“It seems…too easy.” Nick shrugs.
You smile. “Such is the power of genius.”
Click to Continue…
Bull in a Pizza Shop
Every fiber in your body wants to leap down the landings and sprint towards your destination, but you take it slow. You purposefully walk down the stairs at a leisurely pace and exit the apartment building. It’s a beautiful night and you’re just out for a walk; on your way to dinner, nothing out of the ordinary.
Except that same black SUV has been following you for three blocks now. Taking a left, you speed up the cadence of your walk. The car, creeping slowly with its headlights off, makes the same turn behind you.
Maybe you’re just paranoid after the accident. Why would somebody be following you? You casually look back (with drastically improved vision—easily better than 20/20) and get a closer look at the car.
The license plate reads US Government—Official Use Only. Awww, shit. Time to lose the tail!
You look forward and see an out: a city bus heading your way. If you can run past it, you’ll be able to disappear into the crowd once the bus obscures the SUV’s line of sight. Works in the movies. There’s another car coming the other way, so if you time it right, you’ll go in front of the bus and behind the other car, then disappear. Okay, you got this. Ready?
At the last moment, you sprint out into the street as fast as you can. Only problem is, you can sprint really, really fast. Inhumanly fast. You easily clear the bus, but accidentally put yourself in front of the other car—right in its path.
In reflex, you leap toward the sidewalk and bound away from traffic like a mutant cricket. Your leap is so powerful, in fact, that you not only clear the street, but you clear the sidewalk too. You careen into the corner of a building, ducking your head and hitting the brick façade with your shoulder.
You smash through the wall like a battering ram.
Brick explodes outwards and you go right on through, into the next intersection, ripping up pavement when you land in the street. You quickly get to your feet, dust yourself off, and look for injury. Nothing. No pain in your shoulder, no ripped-up skin from your crash landing. You’re completely unharmed.
The street, on the other hand, looks like the space shuttle chose this intersection to return from orbit. Well, that’s one way to lose the tail—that SUV can’t drive over the crater you just left in the road. Not one to stick around at the site of an accident, you sprint away toward that pizza shop.
* * *
You find a corner booth and inhale entire slices at a time. Cowabunga, dude. Welcome to your new life as a superhuman. Apparently all that super-strength and speed comes with a super-appetite.
Unconsciously, you drum your fingers against the metal table. When you look down, you see four dimples from where your fingers hit the table. Jesus. You grasp the edge with your forefingers and twist up. It groans, but the table bends as if it were made of putty.
“Here’s your free t-shirt,” a man’s voice says.
You look up. He’s of average height, square-jawed and muscular, with the short-cropped hair of a military man. He wears a black suit and holds up a red t-shirt with a picture of boy slinging a set of novelty teeth at a giant pizza, captioned, I Slayed the Goliath at Dave’s!
“Mind if I join you?”
“Urhmm,” you say, mouth full of double pepperoni, as you slide your plate to cover the finger dimples in the table.
“Thanks,” the man says, plopping onto the bench seat across from you.
You swallow. “So, you’re the manager or owner—you Dave?”
He laughs. “No, I’m just a fan.”
“Well, I don’t normally eat this much pizza….”
“No, I don’t imagine you do. In fact, you’re going through a lot of changes, aren’t you? Ever since—” He takes out a tattered sheet of paper from his breast pocket and slides it across the table.
It’s your signed waiver from the experiment.
“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You got the wrong—”
“That so?” he pulls your plate off the warped edge of the table.
You leap to your feet, the bench seat violently sliding back in response, rattling four tables of people behind you. You barely hear their protests, such is the rage that boils within you.
“Hang on, now, we’re just talking,” the man says, rising to his feet and producing a badge. “Agent Brendan Droakam, FBI Supersoldier Program.”
“Super…?”
“Now can we talk? Please, sit down.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Not one for chit-chat, huh? Well, to put it simply, I’d like to offer you a job. I’ve been on the lookout for Captain America for a very long time, and it looks like you fit the bill. This is a very special opportunity, for both of us.”
• “Okay, I’m listening. But I hope you’ve got a big food budget.”
• “I suggest you forget we ever met, if you don’t want to make me angry.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Cadmean Victory
Nick’s eyes grow wide as you speak, but the exoskeleton complies. Agent Droakam’s body fires at Nick, who falls to the floor, his wide eyes blinking slowly. A sucking chest wound right at center mass.
“Droakam,” he says in a gurgle. He coughs blood.
“Droakam, ignore future commands given by Nick.”
Nick smiles through crimson teeth. “Last…laugh…”
Then he falls on his back, hyperactive breathing slows to nothing, and his chest falls still.
Using the same series of commands Nick just gave, you have the exoskeleton disengage from Agent Droakam’s body and attach to your own. Immediately, you feel a rush of energy. The added weight is negligible, but your strength and speed feel as though they must have increased tenfold.
With this exoskeleton, the DinoSkin body armor, and your telekinetic powers, you’re nearly invincible. Catherine might be a threat with her ‘Supa-Gurl’ persona, but you’ve got far cooler toys than she does. Not to mention this whole lab. Nick said no one else was coming, right? Who knows what other treasures these crates might hold!
But first, you’re going to have to do something about these bodies. You look down at the pair of dead men at your feet. Should you hide them? Report in and say that Nick and Droakam killed one another? That’s essentially what happened, if you leave out the details. Though it might be difficult to explain why the agent has a severed windpipe.
Then you notice Nick’s holding something in his right hand. A small device of some sort, tucked in his palm, with his thumb pressed firmly down atop a plunger switch.
You pull it from his hand and into your own with the power of mind. At the same moment, the reinforced plate on the spine of your Dinoskin suit starts to beep with the rapid intensity of a fire alarm.
Deet-deet-deet-deet-deet!
With terrible clarity, you realize that you’re holding a detonator. Nick’s last words echo back: Last laugh.
KABOOOOOM!!!
THE END
Caped Crusader
You look past the dead pimp, over to the Halloween store across the street. The Phantom costume stares back at you from the mannequin, a tuxedo mixing the somberness of a vampire and the bravado of a pirate. A flowing black cape goes nearly to the ground. It should fit well, but most of all it’d make you look like someone else—someone powerful and confident.
You enter the store and instruct the clerk, a young man with bleached/orange hair and gothic stylings, to get the costume ready for you. As he does, you fiddle with the mask—no strings nor elastic that you can see. This is a theatrical-grade supersuit.
“How do I put this on?” you ask when he returns with a Phantom suit your size.
“I’ll have to get you some tacky.”
“Some what?”
“Sticky tack, so you can adhere it to your face.”
The clerk goes to the back and when he returns, he asks you to sit down while he
applies some kind of flesh-friendly super glue around your right cheek and eye socket. He taps the area several times with his forefingers until your skin starts to stick to his, then he firmly holds the mask down on your face.
Finally, the process is complete and you rise as The Phantom, pay the clerk, and head out into the streets to save the day.
Just before leaving, you turn back and announce, “I’ll be fighting for truth, justice, and the American way. So…don’t tell anyone you saw my face, okay?”
“Yeah, whatever.”
• Go find some more baddies to crush and damsels to save.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Carved Out
You wake up the next morning and walk into your bathroom. Looking back from the mirror is someone with glowing, healthy, unblemished skin. Arms firm and muscular (though not necessarily bulky) and jaw squared; gaunt. You barely recognize yourself in the mirror. With morbid curiosity, you lift your shirt and inspect your stomach—it’s firm, with six-pack abs and sculpted oblique muscles.
In a flash, you fling off your clothes and inspect your naked body. You’re perfect. Not an ounce of fat and you’re even taller. You look like an Olympian. Haha, this is amazing!
Your stomach growls, so you peel yourself away from the mirror, dress, and head into the kitchen. Time for a gigantic breakfast!
But the cupboards are open and bare. You check the fridge. Nothing. There’s half a bottle of olive oil and a tin of baking soda—that’s it. You’ve literally eaten everything else in the house, and you’re hungry once more.
Time to check on the news. You put one hand on the far edge of the couch and with an effortless flick of your wrist, the sofa slides halfway across your apartment and back into place. Oddly easy….
After grabbing the remote, you plop down on the couch and flip on the TV. There on screen is blonde eye-candy reporter, Alison Argyle, sitting at her news desk and speaking directly into the camera.
“…police still have no suspects in regard to the explosion yesterday that decimated Mercury University campus. No bodies were found on-scene, so it’s unclear if it was an attack or an accident. They are, however, looking into the whereabouts of Dr. Julius Petri—the name given by the man who rented the lab space. The Mayor’s office warns that this is most likely an alias and therefore gives suspicion of foul play.”
No one found at the scene, huh? Guess that means the other two test subjects left before the police showed up. Your stomach growls fiercely. Damn, nothing to eat and you’re starving. Time to get creative.
• Head to the Casino buffet. Then I’d “wager” that I can break into the money cage. Get it? Wager? By that, I mean I’m going to rob the place.
• Time to get sponsored! Maybe the Mercury City Swashbucklers take walk-ons?
• What this city needs is a hero. Free food for life is part of that whole “key to the city” reward, right?
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Casino
Using public tax records and quickly inhaling all you can about gambling laws and loopholes, you come up with a proposal that same night. It’s not easy to get an audience with Casino boss Nelson Bloodnight, and at first you’re rebuffed, but once you start counting cards, you get his attention.
You’re brought up to Bloodnight’s private penthouse on the top floor. A trio of advisors and a pair of security guards stand at the periphery of the room, while the boss himself—a tall man in a white suit, with the face of Chief Joseph and the ten-gallon hat of a Texas oil tycoon—offers a seat and a glass of champagne.
You launch right into it. “I’ve reviewed your books, at least as much as I could as an outsider. If you gave me full access, I could raise profits by 200 percent.”
“And in return for your services?”
“You misunderstand me, Mr. Bloodnight. I’m not offering my services, I’m applying for a role as administrator. My fee? Fifty percent of all new profits, and de facto authority over all casino operations. Meaning, if I don’t earn you more than you’re earning at present, you don’t pay me a dime. But when I do, you’ll be free to pursue other vices while I run the whole operation for you. Or, if you prefer, I could take tonight’s blackjack winnings and make someone else a very rich man.”
Bloodnight leans back, downs the rest of his champagne, then stares at you with a hard face. A smile suddenly breaks and he puts out his hand for you to shake. “Please, call me Nelson.”
He winks and nods for you to follow. His boots click against the marble floor. With swagger in his step, Nelson Bloodnight leads you out to an enormous private balcony. The casino owner leans against the railing, next to the built-in pool, and looks out over the city. The view is breathtaking from up here—literally, as you’re forty stories in the air. The night sky glitters with reflected light from the other skyscrapers.
“There are those of us who live at the top of society, and those who crawl along their bellies at the bottom. I accept your offer, on a trial basis, of course. But I want to make sure we’re being perfectly clear—if you fuck with me, you’re going to find yourself taking a one-way trip back to the bottom. Climbing your way up is one thing, but falling back down? Well, that fall will kill you.”
He’s afraid you’re blowing smoke, and he’s puffing back. Big deal. You know exactly what you’re doing, so there’s nothing to be afraid of. But hey, this is why you didn’t tell him the truth—that you really plan on increasing profits by 2,000 percent—you didn’t want him to think you were offering the impossible.
“We understand each other,” you say.
Something moves in the far corner of the balcony, and a shadow shifts into a black cloak. You recognize the robe from your surveillance of Catherine.
“Given a bright and shiny soul, and you sell it to the devil?” she says.
“Spying on me?” you say without a hint of irony.
“Spying on him, actually.”
Bloodnight reaches inside his suit jacket and removes a nickel-plated handgun with a mother-of-pearl grip.
One hand darts out from her robe as Catherine says, “By your own hand, justice is served.”
Bloodnight raises the pistol and his eyes go wide as he puts the barrel in his mouth. He tries to say something, muffled by the weapon, then pulls the trigger. The gunshot sprays gore into the pool and Nelson Bloodnight falls to the deck.
“And what becomes of you?” Catherine asks. “Should I send you to serve your master in hell?”
Bloodnight’s body shifts, and clumsily comes to his knees, then he stands like a marionette with an inexperienced puppetmaster at the strings. The two towering security guards rush out to the balcony, and under Catherine’s mental command, the corpse of Bloodnight turns and fires on the pair.
Once they’re dead, the corpse turns to you.
“So, you want to perpetuate government regulation and loopholes? You can’t seriously plan on using your powers just to take advantage of the system. We have a chance to change the system.”
• Placate her, for now. Tell her what she wants to hear, but use that money to install some major security upgrades in your lair.
• Say, “Are you going to kill me because we disagree? You can’t hope to murder everyone with different politics than your own.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Catherine the Great
Nick picks up a hunk of electronics from the living room and inspects the device. It resembles a steam-punk version of a bee’s nest, sheared down the center to reveal a honeycomb pattern, dozens of interlocking hexagons.
“What the hell…” he says, unable to make heads or tails of the gadget.
“Catherine!” you cry. She’s locked in her bedroom, remaining silent while you pound on the door. Damn it, if you still had your super-strength, you could push your way through. “Come on, we have to go!”
There’s a muffled response, but you can’t make out what she’s saying.
“For a genius, none of this stuff is very user-friendly,” Nick complains
from the living room.
“That was intentional,” Catherine says, finally opening the door.
She wears zippered black leather from head to toe, covering everything except her head and her bare left arm. Her right shoulder has thick steel spikes protruding from it.
“They wanted a villain,” she says in response to the look on your face.
“How…where?” you stammer.
“Post-apocalyptic New Year’s party 2013. I went Mad Max while Danny dressed up as a Mayan….” Her expression goes wistful as she thinks of her son.
“Hey!” Nick says, snapping his fingers. “Let’s make our friend bulletproof once more, yeah?”
“It’s done! It just needs to charge. I had tapped into the whole trailer park grid here, but if we have to leave….Do you think the abandoned nuclear plant is still operational?”
“I don’t think we’re going anywhere with the cops outside,” you say.
“Oh, we’re not leaving, but this trailer is! Remember, it’s a mobile home.”
“Please tell me you put a rocket engine under your house,” Nick says.
“Where would I get a rocket engine? Don’t be ridiculous,” Catherine says. “No, it has eight legs that can extend to walk us out of here, and a specialized cloaking device so the police won’t be able to follow us. Have you seen Danny’s tablet? I just need to put the address in the GPS.”
After the mobile home turns into a spider, walks out over the other trailers, and turns invisible, it’s an easy ride to the abandoned nuclear power station. Despite being shut down by environmental protestors, the plant is still operational. And it’s still guarded, but only at the outer perimeter. Once Catherine’s trailer steps over the fence and parks you inside the main reactor, you’re essentially provided with your own private security team.
* * *
“It’s ready,” Catherine says once the device is charged. “But I need my tech-glove to make it work.”
SUPERPOWERED: Are YOU a Superhero or Supervillain? (Click Your Poison Book 3) Page 6
