Evolution

by Hayden Thorne

  I ended up doing the next best thing: turning on the switch and playing around with my powers. Here and there, when the coast was clear, I harnessed my grief and anger and zapped unsuspecting dumpsters or mailboxes or even cars. Here and there, I cloaked—not clocked, cloaked, goddamn it!—random objects. I either partially crushed them—an exercise in subtle ninja attacks—or moved them to some bizarre location. One dumpster ended up blocking the entrance of a barber shop. One froufrou sports car got re-parked in a one-way street, facing the wrong direction with half of it on the sidewalk.

  “The world can go fuck itself,” I ground out, sniffling and rubbing my eyes against my damp sleeve.

  Who knew how many corners I turned? I didn’t even know where the hell I was, but after several minutes of random attacks, I found myself in an unfamiliar street flanked by old warehouses, some of which had been converted into hardware stores or different large retail spaces that were now abandoned.

  I also found myself cycling straight into three walking mannequins: the Shadow Puppet’s “men.”

  I’d no idea what they were doing there, but it was pretty safe to assume they were up to no good. Because, you know, supervillain toadies. They tottered, robot-like, toward me, all dressed in the usual Zoot suits, their white, blank faces all locked onto me. Even without eyes, they saw me. I felt the weight of their non-existent stares and shuddered.

  I stopped and dismounted, and the red and yellow of my world intensified. The heat that had been kept to a minimum in my head grew, and it reached such a level as to make me break out in sweat, something I’d never experienced before. I knew what was coming, though, seeing as how I was the only human in the area.

  Energy—hot, no longer warm—flared around me, its source pulsing in my head as I concentrated on the three mannequins. They’d stopped when I did, and with jerky but quick movements, reached inside their jacket pockets and pulled out guns.

  “Bite me, jerks,” I spat. “I’m just in the mood for this shit.”

  The first round of bullets echoed, and a hot breeze rose around me. From the cracked and grimy asphalt, it swirled upward, twisting around me in a corkscrew, carrying stray debris and dust. My hair and my clothes fluttered, and all memories of Peter, Althea, Mom, Dad, Liz, Brenda, Mrs. Zhang—all good, loving, and familiar connections I’d clung to till then vanished.

  I grinned. “Oh, it is on.”

  The swirl of hot air easily caught the bullets, and I could see those bizarre things penetrating the protective wall and stopping in mid-flight, only to be swept up, harmless, and thrown off to the side. The mannequins kept shooting at me, and I let them exhaust their weapons. Idiots. Then again mannequins didn’t have brains, so yay, me.

  “Walking dolls are stupid.” I laughed. “Why would anyone want these losers to do all the dirty work for them?” They’d run out of ammo, and all I could hear were useless clicks as they kept pulling the triggers.

  Undaunted, they threw their guns away and marched toward me. Sure, whatever. Still laughing, I stopped the swirling air and let loose a blast of energy that shot them all down, tearing their Italian suits, leaving burn marks on their faces. They crumpled to the ground and lay quivering for a few seconds before struggling back up. It was just like the downtown attacks, with the mannequins coming back again and again till they were literally torn apart or incinerated.

  I suppose on one level they were an inspiration to anyone who’d give up so quickly. On the other, I still thought they were just dumb machines.

  I needed the practice, anyway. Battered but still whole, the trio got to their wooden feet and continued to march toward me. I leaped out of their way, flying toward a stack of wooden crates nearby and leaving a visible energy wave in my wake as I landed on—or, rather, floated above—the topmost crate. They turned to follow me, and that was when I realized a few more walking mannequins were emerging from the shadows, from behind rotting boxes, dumpsters, and out of a narrow door that led to a dilapidated warehouse, which was more of a rotting, half-burned shell. Each had a tommy gun, ready and aimed.

  Human Swiss cheese, anyone? Yeah, fun times.

  Chapter 19

  I rolled my eyes. The energy cloud that cloaked me flickered and pulsed, shooting up like a candle’s flame. I felt the surge of power that came with that, and I didn’t even have to think about it. I seemed to have reached a point where my powers just plain reacted to my body’s responses to the situation I was in. My powers and I were finally in sync.

  I watched the first three mannequins stagger closer, while the new arrivals marched in my direction, aiming their weapons. For a moment, I wondered why they were there, lying as though in ambush, unless…

  More energy pulsed around me just as the new arrivals started shooting.

  …unless they were expecting someone else. Magnifiman, maybe? Calais? Miss Pyro? Any of the superheroes or maybe all of them?

  Bullets flew all over the place, hitting boxes, brick walls, pavement, but none got me. My energy cloak ate them all this time, holding them suspended in its thick heat for a second before melting them till nothing was left, and new bullets took their place.

  I moved my arms away from my body, my palms facing outward. No, I didn’t even have to think about this one, either. Suddenly my hands vanished in a pulsing cloud of yellow and red. I narrowed my eyes as heat intensified in my head. I let loose a fierce wave of hot energy from my forehead and both my hands. I cried out—a war cry, almost—every ounce of anger, bitterness, resentment, and defiance pouring out of my system in that one shrill scream.

  My hair and my clothes fluttered wildly. I watched three rolling, unstoppable waves flow out in a rapid and widening fan, overlapping at a certain point and literally mowing down every single mannequin they swept over. Noise filled my ears, a low rumbling like an earthquake, the sounds of wood and plastic cracking, of fabric being torn to ribbons.

  I stopped my attack when I couldn’t hear bullets being fired.

  The waves faded, and the scene cleared. I stared, totally amazed, at the carnage before me. Mannequins lay all over the grimy asphalt, some completely destroyed, most still functioning but damaged. Like the first three that had attacked me, they were partly burned, their costumes tattered or missing parts, their movements jerky but determined as they struggled to raise themselves up from where they lay. Their weapons were strewn around them, mostly mangled, with faint black smoke rising from broken parts and not just the barrels.

  “Want more, huh?”

  My hands flared up again, and this time I leaped off the crates and flew above them, turning myself around like a cat in mid-air and blasting them with more energy waves before all of them were on their feet.

  “Eat that!”

  Had I been a helpless bystander, I probably would’ve freaked out over the rumbling noise alone, but it was music to me. My breath caught, my skin prickled, and the feeling of listening to my favorite song swept over me—an amazing sensation that was edged with a strong shade of destruction. The blending of opposites was just beautiful.

  Below me, the scene was once again blanketed with waves that distorted physical surfaces the way heat waves did. In the midst of all this, I could see outlines of mannequins writhing and falling over in the blast.

  I landed several feet away, this time keeping my feet firmly planted on the ground while I surveyed the damage. Most of the mannequins were destroyed. There were still about four that were barely hanging on. Like the brainless machines that they were, they tried to get back on their feet, failing and toppling back down because they were either missing body parts or their limbs were crooked or non-functioning. They were pretty determined, though. I had to give them that.

  But I got them, and I got them good. Of course, I was also slowly growing aware of fatigue. My powers had limits or something? I didn’t know that, and I sure as hell hoped not! I whirled around at the sound of furtive scuttling behind me, my powers pulsing back to life, and I was once again cocooned in hazy warmth.


  “What the hell?” a voice bleated. “I thought you were on our side!”

  From another stack of rotting crates, a figure emerged—peeked out for a moment, that is, and then crept out. As it walked toward me, two more figures appeared. They were tiny ones, this time, like shrunken people. But their appearance left no doubt in my mind they were marionettes that moved on their own. I’d seen marionettes on TV before. Trust me, these were marionettes. Only independently moving in that seriously mental way.

  I pursed my lips and racked my brain. How did supervillains greet each other when meeting for the first time? Greetings and salutations? Well met, stranger? Hey, dude? Ah, it’s finally come to this? It’s an honor, sir?

  The trio stopped, and I sighed, shrugging.

  “Yo,” I said. “What’s up?”

  The Puppet looked me over—I think. It was hard to say exactly where his eyes were going, seeing as how the face I was looking at wasn’t a real face, but a white image of one projected against a black screen. All right, let me back track here.

  The puppet was a pretty short guy. Doll-like? No, screw the pun. He was short and skinny, and he wore a black bodysuit that covered everything, and I mean everything. Head, face, torso, arms, hands, legs, and feet. Everything was encased in black spandex that shimmered slightly in the sunlight. The fabric was obviously not thick enough to keep him from seeing me, hearing me, or even breathing and talking. What weirded me out was the face projected on the black blankness of his spandex-covered head. It was white, with the features in hazy black. The face itself was a little larger than what the Puppet’s real face must be. The projected image filled the entire front of the Puppet’s covered face, so there was an obvious disproportion from the viewer’s perspective. It was almost like the Puppet was all face and very little body. The face also flickered or lost focus every so often, just like the way those old projectors in movie houses used to flicker and show dirt and scratches on the images against the screen.

  “Hey, what’s wrong with your face? I mean—how’d you do that?” I blurted out, sincerely puzzled. I resisted looking over my shoulder and checking to see where the projector might be hidden because I didn’t want to open myself up to possible attacks from the Puppet’s demon marionettes.

  Speaking of marionettes, did I mention those things looked like the ones used in that old, cheesy, 60s puppet sci-fi series, Thunderbirds? Dad had taped a few episodes some time ago. He’d held onto those VHS recordings for dear life till the tape jammed the old VCR with yards of tangled ribbon. The marionettes were sort of like Mini-Me, but wooden. With Ken Doll hairdos. And elaborate silk and lace costumes that reminded me of masquerades. What a bizarre trio they made—but I must admit I couldn’t help but admire the costumes; whoever worked on those dolls’ togs was a master craftsman. The Puppet noticed my interest.

  “Today’s Casanova Day,” he said, nodding at his assistants. He sounded pretty young. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be my age, if not a year or two older.

  “Tomorrow, it’s Joan of Arc Day, and they’ll be in armor. The day after that, it’s Madonna.”

  “No shit.” I was doubly impressed. How loaded was this guy? “Are you—”

  “I’m not gay. God, talk about stereotyping.”

  “I was going to ask about the costumes and whether or not you’re a tailor or something. Jeez, talk about defensive! Oh, and before you hit me with anything homophobic, I’m gay—100% prime, government disapproved. And I can kick your puny ass if you say the f-word.” My energy cloak pulsed in emphasis.

  “So what’s this? Internalized homophobia?” he snorted. “Are you projecting on to me?”

  I rolled my eyes. Somehow I felt I’d be better off holding a conversation with my toenail clippings. “I’m sorry I brought anything up. Anyway, you haven’t answered my question about your face.”

  “Yeah, well that was pretty rude. I’d kick your ass right now if my mannequins weren’t blown up. And, no, I’m not going to tell you my secrets. Get your own special effects.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “Why can’t you fight? That’s pretty lame, depending on your dolls to destroy things. And, yeah, I’m on your side, but what did you expect me to do when your stupid mannequins started shooting at me? Stand there, flash them, and hope my dick would calm them down?”

  “Hey, listen. My powers are in here,” he retorted, poking a spandex-covered finger against his head. “I’m a freakin’ genius, and I made these mannequins from scratch, and not even Magnifiman and his wimpy gang can figure me out! You’ve seen the way my dolls fight. They’re practically indestructible!”

  “Uh, ‘practically’ isn’t exactly very reassuring.” I jerked my head in the direction of the steaming piles of quivering wood and plastic, some of which were still trying to stand up but could only go as far as jerk, writhe, and spasm on the ground.

  The two marionettes shifted on their froufrou feet, exchanging wooden glances before gazing back up at me. If they’d had voices, I was sure they’d be muttering all kinds of threats.

  The Puppet snorted, resting his hands on his hips. “Hello? It didn’t take me long to reach this stage of my development. Can’t say that about the Trill, can we? Experiments here and there, hoodlums who could barely make it from Point A to Point B—made of fail, dude. Then again, that’s what you get for hiring human thugs for your cabal.”

  I smirked. I couldn’t help it. “You’re pretty cool. I like you. If I weren’t tied to the Trill, I’d actually work with you as your partner or something. Like that Riker guy on Star Trek.”

  The two marionettes took a few steps closer, raising their gloved fists in the air—like threatening gestures, I thought. Did they seriously think they could take me on? I’d squash them both into instant woodchips before they’d take another step forward.

  “Too bad. The sidekick position’s already filled twice over, and my kids don’t really care to be replaced. Oi! Back!”

  The two mini-thugs backed away and took their places again, but I sensed an undercurrent of anger from them. Talk about bizarre all the way. They actually felt something, and they were sending out those vibes to me. Oooohh, gee, how scary. I was so shaking in my sneakers.

  “So what were those mannequins doing, hiding behind boxes and stuff and then jumping me without any reason?”

  “They were waiting for someone else, but you shot everything to hell. Thanks a lot, jerk.”

  “An ambush then! I knew it! Who were they waiting for? Magnifiman?”

  “Duh?”

  I looked around me, slightly intensifying my energy cloak. “The tables can be turned in their favor if we stand here long enough, yammering away.”

  The white face contorted into shock before fixing an expression of angry caution on its flickering features. “Crap. I gotta go.” He turned and pointed a threatening finger at me, his overlarge face showing irritation. “Now I have to go back and assemble a new host of killing dolls—again, no thanks to you! I had my plan all laid out perfectly, too, but you had to show up and screw things up. I have to start over and waste time!”

  I shrugged. “Hey, look, it was bad timing all around. I sure as hell wasn’t planning on coming here, and I didn’t expect your killing dolls to be lurking around dumpsters.”

  “Yeah, well, you came too early. I just sent Magnifiman some coded warnings, and he was supposed to show up here, uh, once he figured things out. Screw it. I’m not wasting more time talking to you. I’m going.”

  “Like your dumb dolls would’ve mattered, considering who they’re up against.” So much for being a “freakin’ genius”.

  He gave me the middle finger and then a low whistle. The marionettes turned on their heels and ran off, diving behind the same pile of crates where they’d hidden themselves at first. What the hell were they doing?

  Ensuring foolproof protection from the superheroes when they showed up? I shook my head. Stupid dolls.

  “Hey, want to touch base a
gain sometime?” I asked, taking a couple of cautious looks around to make sure we were still alone. “Maybe we can come up with a really good World Domination scheme. I can contribute something. I’ve played Risk with my sister before, and I know how to be a good strategist. I’ve beaten her, seven out of ten. Wanna do it?”

  The Puppet laughed and waved me off. “I work alone,” he said. “Nice try, loser.”

  “Liar. You’ve got a harem of killing dolls. I don’t call that alone.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t need your help. If you’re aligned with the Trill, you’d better not screw around with your loyalties. That’s one of the first things you need to know. The Supervillain Handbook says so.”

  He turned around and hurried back to the same spot where his assistants hid themselves.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea hiding from Magnifiman that way!” I called out.

  “What way?” he called back without a glance back at me or a slowing down of his pace.

  Just before I could say another word, the sudden explosive sputtering of an engine broke the silence. The Puppet leaped up—he could do flying leaps like me and all the other heroes and villains; that was the only thing that we all had in common, I guess—landing on the ground and springing up a couple of times before sailing over the pile of crates and vanishing behind them.

  Within seconds, the engine sound swelled with several deafening pops as someone revved it. A black, shiny, uber-tricked out motorcycle sped out from behind the crates.

  Or so I hoped.

  Actually, it was a moped. No, wait. It was a Vespa. The leather saddle made me think it was a vintage design, if not an actual scooter from the 60s. The Puppet was on it, his identity protected by a helmet, and he drove off pretty quickly. His “kids” sat on the seat behind him—yes, happily protected from the hazards of the road with their own teeny, custom-made bike helmets.

  “I wonder if they have helmets for every day of the week?” I mused, scratching my head.

  I stopped and held my breath. My über acute hearing caught the distant sounds of abnormal air disturbances, which could only mean one thing. Magnifiman and the gang were flying toward the warehouses, just as the Puppet had planned.