“It looks so real,” I whispered.
“Doesn’t it?” Henry aka Hermit said. His bow tie perked up with pride. “Computer chips and monitors embedded in the walls and floors project the 3-D images. Some other adjustments I’ve made pump in sounds, smells, wind, everything. The grass even feels real.”
A woman walked on one of the paths and sat down on a bench near the swing set. I blinked.
“Is that me?”
“You bet. I recorded the whole incident. All of our costumes have cameras imbedded in the F5 insignia, so I was able to record the battle from different perspectives. I took the images of you, digitized them, and inserted a composite into this simulation. We try to make things as authentic as possible.”
I didn’t know whether to be flattered or creeped out that I was starring in a Fearless Five training simulation. I stared at the image of myself. One thing was for sure—I needed to do something different with my hair. It looked like a rat’s nest of auburn tangles.
A series of beeps caught my attention. “What’s that?”
Hermit pointed to five monitors, three of which had rows of pulsing lines. “There are a variety of sensors embedded in the chinstraps that tell me everybody’s heart rate, blood pressure, other vital signs, and the intensity of any pain they feel.”
“Pain?”
“Not only do things look and feel real, so do any injuries that occur, even though it’s just a mixture of holograms and computer images. Nobody actually gets hurt. Sort of like a Jedi mind trick.”
“That’s incredible,” I said. “Did you think of all this by yourself?”
Hermit shrugged in a modest sort of way. “Most of it. Striker came up with some of the concepts and told me what he wanted. I designed all of the electronics. Mr. Sage helped with some of the illusions and sensations.”
“Speaking of Striker, where did he and the others go?”
The superheroes had disappeared.
“They’ve gone to wait in the spots where they started the attack from.”
I watched myself sit on the bench. Moments later, an image of Scorpion appeared, followed by ones of Frost and Malefica. It was a bit disconcerting and disorienting to see myself clutching a bomb trigger and threatening ubervillains with annihilation. What the hell had I been thinking? I felt as though I’d stepped outside my body. In a way, I had.
Striker launched himself out from behind a tree. He crashed into the image of Scorpion, and the two of them fell to the ground. Fiera lit up another tree, and the battle was on. Things progressed just as they had in real life, with the Fearless Five defeating the Terrible Triad.
I frowned. Something wasn’t right. It almost looked as if the Triad had retreated on purpose, instead of being beaten back. Something about the smile on Malefica’s face bothered me. The ubervillain was cocky, but her ear-to-ear grin seemed out of place when she was under attack from three of the world’s greatest superheroes. Something was wrong with the whole scenario. My inner voice murmured.
The battle ended. I watched myself pass out. Striker picked up my body. Too bad I wasn’t really in the room. I wouldn’t have minded being close to the superhero again, even if I was drugged and unconscious.
“That was the first run. We always do the first one just the way events transpired in real life,” Hermit explained. “Now, we’ll do other configurations and methods of attack and see how things might have played out differently.
“Okay, guys. Mix it up this time.” Hermit spoke into one of the microphones that jutted up from the control panel. His voice echoed in the enormous metal room.
The scene reset itself. Once again, I watched myself walk through the park, sit down on the bench, and threaten Malefica with my bomb. The Fearless Five appeared, and the fight commenced.
Fiera threw a fireball at Malefica, who used her telekinesis to send it flying through the air. The red-hot ball of energy smacked into the window in front of me. I screamed and threw my hands up, expecting to be burned alive.
“Don’t worry,” Hermit said. “The glass is bulletproof, shatterproof, and Fiera-proof.”
I lowered my hands. My face turned tomato red. Of course the glass was fireproof. It would have to be to withstand Fiera’s fury. Despite the computer guru’s reassurance, I took a small step back. Just in case.
The rest of the battle didn’t go as well as it had before. Malefica knocked out Mr. Sage with a trash can to the head, Frost hit Fiera with his freezoray gun and gave her frostbite, and Scorpion body-slammed Striker to the ground and raked his poisoned talons across the superhero’s face. Even though it wasn’t real, I had to stop myself from screaming at the sight of Striker being injured.
“Everybody catch their breath, and let’s go again,” Hermit said.
The superheroes got to their feet. The scene rewound.
They fought battle after battle after battle. Sometimes, the Fearless Five won, but more often than not, the Terrible Triad triumphed. The groups were fairly evenly matched, but the Fearless Five seemed out of sync during the fights. They bumped into each other, made mistakes, and targeted the wrong members of the Triad with their powers. Striker against Scorpion was a fair matchup, as was Fiera against Frost. Regeneration versus poison, fire versus ice. Their powers balanced out. But Mr. Sage versus Scorpion ended in disaster every time, as did Fiera against Malefica. In short, the Fearless Five needed another superhero, someone to round out their attacks and powers.
A wave of guilt swallowed me. They used to have someone else, someone to watch their backs and turn the tide in their favor. The Fearless Five used to have Tornado.
* * *
Hermit ran a final simulation, which the Fearless Five won, and the superheroes quit for the day.
“So what did you think?” Striker asked when we were back in the equipment room. He peeled off his mask, grabbed a towel from a nearby locker, and wiped the sweat from his face.
All I could do was just stare at Sam. The man was gorgeous, even when covered in shimmering sweat. My eyes traced over his costume. I wanted to strip the smooth fabric away from his body and—
“Carmen?” Sam asked.
I pushed away my lustful thoughts and opened my mouth to respond when Fiona cut in.
“We kicked ass like we usually do. We’re superheroes, for crying out loud. Enough said,” Fiona crowed.
Evidently, Fiona had already forgotten the simulation in which Frost had turned her into a giant, flame-shaped ice sculpture.
“Ah, you must be one of those,” I said.
“One of those?” Fiona’s red-and-orange catsuit glowed. “What do you mean by that?”
Sweat popped out on my forehead. I wanted to kick myself as soon as the words left my mouth. Why did I say things like that out loud where other people could hear them? The others looked at me with questions in their eyes. In for a penny.
“It has been my experience that a great many superheroes and ubervillains think their powers make them special, make them better than everybody else. And that because of this, they have the right to do whatever they want, whenever they want.”
Fiona sniffed. “Of course our powers make us special. That’s why they call us superheroes.”
I shook my head. “No, actually they don’t. Your powers just make you different, not special. It’s a common misconception, particularly among ubervillains. It’s where a lot of your I’m-all-powerful-and-destined-to-rule-the-world psychotic dreams and schemes come from.”
“Really? Can you melt metal with your eyeballs? Make fireballs shoot out of your fingertips? Defeat ubervillains with one hand tied behind your back?”
“No, I can’t,” I replied in an even tone.
“Then you don’t know what you’re talking about. You wouldn’t last two seconds against Malefica.”
Fiona took a seat on a nearby bench and unzipped her chunky boots. The superhero ignored me like I was a bug crawling on the wall. My temper flared up, and my foot tapped out an angry, staccato rhythm.
&n
bsp; “Can you play the piano like Beethoven? Or sing like Carly Simon? Can you take five pages’ worth of quotes and turn them into a usable story ten minutes before deadline? I don’t think so, unless you have more hidden talents I don’t know about. We all have our special skills. They don’t make us better or worse than each other. Just different.”
“You’re just jealous,” Fiona snapped. “Most people are.”
“No, I’m not. I don’t want superpowers. I have enough problems, in case you haven’t noticed, which is why I’m here with you.”
“Hopefully, not for long,” she growled.
I glared at Fiona. My hands curled into fists. She was getting on my last nerve. If the superhero didn’t have the ability to reduce me to a pile of ash, I would have punched her. Fiona should be grateful for her superpowers—they were all that was saving her from a knuckle sandwich.
Sensing my dark, violent thoughts, Chief Newman stepped between us. “That’s an interesting theory, Carmen. Why don’t you meet me in the library? We can discuss it further.”
“Fine.”
I continued to glare at Fiona. Suddenly, the superhero’s face blurred, and a massive headache roared to life inside my skull. My veins quivered and pulsed with every breath. A chill ran down my spine, and I put my hands on my head.
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked. His silver eyes darkened with concern.
“Nothing,” I muttered. “Just another superhero-induced headache.”
Chapter Nineteen
I stumbled back to the library, grabbed my bottle of aspirin, and downed two of them. Only a few more rattled around inside the plastic container. Almost empty. I might as well buy stock in the pills as fast as I was popping them. I plopped down in my chair in the corner, leaned back, closed my eyes, and massaged my aching temples. Frost’s mystery drug combined with Fiona’s cattiness made for one hell of a headache.
“Feeling better?” Chief Newman asked, entering the library a few minutes later.
“I will once the aspirin kicks in. The headaches never seem to last long. A few more painful minutes, and I should be fine.”
“I’m still trying to identify the drug Frost injected you with. I can’t quite nail it down. Once I do, I should be able to stop the headaches and the blurry vision.”
“I hope so.”
“I know Fiona doesn’t help matters.”
I snorted. “You could say that again. I know she’s your daughter and your comrade in arms, and she has every right to be angry with me because of Travis. I try to be nice to her, I really do, but something about her just makes me—”
“Burn with anger?”
I nodded. “It’s a cliché, but true.”
“But what you said about having powers is right. Sometimes, Fiona forgets that. Sometimes, we all do.”
“How did the two of you even—”
“Get our powers?” Chief Newman finished my question.
I nodded.
“We were born with them.”
I blinked. I hadn’t encountered many natural superheroes or ubervillains during my investigations. Most got their powers as a result of exposure to radioactive waste, animal bites, or magical objects. Not to mention the occasional super intelligent, talking animal with plans of human enslavement and world domination.
“As a child I knew I was different,” Chief Newman explained. “I could see things others couldn’t, glimpses of the future. I could feel others’ emotions, almost see the thoughts that danced through their heads. Sometimes, if I concentrated, I could even move objects with my mind. Eventually, I learned to develop and control my power.”
“What about Fiona?” I leaned forward, my headache forgotten.
Chief Newman’s blue eyes grew distant with memories. “I met her mother, Finola, when I was in my twenties. Finola was a fiery Irish lass with quite a temper. She didn’t have any powers, but she was very understanding of my desire to use mine to help others. A few years later, Fiona was born. I watched her closely, of course, trying to determine if I’d passed my gift on to her. To my surprise, her mother’s temper had combined with my powers and created something quite unique.”
“Fire-based powers.”
Mr. Sage nodded his head.
“But how did you guys even—”
“Become superheroes in the first place?”
I sighed. “I really wish you would quit doing that. It’s rather disconcerting. Some of us like to finish our own sentences.”
“Sorry. It’s a bad habit of mine. Finola died of cancer when Fiona was in high school. That was a dark time for us.” A shadow passed over Chief Newman’s face. “Fiona knew what I did in my spare time. With her mother gone, she demanded I take her along. Said she wanted to look after me. I said no at first, but Fiona can be quite stubborn, a trait she gets from her mother.”
Fiona? Stubborn? I never would have guessed.
“One night, I gave in. Fiona had been making my costumes for years and had already designed one for herself. She even had a superhero name already picked out—Fiera. To my surprise, we worked well together. It was nice to have someone to watch my back after all those years alone. At first, it was just Fiera and me. We would go out and catch criminals or fight other minor ubervillains like the Hunter or the Prankster or Johnny Angel. One night, we ran into Striker. He was after the same thieves we were. Of course, being a billionaire, Striker was much better equipped to be a superhero than we were. He had a leather costume, twin swords, and lots of fancy computer equipment. We were in store-bought masks and the homemade costumes Fiona had sewn.”
“Striker helped us apprehend the thieves. Over the next few months, we ran into him again and again. We seemed to be on the same wavelength, so we joined forces. Striker brought Tornado on board, and I found Hermit a few months later. The five of us just gelled. The rest is history.”
The scenes flashed through my mind. Mr. Sage and Fiera stalking criminals on the streets, running into Striker, Tornado and Hermit joining the group, the five of them forming one of the greatest superhero teams in the world. A few months ago, I would have taken this knowledge and splashed it all over the front page of The Exposé. Now, I felt as though I’d been trusted with a precious secret. I almost felt like one of the gang. Or at least a sidekick. Almost. I certainly had the sidekick habit of needing to be rescued every few minutes down pat.
But the Fearless Five’s back story, no matter how intriguing, still didn’t help me figure out how to deal with Fiona. Or help me find a cure for these killer headaches. I rubbed my temples.
“Has Fiona always been so...combustible?”
“Oh yes. You should have seen her as a child whenever she didn’t get her way. We went through a lot of furniture, tables, lamps, chairs.” Chief Newman grinned. “It was a good thing we lived next door to the fire department. Although the firefighters thought Fiona was quite the little arsonist.”
I smiled at the chief’s joke, but my thoughts turned to a more serious matter. “Can I ask you something?”
The chief looked at me. His blue eyes glowed. “You want to know why Henry and I were still your friends after Travis died.”
I nodded. “I don’t understand it. The two of you should have hated me, should still hate me for what I did. But you never showed the slightest bit of anger toward me. Not once.”
“That’s because it wasn’t your fault, Carmen.”
“Of course it was,” I snapped.
“Suicide is a person’s choice. You might have exposed Travis, but he was the one who decided to end his life. He made that decision himself. If anyone is to blame, it’s me.”
“What? Why?”
“I should have sensed Travis’s pain, his intentions.” Raw pain filled the chief’s eyes. Lines of grief etched his face.
The sight only fueled my own guilt. Despite the chief’s kind words, I was to blame for Travis’s suicide. Nobody else.
Chief Newman let out a long breath. “Unfortunately, Fiona hasn’t accepted Travis’s de
cision yet. She still misses him terribly. We all do, and we all loved him, but Fiona more so than any of us.”
“So how should I handle her?” I asked. “I don’t want to fight with her anymore.”
“You could try explaining the reasons you started exposing superheroes. Fiona might be hot-tempered, but she’s not unreasonable.”
It was worth a shot. What was the worst Fiona could do to me? Fry me like a slab of bacon? Melt my eyeballs out of my head? My veins throbbed and pulsed in my skull. Melted eyeballs didn’t sound so bad. They would be much more preferable than the ten-trombone parade marching through my brain.
I popped another aspirin in my mouth. On the bright side, if Fiona reduced me to a pile of ash, I wouldn’t have any more headaches.
* * *
I didn’t get a chance to corner Fiona until that afternoon. The superhero strode through the halls of Sublime, her impossibly high heels pounding on the marble floors. How on earth did she walk in those things?
Fiona entered the wine cellar, and I followed the hollow echo of her footsteps. I hurried over to the secret door and jabbed the keypad. After several long seconds, the elevator arrived. I dashed in and punched the appropriate buttons. It descended. The elevator slowed, and the doors opened. I dashed down the hall, wanting to catch up to Fiona before she got to the library. I didn’t want to try to explain myself and my actions in front of everyone. I rounded a corner. Up ahead, Fiona opened a door and went inside. I skidded to a halt in front of Tornado’s room.
Uh-oh.
I stood outside. How was I supposed to handle this? I didn’t want to disturb Fiona in what was a moment of private, personal grief. I chewed my lip. And yet...I had to go into the room. I wanted to explain to Fiona why I’d done the things I’d done. I needed to. We would never be friends, but I wanted her to understand, wanted her forgiveness.
Do it...
Do it...
Do it...
The inner voice whispered in my head, the voice I never doubted.
I reached for the door handle.
The Bigtime Series (Bigtime superhero series, e-bundle) Page 20
