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

by James Schannep

  “Do you…” Nick hesitates. “Do you think Catherine is a threat?”

  “Maybe,” you reply.

  * * *

  It’s midmorning by the time Agent Droakam enters the warehouse. He carries a bag of donuts and a cardboard drink carrier with three coffees. Nick looks up from the computer terminal, then rises with a stretch and a yawn.

  “Olive branch?” the student asks.

  Droakam nods. “I admit I was at a loss when the two of you…” he starts, then clears his throat. “But it turns out your instincts were on point. I received new word from my superiors—priority one is bringing in Catherine Woodall.”

  “Easier said than done,” you add.

  “We’ll be working together on this. You and I will take the lead, while Dorian is on logistics—we’ve got clearance to work with local police, so he’ll coordinate the effort and maintain situational awareness with helicopter support. Think you can handle that?”

  Nick raises an eyebrow, then turns back to the computer console. After a few keystrokes, police radio comes up over the speakers. One of the screens shows feed from 911 emergency calls and another flickers on to display an aerial view of the city.

  “This is local news traffic cam, but I’ve informed the police helicopter crew that they’re on standby.”

  “Fair enough,” Droakam says.

  The agent offers you the bag of donuts while Nick scans the computer screens.

  “Hmmm, it looks like the police chopper has a mission already,” Nick says, tapping the keys. “Whoa—we’ve got a hit! Bank robbery in progress. Hostages taken. And—you’re gonna want to see this.”

  He pulls up a vertical, smart-phone video on someone’s Vine account. It starts on a bank façade, shot from behind a police barricade, and focuses on a woman running toward the entrance. She wears a tight, midriff-exposing black t-shirt emblazoned with a playing-card-suit red diamond logo, fingerless gloves, and black yoga pants tucked into crimson-red boots. Her face is concealed behind a red domino mask, but you recognize Catherine immediately.

  Just as she smashes through the security doors and rushes into the bank, the video’s narrator cries, “Oh shi—” and the video repeats on loop.

  “Seems ‘Supa-gurl’ has a new look,” Nick says.

  “It’s a public space, so it’s not ideal for a showdown,” Droakam says.

  “But the police are already there,” you say. “Who knows when we’ll get another chance like this!”

  “There is another option…” Nick says.

  You turn away from the screen with Agent Droakam to hear what Nick has to say.

  “She has a son. I realize this is a delicate tactic, but…while she’s off at the bank, he should be alone. If we find out she’s too powerful, we could use the kid as leverage.”

  “Jesus,” Droakam says.

  “Are you suggesting we kidnap him?” you ask.

  “If you think about it,” Nick says, “he’d probably be safer with us.”

  Droakam sighs. “I have to admit, it’s probably a better option than taking her head-on.”

  “You’re actually considering this?” you say.

  “You’re not? Think about it,” Nick replies for Droakam.

  “I’m going to head down to the bank and work with law enforcement. You go by her trailer and pick up the boy. What’s his name?” Droakam says.

  “Daniel Woodall, goes by Danny,” Nick says. “I’ll keep tabs on surveillance from here; try to help coordinate the effort.”

  • “I don’t like it, but you’re probably right.” Go get her kid.

  • “Absolutely not! Agent Droakam, I’ll meet you at the bank and together we’ll bring her in.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  End of an Era

  The Mercury City Swashbucklers are far from “America’s Football Team.” And, as one of the few teams who’ve never won a Super Bowl, the ‘Bucks (as fans call themselves), are a loyal minority. Indeed, even Quicksilver Stadium is named after a small local brew—Quicksilver Ale.

  Down at the field, the team holds practice, but being such a small team, there’s not much money for security. The main doors are locked, of course, but you can simply push them and with a painful grinding, they crack open.

  You jog out onto the Astroturf, stunning the players and staff with the unexpected interruption. The pair of security guards on midweek payroll take note and rush to detain you. Usually, drunken fans only hop onto the field during play, so you’ve got them by surprise.

  But they haven’t seen anything yet.

  The first guard goes to take out your legs, trying to show his own tackling prowess in front of the team, but he bounces off you like a Pee-wee League kid. The second guard comes at you from behind, takes hold of your shoulder and bicep, and attempts to put your arm behind your back. Nope. He might as well be tugging on a statue.

  You put a palm on the guard’s face, and with an effortless shove, send him ten yards down the field. First down! The first guard shakes off his concussion and goes at you with a can of pepper spray.

  Finally, it appears you have a weakness. Burning pain! Your eyes overflow with tears and mucous pours from your face. With superhuman rage, you grab the hapless guard and punt him through the uprights, forty yards away.

  Stumbling to the sidelines, you knock over bench seats until you find the water cooler. With sweet relief, you pour the cooler over your head like you’re already MVP. With all eyes on you, you take one of the game balls, tuck it back, and throw it into the sky—and out of the stadium.

  “Who the hell are you?” the head coach asks.

  “Your new MVP.”

  * * *

  Turns out you killed that security guard, but it doesn’t matter, because you win football games. You’re made quarterback and defensive tackle. On the offense, if you ever get to fourth down, you just tuck your head and run it in for a touchdown yourself. On defense, the opposing team gets no more than three seconds with the ball. Mark Wahlberg offers to adapt your life story for a Hollywood movie.

  Nick Dorian follows your lead and goes into the NBA. He confides that he telekinetically sends the ball into the hoop from anywhere on the court. Mercury City now hosts the greatest football and basketball teams in the world.

  Catherine Woodall founds a new chapter of Mensa, wins several Nobel prizes, and generally makes the world a better place for humanity.

  While you initially make the Swashbucklers reach superstardom, people eventually get tired of watching. There are no stakes anymore. Fans abandon the team, and the popularity of the NFL wanes as a whole. Catherine confides that by killing football, she thinks you too helped make the world a better place for humanity.

  Whatever. You’re rich! And you get to eat free anywhere you go in town, so you’re set for life. Life as a superstar. You win…sort of.

  THE END

  Entreprenope!

  “1950s tech? Ooh, tell me more!” she laughs.

  “I said since then,” you defend. “It’s a lot of stuff.”

  “A lot of junk, I’m sure. No thanks.”

  “You’re not even curious?” Nick asks.

  “Why would I sell out for yesterday’s ideas and flops? I’m the face of tomorrow!” she grins, cutely showing off said face.

  “Can’t change your mind?” you ask.

  “You just tried, didn’t you? Sorry, but no hard feelings. I’ll see you on the other side. Good luck with the whole Freedom Fighters thing. Maybe I’ll give you a call if ‘Woodall Wonders’ ever starts hiring.”

  • Head back to the warehouse without Catherine.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Evasive Maneuvers

  In a combined physical and telekinetic leap, you dive away from the car fast enough that the world temporarily blurs while you move. Then you’re up, floating in the air, and the crowd collectively gasps in response.

  You can’t bring yourself to look at Agent Droakam’s body under the car, but you’re more than ready to
avenge him. His handgun flies up to meet your outstretched arm. With lightning speed, you’ve got the pistol turned on Catherine and the magazine emptied as you fire the full capacity at her.

  The bullets do nothing more than ineffectually ping off her, ripping her costume but otherwise leaving her unharmed.

  “Stop it! You’re messing up my outfit!” she cries, feigning vanity.

  You try using your telekinesis against her any way you can think—stopping her heart, gouging out her eyes, wrenching her guts, pulling her hair—nothing works. She really is like a solid diamond. The hair moves, of course, but doesn’t tear, and that maneuver obviously doesn’t hurt her.

  Catherine the Diamond rips out a streetlight and comes at you in earnest.

  You grab her with your mind and throw her across the street. But it doesn’t work. It’s feels like trying to lift a rhinoceros. Instead, you slide across the pavement while she continues charging. What the hell? You flit and fly, dodging her strokes, then dash up as fast as you can.

  But it’s not enough.

  The light pole slams against you before you can get away. Hurtling to the ground in a daze from sixty feet high, you’re able to get your wits about you just before you plow into the pavement.

  You stop only inches from the concrete, the wind knocked out of you and your right thigh throbbing from the impact of the streetlight, but otherwise okay. You reel about, ready for the next attack, but too late. Catherine has one hand gripped tightly around your ankle and there’s no escape.

  She lifts you high above her head and starts twirling. It’s all you can do to stay conscious. Your vision narrows, then everything goes black.

  * * *

  First it’s just blackness, but eventually color blurs in. Blinking, blinking, blinking, your sight starts to return. You’re…in a hospital?

  “Nick?” you utter weakly. He’s here, in the hospital, by your side. Wearing a black suit, like it’s already your funeral.

  “Hey,” he says. “How’re you feelin’ there, champ? Can you sit up?” You try, but it’s like you’re glued to the bed. In despair and confusion, you shake your head. “What about your powers, huh? Try to move that cup of water on the bedside table. Concentrate hard, this is important.”

  After an excruciating effort, eyes watering in the process, the cup shudders on the tray.

  “Okay, okay. That’s enough. It’s not totally gone. You’re paralyzed, from the looks of it, but those abilities might come back in time.”

  “Nick…”

  “Shhh, there-there. Don’t try too hard, it’s almost over. I’m going to tell you a story, mostly because I can’t tell anybody else, but what the hey—I’m gonna let you in on a little secret if that’s okay with you.”

  He pulls up a chair, unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat before continuing. “How do you like the new duds? Pretty snazzy, huh? I’m Agent Nick Dorian now, head of the Supersoldier Program. After Droakam passed away, and with you incapacitated, I was the natural choice. But of course I didn’t leave that to chance—I gave myself the job after I’d hacked into the database. That was a crucial step.

  “There was never going to be a Supersoldier Program, at least not in the way Droakam wanted. Creating an army of people like us? I couldn’t let that happen. Which, incidentally, is why I joined up in the first place. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, right? Once I knew he was trying to recreate the experiment, I had to come along and stop him.

  “It didn’t take much. After your meeting with Catherine, I knew I could use her. That was the final piece of the puzzle. So I sent Agent Droakam falsified orders, telling him that her capture was priority one. Of course you couldn’t defeat her, what with her being nearly invincible and all. Although if you did, I had a plan for that too.”

  He winks.

  “I thought she would just kill you outright, so I apologize that you’ve suffered. I would’ve preferred a clean death. Diamond is fully in my control now, which is great, but it also means I have no need for you. No hard feelings, okay?”

  Nick takes a syringe from his breast pocket, stands, and inserts the liquid solution into your IV bag. You try to stop him with your mind, but the bag just sways as if against a breeze.

  “Well, that about covers it. Next step: ruling the world. Thanks for all your help…and sleep tight, my friend.”

  As Nick walks away, the world goes black, never to return again.

  THE END

  Extra Credit

  You sit in the theater at the very end until the last name has passed and the house lights come on, huh? Good for you. Whether it’s out of respect for the cast and crew, not wanting a theater experience to end, or just in hope of a bonus scene, I applaud your going-against-the-crowd nature (and the size of your bladder). So I shall reward you. Here it is, your bonus scene, one of two Easter eggs in the book:

  The Experi-mentor hovers upside-down in midair, his lab coat slack against gravity. Eyes clenched tight and face awash with a pain-expectant wince. The three of you sit in your color-coded pods, each in a different state of terror-fueled agitation. An electrical arc spans the room, jagged at all right angles, but suspended in time. In fact, time stands still.

  Then the Experi-mentor opens his eyes. He looks around. Nothing moves, save for him. Is this what dying feels like? Wait, no, something else is moving. Or at least, appears alive. The three pods pulse with some kind of other-worldly energy, supercharging the beings within.

  The scientist squirms about in space, willing gravity to obey him, but the force won’t comply. He flails, weightless. Finally—fortunately—he’s just barely able to put a finger around the handle of an equipment-rack drawer. He pulls himself in toward the shelf and plants his feet firmly against it.

  Only one chance. The man aims his trajectory right at the pods, ready to spring forward and unplug the mega-cable in the center. Maybe that will restore the laws of physics? He’d better be careful not to cross into the electric beam; static or no, he’s fairly certain it’s still dangerous.

  The Experi-mentor launches himself toward the pods. He flies forward, his lab coat oddly contorted and not responding to friction or gravity, and reaches for the cables. They’re almost in his grasp—

  —but an unseen energy repels him away from the pods, rebuffing his advances and sending him careening across the lab. He braces for impact and sails right toward the double-doors of the entrance. When he collides against them, the lab explodes! A firestorm rocks the entire area, and debris barely misses the man who just retriggered the space/time continuum.

  The whole world returns to normal.

  Terrified, the scientist rushes back to check on his test subjects, but the pods are solid walls of energy. He gathers his papers, takes the camcorder, and flees in fear.

  Only after he’s gone do the pods detonate—blasting energy in all directions and leaving three unconscious, superpowered beings.

  Unaware of their new gifts, they begin to stir.

  • Now go back and finish the story!

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Eye-Opening

  “Very well, if you want to be known as a criminal trio, I’m willing to take that step. But—and this too is non-negotiable—I’m the mastermind. What good is a super-genius on the team if you don’t listen to me?”

  After a moment of silence, they grumble their agreement.

  “So what’s the plan, then? Hack into the news broadcast and announce the city’s ours?” Nick asks.

  “Give me twenty-four hours to come up with a plan. In the meantime—why not take some of this cash and find us a discrete construction team to start on the lair?”

  * * *

  “You put this together in a day?” Nick says, noting the “office” you’ve set up for yourself. It’s bare-bones, mainly a mega-computer terminal with several monitors.

  You shrug. “Part of my superpowers is manic efficiency.”

  “Okay, what’s the plan?” Catherine asks.

 
“Well, I found some interesting new information. The press and Mercury PD aren’t the only ones interested in…our…exploits.”

  You pull up a headshot on a spare monitor. The man on-screen is of average height, square-jawed and muscular, with the short-cropped hair of a military man.

  “Agent Brendan Droakam, FBI Supersoldier Program.”

  “Wait…did you say Supersoldier Program?” Nick asks.

  You nod. “He’s been following the two of you. Obviously, that’s a problem, but that’s not all.”

  “More bad news?” Catherine asks.

  “I’m afraid so. My cancer treatment samples were stolen. At first I couldn’t understand why, as I made the research available for peer-review. My conspiracy senses went off; maybe the pharmaceutical companies didn’t want the treatment out there? But then I realized there was a far simpler answer: The samples were stolen because they contain my blood.”

  Catherine’s eyes narrow. “You think this FBI guy…?”

  “Not quite. He’s a G-man, plain and simple. The samples were stolen by someone who could do something with them.”

  “Police forensics?” Nick tries.

  You sigh. “It’s that scientist, the Experi-mentor. He’s still alive! And he’s trying to recreate the experiment.”

  They both look to you. It’s unspoken, but shows on their faces clear as day: What do we do?

  You say:

  • “The enemy of my enemy makes for an incredibly useful pawn. What if we let this Agent Droakam and the Experi-mentor cancel each other out?”

  • “We have to stop the Experi-mentor. If he creates more ‘supers,’ we lose what advantage we have.”

  • “First we take down this Agent Droakam. The scientist doesn’t know we’re onto him, but an entire Supersoldier Program? That’s problematic.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Feeling Lucky

  “Different?” you say, as if the word had never occurred to you. “Just lucky, I guess. Lucky to be alive. Maybe my luck will continue, right? Wh—what about you? Anything different?”