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

by James Schannep

  Having disposed of that bit of hazardous waste, you head up top to get your foreman back to work. There’s a tinge of regret, having tossed aside someone with such unique abilities, but how can you be expected to reason with someone so unreasonable?

  Just as you make eye-contact with the foreman, you’re nearly knocked off your feet by an earthquake. Was there a demolition charge scheduled for today? Not that you can remember….

  When a tunnel explodes from the earth, you suddenly understand. There at the center of the rubble stands the invulnerable Nick Dorian. And he’s seriously pissed off. You run for cover like the rest of the workers, but a solar eclipse forces you to look back. The dark shadow is a bulldozer, held overhead even as Nick gains on you. He uses it to stamp you out like a bug.

  THE END

  Getting the Drop

  Up on the top level of the bank, you smash out one of the windows with the power of mind and head into the offices. You keep a cloud of jagged glass floating nearby in case you need it. Never know when a cloud of jagged glass might come in handy.

  Gunfire erupts from somewhere in the bank’s recesses—looks like Diamond found the robbers—so you quickly move through the office and into the hallway. There’s a waist-high guardrail up ahead, and beyond that, open air. You fly over the railing just in time to see Catherine battle a gang of criminals, about a half-dozen in total, on the main floor below. They’re shooting right at her, but the bullets prove useless, save for pissing her off.

  She doesn’t need your help; that much is clear. But then it hits you—she might not need your help, but the bank robbers do! Each time she strikes a powerful blow, she instantly kills a robber. Two men have already died at her hands, and soon she’ll kill the lot if you don’t do something, and fast. Justice or not, heroes aren’t murderers.

  Two robbers are close enough that you can grab their ski-mask-covered heads and bash them together. The criminals fall to the ground in a heap.

  The remaining two look at each other in confusion. You rain glass down upon them, skewering both in a terrible, but non-lethal, attack. Beats dying, right?

  You land on the bank floor and pull the weapons away from the helpless men.

  “Flying is so goddamned cool,” Catherine says. “I always wanted that power.”

  “Are there any others?” you ask.

  She shakes her head no. “The people up front said six. Not bad for our first day!”

  “Let’s head out so the rescue workers can do their thing. If not the hostages, at least these guys need medical attention.”

  “And the taxpayers get to pay for it, right?” she says, folding her arms across her chest. Catherine stares at the men, thinking. Then she shakes her head and adds, “Okay, let’s go.”

  • Go announce the all-clear.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Ghosting

  Though you’ve never eaten at “The Mine,” you’ve heard of the posh wine-bar restaurant located in the basement of The Grand Mercurial Hotel, mostly because it’s supposed to be haunted. And tonight—it will be.

  Once seated, you study the restaurant. Red-brick walls, save for opposite the bar, which is a floor-to-ceiling built-in wine rack. Chandeliers use mason jars for casings; rustic copper piping runs between the lights. A piano sits unused near the fireplace.

  “Hello! How’re you this evening?” says your young, overly-jovial waiter. “Have you dined with us before?”

  “First time. Can you tell me a bit about the history?”

  His eyes light up. “Of course, I’d love to! The Mine was originally boiler room storage when the hotel was constructed in 1865. However, when prohibition hit in the 1920s, it was converted into the city’s largest speakeasy. Refurnished as a restaurant ten years later, running ever since!”

  “Isn’t it supposed to be…haunted?”

  “Oh, you’re one of those,” he waves at you playfully, then shakes his head. “I don’t like talking about the dead. They’re listening, you know.” He smiles, but you get the feeling he’s serious.

  “Please? It’s why I came here! I take full responsibility if any ghosts show up,” you promise, doing your best to be charming.

  “You’re bad…okay, if I must. The Mine was shut down after a raid in 1925, the bloodiest in prohibition history. Several prominent mafia bosses were here at the time, and a gun battle erupted in this very room. Four police officers were killed, many more were wounded, and over twenty civilians died.

  “It’s said that the ghosts showed up as soon as the restaurant reopened. They’re no joke; I’ve heard whispers and felt cold drafts. They love to knock over wine glasses. I mean, can you blame them? They were murdered for drinking, and a few years later, alcohol is no big deal again.

  “Look, see that?” he asks, pointing to the bar. “The glass of liquor left out by the far stool? Bartenders started doing that as an offering to the restless spirits that inhabit this place.”

  You give applause for a story well-told. “That was wonderful, thank you.”

  “My pleasure. Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “Just water. I don’t want to enrage the spirits.” You grin.

  The waiter nods and leaves, making the sign of the cross as he walks toward the kitchen. Okay, who do you mess with first?

  Two tables away, you tap a patron on the shoulder with your invisible force. The bald man looks back momentarily, frowns, then returns to his conversation. You tap his shoulder once more. He turns, brushes his shoulder as if there might be something crawling on him, then goes back to his meal.

  Testing the precision of your telekinesis, you reach out and press a few of the piano keys. Not a full song, but enough to get the attention of the nearby table. A man and a woman look back, surprised, but only chuckle to one another in disbelief. Hmmm…perhaps a larger display of your powers?

  “Who do I have to screw to get a drink around here?” moans a middle-aged woman at the table next to you. She’s dressed in fine jewelry and a designer dress, but twirls an empty cocktail glass in her hand while her husband ignores her and types into his smartphone.

  That’ll do.

  You reach out, grab a champagne bottle from the wall case, and bring it down with the power of your mind. A collective gasp strikes the room, and those nearby look around—possibly wondering where the hidden camera lies.

  With all eyes on the floating bottle, you bring it to the woman’s table before forcing the cork. It ejects with a loud pop and the room gasps once more. Under your command, the bottle tips and pours champagne into her glass. Her eyes roll into the back of her head and she faints, but no one else moves. No one screams, or even speaks; they just stare. You’ve got ’em.

  Pressing the floor to give the impression of footsteps, you bring the bottle to the bar. The empty stool appears to slide itself away, then the lone cocktail glass rises into the air. With your mind, you hurl the glass against the brick wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces. Several women in the room scream and everyone else screams when you shake a certain bottle and spray a shower of champagne over the restaurant.

  “I tried to warn you!” your waiter shouts. “This is all your fault!”

  Ah, if only he knew….

  “I’m sorry,” you say, acting as if you are.

  Then your chair rises from the ground—with you still in it. Now people shriek and press themselves against the walls in terror. As the chair floats toward the exit stair, people rush to get away from you.

  “Please, help me—” you cry, cutting yourself off as you force yourself to fly up the stairs and out of the restaurant.

  Out in the night air, you howl with laughter. God only knows how long they’ll cower down there. That…was awesome! Especially the part where you flew around and….

  Wait, you did just fly, didn’t you! If you can lift that chair with you in it, why not just lift yourself?

  Suddenly, you rocket into the sky under your own command, grasp your body with your mind and carry yourself t
hrough the air with the power of thought. Arms spread out wide like a bird or a plane, you soar through the air, high up over the buildings. Moonlight glints off Mercury Bay in the distance.

  This is amazing! Far beyond exhilarating. Whatever fear of heights you may have had in the past melts away under the feeling of complete control. You fly around for another hour before mental exhaustion sets in.

  • Return to the apartment and fall into a deep, fatigue-induced sleep.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  G-Men

  Out in the warehouse district, nestled deep amongst the portside shipping facilities at Mercury Bay, is a nondescript building that will serve as your new home. The exterior is the same rotted wood and aged brick as the rest of the buildings, but inside, it’s another story.

  Agent Droakam throws an ancient switch, powering the lights of the mega-facility one block at a time. A colony of bats screeches angrily and whirls around before coming at you in a cloud. You close your eyes and brace yourself, though they fly out the door without so much as brushing against you.

  When you open your eyes again, an incredible sight awaits. The warehouse lab is vast and open, modular, with equipment crates too numerous to count. Though mothballed, dusty, and coated in a layer of guano, you can tell this used to be a formidable, Men in Black-style test site.

  “Where did all this come from? I thought you had no budget?” you say.

  “Had no budget. Now that you exist, the Supersoldier Program is back online.”

  “All of this…” Nick says, coming to a conclusion. “Cold-war era experiments?”

  Agent Droakam nods. “We’ve never entirely given up, just traded the supernatural and the cryptozoological for something more grounded. Once the program was shut down, this became a storage facility. Any technological breakthroughs that could prove useful to the Supersoldier Program from the past sixty years, ranging from the mundane to the state-of-the-art, can be found here in one of these crates.”

  “Cool,” Nick says.

  You step further inside the warehouse. Off to one side, just like Agent Droakam said, is the wreckage from the explosion. Nick walks right past it without so much as a glance—he’s drawn to the massive computer terminal at the center of the room. Several different monitors, stacks of hardware, all black and intimidating. The whole array is about the size of a trailer home.

  “It’s not connected yet,” Agent Droakam explains, “but soon you’ll be able to recreate 3D models of the experiment and run simulations in an effort to understand the accident. After the background check, you’ll have access to NIPRNet and SIPRNet classified government networks, capable of tapping into Top Secret files, but that trust goes both ways. What we do here is extremely sensitive work. Just imagine if our enemies got hold of this technology—even a single terrorist cell with abilities such as yours would wreak havoc upon the civilized world. Now imagine an invading army of ‘special’ Supersoldiers.”

  “Understood,” Nick says.

  You nod.

  “Good. It’s getting late, so I think we can reconvene in the morning. In the meantime, you’ll be sleeping here. There are some cots and sleeping bags in the offices on the far side of the room for now—we’ll upgrade to beds soon. Get some sleep—training begins tomorrow.”

  After saying your goodnights, Agent Droakam leaves. You turn to Nick.

  “There’s no way I can sleep right now,” you say.

  “Me neither,” he says. “I’m going to get a head start on this computer system.”

  • “I think I’ll go for a walk. Maybe bait some muggers so I can teach ’em a lesson.”

  • “Okay. I’m going to see what’s in all these crates.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  GMO Nom Nom

  As soon as the decision is made, you feel like a racehorse coming out of the starting gate—there’s nowhere to go but forward, and no speed to get you there but fast. Knowing the elevator is broken, and not having the patience for the stairs, you open your apartment window and leap out.

  Only when you hit the pavement below do you remember, Oh yeah, I live on the fourth floor. Apparently, your new body has its own set of instincts, because (despite leaving a crater in the middle of the street) that felt like you just hopped off of a stool. You barely notice the impact.

  But you’re growing hungrier by the minute. Luckily, your corner market is only a few blocks away—a distance you’re able to sprint in only a matter of seconds. When you pass a taxicab driving on the street, you realize you must be running around forty miles per hour. It’s not that you have super-speed per se, just that every physical aspect about you is now super. Your legs pump like pistons.

  As might be expected (you don’t live in the nicest part of town), the grocery store’s entrance is covered with a roll-down security gate. You put your fingers through the links, grab hold, and peel the gate away like wrapping paper from a Christmas present. Your stomach growls again. Have you ever been this hungry?

  A thick chain binds the handles of the double-door entrance, which is secured with a padlock, but you strip the chain off as if it was made of tinfoil. As you push the doors open, a security alarm wails overhead. Sounds cut sharply into your eardrums, perhaps more painful than pre-experiment, but right now—they’re excruciating.

  With your hands pressed against the sides of your head like earmuffs, you squat down and look around for the alarm; it’s on the ceiling, twenty feet in the air. Without even thinking, you leap up and swat the alarm like an NBA star blocking a shot. The device shatters into a thousand pieces, leaving you with nothing but blissful quiet.

  And now, as you look over the aisles upon aisles of food, you super-salivate.

  * * *

  You’re lying with your back against the frozen food aisle, nearly sick to your stomach with gluttony, when the front door motion detector gives off a ding! signaling that you’re no longer alone. You rise to your feet, wipe the ice cream from your face, and head toward the entrance.

  It’s a lone cop, or perhaps a night watchman, his handgun drawn, out of apparent concern for the destroyed entrance. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees you.

  “Holy shit!” he says, “Is there a bear loose in here or something?”

  “Uhhh, yeah, I was pretty hungry and things got…a little out of hand.”

  “You did all this?” he asks, lowering his weapon and looking around the ravaged shop.

  You nod, suppressing a belch. He shakes his head and steps toward you, removing a pair of handcuffs. “Well, in that case, you have the right to—”

  “Wait,” you interrupt, stepping forward. “I’ll pay for it tomorrow or something. This was an emergency.”

  He laughs. “Doesn’t work that way, sorry. But it’s not a major crime, not unless you resist—”

  “You’re not taking me anywhere!” you cry, suddenly filled with rage.

  Back on edge, the cop brings out a Taser and aims it at your face. “You’ve got three more steps before—”

  You rush forward and he fires the Taser—right at your face. The barbed ends (intended to dig into your skin and conduct the electrical current) bounce harmlessly off your skin, unable to find purchase. Before you realize what you’re doing, you’ve back-handed the man across the store.

  He flies over three check-out stations before landing on the belt of a fourth, which activates and conveys the unconscious man to the bagging area.

  Shocked at your own outburst, you flee from the store. Even now, as you pound the pavement with incredible speed back to your apartment, you know ravenous hunger isn’t far off. Using your strength comes with a price, it seems.

  You can’t do this every night, can you? And what if there was a security camera at the grocery store? You’re in trouble. What now? Deep breath; tomorrow is a new day. You’ll get a good night’s sleep, then first thing:

  • Why fight the system? Eating this much is expensive, and crime doesn’t pay. But eating a shitload of food does—I’m go
ing to be a professional eater!

  • 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.

  • Easiest thing to do: Punch open the back wall of the bank and make a withdrawal.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Godwin FTW

  “Sure, sounds good,” you lie. “Just let me deactivate the staff….”

  Since the Experi-mentor doesn’t know the difference, he just watches as you input a return to your dimension. As the purple jewel glows and spits out a portal home, you see his face drop.

  “Nice try, you Nazi bastard!” you shout.

  Then you jump into the portal and close it behind you. Whew, that was close. Back at the reactor, you’re free to check out a saner world. Perhaps one 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?

  • 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!

  • 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.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Going Down

  “People of K-H-A—” you start, before the gas infiltrates your lung tissue. Your words slur to just “Aaaaahhhaannnn!!!!” and you smash through the nearest window.