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

by James Schannep

  Three teams of six men work deep within the warehouse, and none notice you just yet. One team is obviously security, and each of the half dozen men holds a submachine gun. The other two teams load supplies onto carts. Electronic equipment, cables, computer terminals, and….

  Three glass pods about the size of a phone booth.

  Everything they’re loading you’ve seen before, in that lab experiment. Who are these people? Before you get a chance to ask, things turn violent. The security team opens fire, while the others rush toward a rear exit. Unlike movie villains, these guys are competent with their weapons.

  Nick goes for a crate, pulling the cover to protect himself as he dives behind it. Your first instinct is to duck as well, but when the bullets merely ping off your skin, it feels unnecessary to do so. The shots sting like a bitch, but are far from lethal.

  Instead, you sprint at the men. They continue firing, unsure if they’re actually hitting you. When you grab a forklift and throw the machinery at them discus-style¸ they realize they’re outmatched. They flee out the rear of the warehouse—where three vans are parked, HiT stenciled on the side of each.

  You catch up to them with ease. The men raise their submachine guns and you laugh. You can’t help it; it just bellows out. With your costume bullet-tattered but your flesh pristine beneath, you must look like a nightmare.

  They all load up, and the vans peel out on the wet dock-roads of the warehouse district. The van with the security team rushes at you, trying to run you down, while the two vans with the supplies escape. The security team van careens into you head-on.

  Using its momentum, you grab hold and hurl the van as hard as you can. It flies through the air and sails into Mercury Bay, slamming against the water like an enormous cannon ball.

  “Holy Jesus, Mother of Hulk Smash,” Nick babbles. “Should we go after the others?”

  “Not just yet,” a calm voice says from behind.

  You turn back to see a man in a black suit, holding an FBI badge. He stands in front of a black SUV, and after a pregnant pause, lowers the badge. “I’m Agent Brendan Droakam, Supersoldier Program. I’d like a word.”

  You share a look with Nick.

  • Nope! Sprint back into the warehouse, using the fire as a distraction, then run out the other side and disappear!

  • Hear the guy out. Maybe he wants to create a Bio-Hazard signal to shine onto the clouds whenever he needs help from The Cleanup Crew!

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Ass Groove

  This is a dream come true. At least for someone as lazy as you. Because, let’s face it, you’re never going to leave this couch if you don’t have to.

  You hone your skills in the most amazing way possible—by creating whole nebulae of orbiting junk food, with you as the black hole in the center of the universe. All the snacks in existence must eventually be devoured by their galactic overlord! Nom nom nom.

  People knock on your door, but unless you’re expecting take-out, you stay silent. It’s just you, the TV, and pizza. And Chinese food.

  And fried chicken.

  And hoagies.

  And buffalo wings.

  And pad Thai.

  And more pizza.

  It’s a snail’s pace race to either maxing out your credit cards and defaulting on your rent or developing Type II diabetes. But by then it’ll take a full archaeological dig team to excavate you out of this couch.

  THE END

  Balls Out

  There are two men standing at the table, one tall and thin, the other fit and handsome.

  “Fair warning,” the thinner man says, “you’d be paying fifty bucks just for the privilege. I’m not the kind to shark you, so I want you to know that we compete in tournaments. On television.”

  Oooh, on television? How fancy! Your smile widens. “In that case, which of you is better?”

  Seeing the $50 you slap on the table, the athletic man matches your bill with a $50 bill of his own. “If you’re looking to blow fifty bucks, why not just buy a round for the bar, eh, stranger?”

  “Sure,” you say. “With the fifty I win from you.”

  “All right, let’s see what you got,” Jack Skellington says.

  Your opponent sends the white orb flying into the triangle of pool balls. Nothing sinks, and you’re up.

  You hit the cue ball with your stick, careening into the ten and twelve balls. As they’re slowing toward the pocket, you help one of the balls into a side pocket by force of will. Then you send the other to join it.

  “Stripes,” you announce.

  Lining up your next shot, you do your best to hit the ball into the corner pocket, but when your shot is slightly off, you push the ball in with your telekinesis. Going again, you actually manage to sink an easy shot, but that would leave the cue ball trapped behind a solid, so you inch it out with your mind.

  Another shot sunk, and another. Just for fun, you tell the ball to jump across the table, then backspin and sink your last stripe.

  “Corner pocket,” you announce, then sink the eight ball.

  “Who…are you?” Marky Mark asks.

  “Beginner’s luck. Double or nothing?”

  “Okay, my turn. Do that again, asshole, I dare you,” Scarecrow threatens.

  “‘Asshole,’ is it? In that case, I’ll break.” You chalk your stick, then add, “Solids. Followed by eight-ball, top left corner.”

  Before they can respond, you take your shot. The cue ball cracks hard against the triangle of balls and you stand up to watch as they haphazardly bounce off the rails. You, in, you tell the first ball as it nears right center. It sinks. You nudge the balls one-by-one, sending all seven solid-colored balls into the pockets, then you guide the eight ball from the opposite side of the table into the top left corner.

  Slack jaws hang open and wide eyes stare at you.

  “I’m sorry, that wasn’t nice,” you say. “Keep your money.”

  You pick up the cue ball and spin it on your pointer finger, like a Harlem Globetrotter. You’re tempted to whistle, but a crash from behind draws your attention to the bar. There’s a couple deep in argument, and a broken pint glass on the floor. It’s the girl from the shuffleboard table and a man who must’ve arrived just after you.

  “Dumb bitch!” the giant of a man says, before shoving the young woman to the ground.

  “Nope! That’s not happening,” you cry.

  With the cue ball still spinning on your finger, you face the creep, wide-stance like an Old West sheriff. The man grabs a beer bottle, breaks the end off on the bar and starts towards you.

  “Why don’t you stop me then, chump?” he growls.

  “Okay.”

  In one seamless movement, you lower your arm, point the still-affixed-to-your-finger cue ball at the man and bring down your thumb like the hammer on a pistol. The cue ball “shoots” at Goliath, striking him in the head and instantly knocking him unconscious.

  You bring up your gun-hand and blow at the tips of your fingers in bravado.

  Walking over to the bar, you help the woman up. Once you’re sure she’s okay, you put your $50 down on the bartop and say, “Drinks are on me.”

  This power is absolutely incredible and addicting. You need more.

  • I want to mess with people—maybe pretend there’s a ghost in that creepy old restaurant down the street.

  • That man was the first to fall before me, but he won’t be the last. Tomorrow, it’s time to run this town.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Bank Shot

  Nick nods reluctantly, then turns to the clerk. “We’re stealing these costumes. Go ahead and tell the cops we’re headed for the bank next.”

  Then, on the walk to the bank, he looks up the number on his smartphone and calls in the local news to let them know your plan. You’re ready to ask if he’s going to tip off the Mercury PD next, but you figure you’re covered when he walks into the bank and shouts, “This is a robbery! Please trip all silent alarms now. If any of yo
u have cell phones, go ahead and switch over to video mode on your cameras. You’re not gonna want to miss this.”

  In response, the gathered crowd stares at the two of you in expressions that match Nick’s mask, yet they’re as silent as your namesake, The Mime. Several emergency glass partitions slam down to protect the tellers.

  “Mime, please free the bankers from their imaginary boxes,” Nick says with a gesture to the nearest teller.

  You walk over, press your palm flat against the security glass, and push. The hinges snap and the bulletproof glass cracks with spiderwebbing, then the whole panel falls back onto the teller. There were a few cell phones filming the incident, but now the rest of the gathered crowd raise their cameras in disbelief.

  “Drop your weapons and put your hands on your heads!” a security guard shouts, a Taser trained on you.

  “We don’t have any weapons,” Nick says. The security guard turns to point the Taser his way. Nick raises his hands and adds, “Here, let me fix that.”

  The shocked guard stumbles forward as the Taser is ripped from his grip and flies from his hands into Nick’s.

  “Scream for me,” Nick says, before firing the Taser at the guard. The guard convulses when the electric current hits him, so the hostages scream instead.

  Amidst the chaos, another man steps forward. His button-up and stubby tie are two sizes too small, and he moves so meekly that it’s almost cartoonish. He holds a telephone tight against his chest.

  “There’s a hostage negotiator on the line,” he says in almost a whisper.

  “What does he want?” Nick asks.

  “Ummm, your demands. And to talk to you, I think.”

  “Is there a news crew outside?”

  After asking the hostage negotiator, the man nods yes.

  “Okay, we’ll come out.” Nick floats the bulletproof glass as a shield and heads toward the doors. Turning to you, he adds, “I think you should lift a car. That’ll get their attention.”

  The scene outside the bank is complete madness. Full police barricades are in place and several news vans sit just beyond. The road is littered with patrol cars and police officers positioned behind them.

  “PLEASE RELEASE YOUR HOSTAGES, THEN WE’LL TALK ABOUT A PEACEFUL RESOLUTION,” a man shouts through a megaphone.

  Without response, you tip a parked car over on its side, grab hold of the frame, and lift the vehicle over your head. The crowd takes a collective gasp and an eruption camera flashes nearly blinds you.

  Something like a bee sting hits you in the chest just before a crack sounds in the air. They just shot you—and you’re bullet-proof! They shoot you again and it fucking hurts! With a roar, you fling the car out on top of the nearest patrol car, crushing both like pancakes.

  The police force falls back, still firing at you, but Nick floats the bulletproof glass in front of you and the stinging pain mercifully stops.

  “Nice try!” Nick screams, but there’s no way anyone hears him over the gunfire.

  Nick laughs like a psychopath as the police launch canisters of tear gas your way. You start to laugh, but choke. The gas stings! Oh God, it burns! You swat at the gas, but the canisters pour the cloud thicker and thicker.

  “Time to regroup!” Nick shouts. “This way!”

  • No time to think; follow Nick’s voice away from the poison gas!

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Battle Royale

  Diamond rushes into the battle head-on, crying out like a legendary Amazonian warrior. Before you can react, the Ex-man at the front of their attack formation—Agent Flame—unleashes a cone of fire, completely enveloping the heroine.

  You summon the full might of your kinetic energy into a clap, hoping to douse the flames. It’s not as powerful as when you used the skill at the skyscraper (you had a lot more momentum behind you when you were flying at Mach 3), but it does the job.

  The flames clear out just as Catherine delivers a powerful blow to the firestarter, an uppercut to the man’s ribcage. He flies back across the room, cracks the foundation of the back wall and falls to the floor in a heap. It’s not likely he survived that.

  Smoldering, Diamond says, “Remind me to thank Nick for the flame-retardant suit.”

  She’s completely unharmed, like a literal diamond passed through a furnace. But the victory is short-lived. Agent Freeze shoots intense bolts of lightning from his fingertips into Catherine, and her muscles seize. For an instant, you’d swear you can see her skeleton shine through her skin.

  In a burst of rage, you reach out for her attacker. You can feel his heart beating in his chest, his heart full of adrenaline. It beats rapidly, excited by its owner’s display of power. You take hold of the heart with your mental grasp and, as hard as you can, you pull at it through his chest.

  The lightning stops. Catherine’s spasms stop. Instead, the Agent Electric’s body goes rigid and he coughs blood before he falls to the ground, dead.

  “You two go for The Phantom, I’ll keep this one down—she’s too dangerous,” one of the agents says in a frosty voice.

  Agent Freeze stands over Catherine and unleashes an arctic chill over her prone form. Ice crystals form on her skin, which quickly build to blocks of ice. You grab onto her body with your mind, and pull her away, but nothing happens. Trying harder, you actually start to slide across the floor toward her, but she won’t budge. It feels like she weighs 10,000 pounds.

  One of the other agents rushes at you, shoulder tucked and arm flexed as if he were holding an invisible shield. He bashes against you with some kind of force field, sending you onto your back. The other of your two attackers—the man with the energy whip—comes to finish you off.

  He’s not dense like Diamond, so hurling him across the room should be no problem. From your position on the floor, you make to do just that, but Agent Forcefield stands next to his comrade and somehow blocks your blow with his energy shield.

  The whipmaster smiles. You roll to your side just as the energy whip slices through the floor. With a boost of adrenaline, you fly off the floor and away from the men. But there’s nowhere to go and you’re caught hovering in the corner of the room.

  The two agents slowly move forward, like tiger trappers ready for the kill. Agent Freeze has Diamond sealed to the floor in an ever-growing iceberg. The Experi-mentor excitedly wrings his hands as he watches your last few moments, and Agent Droakam sips his top-shelf liquor.

  A roaring jet engine comes from the double-door entrance and with it an enormous, ten-foot-tall mechanized suit. It’s glittering white, with the sheen of a brand-new sports car. “Best Friends Forever,” says a filtered, robo-Nick through the suit’s speakers.

  Two enormous shoulder-mounted cannons erupt in a barrage of light-missile and .50-cal machinegun fire. The sound is deafening, and the show impressive, but when the smoke clears, you see that Forcefield Agent has managed to block the entire assault.

  The whipmaster makes an impressive leap off the back of Forcefield Agent, and with one swing of his energy weapon, slices off one of the suit’s cannons. The super-genius inside tries to fight back, but the mysterious energy field rebuffs his every attempt. That whip/force field combo will prove deadly if you don’t do something soon.

  “Phantom, the lightsaber!” Dorian White cries out from inside his armor.

  The lightsaber, of course! You’d completely forgotten. If a whip of pure energy can pass through the force field, why not a sword of pure energy as well?

  You fire up the weapon and attack. Agent Forcefield puts up his shield, but you slice right through—taking off the man’s hand in the process. He screams and backs off. The whipmaster steps in front of his ally to protect the man, who falls to the floor in defeat.

  Over the screams, Nick’s supersuit reloads for another attack. Agent Freeze shifts targets and lays into the mechanized Dorian White, frosting over the armor. You move to help, but barely parry the oncoming energy whip with your lightsaber. It wraps around the blade, both crackling from the
meeting of the incredible energies.

  The glacier in the center of the room suddenly explodes, sending fragments of ice everywhere. Diamond stands tall in the center, still flexing from the effort. “You’re right, Ice Man. I am dangerous.”

  Agent Freeze turns to blast her, and she puts her full strength into a massive punch. There’s nearly nothing left of his face when she’s done, making him truly an “Ex”-man.

  The whipmaster flings bolts of light at her, shurikens made of pure energy. One wings Catherine, leaving a massive searing wound in her shoulder. You rush in and deflect the bolts with your lightsaber.

  Dorian attacks with his remaining cannon. This time when the smoke clears, there’s nothing but pulp and bone fragment where the last two super-agents once stood. The three of you turn to the Experi-mentor and Agent Droakam.

  “Bravo, my creations, bravo,” The Experi-mentor says as he begins a slow clap.

  Droakam pours himself another glass. “You’ve won the battle, but not the—”

  “No, it’s over,” Nick says, his suit’s helmet sliding up to reveal his face. “We have your assault on security footage. Once it goes public, your program is finished.”

  The Experi-mentor tsks disappointedly. “It’s far from over. This was only the first batch. Truly, none of these powers alone were a match for the three of you. Which is why I gave myself ALL FIVE OF THEM, buahahahaha!”

  The scientist spreads his hands to demonstrate. Flaming ice, arcing with electricity, spreads out along the floor toward the three of you.

  • Toss Diamond your lightsaber; she has the best chance of getting close enough to finish the job.

  • Take Agent Droakam hostage—the Experi-mentor will have no choice but to stand down!

  • Remind the Experi-mentor that he still doesn’t have the power of flight (wink).

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Beat the Odds

  Early in the morning, the Planet Mercury Casino is filled with two types of gamblers: The little old ladies who took the complimentary shuttle so they can get the best seat at the nickel slots, or the true addicts who are still on a bender and don’t know the difference between night and day. Probably why you won’t find any windows on the main gambling floor—wouldn’t want to advertise the passage of time.