Lincoln felt the first stirrings of his own anger. “No. Like I said, I was just there. It was Vortex who actually beat the guy. Bright lights never seem to bother him.”
Shockwave was in the middle of drying his face and hands, and this tidbit stalled him. For the briefest of moments, it looked like he might actually apologize to Lincoln ... but then his “angry face” morphed back into place, and he settled for a dismissive snort. Kicking his discarded T-shirt off into a corner, he moved to leave the locker room, and Lincoln stood aside to let him past.
Lincoln made one final effort to extend an olive branch. “Like you said, at least you got the sun guy. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help out with the other two.”
Bad move.
Shockwave zeroed in on Lincoln until he was standing uncomfortably close. Lincoln was the larger man, but he wasn’t as practiced at confrontation as Shockwave — he retreated a step, which put his back against the locker room wall.
Shockwave seethed, “I don’t want your help, ‘Powerhouse’ — ever. Things were a lot better around here before you came along and started showing off and hoggin’ all the glory.” He looked Lincoln up and down, his lips curling in distaste. “Hell, you started out as a goddamn rogue. No one else seems to remember that, but I do.” He sneered at Lincoln. “So take your ‘sorry’ and shove it up your ass.”
Lincoln stayed quiet. What could he possibly say in response to that?
Then Shockwave made his own bad move. He cut loose with one more, bitter-filled guffaw, muttered, “Get the hell out of my way,” and, quite unnecessarily, shoved Lincoln’s shoulder as though he needed more room to pass.
That was it. All of Lincoln’s frustrations came to a head — months of putting up with mistreatment from Shockwave; brooding over his changing powers and what they meant; dwelling on whether or not he truly belonged with the PCA: In that instant, Lincoln had taken all the abuse he was going to take from Mark Westmore.
As Shockwave turned his back and headed for the locker room exit, Lincoln reached up, placed his hand between Shockwave’s shoulder blades, and shoved.
The shove propelled Shockwave through the door — the fact that it normally swung inward made little difference as the hinges and doorjamb simultaneously gave way and Shockwave disappeared from sight.
Lincoln stormed after him.
Shockwave, down on all fours about a dozen feet away, shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He didn’t seem to realize what had just happened, so Lincoln decided to clarify it for him.
Several agents, spread out over the gym — lifting weights, jogging, chatting — reacted to the noise, took in the scene, and immediately backed away.
Shockwave shook his head again and pushed himself up to his knees just as Lincoln reached him. “Did you just—?”
That was as far as Shockwave got. Lincoln grabbed him by the jaw and hoisted him to his feet, forcing him up onto his toes as Lincoln brought him to eye level.
Lincoln kept his voice low, but made no effort to hide his anger. “Listen, asshole. You’ve treated me like shit for the last time. You had a bad day? Fine, whatever. You want me not to care if you walk in here all messed up and bloody? Not a problem. But I’m tired of walking on eggshells around you. You’d better start showing me—”
And that was as far as Lincoln got.
A blur rippled around the lower half of Shockwave’s face, and Lincoln’s hand was jolted open. Before he could react, Shockwave slammed a fist into his gut — he held nothing back as the added shockwave hit Lincoln right in the solar plexus. Lincoln’s eyes bulged at the very well-aimed attack, and the gym echoed with his cough as the breath exploded from his lungs. He was thrown back against the locker room wall — had his dense flesh not absorbed so much of the kinetic force, he likely would’ve smashed through the wall and kept right on going.
“Hey, Powerhouse! Shockwave!” called a brave Lieutenant, though he did so from a safe distance. “Come on, you guys aren’t supposed to ... you know, cut loose in here. Take it to the testing vault, all right?”
Shockwave glared over at the Lieutenant. “Mind your business, dumbass.”
The Lieutenant joined his comrades in their hasty retreat from the premises.
An alarm went off somewhere outside, but to Lincoln’s rushing ears, it sounded much further away. Now it was his turn to shake his head as he climbed to his feet. He fought against another winded cough as he saw that Shockwave had kicked off his tennis shoes.
Jesus, he’s going to turn this into a real thing, isn’t he? Not that Lincoln had room to complain, since he was the one who had turned this physical.
Forcing himself to draw a tight, painful breath, Lincoln tried to act as if Shockwave’s attack hadn’t hurt him at all. “Not bad,” he commented as he moved away from the wall, out into the open room. “But if that’s all you got, no wonder you got hurt today.”
Shockwave said nothing, but charged straight at him.
Lincoln spread his arms and crouched slightly, getting ready to snatch Shockwave up in a bear hug and hold him there. But at the last instant, Shockwave jumped up and to Lincoln’s left, taking so much air he must have sent a kinetic burst from his feet. And before Lincoln could turn with him, Shockwave struck him with another wave-enhanced punch, this time to the side of the head, catching him in the left ear.
Gritting his teeth against the unexpected pain, Lincoln clutched the side of his head as his eyes watered. Blinking to clear his vision, he heard Shockwave’s taunt from behind him.
“Worry about your own ass, ‘Powerhouse.’ I’ve been doin’ this longer than you.”
Lincoln swung around, hoping to catch Shockwave before he could back away, but he missed entirely, throwing himself off balance.
“Not bad,” he heard Shockwave say from his right, mocking him with his own words. “Can you keep goin’, big guy?”
As Lincoln’s vision finally cleared, the first thing he saw was Shockwave coming up from a crouch right in front of him. This time he made no actual physical contact with Lincoln, but he mimed an uppercut that sent his next attack into Lincoln’s face, and part of the shockwave went straight up his nose. Lincoln’s sinuses exploded with agony as they clogged shut.
Damn it! He’s really thought this out. How much does this guy hate me? What did I ever do to him, for God’s sake?!
Stumbling back, Lincoln stepped hard on something that crumbled under his foot but still managed to throw him off balance. He saw that it was a dumbbell even as he fell on his ass next to a workout bench. Grabbing the bench with one hand, he tossed it at Shockwave as though it weighed nothing.
Shockwave swatted the approaching bench aside with a casual wave from the back of his hand. He was grinning now, really enjoying himself. “Get up,” he chided. “No way I’m lettin’ you quit yet.”
Very leery, Lincoln rose, blinking, sniffling, trying not to cough or rub at his aching ear. He took a boxer’s stance; partly to prepare for delivering a blow, partly to block the next assault with a forearm if he could. What sensitive areas did he have left? His groin? Should he keep his arms low?
Shockwave had also assumed a boxer’s stance, though he was bouncing on his feet, bursting with energy. What happened to the worn-out, bloodied man from before?
Shockwave bounced closer, his hands waving side to side. Lincoln watched them, waiting for the next attack — if he could manage to shrug it off (something he would’ve taken for granted just a few minutes ago), maybe he could get his arms around Shockwave after all.
Shockwave’s left hand clenched into a fist, dipping lower. Then the right hand did the same, but thrust straight forward. Aimed at his throat?
Lincoln only had the barest instant to register the rippling that emitted from Shockwave’s forehead before the wave drilled into his eyes. Bellowing in agony, his hands grabbed at his face. He hadn’t felt pain like this since before he went paranormal — only his palms pressing against his dry cheeks assured him that his eyes hadn’t burs
t right out of his head!
“Shouldn’t’ve paid so much attention to my hands,” he heard Shockwave chuckling.
But this time, Shockwave’s smart mouth cost him. Keeping his eyes closed, ignoring the pain as best he could, Lincoln feigned a crumple to the floor before leaping toward the voice, his arms spread wide. He was rewarded with an exclamation of “Shit!” from Shockwave and the feel of a limb against his left hand. Gripping hard, he scrambled to pull his opponent in. Shockwave tried to force his hand away with a wave as he did before, but Lincoln was ready for it this time.
Shockwave then tried a large kinetic wave against him, but without his brutal focal points, Lincoln was strong and invulnerable enough to endure it; he heard a loud crash behind them as different gym equipment was knocked asunder by the wave’s spill from around his body. They were both twisted around at random as Shockwave’s leaking attacks propelled them to one side and then the other, up and then down. But Lincoln held on.
“What the hell is your problem with me?!” he snapped in Shockwave’s ear. “ ‘Showing off and hogging all the glory’? You really think I care about the goddamn glory?”
Shockwave didn’t answer right away, but bucked as though he was going to try butting his head against Lincoln’s face ... and instead managed to finally launch the anticipated attack straight into Lincoln’s groin.
Ah, man, Lincoln groaned inwardly as he felt Shockwave slip free. He rolled over onto his side, cradling his latest wounded area. I knew it, I knew he would go there. Ow ...
As Lincoln pushed himself to all fours and tried not to vomit, he heard Shockwave finally respond, “Bullshit. Who you tryin’ to fool? Of course you want the glory! You hate it when you have to work with me, ‘cause you want to be the PCA’s golden boy!”
Golden boy. Lincoln was getting really tired of that label.
Eyes still closed, teeth clenched against the pain, Lincoln rose to his knees and slapped his palms together, hard, in Shockwave’s direction. It might not have been a special “power” of his, but he remembered Westmore’s complaining about his ringing ears.
The loud noise, which broke several of the gym’s windows, stung Lincoln’s one bad ear, but it hit Shockwave in both of his. He heard Shockwave swear, followed by a calamitous crashing as he apparently fell against and knocked over more exercise equipment. Lincoln blinked a few times, and through his hazy vision, he saw Shockwave rolling around, cursing nonstop as he rocked back and forth amidst a fallen pile of free weights and clutching at both of his barked and bloody shins — his nose was bleeding again, too.
It looked like Shockwave might finally be staying down, thank God.
Lincoln climbed to his feet and called, “ ‘Golden boy’? ‘Hate working with you’? Just how stupid are you? I’m just trying to do my job, you idiot! And do you think I’ve forgotten that I was a rogue? I was forced to work for McLane — forced because he kidnapped my little brother and sister!” Shaking his head in disgust, he added, “Having to work with an insecure prick like you barely registers.”
Shockwave didn’t respond, but he had stopped rocking and swearing.
For a tempting second, Lincoln considered running over there and making sure that he stayed down ... but instead, he steered his aching body toward the locker room. He looked back once more to say, “I looked up to you guys, all of you. You, Lieutenant Takayasu, Vortex ... I thought you guys were something special. But you know what? You? You’re no better than that thug, Graham. You’re just a bully.” He shook his head in disgust and turned away, adding over his shoulder. “And I’m done taking your bullshit.”
Okay. Pretty good exit line, I think ... if he stays down.
And Lincoln had nearly reached the broken locker room door when he heard Shockwave roar, “Powerhouse!”
Lincoln sighed, “Shit ... seriously?”
Shockwave was indeed back on his feet. A furious, ferocious mask eclipsed his face, and the air rippled wildly around both clenched fists — he was gearing up for one hell of a kinetic wave.
“All right, then,” Lincoln said in a quiet voice. He considered, with much regret, that he might end up having to kill Shockwave after all. He didn’t want to, he really didn’t, but if it came down to a choice between himself or—
“Mark! What the hell are you doing?!”
Lincoln was startled, but Shockwave cringed as if slapped, and his building power faded in an instant as Lieutenant Takayasu marched toward him. Ensign Pendler wasn’t far behind, and a dozen or more PCA personnel were peeking around corners and sneaking their way forward.
Lincoln wasn’t the only one to notice that last part. Takayasu had just reached Shockwave when he spun on his heel and barked, “Show’s over! Clear the room!”
The audience vanished. A few seconds later, the alarm that had been wailing outside this whole time finally shut off.
Shockwave kept his eyes on the floor and appeared a couple of inches shorter as Takayasu turned back to him. “This? This is your idea of a good afternoon after the morning we had at the pit?”
“It’s not like that, Mike—”
“Really? Okay, help me understand, then. I get an emergency call that my partner and another paranormal asset are tearing the gym apart like a couple of super-powered hooligans. And you know, somehow Lincoln over there doesn’t strike me as the prime suspect for having started it!”
Pendler reached Lincoln and asked in a low voice, “You okay?”
Lincoln shrugged and answered, “I will be.” But his attention was mainly on the ass-chewing Takayasu was giving Shockwave. Why wasn’t Shockwave pointing the finger? He was just ... taking it.
Great. Shockwave might be an asshole, but Lincoln couldn’t let him take all the heat for this. He slowly made his way over to them.
“So correct me if I’m wrong, Mark,” Takayasu was saying, his voice about one decibel below yelling. “Am I wrong? Did Powerhouse actually start this? Huh?”
Eyes lowered, Shockwave shook his head.
Takayasu was about to continue the tongue-lashing when Lincoln shocked them both by saying, “Yeah, Lieutenant, I did.” Takayasu whirled around to gape at him. “I started it. This was my doing.”
Pendler blurted, “You’re kidding!”
Shockwave straightened up. “That’s not right, Mike. He mighta pushed me first, but I started the argument. This is my fault.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Takayasu snapped. “What the hell is this now?! When Pendler and I ran in here, you guys were about two seconds from killing each other, and now you both want to take the blame?” He closed his eyes, raised his hands, and pulled at his hair in frustration. “I’m serious, if you both weren’t technically volunteers and too damned valuable to lose, I’d have both of you thrown—!” He was cut off when both his and Pendler’s phones chirped an unfamiliar alarm. He rolled his eyes. “You have got to be kidding me!” He snatched his phone from his pocket and started scrolling.
“Mike,” Shockwave asked, still sounding quite sheepish, “what is it?”
“I got one like it this morning,” Pendler answered. “It’s—”
Takayasu cut in, “There’s another breakout in progress.”
Shockwave was flabbergasted. “Wait, seriously? From the pit again?”
“No, this one’s happening on the south side, the police holding pen for paranormal suspects.”
Lincoln glanced at Pendler. “Don’t they usually just keep Class Twos in there?”
“Usually, yeah ...”
Takayasu put his phone away. “I guess we’re about to find out. You two,” he added, “are not off the hook — we will be discussing this later. Now move your asses!”
They moved their asses.
TAKAYASU AND SHOCKWAVE
Around 3:45 that afternoon, Michael dragged his tired ass into the synod with a demoralized Mark in tow.
These days, the synods were held in an amphitheater-style room that was much larger than the meeting room from the old PCA headquarter
s. Even though the setting was different, Michael always experienced uncomfortable déjà vu when coming to these gatherings, accompanied by frightening “flashbacks” to the day the whole damn building blew up — a terrorist attack which only he and Shockwave survived, and he only made the list because Mark saved him.
Borrowed time, he thought. Even after a year, it still sometimes feels like I’m living on borrowed time.
This had turned into one shitty day. While seeing Christine again that morning had gone far better than he would’ve dared to hope, everything had gone downhill since. First the prisonbreak at the rogue pit, then his own partner and the other leading paranormal agent had a stupid, schoolyard fight that trashed the hell out of the gym (oh, how he couldn’t wait to hear about that from Captain Brunn!), and then they rushed down to the police holding pen, only to arrive too late — four paranormal detainees had gotten loose and disappeared. Thankfully, none of them appeared to be Class One, but they had all been superhumanly skilled enough to slip away from the regular police officers who comprised the majority of the holding pen staff. One of them left behind a trail of organic oil after “skating” away on it as she created it, and another had been able to explode his hair like a dandelion, leaving fine layers of dust-like grime everywhere — which, to add salt to the wound, mixed with the other rogue’s oil to create a nasty filth that they would be cleaning up for weeks! Very little harm done, arguably, in the big scheme of things — all four had only been arrested for “public nuisance” or equivalent misdemeanors — but it added to the debacle that began that morning. Because even though they arrived after the action was all over, who was the highest ranking field agent to sign off on the scene? Lieutenant Michael Takayasu. Nice.
Of course, the real bottom line was this: In the field, Michael enjoyed far more success than failure, and he’d had very few professional days as bad as this one.
Michael took a seat a few table rows from the back, and Mark plopped down next to him. Mark was sullen about this day, too. He was right alongside Michael during the breakout at the pit, but because he was the paranormal agent, he felt it was more his failure than his partner’s. And after his thorough ass-chewing, he was pretty shamefaced over his throw-down with Powerhouse — partly because he had failed to get the best of Powerhouse (something he’d secretly always felt he could do), but mainly because he knew what an embarrassment it was to Michael. Even when Powerhouse showed up for the meeting sporting a noticeable bruise along the side of his jaw and the slightest hint of a pair of black eyes, not even that was enough to make up for how miserable Mark felt.
Paranormals (Book 2): We Are Not Alone Page 16
