The Cloak Society

by Jeramey Kraatz

  “Show me what?” Alex asked.

  Shade helped her son to his feet. He was wobbly at first, but was able to stand and walk without the support of his parents. She led him to the back of the snack bar once again, where she stopped before the box.

  “I can’t do anything else today . . . ,” Alex started. As he spoke, Shade produced a key from one of her pockets and removed the container’s lock.

  “Open it,” she said.

  Hesitantly Alex bent down and lifted the lid. The rusted hinges creaked. Inside, the box was empty except for a few handfuls of gravel.

  “Where’s the generator?” Alex asked, confused.

  “Titan moved it,” Shade said flatly. “It was part of his training a few days ago. This box you couldn’t lift weighed twenty pounds, at most.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Alex said, still trying to wrap his mind around what he was seeing. “I tried as hard as I could.”

  “And you couldn’t do it,” his mother said. “But when you were in danger just now, you displayed incredible power. You were acting on instinct to save yourself. That’s what we have to fix. You need to channel that power into something you can control at will. What were you feeling when you created that force field?”

  “I just didn’t want to get hurt.”

  “And?” Shade asked.

  “Fear,” Alex said after a pause. “And anger.”

  “Good,” Shade said. “It’s not your thoughts that fuel your telekinesis, Alex. It’s your feelings. You have to learn to use that anger—that hatred—against your enemies.”

  “And you had to shoot at me and lie to me to prove this point,” Alex said, his hands curling into fists at his sides. If anger was truly what fueled his powers, he felt as if he could flatten the entire drive-in at that moment.

  “You are the only thing keeping you from reaching your full potential, Alex,” Shade said. “We had to show you.”

  “Are we done with this session?” Alex asked. “I think I’d like to go inside.”

  “Of course,” his mother replied.

  Alex walked toward the elevator, his muscles knotted and sore. He trembled from the combination of stress and anger and exertion.

  “Alex,” his mother called to him before he rounded the corner of the snack bar.

  He turned to see her standing close to his father, her right hand raised up beside her face.

  “For the glory,” she said.

  Alex stared back at her, then turned away.

  9

  The Gloom

  Alex woke with a start. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the training exercise had been so strenuous that he’d passed out as soon as he got back to his room. Rolling over, blinking, he looked at the space where his alarm clock usually sat before remembering the accident earlier in the week. Attempting to shake off his sleepiness, he crept over to his desk and picked up his wristwatch. It was a few minutes after eleven p.m. He’d just taken a six-hour nap.

  Wonderful, he thought. Now I’m going to be up all night.

  Alex sat down in his desk chair and spun around a few times, taking an inventory of his room, wondering what he should do. Thoughts of the afternoon rushed to his head. The more he tried to ignore them, the stronger they became. That embarrassing empty box. The rubber bullets. His anger at his mother and father. And at the same time, all the shame and regret he had in connection to Kirbie—for saving her, and for failing to do anything about their accidental meeting—pitted themselves in his stomach.

  Potential. It was a word his parents often used when talking about him. They had never tried to hide their hope that he would grow to be the most powerful member of Cloak, and while this had thrilled Alex, he had never really believed it possible. How could he hope to fare against a behemoth like Titan, whose powers were such that he was always Titan? Now Alex had exhibited impressive strength, but it had served only to confuse him. How was he supposed to deal with a problem that was in his head?

  Shuffling through some papers on his desk, he found the photograph his father had given him the day after his birthday. With all the excitement about the news broadcast that night, he had forgotten all about it.

  Alex scrounged for a thumbtack and pinned the photo up on his wall with his other pictures and news clippings. He stepped back, staring at the photo of his grandfather, the man who had died for Cloak and therefore for Alex. Perhaps if his grandfather were still around, he could teach Alex the secret to living up to his full potential and making his parents smile like they had in the photograph. After all, he was the man who’d led the charge at Victory Park, the one responsible for banishing all those Rangers to the Gloom. If anyone represented all that the Cloak Society stood for, surely it was him.

  What could he do to prove himself worthy of being his grandfather’s descendant?

  Proof, Alex thought. That’s all I need.

  He wanted to get out of his room for a bit and clear his head. If he was lucky, Gage was still awake and tinkering around his workshop. Maybe his friend would sneak him to the surface for a while, or at least brainstorm ways to help get him back on the attack team. It was late, and Alex walked lightly in the hallway, his footsteps padding on the cement, and called the elevator.

  Unfortunately, Gage wasn’t in his workshop, but Alex decided to wait for him. He walked around, running his fingers over a few objects scattered on Gage’s worktables, wondering what they might do. He picked a laser rifle up off a counter and peered through its scope. Apart from his mother, Cloak members rarely used such things, but Alex was well trained with them nonetheless, and the base was stocked full of all kinds of weapons so that in the unlikely event of an attack, the Unibands could take up arms. As he held the rifle, he imagined scores of loyal soldiers following him into battle, brandishing Cloak weaponry. Maybe when they took Sterling City, he could set up his own security detail—his own personal fleet of knights.

  Alex’s arm caught a metal rod hanging off a counter, sending a shower of screws and wires and a small metal cube falling to the floor. A light on one of the box’s sides began to blink, accompanied by a quiet hum. After a few seconds, the light faded, as did the noise, but Alex remained frozen until he was sure he hadn’t accidentally activated some sort of miniature bomb. Carefully he picked the objects up off the floor and set down the rifle. His heart racing, he made his way to the center workspace, keeping his fingers tucked in at his sides as he progressed.

  Blueprints, sketches, and notes were spread about the table. Alex recognized Gage’s handwriting on them. Alex had no idea what the notes meant—he wasn’t sure half the words were English—but the drawings and blueprints were easier to understand. As he flipped through a worn notebook, he saw page after page of sketches showing modifications of the same weapon, with notes jotted hastily off to the side of each one.

  It wasn’t like Gage to go through so many drafts of a single item. Usually he just sat thinking about a design for as long as necessary and then produced a single, final schematic.

  Underneath the notebook was a piece of yellowing paper covered with a different handwriting, not unlike Gage’s. A single word jumped off the page at Alex: Umbra. He was looking at one of the few notes Gage’s father had left about the weapon. A chill of excitement raced down Alex’s spine.

  The drawing only served to remind him of the impending mission. And once more, his mind was flooded with every mistake he’d made in the past week. The vault door. The empty box. Kirbie.

  It was then that Alex realized there was a simple solution to all his problems. Kirbie had been at the root of it all, had been the reason he was suspended to begin with. And he knew where she was. Alone—on night duty at Victory Park. Not only that, he had told her such an exquisite lie that he could easily catch her off guard. To her, he was a possible ally. He could exploit her weakness and capture her. What better way to prove that he was worthy of being a member of Cloak than by presenting the girl who had caused him so much trouble to the High Council?<
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  Excitement surged through him. Around him, he could feel the air crackle and pop with blue light. The only problem was how to get to the park. He could maybe get Gage to send him aboveground through the elevator, but he’d still be miles and miles away from his destination. He needed something quick. Something clandestine.

  The safe house. It was located close to the eastern edge of Victory Park, hidden in an inconspicuous office building, and served as their rendezvous point if a mission ever went sour or an emergency befell a Cloak member within the city. But more importantly, there was a way to travel between the safe house and the underground base without setting off any alarms.

  His eyes fell on the Gassers and Blackout Bombs that Gage had shown him. He called one of each with his thoughts and placed them in separate back pockets. He could use the Gasser to take Kirbie down, and the Blackout Bomb if he needed a quick cover beneath the streetlights. The safe house was close enough to Victory Park that he could conceivably float her back without running into anyone on the street. Blending into darkness and evading detection were two of the first skills perfected by members of Cloak, after all. And if he did meet with trouble, well, he was a member of the most powerful secret society in the world—it wouldn’t be a problem. All he had to do was take the initiative.

  Before he could talk himself out of it, Alex went briskly to the exit.

  He peeked outside and, seeing no one, walked farther down the wing to an unmarked door at the end of the hall. Beside it a rectangular electronic screen was mounted on the wall. He held his right hand up to the screen and pressed his palm against it. The mark of Cloak tingled in response, cold, bubbling to the surface. The screen flashed for a moment, and then the door slid open.

  He stared into the blackness before him, knowing not to bother searching for a light switch. As he stepped inside, the door closed behind him as a dim bulb flickered on above him, lighting the room only enough for him to make out the steel walls and concrete floor. It was hardly bigger than a broom closet. The only thing of note was a square inset in the wall across from the entrance, which seemed to gleam with an eerie light of its own. Alex’s hand tingled, as if the box in the wall was calling to him. The black skull and hood surfaced again on the palm of his hand.

  Alex was looking at one of Gage’s father’s greatest inventions: a transportation device that utilized Phantom’s dark energy and mimicked the workings of her power—a byproduct of his work on the Umbra Gun. The transporter was generally used for emergency purposes only, but also served as a discreet way for people like Misty’s mother to visit the compound.

  Alex stood for a moment, telling himself that traveling through the Gloom was a small price to pay for the chance to be back on the team. He could feel the box pulling at his palm with some invisible force, like a powerful magnet, calling him to step forward. Slowly he moved his hand toward the black recess. The force grew, until Alex wasn’t sure that he could jerk away even if he wanted to. The darkness embedded in his palm grew over the back of his hand as it entered the box. Black energy expanded until it covered his wrist, shimmering like ink as it began to snake its way up his arm. It traveled up to his shoulder and across his chest, sending chills all over his body. Within a few seconds he was almost entirely covered. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as the energy moved over his face and head. Before he could give it a second thought, he was sucked into the Gloom.

  The weightlessness and freezing, right down to his core, were the same as they had been in the Gloom just days before. But the rate at which Alex floated through the plane was slower without Phantom pulling him along. The wind passed like a strong breeze instead of a tempest, allowing him to breathe normally. The air was thin and cold, stinging his nostrils. His right palm was outstretched, and he could feel it being guided across the barren place to the other side of Sterling City.

  Again, the sounds of moaning—of anguish—drifted through the air. Alex told himself it was just the wind and his overactive imagination. Against his better judgment, he opened his eyes, wondering if he could get an idea of how close he was to the safe house. Faint light filtered in from overhead, and Alex’s eyes adjusted to the Gloom. Suddenly he was getting his first real look at the hidden realm. Where before he could make out only swirls of darkness, he now saw distinct shapes. Structures that looked like they were built solely from shadows lay in ruins, as if at some point civilization had actually existed there and people had constructed shelters from its ruins. And there were other things, too: stones and bricks and plants that looked like they had come from Alex’s world and been left there. He wondered if this was Phantom’s doing. If the Gloom was a land over which she could truly be queen, she might have built a kingdom for herself over the years.

  As he traveled, the sounds of howling and yelling became louder, until it was impossible for Alex to tell himself that it was just the wind. Something was alive in the Gloom. With every passing second the volume grew louder, terrifying Alex, who looked around frantically for the source of the cries. There were nothing but shadows and half-formed hovels barely standing out against the pools of darkness that made up the landscape.

  Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Something was walking out of the blackness. Squinting, he could make out a wan figure in the distance. Its face was gaunt and skeletal with sunken, lifeless eyes. It opened its mouth, and the same howling noise he’d heard on the way back from the bank mission pounded on his eardrums. Alex couldn’t look away—could barely breathe—as he came to the terrifying realization that this was probably someone from his world stranded there by Phantom. Alex couldn’t help but wonder if he was looking at one of the Rangers of Justice who had been beaten in Victory Park ten years before, left to wander the Gloom endlessly. He’d been celebrating the Umbra Gun for the past week but had never stopped to think what it meant to be banished into such a purgatory, doomed to wander undying. And for how long? Forever? No one knew.

  Alex couldn’t stand it any longer. He closed his eyes and covered his ears and wished the horrible vision away.

  10

  Full Color

  When Alex opened his eyes again, he was in a small room almost identical to the one in the underground base. The overhead lights burned dimly. He trembled, horrified by what he’d just seen, and hurried over to the electronic screen on the wall, shoving his palm against it. All he wanted to do was get far away from the Gloom. After a flash, the wall before him shifted and a panel slid aside.

  He stumbled into the new room. The transporter was hidden in the back of a long closet, where he now stood, flanked on both sides by dark-colored clothing. Alex hurried through, his hands pushing over the hanging shirts and pants and jackets, sending several of them falling to the floor. Then he headed through the master bedroom, furnished only with a bed and dresser, and into the rest of the apartment. He collapsed on a sofa—one of the few objects in the sparsely decorated living area—and tried to calm down. Cloak members of all rank and order traveled the Gloom on a daily basis, he told himself. So what if the Rangers of Justice were slowly rotting away there? They were his enemies. It was okay. Everything would be okay.

  Despite these thoughts, Alex couldn’t calm down. He needed to be outside, where there was fresh air and open space and the shadows didn’t move on their own. The safe house was located in the basement of a building owned by a subsidiary of Cloak, and the building manager and staff were all paid enough to turn a blind eye to the “storage space” secured behind an electronic lock. Alex found another blank screen beside a door in the living room and waved his palm in front of it. With a loud click, the thick metal door moved toward him an inch, and he pulled it open to reveal the dank cement floor of the building’s basement. Alex pulled the door shut behind him and made his way up the stairs to his right, which led to the street. There was a wrought-iron gate blocking his way, but with a little concentration, he felt out the innards of the simple locking mechanism, and one metallic click later, he was standing on
the sidewalk of downtown Sterling City.

  Alex gasped for air, his body feeling light from the relief of being outdoors. He stared up happily at the full moon, surrounded by thick clouds. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. The city at night—at least this part of it—was practically monochromatic, all varying shades of gray brick giving way to sidewalk and asphalt. The office building sat in the middle of a narrow, one-way block, lit only by the streetlamps that dotted the sidewalk infrequently. Alex could see why this location had been chosen. The street was quiet and offered large patches of darkness in which to hide.

  He pushed all thoughts of the Gloom out of his mind and stepped into the street, getting his bearings, rehearsing what he might say to Kirbie while he waited for the perfect moment to hit her with the Gasser. In the distance, he could see Justice Tower rising out of the cultural district just north of Victory Park. The opaque dome on its top blazed, piercing the sky with a shaft of light.

  He kept his guard up and head down as he walked the few blocks to the park, though he passed no one. The financial district was quiet this time of night, but Alex was ready to slip into an alley at the first sign of trouble. A block from the park, he passed a building facade under construction and fenced in by tall panels of plywood. Pasted up on these boards were oversized posters, each featuring an adult member of the Rangers of Justice, chins held high, gazing triumphantly into the distance. At the bottom of each was a single word, printed in red, white, or blue. JUSTICE. TRUTH. PEACE. Alex glanced around, then ripped them all down with a single sharp thought.

  Victory Park sat quiet, dark for the most part and closed for the night. He knew that most people thought the park was dangerous after sunset, swarming with ruffians and modern bandits of all sorts, but to Alex it looked inviting—common muggers and thieves had more to fear from him, after all.

  Though he’d studied maps and knew the layout fairly well, Alex had never actually set foot in Victory Park before. He’d seen much of Sterling City on his Thursday afternoons or the other rare occasions that his parents took him out, but all requests to spend an afternoon in the park had been denied. The council had no desire to parade the Betas around the site of their greatest defeat. The place was a mess of paths and small roads intertwining throughout five hundred acres, and Alex chose one that seemed to run alongside Victory Circle, the street that bordered the park. The gravel beneath his feet gave a satisfying crunch to his footfalls, and he walked slowly, savoring his time, wondering if he should cause some sort of commotion to signal to Kirbie that he was there. Would she be in her wolf form, stalking through the trees? No, he thought. Tactically she’d do better as a bird, flying overhead with keen eyes.