SUPERPOWERED: Are YOU a Superhero or Supervillain? (Click Your Poison Book 3)

by James Schannep

  SUPERPOWERED

  A Click Your Poison book

  by

  James Schannep

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Popular culture elements were used to give a sense of time and place or out of parody.

  Copyright © 2015 by James Schannep

  All rights reserved.

  Kindle Edition

  www.jamesschannep.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Schannep, James, 1984—

  SUPERPOWERED: a Click Your Poison book / James Schannep

  COVER ART BY BRIAN SILVEIRA

  Click Your Poison Books

  INFECTED—Will YOU Survive the Zombie Apocalypse?

  MURDERED—Can YOU Solve the Mystery?

  SUPERPOWERED—Will YOU Be a Hero or a Villain?

  PATHOGENS—More Zombocalypse Survival Stories!

  MAROONED—Can YOU Endure Treachery and Survival on the High Seas?

  SPIED (coming in 2019)—Can YOU Save the World as a Secret Agent?

  * More titles coming soon! *

  Sign up for the new release mailing list

  Or visit the author’s blog at www.jamesschannep.com

  For my father, who chose the hero path.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Click Your Poison Books

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  How It Works

  Start

  Acknowledgments

  Special thanks to my wife, Michaela, the patron of my art. Your insight and patience were essential to the creation of this book. A big thanks to my readers and beta testers: Chris Boyes, Brian Yoakam, Mike Beeson, Ben Chapman, Tom Stein, Christie LeBlanc, Nate Davis, and Kelli Mears.

  To my copyeditor: Linda Jay Geldens, cover artist: Brian Silveira, and to Paul Salvette and the team at BB eBooks. Thanks also to Matt “Opus” Fuller for helping bring the new CYP logo to life. Thank you all for your generosity and professionalism.

  And to my friends and family, for your unyielding encouragement, enthusiasm and support.

  Here’s how it works: You, Dear Reader, are the main character of this story. Save the world or conquer it; the choice is yours. Simply click the links to progress through the story. Each link represents a choice, and there’s no going back, so choose wisely. Are YOU a hero or a villain?

  CLICK HERE to begin. Good luck.

  SUPERPOWERED

  “Hello, you there! Yes, you. Got five minutes to change your life?” a man says.

  He is at home in his lab coat and wears a reassuring smile, that of a doctor featured in an infomercial, complete with stylish thin-rimmed glasses that sink into graying-at-the-temples hair. He hands you a pamphlet:

  Unlock Your Potential!!! Supercharge Your Humanity!!! Earn $500!!!

  “What’s this all about?” you ask. It just so happens you’re walking past the University campus, but, five hundred bucks for five minutes?

  “Today’s your lucky day,” the man says with a manic grin. He bids you to follow as he explains, speaking almost too fast for you to keep up. “The oft-perpetuated myth about using only 10% of our brains, while unfounded, is an intriguing concept. I believe this to be true—not for the mind per se, but for that of human DNA. So many of the genes we carry are turned off. Dormant. Waiting for us to evolve. The purpose of this experiment is to ‘supercharge’ your humanity and see if we can’t extend mankind’s potential.”

  He pulls open the double doors of a building marked Chemistry Lab.

  It’s a sunny day and the laboratory is dark inside, but you can see thick black cables snaking their way to a large central platform. You step forward. A gymnasium-sized tarp is draped over three pillar-shaped objects. Suspended above each object are what look like giant electromagnets—similar to the ones used to lower cars into compactors at the junkyard, except these are the size of a manhole cover.

  “Just step into one of my pods and change your life,” he says. The man holds out five crisp hundred-dollar bills and a clipboard, adding, “Right after you sign this waiver.”

  • “No, thanks. Pretty sure that homeless guy around the corner can help you out, though.”

  • “Yeah, okay, I’ve got nothing better to do.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Ace Up Your Sleeve

  Incredibly, ignoring Nick and Droakam seems to work. The next week goes by remarkably fast, despite several battles with mobsters, terrorists, and garden-variety criminals.

  You finally come up with a costumed persona—The Flying Ace! The design is nearly identical to the “Diamond” look, but you go with royal blue for your mask (and you get a cape, which makes flying more dramatic). Rather than a diamond, you end up with the “spade” symbol on your chest. The tights take some getting used to, but the lightweight fabric gives you a larger margin of error for your powers’ weight limit.

  Meanwhile—not a peep from the Supersoldier Program. But with each victory, your public support grows by leaps and bounds. And once the mayor gives you the key to the city, the super-genius finally swings by.

  “I wanted to let you know I’m leaving,” Nick says. “I set up so many traps, waiting for the two of you to fall into them…I felt like a spider tending to its web. It got boring. Agent Droakam isn’t riveting company, to be honest. Then I saw the public adoration you received for your superheroism, and something clicked.

  “The three of us might have made a good team, in another life. I’m going to Europe—back to ‘The Old Country,’ as Nana used to call it—where I can get the love of an entire continent.

  “I guess I just wanted to say good luck, no hard feelings, and not to worry about Agent Droakam. I hacked into the database and told his superiors to fire the guy. The Supersoldier Program has been cancelled for good, and he’s a desk jockey stationed somewhere very, very cold. Well, take care.”

  That’s it, you win. Sort of. Nick heads to Europe as promised, where he dons an incredibly ostentatious white-and-gold caped superhero costume and becomes Citizen Nikolai. The outfit, while impressive, looks like it was designed by mashing up Napoleonic cavalry uniforms with WWII-era iconoclast propaganda.

  You keep waiting for a supervillain to appear, or for Nick to dub himself Emperor of Europe, but it never happens. Instead, you’re relegated to being Catherine’s sidekick. She’s The Amazing Diamond and you get to be Acey, then eventually, Kid Ace.

  Children across the globe tell their younger siblings, “Sure, you can play Amazing Diamond and Citizen Nikolai with us—you get to be Kid Ace.”

  Maybe a scandalous reality show (call it, Ace is Wild) could spice up your reputation?

  THE END

  Acme Portals

  You program the staff to open a portal to “the harshest reality,” and assume the device knows you’re not being metaphysical. Soon, the air sparks and the shimmering purple gate appears once more.

  “After you,” you say.

  “Oh, no, after you. I insist,” Nick says.

  “Catherine? This was your idea.”

  “Ladies first,” she says glibly, then steps through the portal.

  Nick turns to you. In a feint, you slide a hand behind his back and shove him through the portal. Then you shut it down. That takes care of that! Now, with super-stre
ngth and super-genius, this world will cower before you.

  You win…sort of.

  “What are you going to do with me?” your doppelganger asks.

  With a sudden flash of inspiration, you say, “You have war crimes to answer for.”

  With a patsy to take the blame, you can rise up from the shadows. Once you’ve taken over the world, you can always free your other-self.

  Part of you fears—knows—Nick and Catherine will be back one day; you just have to hope you’re ready for them.

  THE END…for now

  Agent of Evil

  The nearest SWAT member lunges, ready to slam you down onto your chest and handcuff you. But that’s not going to happen. Instead, you blast the man across the room, smashing him into the SWAT member who was about to tackle Nick.

  Then you turn to Agent Droakam, flip open his coat, and pull his pistol out of its holster and into your outstretched hand. You keep the weapon trained on the agent and step behind him, using the man as a human shield.

  “Nobody move!” you shout.

  Next, rather than commanding that they drop their weapons, you mentally disarm the rest of the men by pulling their weapons away. At the same time, Nick keys in the microphone.

  “Doomsday Device: Execute Escape Plan Zulu,” Nick shouts, then to you, “Nice work, let’s go.”

  The supergenius yanks out the power cord to the computer terminal, pulls out a handgun that was concealed under the desk, and beats a hasty retreat. You step out behind him, mentally slam the door shut, and spin around. Several of the casino security personnel stand just outside of the room, staring at you in disbelief.

  “Those aren’t cops,” you say. “They’re, umm, foot soldiers from a rival crime lord.”

  “de César’s men?” says one of the guards.

  “Yes, exactly. If they try to follow us, shoot them on sight and receive double your salary as a bonus.”

  Nick gives a curt nod, then turns and heads away. “Who is de César?” he asks.

  “No clue. Let’s go!”

  You follow Nick around the corner towards the penthouse elevator.

  “You two are dead meat!” a voice booms. Even before you look, you know who it is. Supa-gurl. Diamond. Catherine Woodall. She stands as a seething powerhouse of fury.

  Catherine roars an Amazonian battle cry and sprints down the hallway after you. Can you make it to the elevator? Possibly, but there’s no way Nick will make it with you. If you fly away now, you might as well serve him up on a silver platter.

  Just as you’re about to decide, a metal freight train comes from a side hall and Doomsday plows into Catherine, smashing her through the far wall. An instant later, the robot flies back into the hallway on its back, Catherine on top of it. She pummels the robot with machine-gun-fire rapid-succession punches.

  Yet, somehow, Doomsday is unharmed. It backhands the comparably small woman away, then rises to its feet with inhumanly smooth movements.

  “The Doomsday Device has an exoskeleton up-armored with carbyne—very expensive to make, but worth it. Most notable for being one of the few carbon-based materials stronger than diamond.”

  Doomsday kicks Catherine in her ribs, sending her skittering down the hall on her side.

  Nick grins. “Get it? Stronger than Diamond!”

  Catherine leaps to her feet, grabs the robot by its arm, and swings the expensive machine in a circle before she discus-hurls Doomsday through another section of the wall.

  “Yeah, I get it,” you say. “But it doesn’t look like it can hurt her, either. What’s the plan? Keep her busy while we escape?”

  Nick keys the penthouse elevator. “It might be a stalemate, if the Doomsday Device were alive like her. As it is, she’s a living creature fighting an autonomous weapon.”

  “Meaning?”

  Doomsday comes back into the fray and the behemoth machine unloads its own barrage of punches, before grappling Catherine in a headlock. The robot looks up to the pair of you as you step into the elevator, then smiles an LED-filled smile. Several vents open on the robot’s surface and water-vapor gas pours out in a cloud to engulf the pair of them. The illuminated smile still shines through the gas.

  Catherine reaches inside one of the vents and rips out a handful of wires and circuitry. Doomsday stumbles. She then shoves a fist inside its chest-vent and pushes through with all her strength. The smile dims. The robot’s head pops off, her fist protruding through the neck hole.

  She takes her arm back out, and drops the disabled machine to the floor. Then she comes for the two of you. She takes two steps and starts to cough. To hack, really. Drool streams from her mouth, mucous from her nose, and tears from her eyes.

  Just before the elevator doors start to close, Catherine falls face-down on the hallway floor.

  “Sarin gas,” Nick announces.

  “That’s Plan Zulu?”

  “Not quite; let’s get up to the roof.”

  “What about her?”

  “Catherine? She’s most certainly dead,” Nick says.

  The elevator doors close.

  Though the penthouse has no rooftop access, you can easily float Nick up there from the balcony, then fly up to join him. Nick heads straight to the helipad and enters the helicopter as if it’d been waiting for him the whole time. You join him in the passenger seat.

  “You know how to fly a helicopter?” you say once you’ve donned the headset.

  “I study various disciplines in my off-time.”

  “What off-time?”

  “Well, I think faster than normal people, so I actually have longer days than the rest of you. Relatively speaking.”

  With that, the helicopter takes off from the roof and the two of you escape. You win, sort of. Catherine is defeated, Agent Droakam was murdered by casino henchmen, and the two of you can spend the rest of your days as criminal kingpins.

  The bad news is that you’re vilified. Had Nick’s plan gone off without that meddling agent, you’d be free to live in the limelight. As it stands, you can rule much of the city, but you must do so underground.

  Good news is, you’ll probably find out who de César is.

  THE END

  Always a Bridesmaid, Never a Supervillain

  You win…kind of. Teaming up with Nick isn’t a bad move. With that genius-filled cranium on his shoulders, the full resources of the Supersoldier Program at his disposal, and you—his right-hand Superman—he’s bound to go far. And indeed he does.

  Within a matter of days, he’s dealt with Catherine. You don’t ask how, and he doesn’t volunteer any information, but you never see her again. By the end of the month, he’s made himself Agent Nick Dorian, head of the Supersoldier Division—at this point it’s no longer a program, but a full force of superpowered henchmen ready to do their commander’s bidding. Don’t worry, you’re always awarded “Henchperson of the Month.”

  By the end of the year, Nick overthrows the United States government. Time really flies when you’re having fun, and Nick tends to laugh with maniacal glee after each victory. You’re absolutely, one-hundred percent certain that’ll he’ll rule the entire world before he turns 30.

  And yet, it all feels hollow somehow. What did you really accomplish? Except, perhaps, unwittingly aiding Nick’s original deception against Agent Droakam. It’s the winner’s curse. Sure, you’ll never want for anything again, but you won’t leave your own stamp on the world, either. You’re destined to be nothing more than a footnote in Nikolai the Conqueror’s history books.

  Maybe you should write your memoirs? Henchperson of the Month has “bestseller” written all over it.

  THE END

  Always Split Pairs

  Best to go your separate ways. There’s only room for one winning hand, and Nick will understand. He’ll learn to, anyway. He certainly glowered before he left, but you can chalk that up to the angst of youth and the “It’s not fair!” battle cry. Enough thoughts wasted on Nick. Time to enact your battle plan: First, Mercury
City, and then, the world!

  Phase one? Well, you’ve already got wealth, so what’s next? Phase two: Influence. But how? If there’s one man who stands as “most influential” in the city….

  The Mayor! Of course, if there’s one man with influence, it has to be him. The police answer to him, he controls the money for public works, and he alone has the power to mobilize the city when necessary. So, how do you get him into your pocket?

  Time to go pay Mayor Argyle—father of intrepid reporter Alison Argyle, the city’s most eligible bachelorette—a visit.

  You leap off the penthouse balcony (an action that’s starting to lose its suicidal feel) and fly downtown toward the civic offices. The city government suite has a distinct look. It doesn’t take someone with an intimate knowledge of city politics to figure out which office is his; it’s the largest, with the picture windows.

  Those windows you presently rap against, as you float three stories up.

  Mayor Argyle looks up from his desk, then back to his paperwork. His brow furrows and he looks up again. You wave him over, a grinning fairytale apparition, and gesture for him to open the window. Sure, you could smash the glass or even use your telekinesis to open the latch from the inside, but you don’t want to frighten the man. Not yet.

  He sits perfectly still, takes off his glasses, cleans them, and seems shocked all over again to find you still there. As if you were merely a smudge he might clean off.

  All smiles, you wave him over. The mayor rises and slowly walks toward you. You gesture once more for him to open the window. In a dreamlike state, he obeys.

  “You can’t…you’re not allowed….” he says, trying to frame a statement through the shock.