You walk past table after table, watching as money is exchanged hand over fist, and keep walking. No point in dealing with the arteries when the heart of wealth is in the back. The cashier’s cage, appropriately secured like a heart behind a ribcage, beats and pulses with cash flow. Good cash in, bad cash out. And you? You’re here to rip the heart out and take it all. Kali ma, Kali ma!
It’d be about as difficult as snapping dried spaghetti noodles to pry open the cashier’s cage, but that’s a lot of noodles, and you’ve got an easier idea. Instead of going through the bars, you’ll just go through the wall.
The concrete sort of gets out of your way when you put a shoulder through the wall and enter the cashier’s cage. You point towards the hole and the cashiers get out of your way too. There’s a ton of money back here—far more than you could possibly carry out.
Might as well load up and carry it home. With your arms full to the point where you can barely see where you’re going, you step out of the money cage and toward the exit. Your stomach gurgles. Damn, forgot the buffet.
Then a sharp, burning pain hits you between the shoulder blades and your muscles seize. You drop the money and fall face-first atop your earnings. After a moment of drooling spasms, your eyes roll back to where they’re supposed to be and you turn onto your back.
Standing above you are two beefy security guards, one holding the Taser he just pressed against your spine. Fast as a viper, you find your footing and spring into action—driving an uppercut into Taser-man. A sickening crunch sends the man careening across the gambling floor.
BAM! The second guard shoots you. It stings something fierce and you put up your hand on the wound, only to find no wound at all. It’s just a flattened lead disc lying against your impenetrable skin. So you conduct electric current, but are essentially bulletproof. Good to know!
The guard puts his hands up and drops the gun. “Y-you want some help carrying your money?”
You smile.
• Go stash the cash and plan your next move.…
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Beat Senseless
“Why me?!” Dr. Hallucination shrieks, which turns to a blood-curdling scream as Baxter kills him.
“Your robot is indeed our Achilles heel. Well, I’m sure it has one of its own!” the Experi-mentor cries.
Then, before you know what’s happened, you say, “Catherine can disassemble Baxter with her telekinesis.”
“Thank you, Dr. Mind-Control,” the Experi-mentor says with an evil grin. “Now, if you please?”
A fog appears over Catherine’s eyes. She puts out a hand as Baxter starts to come apart at the seams.
“No!!!” you scream, but there’s nothing you can do.
Pieces of Baxter fly out, bashing into each of you at Catherine’s mental command.
“I’m sorry,” Agent Droakam says.
“He’s going to—” Dr. Reader starts, but is silenced as Agent Droakam shoots Catherine in the back.
“You bastard!” Nick cries.
In an instant, he punches the FBI man with a blow powerful enough to demolish a building.
Dr. Necromancy places a hand on the fallen Catherine and she rises from the dead. Nick stands there confused. He wants Catherine back, but he knows the scientists are the enemy.
Catherine’s eyes are pure black. She turns, lifts you into the air, and bashes you against the rocks of the lighthouse cavern.
THE END
Be Careful What You Wish For
You twist the commands into the staff, the shaft locks into place, and the jewel glows a brilliant purple. In the blink of an eye, the staff projects a gateway to another world in what was just open air inside the reactor.
Ready to find a new home, you step through the gate.
On the other side is a scene of pure destruction. The nuclear reactor is an enormous crater on this side and the air is only so much poison. It’s not just that there aren’t any superhumans here; there aren’t any humans here whatsoever!
With your last gasping breath, you tell the staff to reopen the gate back home. You tumble back into your world just in time. Was there no atmosphere on that world?
Maybe you should rename that stupid staff “Dr. Jones” because, Ha ha, Dr. Jones, very funny. Time to recalibrate. Once you’ve ensured the staff will only send you somewhere hospitable to human life, why not try a world where….
• Mankind hasn’t destroyed the environment. Why not spend a little time in a lush utopia and see what knowledge you might bring back home?
• You chose a different pod in the experiment. Why not commune with other genii and see yourself with different superpowers?
• Science has stopped the aging process. As an immortal, you’ll be able to spend eternity exploring all the infinite possibilities!
• The Experi-mentor is nurturing instead of aggressive. Cautious instead of brash. Kind instead of overly driven. Perhaps you can find this gentler Experi-mentor and learn something about the pods?
• There was never an explosion. Perhaps you can find the pods that gave you your powers and study them!
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
A Bigger Boat
Despite Agent Droakam’s protests, you follow Nick down to the shipyard to see about finding some aquatic transportation. “Should we check under the sun visors for a set of keys?” Nick asks.
“Why bother?” You step onto a smaller watercraft, one that’s chained to the dock with a pull-start motor. No need for a key here, just a quick break of the chain and you’re ready to go. Nick floats from the dock to the boat, and you speed toward the mega-yacht.
He wasn’t exaggerating. This leviathan sea-monster of a ship must have cost millions upon millions of dollars. The Son of Jupiter is like a luxury hotel on the water, complete with a helicopter perched on top. And a 50mm cannon, which starts firing at you.
“Get down!” you shout.
Instead, Nick flies into the air while you crank the throttle to maximum. Massive bullets send the sea splashing in a line of geysers headed straight for you. The cannon rips your small watercraft to shreds, but it’s too late. When you’re within twenty feet, you leap off the tiny boat and smash into the hull of the mega-yacht. With a fist slammed through its surface, you punch-climb up the side.
As you leap onto the deck, the crew blasts into you with gunfire. It stings, but proves nothing more than an annoyance. In a Herculean rage, you tear the ship apart and decimate the crew. Nick holds back, letting you take out their defenses.
At mid-deck you stop, frozen in your tracks. There before you, lined and glittering in the sun, are three telephone-booth-size glass pods.
A screeching roar draws you back to the fight. When you look up, you see a man brandishing a shoulder-mounted RPG-launcher like a Somali pirate. In desperation, he fires the missile at you. There’s no time to move, and it’s a direct hit—but you survive. Hurts like a sonofabitch, but doesn’t even leave a scratch.
The ship, however, is going down. The explosion tore a substantial hole in the yacht, and that, combined with the damage you’ve done, proves too much. Nick swoops in to grab you, but he can’t. It’s too much for the young telekinetic. Looks like you’ll have to swim—straight into the deep end!
When you splash into the open ocean you sink, well, like a rock. You’re so dense that trying to swim feels like flapping your arms through the air. And so you fall through the water, deeper and deeper, until the ship above fades into darkness. Your lungs burn for want of air, but what are you going to do? Walk to shore?
At least you stopped whatever it is Nelson Bloodnight had planned with your blood sample. Soon you’ll drown, and then The Son of Jupiter will join you in Davy Jones’ Locker.
THE END
Big GOVERNMENT
“First? A new image. You’ve had…a bumpy start as Rock Star. So we kill you off, then write an origin story of our own choosing. We need you to be BIG. I’ve got some special effects guys we share the news studio with, and they owe
me a few favors. Problem is, ‘giant’ superheroes are a staple, and we don’t want to use a trademarked name. So let’s brainstorm. Now then, what’s the biggest, most powerful thing you can think of?”
“The Government?” you say with a laugh.
She laughs too, then a light-bulb clicks. “Hey, that’s not bad. Gives a judge, jury, executioner vibe, but Government makes the rules. Government isn’t a vigilante, Government is law. I like it!”
“But if I go by Government, shouldn’t my superpower be Never Getting Anything Done?”
“Hey!” she says, slapping your hand playfully. “Don’t forget my dad’s the mayor.”
“Oops. What else?”
“An alter ego. How about a hobo? People go out of their way to avoid eye contact with the homeless, which makes it the perfect disguise. Plus, you can inconspicuously roam the dangerous parts of town, all the while keeping your costume in a shopping cart so you can become Government at a moment’s notice. What do you think?”
“Alison…you’re a genius.”
“Well, if I’m being honest, I got the hobo idea from Watchmen. As a superhero, you should probably read more comics.”
* * *
Turns out, that “I expected you to be physically larger,” sentiment was something Alison Argyle couldn’t shake, because your new costume isn’t merely an outfit. It’s a muscle-sculpted bodysuit, designed to make you stand a full foot taller and look like you weigh 600 pounds. It’s constructed from a special kind of memory foam, so you can stuff it in your shopping cart during your hobo periods. The whole transformation is so drastic, no one could ever guess your true identity. Alison may have “borrowed” the idea from a comic book, but she made it her own. It really is genius.
The suit itself is designed to look like you’re sculpted from marble, like a gargantuan statue. If you wore a top hat and beard, you’d look like you just stood up from your seat atop the Lincoln Memorial before you traveled to Mercury City to fight crime.
Using her news outlet, Alison announces your arrival and defeat of Rock Star, the villain blamed with starting the skyscraper fire and several other acts of mayhem, including chasing an old lady’s cat up a tree. It’s not long before the endorsements flow in and you upgrade your supersuit so it’s flame- and damage-resistant, and equip it with all sorts of fun gadgets (like a built-in police scanner).
As Government, things are great…for a time.
Eventually, you learn that Nick Dorian accepted the FBI’s offer to join the Supersoldier Program. The Experi-mentor comes out from the woodwork to help recreate his results and build an army of superhumans. Catherine Woodall becomes President by cosponsoring a bill to outlaw all non-government superhero activity.
Poor wording, and luckily for you, your partnership with Alison Argyle has made you immensely popular. Catherine, Nick, and the FBI are forced to “grandfather” your position as Mercury City Protectorate. If any of them ever figure out your true identity, they never say.
So you get to be the world’s first and last superhero, but with each passing day it seems there are more superhumans on the street. Your job gets increasingly difficult, but the Supercops help out.
You publicly marry Alison Argyle as Government (since your true identity no longer exists) and end up living a pretty kickass life. Though it’s not long before so many superhumans walk the streets that you’re made redundant and are able to enjoy retirement.
You win…mostly.
THE END
Birds of a Feather
“Let me guess,” you say, “by ‘different,’ you mean something like this:”
You reach out and pull a cocktail glass off a passing waitress’s tray. The motion is so smooth, she doesn’t even notice. After you bring the glass to your open hand, you raise it to Nick in a toast.
“That…is fantastic,” Nick says, a wide smile creeping across his face.
“What about you?”
“Nothing like that, I’m afraid. I’m different, yes, but… Well, it’s not something I can show off, you know? Or explain. My mind is just…better now. I see patterns, the way things work. I’ve been down here counting cards, but with your abilities…”
“Yeah, I was about to go ‘fix’ roulette,” you laugh.
“I’ve got a better idea,” Nick says, pausing to look around. Then, with a hushed voice, he adds, “You and I could run this town.”
• “Uhhh, yeah. I think I’m fine with just being rich. But have fun with that.”
• “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Count me in.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Blast It!
You slam your telekinetic energy into the door with as much force as you can muster, sending it into the building and bouncing across the long hallway before it comes to rest on the stairwell at the far end.
Three men who really, really, want to be Jason Statham are there to greet you when you step inside, submachine guns at the ready. Their stubble-covered faces glower at you and the black suits work in unison as they turn to engage.
Quickly, you blast the three of them with your mind, and knock the men to the floor. The first two weapons fly away from the criminal soldiers at your mental command, but the third man won’t let go.
He slides along the floor, dragged behind his weapon, firing sporadically inside the corridor. You shake him as hard as you can, even slamming the man up and down, but he refuses to release the weapon and it’s like a game of tug-o’-war with a pit bull.
Wild automatic fire hits you. While the body armor stops the bullet, it’s still a tremendous impact, unlike any gut punch you could possibly imagine.
Wheezing and on your knees, you grab the man’s head and smash it into the wall by force of will. He stops shooting and falls limp. You stagger forward and shove the other two men back to the ground.
A cacophony of footfalls races down the stairs. How many enforcers does this guy have? As you prepare to take them on, the two men on the first floor go for their weapons once more, so you turn to take them on—rushing to get them before the others arrive.
With a clap of your hands, you smash their heads together from ten feet away, and knock both men unconscious. But it’s too late. Automatic gunfire from three more SMGs plows into your back, knocking you onto the stairs and leaving you barely conscious.
The final shot is to the back of your head.
THE END
Blind Rage
Upon seeing you’re not fully invincible, the SWAT team’s disbelief turns to aggression. The lead policeman aims a shotgun at your face and pulls the trigger.
You stumble back and blink furiously—it feels like someone just threw a handful of sand in your face—and wipe away the few pellets that embedded themselves against your skin. Your ears ring ferociously, but a normal person wouldn’t have a head anymore, so it’s not all bad, right?
Right! You punch the lead policeman in his helmet, crushing it like a tin can. With tear gas and rock salt filling your sinuses, your vision blurs. Like a furiously raging toddler, you close your eyes and swing your arms at anything and everything, tears flowing freely from your face.
You crush any man-shaped black blur of a cop you can get your hands on, but the tear gas cloud grows thicker and eventually proves too much.
• Smash through the nearest window in search of fresh air.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Bones, or Dominoes
“That’s genius!” Nick says. “And I should know. This plan is going to take some time, however. As long as I’m editing security tapes, I’m going to super-impose Catherine attacking us here. With all the images of ‘Supa-gurl’ online, I can easily form a composite. We’ll make it look like she busted in, just like at the bank, attacked the casino and killed Bloodnight. That’ll explain his sudden disappearance. Then we’ll twist the bank story. She wasn’t there to save it, she was there to rob it!”
“But we don’t have time for all that, do we? Everything’s already in motion.”
; “No need to rush. The last domino may have already fallen, but as long as we line up a convincing show, everyone will assume the pattern is connected. We just need a thoroughly convincing opener.”
“So we make a big show of knocking over the first domino?” you ask.
“Exactly. And we have resources. Nelson Bloodnight didn’t merely leave us a casino—he controlled a whole criminal underground.”
“Where do we start?” you say, itching to use your powers.
Nick grins. “It’s not the early bird that gets the worm, it’s the one who knows to go outside after a rainstorm.”
* * *
During Nick’s self-imposed exile to the casino’s security room, you find the itch growing stronger. You can feel the world, waiting for your mental command. You’re all cooped up when you can fly! Super-powered cabin fever. It’s figuratively killing you.
And that’s what makes your current dilemma so interesting. Presently, you hold the business card of one Special Agent Brendan Droakam, FBI Supersoldier Program.
“We caught him snooping around,” the junior security staffer who brought the card says. “The guys were going to escort him out when he showed his badge. Said he was looking for you and Mr. Dorian. I said I’d take his card to management, but I didn’t say nothin’ about the two of you.”
“Good work; that’ll be all.”
SUPERPOWERED: Are YOU a Superhero or Supervillain? (Click Your Poison Book 3) Page 4
