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

by James Schannep

  • Placate them, for now. Tell them what they want to hear, but use that money to install some major security upgrades in your lair.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Helluva Nosebleed

  You roll onto your back and force the man up into the air. He slows, but you fall faster and faster. This isn’t working! Okay, focus. Maybe if you alternate between lowering yourself and lowering him, you can incrementally….

  Splat!

  THE END

  A Heroic Sacrifice

  Using your telekinesis, you shove the agent away just before the car grinds you into the pavement. How selfless of you.

  Do the policemen take down Catherine in your stead? Does the crowd turn against her? Is Diamond brought to justice? You’ll never know, and it doesn’t much matter, because you’re now and forevermore “The Amazing Pancake.”

  THE END

  Heroism is Hard

  Okay, so that first encounter didn’t go so well. Heroes don’t kill, blah blah blah. But you know what? Young Clark Kent probably killed his first pet. Bad dog! Crunch. Live and learn, then move on.

  Your black cape flows majestically as you fly above the city streets, looking for crime-in-action. The mask holds tight against your face; that sticky tack is good stuff. But it’s not crime you find; instead, destiny comes calling in the form of a smoke signal—from a burning skyscraper up ahead. This looks like a job for…The Phantom!

  With one fist outstretched, you zoom faster toward the fire, gaining speed. You’re screaming through the air when you arrive at the blaze, and you clap your hands together both physically and mentally, transferring your telekinetic energy into a shockwave. The blast hits the skyscraper and shatters the windows of two whole floors, depriving the flames of oxygen and extinguishing this section of the fire.

  Nice! That was easy. But there’s still work to be done, in fact—

  Your train of thought is interrupted by a piercing scream, like that of a man riding a roller coaster through hell. The comparison isn’t far off, because when you look up, you see a man leap from one of the burning windows straight toward you.

  Reaching out with your mind, you grab the man and lift him up. But you begin to fall. It’s too much weight. You can either fly or lift the man, but you can’t do both at the same time.

  • Fling the man into the floor, the floor you just cleared, then fly up to check on him.

  • Grab the man and lawn-dart your way to the firefighters, aiming for the life-net stretched out below.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  High Road or Low

  “I’d like to see you try and stop me,” she laughs. “Listen, I’m out there helping people. I’ve saved lives. So what if I knock over a bank now and again? It’s not like the helpless can pay me for the trouble, and besides, those big corporations have insurance. It’s a win-win.”

  “I’m not sure the insurance companies would see it that way.”

  She shrugs. “Tell you what, you defend the insurance lawyers. I’ll stick to defending the innocent.”

  “Surely you don’t see yourself as above the law….”

  “Not above. Just outside. A government rules with the consent of the people, and I no longer consent. Don’t worry—it’s not like I plan on taking over the world or anything. I’m just following my own moral compass.”

  She says that last bit as if she’d been rehearsing it, then smiles.

  • “I agree; a government shouldn’t be too powerful. Actually…I’m worried Nick might recreate the experiment.”

  • “You’re just a vigilante. I want you to remember that I could stop your heart with my thoughts, if you go too far.”

  • “I hope you know what you’re doing. Let me give you our phone number—just in case.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Holding Out for a Hero

  Heroism is a concept born of struggle. To be a hero simply means doing what’s right when others can’t or won’t help themselves. Sentinels never sleep soundly. You have the power, and the courage, to do what’s right in your own eyes. And though people may not understand why you do it…nothing else matters.

  A mullet wig, a pair of oversized, mirrored sunglasses, a false mustache, and your favorite band t-shirt turns you into Rock Star! Defender of all things righteous. Sleeves cut off and ready to protect the city—sun’s out, guns out!

  With your Axe of Justice (the cheapest guitar you could find at the pawn shop) slung across your back, it’s time to protect the city and reap the rewards of superstardom from your soon-to-be-legions of fans.

  You step out from the novelty shop where you furnished this look, and begin your search for crime. Crime, oh crime, where are you? It’s not that easy. The city in the middle of the day is actually pretty safe. You’ll have to keep your eyes peeled if you hope to find a pickpocket or any casual, mid-day thief.

  “Fluffy Buckets! Oh, dear, Mr. Fluffy Buckets…” The distress call comes from old Mrs. Jankis, the sweet grandmother who lives in your building.

  Looks like her kitty got itself stuck up a tree. Well, if you want to get people to love you, it’s not a bad start. Already, three bystanders have gathered by the base of the tree, wondering how to save poor Mr. Fluffy Buckets.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Jankis! I’ll save him!” you cry out, jogging toward the scene.

  She turns towards you, brow furrowed. “Do I know you, ehh, young—?”

  “No!” you cry. Then calmer, “No, no, of course not. I’m just your friendly neighborhood Superhero here to save the day!” Okay, time to save the day. “Come on down, Fluffy Buckets!” you cry.

  But the cat stays up in the top of the tree. “I tried that already,” Mrs. Jankis says.

  You start to climb the tree, but that only makes the cat climb higher, up to the thin branches that can’t possibly hold your weight. You drop back down. Time for a different approach.

  “Maybe we should just call the fire department?” an onlooker suggests.

  “No, no. I—Rock Star!—have got this.”

  Damn cat’s making you look bad. Why’d it have to go get stuck in a tree anyway? There’s, what, one big tree per city block? And that worthless little old lady had to let her cat climb up this one. Ridiculous! You know what? Screw it.

  You grab hold of the mighty oak’s base and rip the tree out of the ground. Several feet of sidewalk break apart in all directions. Once you’ve wrenched the tree free from the earth, you turn it sideways and shake until Fluffy falls out.

  Mrs. Jankis screams.

  You drop the tree (not on the cat, fortunately) and turn to face her. But she wasn’t screaming at you. Instead, a purse snatcher runs into the alley with Mrs. Jankis’ purse.

  Jackpot! Sprinting past the crowd, you slam your fist into the pavement and rip up a manhole cover. With two more steps, you perfectly fling the iron disk down the alley at the man. It’s an incredibly athletic move, flawlessly executed. That’ll stop him!

  And of course it does. In fact, you fling the manhole cover so hard, that it splits the man in half before burrowing into the building past him. When his torso drops atop his legs, the gathered crowd screams and flees from you in terror. Mr. Fluffy Buckets leaps into Mrs. Jankis’ arms, and the two scurry off as fast as the old lady’s legs will scurry.

  “Wait! I’m the hero! I got the bad guy, it’s okay!” you shout, to no avail.

  You’re left alone on the street. Then the driver’s door of a black SUV opens and a man steps out. 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 an official badge.

  “It’s not as easy as it looks on TV, is it?” he says. “Agent Brendan Droakam, FBI Supersoldier Program.”

  “Hey, now. You can’t arrest me. I was helping. Citizen’s arrest. Wait…did you say Supersoldier Program?”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not here to arrest you. In fact, I’m here to offer you a job. I can help you learn to control yourself. How to bec
ome a public asset instead of a public liability. Whaddaya say? How about we make you Captain America?”

  • “This sounds like the equivalent of a major record deal in the superhero biz. Where do I sign up?!”

  • “Sorry, I’m a solo artist. I dig your tunes, but I march to the beat of my own drum.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Honor among Thieves

  “It feels strange to kill yourself,” you say. Then you choke your doppelganger, offering a quick snap of the spine to make your alter-ego’s death as painless as possible. Better to have been superpowered and lost, than never to have been superpowered at all, right?

  “So…news broadcast?” Nick asks.

  The three of you leap into the night sky like a trio of Kryptonians, and soar toward Mercury City proper. You set down in front of an electronics store window, and with the power of mind, flip a display television to the local news station. There onscreen is blonde eye-candy reporter Alison Argyle, standing at a police barricade with a special report.

  “I’m here at the downtown Mercury Bank, where a robbery is in progress.”

  “Seriously? We’re bank robbers again?” says Nick.

  The reporter continues, “A team of armed men have taken control of the bank, and it is believed there are hostages involved.” Alison Argyle turns away from the camera in response to shouts from the gathered crowd. Her cameraman pans and zooms to catch the action.

  A costumed woman runs toward the bank 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 as she smashes through the security doors and rushes into the bank, there can be little doubt in your mind as to who this superpowered woman truly is.

  “You’re…a superhero?” Nick says. “Damn, you look good.”

  “It’s not me, remember?” Catherine replies. “But yeah, if superstrength lets you eat whatever you want and grants you the superhuman ass of a twenty-year-old? Count me in.”

  “Okay, let’s go to the bank.”

  You shake your head. “No such luck this time. That was a pre-recorded broadcast. What about you, Nick, where would you go if you were suddenly a super-genius?”

  “I’d probably brag to my parents,” he shrugs. “Straight-As were never my thing….”

  “Give them a call,” Catherine suggests.

  “If the only difference between this universe and ours is the order in which we chose our powers, it stands to reason they’d have the same phone number,” you say.

  Nick looks back to the electronics store and pulls a pre-paid cellphone through the glass. The store alarm wails. Nick mentally unwraps the annoying plastic packaging and dials. He floats across the block to get away from the sirens, and you follow.

  “Mom? No, nothing’s wrong. Just wanted to see how you’re doing. Dinner? Oh right, ummm, yeah, it was great. I, uh, just wanted to make sure you got home okay. Where did we eat again? No, I haven’t been drinking. I’m fine, ma! Just tell me where we ate!”

  You share a look with Catherine.

  “Okay, thanks. Love you too. Yeah, sure, next Sunday. Tell dad I said hi. Talk later. Yes, I will. Bye, ma. Yes, I said I would! Okay, bye.”

  Nick turns to you and says, “Apparently we just had dinner together at the Planet Mercury Casino. I was bragging about some high-paid consultant job I got there.”

  “What the fuck?” Catherine says. You turn, but you’re greeted with this universe’s Catherine—the same costumed woman from the news broadcast. Behind the mask, her eyes are wide as saucers.

  “Out on patrol?” your-Catherine asks.

  “Yeah, I heard the alarm. How…?”

  “Nice mask. Rock, right? I’m afraid your hero days are over.” Your-Catherine takes Widowsilk from her shoulder and readies the weapon. This-Catherine lunges at her, but you grab the woman with your enhanced telekinesis and hold her in the air. Like taking candy from a baby. After stealing her powers, your-Catherine says, “If it helps, I’m doing this for my Danny.”

  This-Catherine nods weakly. “So was I.”

  Your-Catherine pulls the domino-style eye mask from her doppelganger and adds it to her ensemble.

  * * *

  You walk the main gambling floor of the Planet Mercury Casino in search of this universe’s Nick Dorian, the final power to complete the bargain.

  “Hey, boss, I didn’t see you come down from the penthouse; need something?” a casino employee whose nametag reads “Halifax” says. Halifax is slim, 50ish, bronze-skinned with coal-black hair—combed back for the “mobster” look. He eyes Catherine’s strange outfit, then stares at Nick, waiting for an answer.

  You nudge the college student, but he just murmurs, “Uhhh…”

  “Lost your key, remember?” Catherine supplies. “Locked yourself out of your room?”

  “Right, yeah. Can you help me out?” Nick says.

  Halifax’s eyebrows are on high alert, but after a moment the man shrugs and waves Nick to follow. He heads behind the guest reception desk, claims a keycard, and hands it over. “Be more careful next time. Now I gotta rekey the entry. Wouldn’t want someone to find a key to the penthouse and head up, you know?”

  “Exactly. Let’s rekey it right now,” Catherine says.

  “Yeah, let’s do it now,” Nick echoes, nodding.

  “Sure thing.” Halifax escorts you to a private elevator and up to the main penthouse suite on the top floor—forty stories up. He reprograms the entry and unlocks the door. The three of you quickly slide in and after a quick Thanks! slam the door behind you.

  Inside the gaudy palace stands the Nick Dorian of this world. He’s in a silken robe, puffs on a cigar, and holds a glass of amber liquid. The brief moment of confusion on his face quickly melts away.

  “Clones?” this-Nick asks casually.

  “Parallel dimension,” you remark.

  He nods in understanding.

  “So you’re a genius, huh? What, win a fortune counting cards?” your-Nick asks.

  “Something like that.”

  “That man Halifax called him ‘boss.’ He’s clearly the owner of this establishment,” Catherine offers.

  “Another genius, what a pleasant surprise,” this-Nick says.

  “About that,” she says. “Even though I’d love to hear how you made that bastard who owned this place suffer, we’re not here for pleasantries.”

  She unslings Widowsilk and blasts into the Nick from this world. The young man falls to the floor in pain, and a moment later, she delivers his genius to the Nick you brought with you. Finally, you’ve each obtained all three powers. “That was almost too easy,” Catherine says.

  You grin. “Well, we did stack the deck.”

  “Ha! Casino pun! I get those now,” your-Nick says.

  “Well, shall we get going?” asks Catherine.

  Nick shakes his head. “Actually, I think I’ll stay here. I mean, I already own a casino.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “I guess that makes it see-you-never,” you say. “Should we shake on it?”

  You shake hands with the god-like Catherine and Nick, say your goodbyes, and deliver Catherine to her own universe before heading home. You’ve got a busy life ahead of you, what with ruling an entire plane of existence.

  Click to continue…

  Hostage Situation

  Able to manipulate the thin man with ease, you lift Kingsley by the neck and guide him towards the penthouse exit. The nickel-plated pistol leaps into your hand in response to a mental command and you keep the weapon trained on Kingsley. Time to meet his men.

  Pushing him just ahead of you, allowing him enough air to keep suffocation at bay, he floats along the hall with his toes gliding against the carpeted floor. Down on the first landing, you see a man in a suit seated in the hall. His jacket rests along the back of the chair, revealing a double shoulder-holster with dual han
dguns atop his white button-up. The guard is shaved bald and looks like he’s here to try out for a role in the next Hitman videogame.

  When he sees Kingsley squirming and choking, a cigar drops from his mouth.

  “Toss your weapons down the hall,” you say, voice hushed yet firm. “Stand up, hands on your head. You make any noise, you’re dead. You try anything, he’s dead.”

  The guard complies, but doesn’t toss the guns too far. In fact, it looks like he intentionally tosses them near one of the apartment doors. You lift the guns with your mind and bring them up to float before you so it’s as if you have three arms with weapons, except the last two are invisible.

  His eyes become saucers.

  “Start walking,” you command.

  And just like that, floor by floor, you clear the apartment building, adding to your collection of weapons along the way. When you reach the first floor and walk out the front door, you’ve got a dozen guards marching before you and enough handguns orbiting your person to look like a diorama of the solar system.

  Agent Droakam rushes forward from the car, his handgun drawn.

  “Up against the wall, boys,” you call out.

  Droakam looks to you in awe. After the agent reads the men their Miranda rights and calls for backup, he says, “You’d better go before the follow-on team arrives. You don’t officially exist yet.”

  You nod, then leap up into the air.

  • Fly back to the warehouse with a smile on your face.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  House Arrest

  “So,” she says, looking around your apartment. “You were inside a building when it exploded; why don’t we start there? How did you get out? Was anyone hurt?”