“You fucking coward!” Nick cries.
He rises up from the computer terminal and with a deafening Kaboom! you stumble back. Nick holds a handgun he’d stashed under the table, and with only a three-foot distance between the two of you, his quick-draw aim is dead-on.
The entire SWAT team opens fire into Nick, making the college student more lead than human in only a matter of seconds. He falls, dead. So much for getting arrested. You cough blood.
“H-help,” you wheeze, stumbling towards Droakam.
“Let’s get you to a doctor, okay?” the agent says.
You nod weakly, letting the FBI man help you out of the room. It’s slow-going, but you make it out of the casino and into an SUV with government plates.
As he puts the car into gear and drives away, Agent Droakam says, “I happen to have a doctor on call, a man who will be very happy to operate on you, but I believe the two of you have already met. You know him as The Experi-mentor.”
You lose consciousness, never to wake again.
THE END
Crate&Bomb
“Droakam, quick, what can we use to defeat this guy?”
“In the warehouse supplies? Ummm…” he says, brow furrowed.
Nick and Catherine rush forward to engage the phantom villain, but with both invisibility and intangibility, it’s like fighting a ghost. And you doubt there’s a Catholic priest in one of these crates whom you can use to exorcise the evil spirit.
“There has to be something!”
“Well…there is one option. It’ll kill us all, but I suppose that’s Service Before Self. Are you ready to sacrifice your life for your country?”
Catherine and Nick have no chance against the invisible supervillain. What choice do you have?
“What do I do?”
“See that crate tucked back there? I want you to hit it as hard as you can.”
You sprint with all the strength you can muster, leap, and plow with both fists forward into the crate in question. Faster than your mind can process, a fiery white light envelops the room and the tactical nuclear bomb detonates.
* * *
Sometime later you wake up across town. Thrown from the blast, you survived. You’ll learn that no one else did, so you’ve defeated the Experi-mentor, but at what cost? Your team is dead, and you’ll forever have to live with that. And radiation poisoning—you’ll have to live with that too.
You win…ish.
THE END
Crazed and Confused
The scientist appears truly baffled, but shrugs in resignation and mutters something about “pearls before swine.” He stalks off to find another candidate, leaving you to go on your merry way.
You’ve lived in Mercury City long enough to know a lunatic when you see one. And while the vagrants who quote Shakespearian soliloquies can be charming in their own right, you’d never trust your safety to a madman.
• It is curious, though. Why not stick around and watch this play out?
• Right. Avert your eyes and keep on moving—time to head home.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Creature of Appetite
You spend the whole night with Alison, putting your newfound superhuman stamina to use. By the time morning rolls around, you’ve already eaten all the groceries you bought yesterday.
“Well, that was…super,” she says, coming out from your bedroom wearing one of your shirts, her blonde hair adorably tousled. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Uhhh…” you say, looking out over the desiccated packaging of the groceries. “It’s a side effect of my powers.”
“Wowzers. With strength like yours and an appetite like that, I’d expect you to look like The Incredible Hulk. Well, wanna go out to eat?”
“I don’t think I can….”
“Oh. I see. Don’t want to get tied down, right?”
“What? No. No, no, no. Hell no. I just…don’t have any money. Crime doesn’t pay, but heroism pays even less.”
She brightens up. “Then I’m buying!”
After the fourth round of bottomless mimosas (which, tragically, you metabolize too quickly to enjoy even a pleasant buzz), Alison Argyle reaches across the table and puts her hand on yours.
“What you need is an image consultant. Clearly, you don’t fit the reclusive billionaire archetype, so we need to market you. You save the day, then get paid to give an interview or sell t-shirts, that kind of thing.”
“And you’re that image consultant?” you ask.
“If you’ll have me.”
• “Rock Star doesn’t sell out. Sorry, babe. I’m gonna keep doing my thang and the rest will work itself out.”
• “That’s a duet I can get behind, so to speak. I’m in! What do we do first?”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
A Criminal Mind
Agent Droakam nods. “Good. Pull up the Top Ten Most Wanted on the FBI’s website, then select number ten.”
Nick complies and a group of ten mug shots show up on the screen, like a college yearbook for the criminally deranged. When Nick selects the final man in the group, a detailed profile appears next to a close-up of his black and white photograph. Cold eyes stare back at you. A grim man in his upper 50s, stubble beard and hard features.
ROGER ALEISTER KINGSLEY
Fraud by Wire; Mail Fraud; Money Laundering Conspiracy; Money Laundering; Securities Fraud; Filing False Registration With the SEC; False Filings With the SEC; Falsification of Books
REWARD: The FBI is offering a reward of up to $100,000 for information leading directly to the arrest of Roger Aleister Kingsley.
Roger Aleister Kingsley is wanted for his alleged participation in a scheme to defraud thousands of investors using a public company incorporated in Great Britain, but headquartered in Mercury City. Kingsley is thought to have defrauded investors in failed stock holdings in excess of 200 million U.S. dollars.
Kingsley is a thin, but not athletic man. He is known to be clean-shaven and well-groomed. Kingsley has his primary residence in London, England. He is known to utilize multiple British passports.
Droakam turns to you. “He doesn’t have a history of violence, but keep your wits about you. Kingsley is notorious for showing up just long enough for us to learn he’s here, but not long enough for us to grab him. Our intel says he’s here in Mercury City brokering a deal with the casino mafia, but we don’t know—”
“Found him,” Nick says.
You both turn back to the computer terminal, where Nick focuses on a Google maps image of downtown, cursor blinking over a skyrise apartment building.
“How—how did you?” Droakam asks, stunned.
“If you want to file your report legally—don’t ask.”
“Okay, anonymous tip it is. You’re certain?”
Nick nods.
“We’re moving tonight,” Droakam says. “There’s no time to get a warrant, but I’ve got a detain-on-site order. If we wait for permission to clear the premises with an extraction team, he’ll be long gone.”
“So…what exactly is the plan?” you ask.
“Dorian will provide technical support from here. I’ll wait outside to arrest Kingsley, and you—you’re going to make him come out,” he says as if it’s a simple task.
“How? Do I need a weapon?” you ask.
“You are the weapon,” Droakam grins. “C’mere, I’ve got a housewarming present for you.”
He walks over to one of the crates, tall and tapered like a coffin, stenciled with DinoSkin Mark IV. He opens the lid to reveal a mannequin wearing an olive-green bodysuit, scaled and reptilian.
“The newest and best in body armor,” Droakam explains. “Too expensive to be put into combat on a mass scale, but nothing else comes close. Lightweight, breathable, and incredibly durable. The scaling provides multilayer protection against gunshots or knife attack. Go ahead, touch it.”
The material stretches when you tug at it, but it’s coarse to the touch. Droakam raps his knuckles against the mannequi
n’s torso.
“A reinforced plate on the chest and spine provide added shock protection against explosives. But the best part? You should still be able to fly around in this thing because it’s so lightweight.”
“Maybe your superhero name could be Terror-dactyl,” Nick snarks.
“Yeah, won’t I look kind of silly in this?” you say.
“You’re free to wear it under your clothes, but remember, your abilities have a weight limit. Every ounce counts. Suit up, we’re out of here in five.”
* * *
You ride in Agent Droakam’s government sedan, the garish bodysuit hidden beneath a hoodie and sweatpants. If push comes to shove, you can take them off, but until then….
“I’ve put the address in your GPS,” Nick’s voice comes in over the radio. “Is this guy a shut-in? Is that why we’re dragging him out? I mean, what’s the MO of our UNSUB?”
Droakam grabs the radio mike. “UNSUB means ‘Unidentified Subject.’”
“Yeah, like in those cop shows. I’m the classic computer jockey, right? ‘Telepath Cop.’ I could totally see that on network TV.”
You can’t help but smile.
“I’m glad you’re excited, but this is serious,” Droakam growls back. “Kill the radio chatter.”
“Okay. Just trying to help. Thought you might want to know things like—just for example—the whole building has been rented out using the same checking account by a guy named Jacob Crowley. Is that an alias of his?”
Droakam’s face drops. He turns to you and says, “That means they’re all his guys. Most likely, he has protection in there. A whole team. An apartment building full of security….”
“Hello? Helloooooooo?” Nick’s voice crackles over the radio.
“Ya done good, kid. Don’t let it go to your head,” Droakam warns him.
He pulls the car over; you’ve arrived. The building is an older apartment complex, six stories high, that’s decayed over time. A homeless man pushes an overloaded shopping cart past the front door, but no one else is around.
“Okay, you’re up. I’ll be here as soon as you bring him out.”
“I see you’ve arrived,” Nick says over the radio. “Good luck, break a leg. Kingsley’s, preferably.”
• Blast the door open. Take them by surprise.
• Knock on the door. Maybe you can convince the UNSUB to step outside?
• Fly up to the roof and gain access that way.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Crisis of Infinite Earths
Your new home is a nuclear power plant on the edge of town, gutted and left to rot. Environmental protestors swayed the political powers of Mercury City and funding was removed only months before construction completed. Now it remains a guarded, super-secure nothingness. The open area surrounding the plant is a mere reflection of the vast emptiness within.
But the guards don’t ever check inside the structure, so essentially they serve as your own private security once you sneak inside. It doesn’t take a genius to observe their patrols and find a weak spot, so you make it your new home that very same night.
You bring enough food and water for a few days, but the available technology within should speed up the progress of your experiments exponentially. And—if your calculations are correct—the nuclear shielding should be strong enough to keep you from ripping the very fabric of space/time when you toy with the bonds of the universe.
It takes twice as long to open a hole to a parallel universe as it did for you to cure cancer. Presently, as you look at the staff you’ve constructed to explore the multiverse, you’re frozen with indecision. It’s an odd form of helplessness, one where you’re confronted with too many choices.
The Staff—since you’ve yet to christen it with a Cool Name—is seven feet tall with an ornate, purple jewel at the top. The main body of the staff is forged from the very nuclear reactor in which you stand, built to shield you from cosmic radiation as you move from one plane of existence to the next. The jewel itself is not technically a jewel but the physical manifestation of quantum mechanics.
You unplug the staff. It’s ready for use, and should recharge itself simply by being used—a closed energy loop capable of infinite travel. And therein lies the rub. With so many possibilities, where to first? You can move interlocking pieces on the staff’s body in order to program the device with a more specific parameter set, but the possibilities are stymieing.
Where might you go? What could await you on the other side? A universe that never experienced a Dark Age and thus has long ago mastered your new technology? Or, if you’re not careful, perhaps you’ll find a world where the Nazis won WWII and a fascist hegemony rules the day? Literally anything is possible.
Hmmm… Perhaps it’s best to set the staff to search for a reality in which…
• 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?
• There was never an explosion. Perhaps you can find the pods that gave you your powers and study them!
• There are no superpowered humans on the planet. You could do a lot of good for that world (or rule it) without fear of anyone exposing the secret to your genius.
• 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?
• 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!
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Crunch!
Ready to impress Catherine, you reach out with your mind and catch the vault door. Unfortunately, your mental force isn’t strong enough and there’s a painful feeling of violation as the steel door rips past your grip.
Then there’s an even worse feeling as the door itself breaks nearly every bone in your body, crushing your internal organs and killing you after only a fleeting instant of shock.
THE END
Cut and Run
Did you know that a hit-and-run is the felony crime most often gotten away with? It’s true. But hey, it’s not like you blew up that lab. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And now you’re not. The police sirens were wailing long before you took off, so those other two people will be fine when an ambulance shows up…right? A shiver runs down your spine as you think about the pair of bodies left incapacitated by the experiment.
You’re still a bit scatterbrained when you make it back to your apartment building. Still shaken up. Still feeling electrified. In fact, you almost step into the open elevator shaft, but you’re stopped by the “out of order” sign that hangs on a nylon rope across the open doors.
Looks like it’ll be the stairs up to your fourth floor apartment.
When you reach the landing, you have to wait for an elderly woman—old Mrs. Jankis—coming down the last few steps with a cat carrier in tow. She’s got a massive handbag slung over her right forearm, wears a thick wool coat, and an oversized hat tied around her head with a scarf. She struggles with the weight of the cat carrier, but she’s nearly to the bottom.
You sigh impatiently and she looks up—which causes her to lose her footing and fall forward down the stairs. Instinctively, you put out your hands and brace for impact, willing her away from you. With a shocking blast of energy, she falls backward and actually up the stairs!
Did you just do that? You look to your hands with disbelief, then to Mrs. Jankis up on the next landing. You rush to her side.
“I’m fine, don’t touch me,” she says, rising and brushing herself off. In a mix of embarrassment and—what? fear? disbelief?—she claims her belongings and leaves in a huff. “Goddamned elevator.”
In a frenzied sprint, you get to your apartment and slam the door behind you, pressing yourse
lf against cold wood as if the incident might try to follow you inside. Slowly, the reality of the moment starts to sink in. There’s no point denying it. You saw the collision course and internally said, no, get away from me, and she obeyed! You moved her with the power of your mind. You could actually feel the energy leave your body and become a presence in the stairwell.
Could you do it again? You turn toward the kitchen and mentally latch onto the first thing you see: a bag of potato chips. In response to your mental command, the bag rises into the air and the chips float out of the bag. You telekinetically orbit the chips around the bag in perfect synchronization—they’re fully responding to your will!
• No time for small potatoes. Off to the casino—I’m going to make a killing at roulette!
• I want to mess with people—maybe pretend there’s a ghost in that creepy, old restaurant down the street.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Cutting out Early
As is routine, when you arrive at your apartment complex you head to the mailboxes. Damn latch always sticks, and this time it’s barely worth the effort. Just bills and credit card applications. The elevator has an “out of order” sign hanging on a nylon rope across the open doors, so it looks like it’ll be the stairs up to the fourth floor.
When you reach the landing, you have to wait for an elderly woman—old Mrs. Jankis—coming down the last few steps with a cat carrier in tow. She’s got a massive handbag slung over her right forearm, wears a thick wool coat, and an oversized hat tied around her head with a scarf. She struggles with the weight of the cat carrier, but she’s nearly to the bottom.
You’re considering whether or not to offer assistance when she cries out. Her high heel didn’t quite connect with the next step and now she falls toward you, cat carrier airborne and purse flailing. Instinctively you reach out to catch her, but she’s at least ten feet away from your arms.
SUPERPOWERED: Are YOU a Superhero or Supervillain? (Click Your Poison Book 3) Page 8
