perfect world…”

“In an ideal world, I would have learned from the bottom up—the business of crime and the business of ruling over you. To submit before I dominated. Just like all the best mistresses I’ve ever known. But this isn’t an ideal world, worm,” she sneered. “I’ve bottomed before—long ago—and while I might have been willing to do it again for your first Hush-a-Bye, if she were still alive, I won’t do it for you. You are mine, not the other way around.”

He winced at that, feeling defensive and guilty all at once. “Mistress, I do obey you. I carry guns now, at your command, just like ya told me, even though it’s knives I really like and really trust. I take yer lashes with gratitude and grace. I…”

“Obey me in all things, big and small, not simply what you choose to obey,” she said firmly. “Give your whole self to me, not just a part.”

“Mistress, Hush-a-Bye and me…we were a team. A unit. We built our criminal activities together from the ground up. It wasn’t just a mistress-slave relationship. There was love there, too. I lost more than just a domme that night.”

“All the most rewarding mistress-slave relationships will have love in them. We can reach that point. Perhaps soon. But first you must let go of control and submit to me fully,” she said. She could see his shoulders slump just a tiny fraction; could almost feel a kind of psychic tension break.

She’d always been very good at being a bondage and S&M professional and, before she decided to trade in her old face and name for Hush-a-Bye’s, she’d made a good living at it. The level of obedience and loyalty she’d been able to command from clients had sometimes made her wonder if she had Psi or Primal transhuman powers or simply a commanding personality. But regardless, in all these long months, GoodKnight had been resistant—a fact that irked her on personal and professional levels. Now, she felt she had reached a tipping point, whether by force of personality or possible transhuman abilities of her own.

Have I finally put a crack in that resistance? Because if I don’t, there could be trouble for both of us going forward, she worried.

“You have the transhuman powers, GoodKnight; I’m the misdirection so that people don’t know that. You have the proven experience in conducting successful criminal activities and mobilizing criminal minions, so you are the brains for the scheming,” she said to him as she loomed above his kneeling, half naked body and admired the bruises and bloody stripes with which she had marked his back and shoulders. “However, I am the face. I am the voice. I stood up to Janus today without hesitation and proved I’m fully ready. I am the one who says what will be done and why. We are partners. But I make the final decision in all things, in every facet of your life. There was no Hush-a-Bye before; forget her. There was a good woman who paved the way for my arrival. There is only the Hush-a-Bye that is now. Leave the past behind and kneel to embrace the present and future, or forsake all hope of any pleasure and any peace of mind.”

“I…I want…”

“I command,” she said. “And you obey. Or you do not obey, and I leave you to your solitude and misery. There is no want. Not for you. That is my purview. For you, there is the ability and even necessity to advise me and guide me, but above all, in the end, to obey me and protect me.”

She was startled for a moment as he made a strange choking sound, and then smiled when she realized he was sobbing.

“I’m…I’m sorry…Mistress,” he said haltingly. “I’ve been…outta line. For too long. I’m nothing. I…beg forgiveness.”

One red-gloved hand stroked the black leather of the hood that covered almost his entire head, and she said, “Weep upon my boots, and lick up those tears. Wash my feet in your sorrow and your acceptance, and clean the salty residue from the leather with your kisses. That is your penance, and our true beginning.”

* * *

I’m a transhuman in costume, Zoe thought bitterly, but in a very unflattering one and not for a very heroic role.

She turned to one of her few good friends at the university, spread her arms wide, and said, “These graduation gowns are ugly as crap. They make me look and feel fat. The cap doesn’t help a bit, either, and I can barely get it to stay on my locs even with a billion bobby pins.”

“Suck it up and wear it with dignity, Zoe,” the classmate said. “Today we become real adult women, so that we can give our time and talents over to The Man in exchange for paychecks and healthcare benefits.”

Zoe chuckled at that, but she was still nervous about today. Underworld had told her Janus would let her have her graduation. Even if that was true—and this close to the event it seemed it was—that still meant that this was her last day of whatever passed for peace of mind and security since the day the recruitment and intimidation process had begun. But she wasn’t helpless, so she could still laugh. She wasn’t alone, even though she had no idea what Query was doing or whether it would help her.

Time to stand with my class, and hope for the best, she thought. At least if I end up in  Janus’ clutches, I should have my diploma when I do. Maybe I can negotiate a better cut of the criminal profits with that piece of paper, she joked with herself silently and bitterly.

* * *

Two more Guardian Corps patrols had been ambushed in the past week, and it was making Cole nervous. Not so much for himself but for the future of the Corps. Everyone seemed to be on edge, and their enemies in New Judah, especially the five toughest neighborhoods on which they concentrated their efforts, seemed to know where they were going to be much of the time now.

Making it worse was the fact that all of the recent ambushes had been against major operations. Against plans by the Corps to take down big targets. It was a wonder, Cole thought, that no one had been killed in the past two skirmishes, though a couple of the injured had come close to meeting their ends.

Cole was waiting outside Desperado’s office just as he had been told to do, and it was just a couple days after overhearing part of a strategy meeting and catching hell for supposed eavesdropping.

And the hell of it all was that I was only there to hear everything because I was doing something Desperado told me to do, he thought as a sense of déjà vu hit home.

That sensation and the memory of the previous dressing-down made made his gut twist even more when the office door opened and three people left, all of them high-ranking members of the Corps and among them one of the two lieutenants Desperado had been briefing that last time. The man gave Cole a curious look, and then over his shoulder called back to Desperado, “This little punk seems to hang around your office an awful lot.”

“Yeah, yeah he does, doesn’t he?” Desperado said, leaning against the doorway and fingering the hilt of one of his revolvers.

“But you…” Cole began.

Cutting him off, Desperado said, “Shut up, get the fuck in here and let’s address some shit, Cole.”

Calling me by my real name instead of my codename Quantum means he’s pissed, Cole realized. I’ve finally figured that out. Around here, that’s a bigger insult than slapping a name like “Puppy” onto a new recruit.

“Fuck,” Cole muttered under his breath, and shambled into the office to be dressed down yet again.

* * *

As Zoe was pulling her gown off over her head, she couldn’t see the startled looks on the faces of fellow students all around her who had been, like her, returning their gowns at one of the smaller tents that had been set up in the commons for the post-graduation activities. But she did hear the rapid popping sounds of bullets being fired nearby.

She sensed people scattering around her as she struggled out of the gown to free up her limbs and her vision—as she began the metabolic shift of her Morph powers.

Oh shit it’s happening, her panicked mind repeated several times as she finally threw off the gown. Underworld wasn’t fucking kidding about the deadline. Talk about a literal graduation day cut-off to my reprieve.

Something struck her, and then another something, and she felt stunning jolts throughout her body even as her skin began to toughen and her hair and nails become razor sharp potential weapons.

Too slow, though. Too late. As she stiffened, relaxed, and then tumbled over her own feet, she was out before she hit the ground, her last thoughts being: Fuck my life.

* * *

As disguises went, it wasn’t the best in the world, but by standing in the shadows and ducking his head a lot, the human-face mask over his black mask didn’t have to be all that detailed—just easy to yank off.

And a fake graduation gown hides a multitude of “fuck you up” toys, Query mused.

When the assault team rushed out of a nearby van toward Zoe as she was pulling off her gown, Query was ready. The presence of a van already had him alert; the scent of sweat, gun oil and more from inside when he passed by it earlier made him infinitely more so.

He didn’t like the idea of letting them actually reach Zoe, but it seemed the best course. The more they thought they had things in the bag, the better for him and for the element of surprise. Also, since he didn’t know whether Zoe would be a help or a hindrance in a fight, it made sense to have her down and more or less safely out of the way.

When the two tasers struck home and felled her as she finally yanked off her gown, Query pulled off his fake graduation cap, peeled off the black covering and revealed what really lay beneath—a metal disc with several nodules around the edge. He flung it into the van and covered his face for a moment as the series of mini flashbangs went off.

That takes care of the backup team members and the getaway driver.

That left four armed men in light body armor. Ripping off his faux graduation gown, and hoping he’d put the right amount of weights around the hem of it, he flung it like a net over the head of the nearest abductor and pressed a button on his belt as it draped the man’s entire upper torso. Query heard the hacking and gasping as the small gas bomb inside went off  and took him down, even as he rushed the next-nearest man and caught him in an armlock before he could bring his gun to bear. Query put a tree in between himself and one of the other two remaining men, and his mostly immobilized enemy in between himself and the other perpetrator.

To Query’s dismay, that man had enough sense, good reflexes and combat savvy not to fire his weapon.

So much for getting him to maim or kill my human shield, he thought, and pulled out a small cylinder from one of the inside pockets of his leather duster. He jammed one end of it into the lower back of his prisoner and as the needle shot forth and delivered the contents of the ampule inside, he dropped the man to the ground to let him quiver and shake, soon to pass out.

Or, if he’s allergic to what I gave him, to die of anaphylaxis, he considered. No great loss to society if so.

Coming around the other side of the tree, and having been more or less tracking one of the two remaining men by hearing—difficult but not impossible with the yells and screams of bystanders all around—Query had a Walther P99 out and ready.

His first 9mm bullet went a little high and barely grazed the man’s hip; the second hit him squarely in a kneecap. As the man stumbled and fell with a shout, Query shot him with a tranquilizer dart from a gun in his right hand, then tossed the now-useless weapon away since it could only hold one dart.

In other circumstances against armed men like this I’d be more inclined for the lethal approach since bullets are more plentiful and effective, but there are too many bystanders and I’m likely to have police involvement. No reason to make my life any more complicated by killing anyone—even the bad guys.

The fourth and final man shot Query right in the heart, and the costumed hero spun nearly 360 degrees to his right and around the back of another tree, less from the impact of the bullet than a desire to avoid getting shot again.

That hurt, asshole, but you made a bad decision in the heat of the moment. That’s the most heavily armored part of my costume.

Query wasn’t eager to find out how well the lighter armor in his mask would take a bullet—and this remaining man would likely be smart enough to go for a headshot this time—so when he came out from behind his cover, Query flung a pair of tanglers at his final opponent, one after the other. The first exploded against a shin, sending out an array of sticky tendrils, most of them attaching themselves to nearby trees and a few sticking to his other leg. As the man stumbled, the second tangler ended up hitting him in one shoulder instead of his head, but it was still enough to hinder his gun hand and ensure Query could restrain him easily and then attend to all of his friends.

Janus, you’re a bastard for not showing up yourself, Query thought as he finished up with the four men outside and moved on to handcuffing the stunned occupants of the van. But I knew that would be a long-shot.

Retrieving the tranquilizer gun he had tossed aside earlier, Query took stock of his surroundings. He didn’t see any casualties aside from the perpetrators he had subdued—except for the shots at Query, the gunfire from the abduction team had been intended to clear people out of the area.

Zoe was groaning, and the fact she was already getting up confirmed the suspicions he’d had when he saw her skin color and texture shift a bit, along with the texture of her hair—all of which had returned to normal once she had been stunned. In addition to being an Acro, she was a Morph, and likely the change she had initiated provided her some protection against the twin taser shots.

He stepped over to her, and held out his left arm, saying, “You all right, Miss Dawson?”

Blinking and realizing who was standing there, she took the proffered hand and he pulled her upright. As she got to her feet fully, she yelped “Ouch!” and yanked back her hand.

“What?” he asked. “Something wrong?”

“You just stabbed me in the wrist or something,” she complained, rubbing at a small wound there.

He took her wrist lightly and turned it back and forth to examine it. “Sorry about that. I’ve got plenty of sharp edges all over. Probably a bit of my light armor has a little bent edge after that melee. Just a small cut. You OK otherwise, though?”

“Yeah,” she said, taking stock of the trussed-up team. “Wow. You took out six people by yourself?”

“Seven if you count the driver. Helps that I wasn’t expected,” he said with a snort, hearing approaching sirens.

“Is it over?” she asked hopefully, craning her head to get a better look at some of the men who’d tried to abduct her. He suspected she was looking for signs that one of the perps might be Janus.

“Doubt it. But I’m on to some leads to track this back to the source and head things off next time,” Query lied. Then, because it always felt better to him to temper such lies with truth, he added, “But if anyone comes again, I plan to keep showing up. He won’t send as many people next time most likely. As it starts costing him too much, he’ll stop coming at you.”

“I wasn’t sure you were even doing anything all this time,” she admitted.

“I take my jobs seriously, Zoe, even the pro bono ones. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather leave before the police get here, but I’m sure you can tell them enough,” Query said. “As well as press charges, I assume,” he added with as jovial a lilt as he could muster.

“Bet on it,” she said with a smile as he brushed by her and headed away from the sirens.

Sorry to keep using you as bait, Zoe, but at least I can be pretty sure he won’t try to kill you, Query thought as he beat his hasty retreat, wishing he could have taken one or two of the abduction team with him for interrogation, though it was unlikely they knew Janus’ whereabouts. Let’s just hope I don’t slip up and let him take you where I can’t follow.

* * *

“Rare Query sighting in the daytime, sir,” Jeremiah said as he entered Fortunato’s office. “He seems to have foiled an armed attempt today to kidnap a graduating senior from UConn’s New Judah campus.”

“A bit more colorful and dramatic than his usual fare,” Fortunato said.

“And a strike team of seven that he took out, no less, with vests, riot helmets, automatic weapons and more,” Jeremiah added.

“My oh my. What is this student heir to, that someone should be so eager to abduct him and that Query should be on alert and waiting in the wings?”

“Actually, sir, a young woman of no particular means at all, except for being a skilled enough athlete to earn a full scholarship,” Jeremiah answered. “However, some of our inside sources in the police have passed along some information that your analysts found interesting, in that the team Query took down may be directly or loosely attached to the group Janus hired to kill him recently.”

“So, Janus still has an inexplicable animosity toward Query, and their antics have become more public. Well, Jeremiah, it’s looking like my decision to build a team is even more prescient than I thought—and maybe this recent twist will make it more likely we can convince Query to sign up.”

* * *

Nearly everyone was on edge on Janus’ floors and Underworld’s floor of the building. By all accounts, Janus was furious about the failure of the operation to kidnap Zoe, and even more so about Query’s involvement in thwarting the abduction.

She bought that story for about 15 minutes until she came to her senses. Everyone else could continue believing the rage was real, but probably the only part of it that was would be true was the irritation about Query’s presence. Janus wanted Query dead very badly, for reasons she still didn’t understand, so it was likely the hero popping up now would anger him.

But the rest rang hollow. The team Janus had sent against Zoe was a good one, to be sure—if it had been sent against a normal person. But Zoe was potentially valuable enough for Janus to have Underworld woo her, so he must suspect she had strong talents or knew of significant powers that he hadn’t revealed to anyone else. Also, he couldn’t have been fool enough to think Zoe might not have tried to secure some kind of transhuman aid since she knew she was being pursued by transhumans.

Both factors would have indicated that the team should include at least one person with a strong power set, if not two of them, and that the operation should never have been carried out so boldly in broad daylight.

Janus isn’t that stupid or sloppy, so why did he order an operation that had a decent chance of failing? Underworld pondered, fuming silently. And why is he keeping me in the dark?

On the way to his office, she spotted Crazy Jane coming around the corner at the other end of the hall, a bright smile on her tattooed face. Underworld’s steps faltered as she considered turning around, but then the compulsion to be near Jane kicked in, and she semi-reluctantly continued forward.

I need to confront the bastard anyway, and to get to him I’ve got to go past her.

“Hi, Undie,” Crazy Jane said. “It’s been a couple days since I’ve seen you. Miss ya! See ya soon,” she concluded as she glided by Underworld and skipped down the remainder of the hall.

Underworld felt a little flood of relief, not just because Crazy Jane hadn’t lingered but, she realized, because she’d given Underworld her much-needed fix.

I needed to see her and hear her voice, and now I have, and it makes me feel better; makes me want to call her up for coffee soon. Shit.

That reminded Underworld of her suspicions that Janus was probably behind Jane setting her hooks into her to begin with, and simply reinforced her commitment to confront him.

She burst into his office moments later without preamble; without knocking.

“Now is not the time!” Janus bellowed. “Come back—”

“Cut the bullshit, you douche-plug,” she responded curtly. “Drop the act.”

“Which act would that be?” he asked, voice suddenly calm and with a playful, teasing hint to his words.

“Take your pick,” she said. “But what the hell, how about I go ahead with lady’s choice? Let’s start with the botched attempt to nab a woman you’ve had me working so hard to bring into our fold. You didn’t consult me on the team, you didn’t tell me you were sending one, and you fucked it up—on purpose. Why?”

“Well, I didn’t actually want it to fail,” Janus said. “That would just be stupid. I don’t throw money and men away, and I do want lovely Zoe to join us. However, I felt there was a high probability things might go south, so I wanted to test the waters without risking any of our more valuable assets.”

“So, are we giving up on Zoe now, or are you going to let me pick a proper team this time with a plan that is actually designed with a win firmly in mind?”

Janus made a show of leaning back dramatically in his chair and putting his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling for several moments before saying, “Oh…fine…you go ahead and show me how it’s done, Underworld.”

“Great. Only problem for you is that I don’t think you’ll be alive to congratulate me when I nab her.”

Janus sat up, and behind the half-comedy/half-drama theater mask he had chosen to wear today, his eyes regarded her more intently, a glint of intrigue in them. “Oh? And why are you stepping up any plans you might have to part me from my mortal coil?”

“Crazy Jane.”

“I know you’ve occasionally gone to your side of the gender line for sexual recreation, Underworld, but I didn’t realize you wanted to steal my girlfriend. So unlike you.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass,” she snapped. “You directed her to nail me with her addictive powers.”

“Why would I do that? We both know their effects aren’t as dramatic on transhumans, and I’d hardly want competition for her time and affections, especially with her pet projects she spends so much time on. I’m the jealous type.”

“Yeah. Jealous and greedy and grasping, which is why you wanted her to make biochemical friends with me because if we’re BFFs, I won’t jump ship from this operation you shanghaied me into joining,” Underworld said.

“Intriguing notion. It’s possible I might even have thought of such a thing,” Janus said. “However, I don’t see why this would make you want to kill me, even if it is true.”

“Because you’ve messed with me in a fundamental and really fucking disturbing way. I may not be able to take any of this out on Jane thanks to her little hold on my affections now, but I can take it out on the person who sicced her on me.”

“Oh, but if that were so, you wouldn’t dare,” Janus said smoothly.

“Why not?”

“Kill me openly and obviously, and Jane would be angry with you. I’m her main man. Her first love. Her true blue. And she cares enough to have a hold on me, too. Take me away, and she’d likely take her attentions away from you in retaliation. It wouldn’t devastate you like it would a normal person, but it already hurts to consider it, doesn’t it? Hurts your heart a bit—metaphorically, that is. You like her regard too much to risk losing it.”

“Bastard,” Underworld hissed.

“And, if you were to kill me clandestinely,” he continued, unfazed, “you’d still risk that she’d suspect you of avenging yourself on me. The more you consider it, the more unpleasant the consequences of taking me out are, aren’t they? In fact, you’ll probably have to consider the necessity of making extra-sure I stay alive, just in case any harm I might come to might look like it was orchestrated by you.”

“Shit!” Underworld spat, turning and storming toward the door. “This isn’t over!” she shouted without turning back.

“I know! Toodles! Go take your anger out on Query by snatching Zoe, please. Thanks oodles!”

Janus smiled and leaned back in his chair, sighing.

If not for Query still being alive, I’d say everything was going perfectly.

[ – To view the next chapter, click here – ]

The Gathering Storm, Part 18

[ – To view a list of all current chapters, click here – ]

In her Allison Wonderland costume, but sans the mask and wig, Vanessa Santos landed a vicious kick at the midsection of the practice dummy, then a quick trio of hand strikes at the nose, throat and chest. She did a short backwards hop away from the dummy, quickly wiped the sweat from her brow with her forearm, huffed so loudly it was almost a grunt, and then howled and launched a series of punches, elbow strikes and kicks at the dummy again.

She repeated her onslaught for several more minutes with a manic energy—having already been at it for nearly 20 minutes—until she began to wear down, her blows slowing and losing strength. Finally she launched one last weak spinning kick that barely grazed the dummy and sent her tumbling to the lightly padded floor.

As she struggled back into a sitting position, Allison looked down at the slick, slightly sparkly, light blue gloves with white cuffs that ran almost to her elbows, then down at the identically hued blue dress and white apron, panting and gasping alternately until the two actions finally began to mix into sobs. She put her face in her hands, and launched one more flailing kick from her place on the floor, missing the dummy entirely, dumping her on her back again and leading to a louder series of sobs as she righted herself.

A few minutes later, she raised her face from out of the puddles in her palms. The streaks on her face and the puffy eyelids were a legacy to her crying jag, but her eyes were dry now. Hard. Angry.

And fixed on the camera in the corner of the training room.

She extended her middle finger, advancing on the camera as she continued to flip it off. When she was as close as she could get to it, she mouthed the words “Fuck you” and exited the room. Her legs were unsteady, but there was still determination in the pace of her stride.

“Dramatic,” Fortunato said, his light brown face impassive as he stopped the video playback of the scene and set the remote control for the digital disc player on the top of his desk. “Sloppy at the end, but certainly fierce. I can only hope she won’t cry in battle.”

“She’s probably embarrassed enough that she forgot about the camera and cried where you could see it,” Jeremiah noted. “I don’t know that she’ll cry again within a 10-mile radius of you now. I can guarantee that if she wasn’t imagining that training dummy was you already, she sure will be from now on.”

“Oh, she clearly already was,” Fortunato answered, “and I’m sure next time she’ll be envisioning testicles on it and aiming quite a number of blows between the legs.”

Jeremiah’s grin bordered on the sardonic as he said, “I find it amazing that she was surprised you had been grooming her for possible duty fighting on the streets and such. All those muay Thai sessions, tai chi and aerobics that you insisted on in between the studying and honing of her transhuman talents…”

“People have an amazing capacity to go into self-denial,” Fortunato responded, “especially when they don’t like the idea of where things are heading. Besides, the story I told her that it was necessary for properly gauging and testing her powers—as well as keeping her in shape for testing—was plausible; partly true, even. And I was never certain when I hired her that I’d ever make use of her transhuman powers.”

Fortunato paused, then fixed his gaze on Jeremiah for several moments before he continued: “You know, you should probably have a bit more sympathy for her.”

“I’m supposed to be on your side, sir,” Jeremiah noted. “I don’t question you unless you need a Devil’s advocate and I don’t coddle people you’re trying to mold—not even in my thoughts. Besides, isn’t it a little ironic that you want me to have sympathy for her when you’re the one who blackmailed her into becoming a costumed transhuman?”

“Well, you both have a similar status in many ways. You both work for me and owe your livelihoods to me,” Fortunato pointed out. “There, but for the grace of God, go you,” he added, gesturing toward the monitor that had so recently played Vanessa’s martial arts workout.

“I’d never be in that position, though, so I don’t have sympathy,” Jeremiah said, shrugging.

“Do you think you’re beyond the reach of my machinations, Jeremiah?” Fortunato’s tone had a hint of playfulness, but also curiosity and intensity.

“No, sir. However, I do think that sending your executive assistant into battle against transhumans when he doesn’t have powers, hand-to-hand combat skills or weapons training would be counterproductive. It would take years to break in somebody that could understand what you need and when you need it half as well as I do.”

“This sudden sense of self-importance and irreplacability will likely factor into your next job review, Jeremiah.”

“Well, sir, it’s a good thing for me that I have nine or ten months before then for you to forget,” he replied. “But, honestly, I know I can be replaced—just as I know that my value lies in where I am at, and replacing me would be an incredible inconvenience for you. So, I have nothing in common with your new project, Allison Wonderland, and no reason to sympathize with her, either in that role or as Vanessa Santos.”

“Do you know that you can be a cold-blooded human at times, Jeremiah?”

“Isn’t that one of the many character traits you hired me for, sir?” he asked. “You need someone who can co-sign your cold-blooded moments and help you maximize them.”

He didn’t smile and neither did Fortunato. It wasn’t a joke and they both knew it; it was nothing more or less than the truth, plainly told.

After several minutes of silence, Jeremiah cleared his throat lightly and said, “So, how large of a team are you planning to create?”

Fortunato gave him a puzzled look. “A team for what? Is there a new IT rollout I’ve forgotten about, or a new drug that our pharmaceutical division needs to get through the FDA approvals?”

“I sincerely doubt you plan to send Allison Wonderland out as a solo avenger for your cousin’s murder,” Jeremiah said. “Also, you’ve been moving funds to some interesting parts of your corporate empire lately. If I couldn’t figure out the implications by now, it would probably be a sign I’ve outlasted my usefulness as an employee.”

Fortunato sighed. “It’s nothing personal, you understand. I would have needed to make you aware eventually. But I had been hoping to secure some support from the transhuman community—a few select individuals, anyway—before I started briefing you.”

“Like Query?”

“Yes, like Query,” Fortunato admitted, “though there are several others that are just as high on my list of potential recruits.”

“But none who’d so readily tell you to go screw yourself when you call them.”

“True. Besides, even when I start getting nibbles—Query excepted in all likelihood—it could all still fall apart.”

“Janus is responsible for the death of one of your family. There is no way you’d allow such a plan to fall apart. Still, team-building among transhumans is a tricky task, and this is no short-term plan you’re hatching.”

“I can’t think short-term on this,” Fortunato said. “It’s highly unlikely that even the most perfectly structured team could take Janus down quickly. There will be too many layers between us and him. Plus, I’ll need the support of the city and perhaps the state, which means I’ll have to include their needs, which means I won’t be able to focus full-time on my real enemy. And, frankly, even if I get lucky and do have a quick resolution to Janus, I have to think ahead. He’s setting a precedent in my city that in all likelihood means that the huge vacuum he leaves once he’s finished off would be filled by someone else—or multiple someones would make a mess of the city trying to. I need a good-sized team and one that has flexibility built into it to fill the ranks again as we lose members through…ummm…attrition.”

“Also a team with a good mix and balance of powers and capabilities,” Jeremiah noted.

“Naturally. Of course, now that you’ve deduced all this, you’ve put me in the position of needing to increase your workload several weeks earlier than I otherwise would have done.”

“Might as well add more work. I can sleep when I’m dead. I’d rather be working than dreaming anyway.”

“A pity we can’t simply eliminate sleep from the equation, eh?” Fortunato said. “I wonder, though, what it would do to a man never to dream again. I seem to recall that the military got some very bad results from long-term sleep deprivation experiments back in the ’60s or ’70s. I’ll have your assignment and project list to you tomorrow morning. Time for some team-building of the non-standard sort.”

* * *

“You’re now up to a total of 17 messages from Fortunato or his associates,” Carl noted midway through his evening meeting with Query. “Are you ready to start responding to them with anything but silence or some version of ‘fuck off’?”

“Do you think it would make him go away faster if I actually paid attention to him?”

“Uhhhhhh…no.”

“Then I think you have my answer,” Query noted. “I suppose it would be nice to know what he thinks is so important to keep calling, but won’t actually leave any info for me in the messages. Clearly, it’s no peril-and-jeopardy thing.”

“All that vaunted intuitive power you have in that brain, and can’t figure Fortunato out,” Carl teased.

“Who can?” Query said sourly. “Sadly, intuition, no matter how hyped up by mutated genes, doesn’t give me all the answers.”

“The problem is that you’re not really invested in finding out,” Carl pointed out. “You really are just trying to ignore him; not figure out what he wants. Because then you might be tempted to engage with him. Maybe he wants to put all that money to work for a fellow transhuman and respected peer and build you a fancy Question Cave.”

When Query didn’t respond, Carl looked up from his iPad Quinto. The transhuman hero was looking just off to the side of Carl’s face, suggesting he was deep in thought. Carl opened his mouth to speak, and Query lifted one finger to indicate he should be quiet.

After a minute or two, Query got up and started pacing slowly around the office. Carl thought he heard faint mumbling, and then clearer words came forth from the man’s mask—quiet but discernible and spoken in a rhythmic cadence.

“Not so gently; never incidentally. Is he Ritchie Rich or Remy Buxaplenty?”

“Huh?” Carl blurted, and Query stopped. Turned to face him. Considered him for a moment before answering.

“What?” Query said.

“You spaced out, and then you started rapping or something,” Carl said.

“I wasn’t spaced out; I was thinking. As for the rapping, I didn’t realize I was speaking out loud.”

“You rap?” Carl said. He looked like he was about to laugh.

“Maybe. I do a lot of things besides beat up on bad guys.”

“Rap? You know, you can’t…”

“…if you finish that as ‘…spell crap without rap’ I may be beating up more than bad guys in a moment. I think your secret enjoyment of Nickelback, Coldplay and Lady Gaga is questionable.”

For a moment, Carl was tempted to ask how Query knew about those guilty pleasures, then remembered who he was talking to. Even if the man wasn’t monitoring his online listening or music purchases, his hyped-up hearing could probably make out the music from the iPod headphones when Carl listened to music during some of their meetings.

“OK, OK. Truce,” Carl said. “But it was weird.”

“You don’t want to be in my head, Carl. Trust me. It’s a mess. Anyway, I sometimes think in verse, OK? It’s just a thing. But your smart-ass comment about funding me a Query Cave…”

“I said ‘Question Cave’ I think.”

“Not classy enough. Point is, you got me thinking about the bastard, as much as I was trying to avoid it, and you provided the trigger for me to start sorting things out. Not sure if I should kick you or thank you. I think he is looking to fund something big, but not a ‘Query Cave.’ He’s trying to get my buy-in on something, though. Maybe some sort of huge job he needs done. Maybe some kind of transhuman network or team. Maybe something else. Not sure yet. Question is how pure his motives are, whatever it is he’s planning. Whatever. I have to focus on Janus and Zoe Dawson right now, but I’ll set this to simmer on the back burner.”

“Rap singing and cooking. You’re quite the Renaissance hero, aren’t you?”

“Keep it up, Carl, and I’ll make you listen to a marathon of Ice T, Tupac, 50 Cent and Kanye West while I give you paper cuts and drip lemon juice on them.”

* * *

An explosion of flavors on her tongue; a symphony of scents and tastes to dazzle her senses. Zoe swallowed slowly to savor the pricey, gourmet fare, holding tight to every second of anything pleasurable to take her mind off her dinner companion and what that companion symbolized and portended.

“So nice to see you truly enjoy a meal with me for once,” Underworld said. Tonight, the woman was dressed in a somewhat matronly disguise, adding an extra 10 or 15 years to her actual age but barely putting a dent in her sex appeal—their waiter had been subtly flirting with the woman since they had arrived. “After all, I’ve been taking you to ever fancier places; it’s getting expensive to woo you to our little operation.”

“Crime doesn’t pay enough to buy a few nice meals?” Zoe said, her tones sweet but the rhythm of her words hinting at disdain. “I see it’s also no longer just Janus’ operation—you’re ‘all in’ now, are you?”

Underworld brushed off the attempt to bait her, waving her hand in the air as if to literally shoo away Zoe’s words. “Zoe, I appreciate your strength of character; I really do. And while I hate to put a damper on your appetite by bringing up business, since you finally seem to be eating a healthy amount in one of our little dinner meetings, I need to tell you that Janus is giving you room only until after your graduation. Once you hand in that rental gown, though, all bets are off. From that moment on, you’re fair game, and if you don’t sign on, you can expect to be drafted or start running.”

“I’ll let you know,” Zoe said noncommittally, spearing a piece of tender filet mignon and setting it on her tongue to mix with the earlier flavors of mushroom risotto and herb-butter-broiled lobster tail. “It’s nice to have a deadline in mind. That helps me stretch things out just a little and get to feel all pampered and loved and special with these recruitment meals.”

She tried to keep her tone light, as if none of this bothered her, but she could see in Underworld’s smile and eyes that the other woman saw through her charade. Zoe’s bluster was clearly a sham to Underworld, and the villain seemed to enjoy the cat-and-mouse game a bit too much for Zoe’s tastes.

Another glass of wine followed dinner, and then dessert after that. Then more banter and thinly veiled threats of potential abduction and Janus’ potential ire if Zoe hemmed and hawed too much for too long. Zoe playing hard-to-get and Underworld deftly mixing the roles of recruiter and intimidator.

When she could finally leave, Zoe almost sighed openly with relief. When she was far from the restaurant, alone and sure she couldn’t be seen, she pulled out the pre-paid cell phone she had bought for no other reason than to contact Query to begin with, and she started typing a message to him—or whomever handled his calls, emails and texts.

The deadline that Underworld had given her sounded fishy. It felt like a trap. It seemed all too likely it was a way to lull her into a sense of complacency so someone could abduct her sometime between now and graduation—and probably closer to “now.”

She conveyed that in her message to Query as well as she could in typed words, put the phone back in her purse, and rushed to find the nearest taxi so she could get out of the open and back home—someplace she could at least have some shadow of a sense of security.

* * *

The text from Zoe was a welcome thing for Query—it made him look like just another electronic communications-obsessed pedestrian as he read it while trailing Zoe’s dinner companion on foot. He was able to scan the message while he walked, feeling sympathy for the young woman even as he tasted the potential for a chance to get a shot at Janus or one of his cronies soon.

His assessment of the situation was much like Zoe’s own, though he didn’t want to assume too much. Janus had already proven to be unpredictable, and perhaps calculatedly so. He might snatch her up in a matter of hours or days, but he might also wait for months after her graduation just to ensure she’d be unwary when he sent someone after her.

The woman who had bought Zoe dinner tonight was walking calmly. No rush. A few times, she even stopped to check out dresses in the front windows of expensive boutique shops, making Query have to readjust and look natural without getting too close or calling attention to himself—that self being a slightly overweight, no-longer-middle-aged-but-not-quite-elderly Middle Eastern man tonight.

Query was certain that this woman was the same one who had been working to recruit Zoe at every other meal he’d spied on—she wore a different wig each time and altered her appearance in other, more sophisticated ways, but her height and build had never once changed, and that was enough for Query to confirm it was the same woman each time. According to Zoe, the woman was Underworld, and based on the most recent data Query had on the villain, the body type and size matched close enough.

For Janus to have such a well-connected and competent transhuman criminal like Underworld directly recruiting Zoe made him uncomfortable. What was it that Janus knew or suspected about Zoe and her powers that made her so valuable to him thsat he would do that? Such complex and befuddling machinations by Janus were made all the more uncomfortable by the increasing awareness that Fortunato was plotting something himself.

Sure, Fortunato is one of the white hats, but he’s unsavory and borderline criminal in a few ways, and an asshole in most ways, Query thought. To some degree, the plotting of a villain makes me less uncomfortable, because I can simply go after that person. But what to do when someone who’s supposedly my peer and potential ally is someone I don’t trust?

Query pursued Underworld on foot for another 15 minutes before finally losing her in a crowd and finding himself unable to pick up her trail again without looking conspicuous and possibly drawing the attention of any watchers that might be looking out for her on Janus’ behalf.

It had been the same with the other four stake-outs, too, when he’d followed her afterward. Underworld never took the same route, and almost never even headed in the same compass direction each time, leaving him baffled as to where her ultimate destination lay. And always, there came a point at which she managed to lose him. It wasn’t unexpected, but the caution she showed suggested that Janus was keeping security as a top priority. Tracking his operation down and nailing him was going to be very challenging indeed.

Query had considered putting a tracking device on Underworld somehow, but with this much in the way of caution and security protocols, no doubt at some point before she got near Janus, someone would search her physically and electronically. If a device was found, Query would have tipped his hand and would probably lose his chance to draw out Janus.

He doesn’t leave me a single useful clue to which I can apply my much-vaunted intution, Query grumbled mentally. And neither does Underworld. In other words, they’re acting just like I do to protect myself.

A part of him reveled in that. A challenge. Something to put him through his paces.

Query hailed a cab, and set out to re-acquire Zoe. Tonight was probably the last time he could risk wasting time trying to track Underworld without putting Zoe at undue risk. From now on, he would have to stay close to the young woman—but not too close.

The game is afoot, mine enemies, Query thought. Even if you’ve eluded me tonight, eventually you’ll slip up. Or I will. Either way, we’re going to have some resolution eventually. Bet on it.

[ – To view the next chapter, click here – ]

The Gathering Storm, Part 15

[ – To view a list of all current chapters, click here – ]

Cole hadn’t heard a voice overflow with such seething rage in his life, and never witnessed a mood change so quickly in any one person. Zero to near-murderous in 0.5 seconds.

“What the fuck!” Desperado bellowed, pointing a finger toward Cole, who had entered the primary Guardian Corps headquarters moments before with Epitaph and Wardawg. “Who the FUCK let him in here? Goddammit, Wardawg, I’m gonna fucking feed you your own mothershitting balls for bringing him here!”

The pale and bloody body of a barely conscious Slyde slung over Epitaph’s shoulder was nothing to Desperado. Even Cole himself seemed barely in the man’s perceptions except insofar as his presence was the catalyst for this enraged outburst. Desperado seemed even larger somehow in his overblown anger, a bronze and brown giant in cowboy boots and hat and with a pair of pistols at his waist launching himself at Wardawg, who was furiously ducking and weaving.

Cole was certain that Desperado would notice Slyde’s plight before long. But probably not before beating Wardawg bloody and then probably doing the same to Cole himself. No one was making the slightest attempt to hold the enraged man back. Cole braced himself internally, and wondered whether fighting back or taking it would be the more socially acceptable option within the Guardian Corps.

“It’s not my fault!” Wardawg shouted quickly as he tried to keep distance between himself and Desperado and avoid anyone else in the headquarters who might grab him or push him toward his antagonist. “Epitaph! Wouldn’t budge. Would’ve brought him here himself. Not my…”

Desperado grabbed hold of him then, and cocked one sepia-gloved fist to smash in his face. The fist never got to where it was going, though. Epitaph had snatched hold of Desperado’s wrist. Desperado’s head turned quickly to see who would dare challenge him, and as he did, all the rage drained out of those topaz-colored eyes. It was replaced neither by fear nor joy at the sight of Epitaph; rather, a blank confusion now filled them.

At once, Desperado released Wardawg and Epitaph released Desperado.

“You touched me,” he said quietly to Epitaph in a voice overflowing with bewilderment. There was no affront, but his tone hinted at a multitude of questions that Desperado seemed eager to ask but for which he had no words.

Or so it seemed to Cole. Disregarding his instinct to stay out of Desperado’s sphere of attention right now, he said, “Slyde’s hurt. Do we have anyone who can help him? Or get him to a hospital?”

Some of the anger returned to Desperado’s gaze as he took in Cole’s words and remembered his unauthorized presence here. But his voice was all business as he said over one shoulder: “Antonio, call Asclepius—he should still be pretty nearby. Have someone debrief Wardawg. Get someone to sit on Puppy here while I decide whether to kill him or just beat him until he’s brain damaged.”

Then his attention returned to Epitaph, who had set Slyde down gently on a battered old sofa while Desperado barked orders. Cole noticed, once again, how the gravestone-wearing man’s feet hovered just a bit off the ground. He seemed to bob and rock ever so gently, as if it was a slight but constant effort to keep his balance.

“Did you really make the decision to bring Puppy here? Did you do that knowing he was on probation? Did Wardawg tell you he wasn’t supposed to know about this place yet?” The words Desperado spoke carried clear recrimination, but not anger toward Epitaph. Cole wasn’t certain if it was respect or fear that kept Epitaph safe from the same wrath that Desperado had been all too ready to visit on Wardawg and perhaps, still, on Cole himself.

Epitaph gave a short, solemn nod at the end of those questions, admitting to all of the accusations and showing not the slightest remorse.

“You stupid fuck,” Desperado hissed. “We have those rules for a…”

“The sweet remembrance of the just shall flourish when he sleeps in dust,” Epitaph responded sagely.

Desperado paused a moment to try to process the meaning, and answered, simply, “I don’t have a soft spot, Ep. You don’t get to break the rules. You could be one of the leaders of the Corps if you wanted; you know that. I’d step back and pull Blaze back and let you have most of the authority. But not until you can speak plainly. You keep talking crazy with the Bartlett’s familiar motherfucking quotations thing, you don’t get to make policy.”

“Most men remember obligations, but are not often likely to be grateful; the proud are made sour by the remembrance and the vain silent,” Epitaph stated.

Cole wasn’t certain what Epitaph meant, but clearly Desperado had focused on the word obligations as he answered: “I don’t owe you anything but basic respect, Ep, and I sure as hell don’t owe Puppy over there a good goddamned thing.”

“A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory,” Epitaph responded.

“Stop with the fucking word games, Epitaph,” Desperado sneered. “Stop. You speak plainly just once to me and I’ll let Puppy into the circle without question. I’ll end his probation now and welcome him with open arms.”

Epitaph seemed to consider that for a moment, and shook his head ruefully. To Cole, it seemed to convey the sentiment not that he was regretful at his own lack of willingness to comply but rather that he was disappointed Desperado would make such a demand and essentially hold Cole hostage for it. Instead of heeding the wishes of the earth-toned, Wild West-garbed man in front of him, Epitaph turned to Cole, pointed one finger toward him—inches from his heart, and then said to Desperado: “One day your life will flash before your eyes. Make sure its worth watching.”

Cole saw Desperado shake a little bit, and watched as anger began to seethe once more in those brown eyes.

“I’m going to assume you ain’t suggesting Puppy’s a better man than I am based on whatever the hell happened out there with you, him, Slyde and Wardawg. Because even you aren’t crazy enough to make a declaration like that based on one encounter. But I won’t even buy the argument he’s so much as earned the right to be here based on anything he did tonight.”

“Lay off,” cut in a woman’s voice. “Just lay off, Desperado. You want to talk about authorization, I have as much say in leadership decisions around here as you or Blaze, and so I say Cole can be here because I trust Epitaph’s judgment. How’s that?”

Cole turned toward the voice: Sweet Talker.

“That’s worth about as much as a contract written in shit smears on a roll of toilet paper,” Desperado said, his words bobbing about in a sea of condescension. “Tell anyone anything you want, girl. Your position is in name only. No one’s going to listen to you and no one’s going to take your side over mine except for most of your bitches and a few pussies like Puppy who think you’re too cute for words. Most of us don’t give a shit what you have to say unless it’s to give advice on how to properly suck a guy’s dick.”

“Stop being a dick,” Cole snapped. “For God’s sake. You want to call me Puppy, fine. Insult the newbie—great. But stop being so disrespectful to people who already proved themselves.”

“Well, Puppy’s got some puppy love and wants to stick up for his girlfriend. I don’t think she’s gonna be impressed,” Desperado said. “Fine, you two like each other so much, you’re under Sweet Talker’s wing. When she’s around, she can find work for you. When she’s not, maybe you can be the punching bag in training drills, Puppy. Because you’re off patrols permanently. And if someone comes to raid our headquarters, I’m going to know who to fucking kill for giving up the location: You.”

Desperado turned on one heel and stomped away and, as quickly as that, most everyone else lost interest.

Cole saw Antonio approaching, accompanied by Ripper, one of the rougher members of the Guardian Corps—presumably the guy he had picked to babysit him per Desperado’s orders—but Desperado said something to him, and then Ripper and Antonio wandered off.

“He’s an ass, but he’s right about one thing, Cole,” Sweet Talker said as she stepped near him. “I don’t need defending and you did something stupid right now because of a crush.”

“I don’t have a crush on you,” Cole protested. “I just don’t think it’s…”

“Cole, I’m at least a few years older than you and even if you don’t see it, you’re so transparent you’re see-through. I’m sympathetic to you, Cole. But don’t get other notions.”

Cole could feel the embarrassment burning on his face and wanted desperately to change the subject. “Will Slyde be okay?”

“Asclepius should be in soon, so yeah.”

“Who’s Asclepius?”

“Healer. He’s a Regenerator. He’s worked on damn near every heroic type in the New Judah and New York area at some point and a few in Marksburgh, too. He’ll fix Slyde up. Nothing he can do to fix you and Desperado, though. Cole, you were already on thin ice in Desperado’s eyes just being a college boy. You’re done in the Corps as far as learning any crimefighting crap. If you hadn’t done the stupid chivalry thing you might have been all right.”

“A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it,” Epitaph said softly from behind Cole.

“Huh?” Cole said.

“I think he means that just because Desperado is done with you doesn’t mean you’re done for in the Corps,” Sweet Talker said. “But Epitaph is wrong, and Epitaph made things worse for you by going nose to nose with Desperado over you. This is a boy’s club, Cole, in case you haven’t noticed, and you pissed off the top dog.”

“Death is nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily,” Epitaph noted, having come around to face Cole, and standing near Sweet Talker now.

“Napoleon,” Cole commented, recognizing the quote, and figuring that Epitaph was encouraging him to stand up for himself and continue with the Corps. Then again, maybe he’s telling me to just go out on my own and be done with Desperado and gang.

“Look, I think going out and beating on crooks is stupid, dangerous, testosterone-charged foolishness anyway,” Sweet Talker said. “So, whatever. But it was Cole’s dream, and now it’s wake-up time.”

Epitaph shrugged, looking Cole up and down.

“What’s the shrug for, Epitaph? You gonna train Cole on your own, you flighty bastard?” Sweet Talker asked good-naturedly but with just a hint of rebuff.

Epitaph inclined his head to the side, seemed to consider her words for several moments, then shrugged again and walked away.

For a little while, they both just watched him leave in silence, and then Cole turned to Sweet Talker. “Okay. Seriously. What’s up with him not touching the ground and Desperado being so damned surprised he grabbed his wrist? Not to mention the whole invulnerability thing.”

“Bullet-proof, more or less, but he can be hurt,” Sweet Talker said. “He generates a constant telekinetic field around his body. Really strong one. Pushes stuff away from him unless he was already wearing it or touching it when his field goes up. The larger an object or the more dense it is or something, the less able it is to get through. So he can breathe because air mostly gets through. He could also drown, because given enough time, water would seep through his field. Try to hit him though, and you’ll probably break your wrist. To bullets, his TK field like an all-over flak jacket. An auto-crusher at a junkyard would do him in, though. Or a bomb. Or nerve gas. Lots of things. He can deactivate the field if he concentrates, so he can shower, dress, eat or pick something up—or someone, like Slyde—but it takes a lot of effort, it wears him out, and I think it probably hurts like hell.”

“I don’t have a thing for you, Sweet Talker,” Cole said.

“Mmmm hmmm,” she responded dubiously.

“Really. But…what should I do? You’re apparently in charge of me now.”

“I don’t have a clue, Cole. I guess you’ll be helping me with interrogations and screenings and stuff, until you realize there’s no future for you here and you give up,” she said, popping two big pieces of bubble gun into her mouth and running her fingers through the bright pink wig she was wearing today—at least Cole assumed it was a wig. He got a whiff of her overly sweet perfume, hinting at the scent of a candy shop, and felt his belly flutter. “Some of my crew is in the room back there with the flowers on the door. Go tell PrinSass I sent you and hang out with them until I can figure something out. Maybe you can find someone else to crush on by the time I have a plan.”

* * *

Janus killed my cousin.

Fortunato seethed and fretted. He had other family members. Friends. Business associates.

Janus killed my cousin, dammit.

It wasn’t entirely true, of course. More accurately, Janus had employed someone to kill Ignacio and make it look like suicide. The video snippets, along with the phone call a couple days ago from one of Janus’ agents, had been enough to prove that to Fortunato. But there was no recording of the call and the video snippets were too short, too few and too unclear on the perpetrator’s identity and purpose to have any hope of convincing the police that it had been anything other than a suicide, much less put them on Janus’ trail. As such, Fortunato had decided to keep them out of it.

He attacked my family and wants me to know about it.

This confused and unnerved Fortunato in a manner for which neither his brutal former crimefighting career nor metaphorically bloody business career had prepared him. He had dealt with all kinds of sociopaths before, but not with one who would strike him seemingly randomly, with no clear message or purpose. He had thought perhaps Janus’ attack against Query a few weeks before had possessed some logical basis—that Query had crossed paths with the villain unknowingly. But the business with Ignacio indicated something else: Janus might be willing to strike any highly placed transhuman, crimefighter or not, just to entertain himself.

His fingers tapped at the top of the pile of files Jeremiah had brought him a few hours before, and then he pressed a button on his office intercom—a old-school relic from his father that he kept around as much out of stubbornness as nostalgia.

I recognize and enjoy the benefits of higher technology, but some things should be kept simple.

“Rachel,” Fortunato said into the intercom, “send her in.”

“Vanessa,” Fortunato greeted the woman warmly as she stepped into his office and closed the door behind her. “I have an opportunity for you.”

“Promotion, I hope,” the woman said. Her voice had never quite lost its South Florida Latina lilt even after spending all her high school, college and career years in New Judah, but Fortunato wasn’t sure many people besides him really noticed that.

“Pay raise,” he responded, “though I’m not sure it’s a promotion, exactly. But you’ll need serious hazard pay.”

“Is my professional reputation at stake if I do the work you have in mind?”

“No, literally. Actual hazard pay. I’ll also be increasing your health benefits to be much broader and cost you less—nothing, in fact. Your new uniform is in the…”

“Uniform? But this is an office…”

“Your uniform is in the box there on the conference table,” Fortunato interrupted her. “You won’t be wearing it full-time, as I’ll need you around the office to do some of your current duties, at least for a while. Go on, take a look.”

Dazed and confused, Vanessa walked over to the table, opened the box and felt her breath catch in some mix of dread and shock. It was similar to the outfit that Alice wore in most of the live-action, animated, video game and storybook treatments of Lewis Carroll’s “Wonderland” tales or those that were inspired by them. As she pulled it out and examined it, she could tell the material was tougher, stretchier and more luminous than cotton or polyester. Also in the box was a long, straight blonde wig and a blue-and-white half-head mask to match the colors of the dress, leggings and gloves.

“What the hell?” she said quietly. “What are you proposing?”

“Nothing kinky, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Fortunato said. “The material is a lot like latex, but this isn’t fetish-wear. The boots, for example, have very low heels, and there is light chest-armor built in, so no one will be seeing any hint of your nipples. It’s designed for durability, protection for you and also to work in certain ways to enhance the use of your powers.”

“My…powers?” Vanessa asked, too dumbfounded to organize her thoughts yet into words. She wanted to yell or scream, but she wasn’t even sure what was going on.

“Yes,” Fortunato said, ignoring her discomfort with the situation entirely. “Until now, I’ve been happy to pay you a bit extra for those days or nights when I’ve needed you to put in extra hours for testing and such in my transhuman R&D programs, but now I’ll need you to use your powers more directly. Not too often at first, but eventually it will come to occupy most of your time, and less and less of your PR skills will be required here at the company.”

“You want me to become a superhero? But I don’t want…”

“It isn’t a suggestion. It’s what you’ll be doing,” Fortunato said flatly. “Your codename will be Allison Wonderland. It’s fitting given the psychedelic tricks you can do with your Luminar and Interfacer abilities. And, of course, it fits the costume I had designed for you.”

“You can’t just tell me to go and risk my life as a…”

“I’m your boss, you owe me a great deal, and it’s your new job,” he said. “You’ll do it.”

“Are you threatening me?” she asked incredulously.

“Don’t be absurd,” Fortunato answered. “It’s business. Not a threat. You can make significantly more money by saying ‘yes’ or you can make no money by saying ‘no.’ It’s your choice. Take the job or clear out your desk.”

“This economy isn’t exactly just going gangbusters, Fortunato.”

“How about you go back to calling me ‘sir’ until I get a ‘yes’ from you, Ms. Santos.”

Vanessa’s eyes widened with affront. “There’s no way I’ll get a job right away…sir,” she said, almost spitting out the last word, “and you know I have a lot of debts.”

“Your debts aren’t my concern, Ms. Santos, and the offer won’t stay on the table much longer.”

“This is blackmail, sir,” she responded.

“This is a work-for-hire state,” Fortunato said, “and I can ensure that you won’t qualify for unemployment benefits, too, once I fire you, Ms. Santos. It’s not blackmail. It’s incentive. Even though you’re making me angry right now, I’m still willing to give you the 125% raise I had in mind and the full health benefits at no cost to you.”

“This…this…” she sputtered, and then sat down hard in one of the chairs. “Why?”

“My reasons will be made clear soon enough. It may even be that you will be lucky enough not to have to enter a career as a crimefighter, in which case you will become a very overpaid associate director of public relations.”

“Would these expanded health benefits cover my bro…”

“No.”

“But…”

“It’s better for both of us if you have to continue to pay that out-of-pocket,” Fortunato said. “Otherwise, my financial incentives will no longer be as incentivizing.”

“You’re a bastard,” Vanessa hissed. “Sir.”

“Yes or no, Ms. Santos?” he asked. “I need an answer within five minutes or the raise goes down by 10 percentage points each minute thereafter.”

She stared out the massive windows of his office at the early-morning skyline of the city for three minutes, as if an answer or savior might emerge from around some high-rise building. Then she stared at the open box on the table for a minute, one legging hanging over the side. Then she stared at Fortunato for a full 30 seconds.

“Yes,” she said, her voice an admixture of defeat and disgust.

“Excellent, Vanessa,” Fortunato said, abandoning the artificial formalities with the speaking of her first name again. “I’ll send a training schedule and other details to you this afternoon along with the official offer and paperwork. Non-compete contracts. Confidentiality papers. All that fun stuff.”

“I hate you, Fortunato,” she said quietly.

“That’s all right,” he said. “You won’t be the first or the last. Maybe you’ll even change your mind one day.”

* * *

As the waitress delivered their coffees—along with a large white milk, medium chocolate milk and small strawberry milk—and then went off to check on other customers, Mad Dash continued his unfinished point.

“I’m just saying, Ladyki—I mean, Honey Badger…sweetie pie…neti pot…snookums…”

“Dash, how about you just stick with ‘Honey’ since it’s an affectionate nickname already and a shortened form of the Honey Badger thing I’m doing on the side,” Ladykiller suggested in a whisper. “You could do fine with ‘Hon’ too.”

“Ah. Wonderific! So, Honey, what I was saying was I’m not sure that this ayyyy-emmm was a time to whip out the claws in the pursuance of public safety-tude,” Mad Dash said.

“Dash, I’m logging extra costume hours and suppressing my usual violent left claw of womanly vengeance thing to spend a little time with you,” Ladykiller noted. “Normally, after a late night of slashing rapists and such, I’d just now be thinking about getting up. Instead, I slashed a rapist last night, changed costumes, I’ve patrolled with you this morning and now we’re having a late breakfast. Is that a problem for you?”

“Nada nunca nyet,” Mad Dash said. “It’s nice to have company sometimes. But, I mean, this morning…you slashed all four of his tires for running a red light.”

“He was drunk. I could’ve smelled the booze on his breath from a dozen paces even if I didn’t have super-smell. School’s still in session for another week or two and he’s drunk when kids are still walking to school. I think I showed incredible restraint.”

“But the leather interior, too?”

“A little over the top, maybe,” Ladykiller admitted, “but at least we know he won’t be driving any…”

“Morning, Dash,” came a voice from off to Ladykiller’s side, and reflexively, one of her clawed hands slid out from under the table.

“Chillax to the max, Molasses…I mean, Honey,” Mad Dash said. “Friend, not foe. Hey, Veeg. How’s it drooping? Honey, this is Vegan Manhunter. We go way back.”

“Cow’s milk, Dash,” said the man in a costume of green and brown, with various accents that made it look leafy in some places, bark-like in others and petal-like in others still. “You know that stuff isn’t naturally for human consumption. I hope your new girlfriend has better eating habits.”

“You can use ‘Honey Badger’ instead of ‘new girlfriend.’ As for my diet, I alternate between omnivorous and ovo-lacto-vegetarian depending on whether I’m PMS-ing or whatever,” Ladykiller replied acidly. “Today, I’m having bacon. Is that a problem? Are you going to duel me over food philosophy?”

“Honey, sweetie, syrup, buttery-dear,” Mad Dash said. “Friend. Not foe. He teases me mercilessly because I chow-town-down more than most trans folks, so I’m an easy target. After all, No one knows what evil lurks in the colons of men—but the Vegan Manhunter knows!”

Vegan Manhunter chuckled behind his mask. “That never gets old the way you say it.”

“Well, sorry, Vegan Manhunter. I get kind of sensitive when I’m hungry and tired and people are needling my boyfriend, okay?” Ladykiller said. “By the way, as long as Dash is plagiarizing and altering a line from ‘The Shadow,’ aren’t you a little worried DC Comics might sue you over your blatant theft of the Martian Manhunter meme? Hell, your costume is almost in the same style except you’re not showing off your legs and you don’t show off quite as much torso.”

“If DC and Marvel together couldn’t make a winning case against that husband-and-wife Wonderman/Wonderwoman duo, I think I’m safe,” Vegan Manhunter said. “If it was Venusian Manhunter, I might be in trouble. Seriously, Dash, you need to lay off the meat at least. For eco-friendly reasons, at least, if not your body’s sake.”

“Oh, congratulatories on getting that PETA sponsorship a few weeks ago by the bye-bye,” Mad Dash said. “You’ll be a great spokesperson. Just advise them to lay off trying to do that thing with trying to rename ‘fish’ as ‘sea kittens.’ That was really a stupid campaign. But hey, I need the meat, su-su-dude-io. You know how I burn through fat, proteins and all that while running.”

“C’mon, Dash, for protein alone there’s quinoa, rice and beans, tofu, seitan…”

“Easier to find meat, I’d think, the way he goes through food,” Ladykiller said, sipping at her coffee. “And as for the beans, well, you don’t have to sit next to him or lie with him for long periods of time.”

“Flesh o’ the beasties tastes better, too. Sorry, Veeg, but bacon is gooood. Pork chops are goooood,” Mad Dash said.

“Sewer rat could taste like pumpkin pie and I still wouldn’t eat it,” Vegan Manhunter replied.

“Okay, boys—enough homoerotic bonding over ‘Pulp Fiction’ lines,” Ladykiller said. “Nice to meet you…uh, Veeg. Can I have my time back with my guy before I go home to collapse into a coma?”

“As the attractive and thankfully fake fur-attired lady desires,” Vegan Manhunter quipped, bowing deeply at the waist. “The honey badger’s an amazing animal, by the way,” he noted as he rose back up. “I keep telling a friend of mine he needs to do some kind of funny ‘crazy-ass honey badger don’t give a shit’ video for YouTube or UrbVid.”

After Vegan Manhunter had wandered off to the counter to order something, Ladykiller leaned across the table. “Seriously, Dash: Real friend or just polite acquaintance?”

“He’s a good guy, LadyHoney,” Mad Dash offered. “I mean, HoneyKiller. Oh, carp. I’m not used to this. Anyway, he’s only a douche-canoe paddler sometimes. I only get the soy-and-bean lecture maybe every third or fourth time I run into him. His sense of humor can take getting used to. Just don’t eat lamb or veal around him. That really pisses him off.”

“Oh, really?” Ladykiller said with a smile, looking around for their waitress. “Wonder if it’s too late to change my order to something more lunch-oriented.”

[ – To view the next chapter, click here – ]

The Gathering Storm, Part 8

[ – To view a list of all current chapters, click here – ]

Silence was a delicate thing, Jeremiah has always thought, and needed to be treated with respect. His employer had read the letter—his first official task of the morning—and had clearly been considering its implications. But, being ever-attuned to the nuances of environment, behavior and timing, Jeremiah felt that the silence was on the verge of gathering pressure and mass—it was poised to become oppressive and distracting. So he did what he had always done in his role as executive assistant—a role that had been built as something far more than a glorified secretary, even if it was also far less than a vice presidency.

He intervened to manage the silence, and keep the flow of activity in its proper course.

“Sir, how should we respond?” Jeremiah asked the man who had been named Arturo Vasquez shortly after emerging from his mother’s womb, but was known by most people now simply as Fortunato.

Fortunato smiled lightly, both a recognition that it was time to act somehow and also an acknowledgement that he appreciated Jeremiah’s exquisite timing and perception. “For now, we do nothing.”

“Sir, Janus has officially issued you a challenge,” Jeremiah noted. “He is stating his intention to you—as I’m sure he has to other business leaders, as well as various criminal bosses and public officials—to set up a new operation for himself in this region and to impinge upon your income.”

“And that is just the thing,” Fortunato pointed out. “I’m not his only target of interest in making this known.”

“But you are one of the richest men in the nation and one of the most powerful businessmen in New Judah, and a known transhuman. Much of your influence and wealth comes from your notoriety and popularity, which in turn comes from the fact that you lead a life publicly and openly as a transhuman. Even though you rarely intervene directly in crime and such anymore, Janus may see you as a threat.”

“Perhaps,” Fortunato said, “but clearly he sees Query as the big threat. I’ve heard through the transhuman community that Query was targeted by a very well-equipped hit squad backed by Janus. No, Janus isn’t interested in engaging me directly—at least not any time soon. He likes fear and he likes to make aggressive postures. He’s sending a message to all of us that he want a piece of what every one of us has, whether we pay protection or whether we let him into our operations, criminal or legitimate.”

Jeremiah frowned. “But you’re not going to ignore him.”

The words were a statement, not a question; he knew his boss too well. It was just a confirmation, and an invitation for Fortunato to continue.

“Not a bit,” Fortunato said. “As you well know, while I don’t engage in truly unsavory commerce, there are aspects of my corporate reach that are less pure than others, and which Janus might be able to touch directly. I’ll have to keep an eye on those shadier areas in particular.”

“But most of all, we wait for now to see what he will do next, and to determine how we will respond,” Jeremiah stated.

“Exactly,” Fortunato said. “Now, on to reviewing matters that actually impact my bottom line in the short run, before I have to talk to the board of directors this afternoon.”

* * *

Mornings were already anathema to Zoe; having to endure the discussion section for Prof. McGinnis’ Sociology and Culture class at 8 a.m. on Monday was sheerest torture.

Today was worse than most such Mondays.

The grad student who oversaw these discussion sessions was wholly in the professor’s camp in terms of theory, to a degree that was verifiably sycophantic; Zoe wondered often whether Cheryl had a single original thought in her head when it came to the topics they covered in class.

And now that they were discussing religion and culture, the heavy focus on transhuman influences in culture that had so pervaded the class had been poised to go precisely where Zoe didn’t want it to go. But, as she had worried, it did anyway.

Adding to the discomfiture was a woman in the class whom Zoe didn’t recognize—too old to be a student. Perhaps some kind of academic observer? In any case, she was an outsider, which added to Zoe’s stress levels.

“Why does Jesus have to be a transhuman?” Zoe said in response to a theory Cheryl had tossed out to the class like fresh meat to a cage full of lions, and which had been under discussion for at least 15 minutes now.

“Because it’s what makes sense, Zoe,” countered one of her classmates, Ralph, whom she normally liked well enough. But he was rigidly and even haughtily atheist and she had long since learned that religious discussions were a lousy place to go with him.

No helping that in this venue, though, she thought bitterly.

“Why?” she asked. “Look, if you want to say the stories of Jesus’ miracles were just made up, fine. But why does it ‘have to’ make sense that he was a transhuman when we only started seeing transhumans in the 1970s, and Jesus was more than 2,000 years ago?”

“Really, Zoe,” Cheryl chimed in, “do you believe that there were no transhumans before the late 20^th century—that they just popped up out of nowhere?”

“Of course not. They have probably been on the rise for some time, but unnoticed for decades—maybe a few centuries. But 2,000 years ago? Because then you have to say that maybe Moses was a transhuman, and that’s even farther back. Or Samson…or the sources of any other miracle-based biblical tales or even the older pre-Judaic mythologies. And you’re saying we almost never see these transhumans throughout all those millennia and then, boom!—we hit the jackpot in the ‘70s? C’mon!”

“It makes a hell of a lot more sense than God incarnating as a human,” Ralph said. “Jesus’ healing powers would be easily explained by him being a Regenerator, and his charisma and ability to discern danger and future events could have been Psionics and/or Primal powers.”

“The loaves and fishes?” Zoe noted. “Creating matter from nothing? Or water to wine? There are no known Transmuters or Creators—those are strictly theoretical and unlikely powers.”

“Well, those were probably just stories added later.”

“Convenient, Ralph,” Zoe said. “The stuff you can’t explain was made up; everything else was due to being transhuman. How about the resurrection? Because I don’t see his entire apostolic crew praising him and risking crucifixion or worse themselves after he called himself the son of God and then died like a punk on the cross. As far as I’m concerned, he had to come back to life for them to put themselves on the line like that.”

“This isn’t a theology class, Zoe,” Cheryl cut in.

“Step off, Cheryl. This is a discussion section, and I’m in a discussion. Add to it or get out of it and leave me to my work,” Zoe snapped.

“Zoe, him ‘coming back to life’ would have just been autonomic self-healing as a powerful Regenerator—he never actually died,” Ralph said, and Cheryl nodded vigorously, face red with anger at Zoe’s challenge to her classroom authority.

“Have you read anything about what damage crucifixion does to the body?” Zoe asked. “After hours on the cross, then being sealed in a tomb for a couple days without food or water—no Regenerator is going to come back from that. The body needs decent conditions and some kind of nutrition to fuel the healing process.”

“It’s a strange world, Zoe, but it doesn’t need God to explain such things,” Cheryl said. “I think we can almost all of us agree to the likelihood that Jesus was transhuman, and move on.”

Zoe was mentally ready to continue the fight, but pushing her agenda and view now wouldn’t win her anything but trouble when it came time for grades to be handed out. But she fumed quietly. Her application of her personal religious and spiritual views tended very much toward liberal and centrist notions, but she didn’t like having her foundational beliefs about God and Jesus challenged and dismissed so blithely.

Yet another area of my life where transhumanity overshadows things, she bemoaned silently.

* * *

Cole’s sleep was jarred by something sharp and hard, and it was only when he heard “Rise and shine” and began to gain awareness that he realized it was the toe of a cowboy boot prodding his ribs. “Get a good night’s rest, Cole?”

“Yeah, this mat’s fantastic, and the rats in the walls kept me company really well,” he answered miserably to the costumed man he had met just hours earlier. This time, he was attired more completely, not just in a mask and wearing those boots, but with a Western-style Stetson hat and a long leather duster over his dark unitard and vest. Everything was shades of brown with hints of black, from the attire and accents to his skin, eyes and hair—making him look like almost like a antique bronze statue of a cowboy. As before, Blockbuster was here with them, and as just as lacking in humor, talkativeness and warmth as he had been before.

“If your apartment’s cozier, go back,” the man said. “I told you this wasn’t going to be easy.”

“You could have told me I’d be living here, and I might have brought a change of clothes or two.”

“You won’t be living here precisely, just camping out, and you can leave soon enough, and check in with your roommates—give them some story to explain why you’ll be gone a while. Assuming that we decide to let you stay here for a probationary period.”

“I guess that’ll be determined by the intense interrogation you mentioned before you left me here alone,” Cole noted hesitantly. “Can I at least get a name for you before you start with the thumbscrews or waterboarding or whatever you’re planning?”

“Would you like to be waterboarded?” the man quipped. “I have a trainer here in the Guardian Corps who did time with the military and has some first-hand experience. I was planning something a little less brutal, but if you prefer…”

“I’ll trust that your original plan is better,” Cole said quickly. Nervousness was beginning to fray his composure.

“Desperado,” the man said, finally answering Cole’s question. “Now you’ll have a name to curse later along with Blockbuster’s.”

Cole’s palms were sweaty and his heart was beating fast enough for him to gauge its beats by the pounding bursts at his temples. With a panicky surge in his mind, he almost got up and ran for the door.

I shouldn’t be here. What the hell am I thinking? I’m a recent college grad who should be applying for biomedical engineering jobs. I…

He didn’t want that life, he realized just as suddenly as the anxiety had struck, and he clenched his sweaty palms into fists instead, squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and took a deep breath.

“Can we get on with it? The sooner you satisfy yourself, the sooner I can find a shower and then settle in here.”

Desperado made a shallow nod, stepped toward him slowly, somehow managing to convey intense menace in those few steps across a span of less than six feet, and said, “Tell me about Hannah.”

The question caught Cole off-guard, and he blurted out “Who?” before he suddenly realized who Desperado meant.

“Hannah Marie Rosenberg, Cole. Sadie Hawkins Dance. Junior year. Was she that forgettable? Or have you assaulted a whole lot of other women we don’t know about yet and she’s just faded into the background of fresher meat? I told you we’ve been checking into your past, Cole, as we wait for our professional interrogator to arrive. I just figured I’d grease the wheels a bit and see if we can save her the trouble of having to use her skills and cut you from consideration right now.”

“I never touched Hannah!” Cole said with more vehemence than he intended.

“Well, I don’t know what your power—or powers—might be yet, so maybe you didn’t need to touch her, Cole.”

“I didn’t do it! I wasn’t even anywhere near her when it happened. I don’t even know where it happened. Everyone assumed I did it, even though there wasn’t any reason to tie me to her, but I didn’t do it,” Cole said.

“I suppose you won’t be taking credit for Paul Whitten or Isaac Stone, either,” Desperado said grimly, a savage note underlying his voice.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about with Paul—I don’t remember anything really bad happening to him in school,” Cole said, and then paused, feeling like not only was his stomach dropping, but the floor was disappearing beneath him. Isaac. “Isaac…I’m sorry about what happened to Isaac. Congratulations. You’re the first person to even say it might have been me. I didn’t mean for him to get hurt that badly. But once…after it happened, I couldn’t cop to it—I didn’t dare—and I figured I was already paying for Hannah’s injuries without having done anything to her, so it came out even.”

“I doubt Isaac felt that way.”

“He recovered all right in the end,” Cole said weakly. “Hardly any of the scars were anywhere he couldn’t cover them. But I still hate that it happened. I’m not proud of it.”

Desperado paused and seemed to take Cole’s measure, then tipped up his Stetson to scratch at his forehead. “It’s not what I would call complete remorse, Cole—not by a long shot—but it’s a start. It’s a good enough start that we can move to the next step.”

[ – To view the next chapter, click here – ]