Our Contest

by Phillip Murrell

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and events are all work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, locations, or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Phillip Murrell

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2018

  ISBN: 9781724192875 (paperback)

  This book is dedicated to all the readers that have made it this far into my series. Getting someone to appreciate your work is difficult. I fully love each of you who took a chance on me and (hopefully) loved what I’ve done with superheroes.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Other Works by Phillip Murrell

  A Note from the Author

  Chapter 1

  Somber police officers enter their precinct after Carlos’ funeral. Their numbers are few and, with minimal preamble, they go about their daily duties. The short staff of recent days required them to attend the event in their normal duty attire instead of their decorative formal uniforms. Mother’s presence brought a fresh round of resignations and retirements.

  Benji walks slowly to his desk. As his defeated eyes scan the police floor, he counts less than four detectives, and the only uniformed officer he sees is Maria. Her presence sparks anger within Benji. He bellows for her attention.

  “Pecos! My office now!”

  Maria slowly walks toward him. It’s obvious she’s fully aware of his anger, but doesn’t seem inclined to care. She enters Benji’s office and closes the door behind her. Then she plops into a chair. Benji stands behind his desk, even more irritated by her action. He digs his fingernails into the top of his desk.

  “Stand the hell up!” Benji screams.

  “No, I’m good,” Maria defiantly responds.

  Benji goes into full fury mode. He slams his hands onto the desk and walks around it. He reaches Maria’s chair and flips her out of it. Maria stands before she strikes the floor. She momentarily seems to consider ending her career by punching Benji in his face.

  “Where were you?” Benji demands.

  “Somewhere else,” Maria counters.

  “I don’t care how short-staffed we are, we take the time to honor our fallen.”

  “I agree.”

  Benji is aghast. “Then where the hell were you?”

  “Protecting the innocents in the streets, by myself it seemed. Where the hell were all of you?”

  “Don’t get cute! We were where we were supposed to be, at Carlos’ funeral. The ceremony was short, and you should have been there.”

  “Why? Screw him.”

  “What?”

  Benji balls his fists, then throws his hands up in disgust. He finally decides to rest them on his head as he runs his fingers through his hair. Anything to keep himself from strangling the obstinate Maria.

  “We’re all grieving,” Benji begins, “so I’m gonna give you a chance to take that stupid shit back.”

  “You’re gonna be disappointed. I stand by my statement; screw him.”

  Benji sighs. He can’t afford to lose an officer and, despite Maria’s current attitude, she’s one of his most competent who remains.

  “Why?” he asks.

  “Because he quit. We need everyone right now, and that piece of shit took the easy way out. I don’t respect suicide, and I never will. I hope he roasts in Hell for throwing away his life just because it got bumpy.”

  “Bumpy? His life was beyond bumpy! A psycho made him murder the love of his life. That’s not a bump; it’s a goddamn mountain.”

  “A lot of people are hurting right now. He didn’t have the full world’s misery on his shoulders. He also had friends, but the last time I was with him, he was completely content and at peace. Maybe I should have known something was up, but this isn’t on me.”

  “Nobody said it was, but you have to have compassion for his circumstances.”

  “The hell I do! I wish nothing but ill will on his memory and his soul. He abandoned all of us when he quit. There aren’t enough of us left. I used his positive attitude after the Osaka Riots to keep from my own self-pity. A lot of the uniforms did. Not anymore. He took away a pillar of our hope. Screw him!”

  Benji clenches his fists at his sides again. Maria stares him down while he considers his next words. Ultimately, he decides that it would be a waste of time. Maria clearly has no intention of changing her opinion. Benji decides that she needs to process her grief in her own way. Plus, she’s right about being short-handed, and he can’t keep her off the streets any longer.

  “Just get the hell out of here and do something good out there.” Benji sighs.

  “I was just waiting for you to give me permission. You done chewing my ass?”

  “I said get the hell out!”

  Maria smirks, then steps over the toppled chair to leave a defeated Benji standing in his rage.

  Smith and Mitch arrive on the bridge of the Vengeful ISH through a portal conjured by Abel. Abel smiles at them as they enter. Mitch seems hesitant to walk closer to the ancient Gudz, but Smith’s assurance and confidence get him to move closer.

  “I’m sorry, Abel,” Smith says. “It’s his first time in space.”

  “Yes, I’m sure that’s the catalyst of his apprehension,” Abel jokes.

  Mitch nervously chuckles.

  “If it’s alright, I wanted to let Mitch stay here with us until all this gets sorted out,” Smith says.

  “Of course,” Abel approves. “This ship has plenty of space, and soon the Malignant will send over technicians to put it back into its full glory.”

  Smith is unnerved by how cavalier Abel is about who exactly will fix the damaged vessel.

  “It’ll be alright,” Abel casually says. “This is how Our Contest is fought. We can trust them to be honest.”

  “If you say so, Abel,” Smith says.

  Mitch tugs at Smith’s arm to urge him along on the promised tour of a spaceship.

  “C’mon, baby, you promised.”

  “Okay, sure,” Smith states.

  He scans the bridge before leaving with Mitch and notices only Millantra is present. Her Malignant orange armor still sets Smith’s instincts to fight mode.

  “Where is everyone?” Smith asks Abel.

  “Flaimeson has most of them in the bay, awaiting the Malignant repairmen. DJ is still in med bay with Akio. Kimmy is on guard duty over Captain Jillarni.”

  “What about Votary?” Smith asks.

  “He’s in the ship’s conference room with the eight liberated prisoners.”

  “Let’s go,” Mitch pleads.

  “Just a second, honey,” Smith says. “How are the prisoners doing?”

  “They’re still nervous, especially around Flaimeson and Millantra. I thought it best to give them a few days to be free before speaking with them about becoming Templars. I hope they all stay. If Jillarni wanted them specifically, they must be important.”

  “If it was me, I’d want to be back on Earth by now,” Smith states.

  “They’ve been through a traumatic experience. Free range of the ship is a good transition, conside
ring they were prisoners with an uncertain future just a few days ago.”

  “Can we please go?” Mitch whispers.

  Abel offers a sympathetic smile.

  “I’ll see you later, Abel,” Smith says.

  He leads Mitch by the arm for a tour of the Vengeful ISH. Mitch acts a bit too conspicuous in his attempt to avoid any eye contact with Abel as they pass. Mitch flinches after nearly grazing Abel’s shoulder with his own.

  Votary sits at the head of a simple black table on an orange floor. His chair is orange with a long backrest and hovers eighteen inches above the floor. The chairs that line the table have the same appearance. The bright lights over the table enhance the glow of the chairs and floor. The whole scene produces a Halloween atmosphere.

  Sitting in the first four chairs on each side of the table are men and women of varying ages, genders, and ethnicities. They appear a mixture of anxiousness and excitement. Votary understands this. Being held captive by the Malignant was likely an ordeal. They clearly don’t want to be on the ship, but the star power of the world’s first superhero apparently captivates them.

  “Normally Seal Pup would handle this, but he’s unavailable at the moment,” Votary begins. “So, the task falls to me again.”

  “What task is that exactly?” a man in his early thirties asks.

  He’s a rugged man with calloused fisherman hands. He grips them together and flexes his various chest and arm muscles. This seems more like a nervous tic than vanity.

  “I’m very happy you asked,” Votary answers. “The Malignant wanted you eight people specifically, and that means you must be powerful augments. I’d like to know who you are and what you can do.”

  “Why?” the man asks.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” a woman in her late fifties asks. “They want to exploit us the same as that scientist did.”

  There are grumbles of agreement around the table as heads nod. Votary holds up a hand to silence them.

  “That’s true, but I’ll explain why you joining us is a good thing,” he says.

  “Explain first,” the man says.

  “No,” Votary responds, “Introductions first. I’m Votary, and my power is to eliminate other powers. Some of you may already know this because I’ve kept you in a negation bubble since you came in here. To show my willingness to trust you, I’ll take it down now, but please don’t do anything that’ll force me to bring it back up.”

  Votary scans the table to make sure his suggestion is agreed to.

  “Good,” Votary says. He indicates to the vocal man to his right. “Why don’t you go first?”

  The man looks back at Votary with little concern or fear. “Sure. My name is Dante Devine, and I’m from Belize—”

  Votary lifts a hand again and silences Dante mid-sentence.

  “Just name and power, please. The other Templars will ask about the rest, but our time is short, and I frankly don’t care enough about your life stories.”

  Votary’s candor doesn’t seem well received. He doesn’t care. He nods, indicating that Dante should finish.

  “Sure, Votary,” he grumbles with conspicuous contempt. “We’ll play it your way. I’m Dante Devine, and I turn into smoke.”

  “That’s it?” Votary asks.

  Dante appears somewhat hesitant to continue. The elderly woman urges him.

  “Just tell him, Xibalba.”

  Votary is intrigued by the second name.

  “So, you’ve all given yourself code names already?”

  He receives sheepish nods as an affirmative.

  “We had to talk about something trivial to keep our minds occupied from the reality of aliens kidnapping us,” Dante answers.

  “Excellent. I prefer them. Xibalba, from Belize, let me guess; there’s a bit more than just turning into smoke?”

  Dante somberly nods. “You seem to know your Mayan mythology.”

  “I’m somewhat familiar with it,” Votary admits.

  “You’re correct,” Dante says. “There are demons that live within the smoke. I can’t control them. In fact, I feel like I’m merely a portal to Xibalba, but they don’t harm me.”

  “Then how were you captured?” Votary asks.

  “I was having dinner with my family when they came. If I had smoked up, they would have all died. Horrible deaths.”

  Votary nods. “Double alliteration and a name with a power that closely ties to it. Lottery will love you.”

  Dante shrugs.

  “How about you?” Votary asks the woman in her mid-twenties next to Dante.

  She’s tall, thin, and pretty. Her nails and makeup look professionally applied.

  “My name is Melissa Phillips, but my friends call me Mel.”

  “Or?” Votary urges.

  Melissa blushes. “Or Swap.”

  “Why Swap?”

  “Because I can transfer the augmentation between two people. Xibalba would have invisibility and Hide would have smoke demons until I switch them back.”

  “Fascinating,” Votary remarks. “So who’s Hide?”

  “That would be me,” the tattooed man in his mid-thirties next to Melissa says with a raised hand. “I’m Greg Crawford. I can turn myself and anything near me invisible.”

  “So can our armor,” Votary says.

  “Not as well as me. We can still see you in your armor if you look at it just right. When I go invisible, nothing sees me, no matter how close nor how much I move. The sound I make is reduced, too.”

  “Excellent,” Votary says. “Please continue.”

  The last person down the right side of the table shifts in preparation to speak. He’s in his late twenties with a military-style buzz cut and steely dark eyes.

  “I’m James Larsen, but you may call me Mag Pulse. I can create EMP bursts. Pretty big ones, too, from my personal experiments.”

  “Meaning what?” Votary asks.

  “I knocked out all electronics in Killeen, Texas. The whole city went dark because of me.”

  “Impressive,” Votary states. “I think I remember hearing about that a few weeks ago.”

  James sits taller in his seat and smiles until Votary finishes his comment.

  “I hope nobody died because a pacemaker went offline or a plane fell from the sky.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that,” James admits.

  He looks sheepishly at the table until Votary shifts his attention.

  Votary transitions to the left side of the table. “And you are?”

  The target of his question is a man in his early sixties. He has a clean-shaven head and the advanced stages of a beer belly.

  “I’m Dale Riley. These jokers claim I’m also called Mule.”

  “Because you’re big and strong?” Votary genuinely asks.

  “Nah, nothing like that. I can transform into any combination of two animals.”

  “I see.” Votary nods. “Like a horse and a donkey.”

  “Exactly,” Dale answers. “Though, I prefer to go a little more exotic, like a skunk and a penguin.”

  The group chuckles at the absurd beast.

  “It may be hard to top that one,” Votary says to the woman seated next to Dale.

  She’s the elderly woman who urged Dante to reveal his code name. She’s thin with streaks of gray through her hair and no makeup.

  “My name is Mary Lee Hawthorne.”

  Mary Lee pauses. She clearly doesn’t want to commit to something.

  “Just own it,” Greg says.

  “Fine,” she says through clenched teeth. “My call sign is Roids. I can amplify any other augment’s power to one hundred times its normal limit. Apparently, that makes me a drug.”

  Votary scoffs at the claim. “How do you know the limit of the magnification?”

  “That scientist did
a lot of tests on us. It’s just the figure that he quoted.”

  “Was this scientist a huge man with a red beard going into his armor?” Votary asks.

  Mary Lee nods. “He was. I have to admit that I was shocked when I saw him walking around the ship days after you released us.”

  “Flaimeson is on our side. He was a spy for Father. You can trust him,” Votary insists.

  “Well, as long as you say so,” Dante says with only half humor.

  Votary ignores the man and moves down the line to the tall man with tight muscles and tattoos covering almost all exposed skin. “Who are you and what do you do?”

  The man scratches at his scraggily beard before answering. “My name’s Dan Moffett. You can call me Thumbnail when on mission, and I truly hope you take me on one soon. Those bastards have got it coming.”

  “What exactly do you do that I want you on a mission, Thumbnail?” Votary asks.

  “Anything I draw, I can pull into the real world. I’m a pretty good artist, too.”

  “Very useful. Make sure you always have a pen and sketch pad handy,” Votary says.

  The short and thin woman at the end of the table doesn’t look at Votary. She, along with Melissa, is the youngest person present. She plays with her long brown hair and nibbles on the edges.

  “Your turn, ma’am,” Votary says.

  She ignores him.

  “You don’t have to stay with us, but you can’t leave until you answer my two simple questions.”

  The woman still ignores Votary. He slams his fist onto the table, easily cracking the delicate wood in the process. This unexpected burst of violence jolts all eight former prisoners in their chairs. The woman covers her face as she tries to hide her terror and her tears.

  “Just tell him who you are, Staci,” James pleads.

  “She crying again?” Greg asks with contempt. “Ow! Shit, bitch!”

  Greg jumps from the table with the clear intent of attacking Staci. Instead, he crumbles to the floor and writhes around from the assault of an invisible tormentor. He screams as he does. Votary is intrigued by what takes place. He quickly ends the mysterious attack when he pushes out his negation bubble.