Meta (Book 3): Rise of The Circle

by Reynolds, Tom

  "With me?"

  "Yes, with you, dummy," she says in a tone that reminds me of how things used to be. "It's silly that we're both here in Skyville and barely even hang out. I know things didn't exactly end ideally, but things were also kinda crazy at the time."

  That may be the biggest understatement anyone has ever made in the history of humanity. Even if I wasn't a metahuman and she wasn't working at The Agency, it would have been an insane time. It was an insane time for everyone in Bay View City. Throw in both of our secrets, me knowing hers, her being in the dark about mine, and you have maybe the most complicated situation a new relationship could ever run up against.

  "I've just been thinking about everything a lot lately."

  "And?" I ask hopefully.

  No. I can't ask any questions right now. A crowded party where we're both a little drunk, isn't the place to have this type of conversation under normal circumstances, let alone when I've got an angry vigilante waiting for me on a roof somewhere, scowling at his watch, I'm sure. Well, not his watch. He doesn't wear a watch, but I assume he's got a little clock in that cowl somewhere, considering everything else it's stuffed with.

  "And ... I don't know. I guess that's probably why I wanted to talk in the first place. Try to figure a few things out. Maybe I'm just being stupid ..."

  "No, you're not being stupid. It's just ..." I say.

  Dammit. Think. I've got to come up with an excuse. Say my stomach isn't feeling well? Then she's gonna think that I'm leaving just so I can go poop. That's never a good idea, especially when it's a conversation with your ex-girlfriend that you kinda never really got over.

  Don't start thinking about how you're not over her.

  Just say something, anything, so this stops being so weird and awkward.

  "I'm meeting up with a friend," I finally blurt out.

  Not a lie at all really, but I'm certainly leaving out some of the more interesting details.

  For a second, she looks a little confused. If I wasn't preoccupied or drunk, I'd make a joke here like, “Yes, I actually have a friend. Don't look so surprised.”Before I have the chance to think of anything more clever, her eyes widen and her expression changes to something resembling disappointment.

  "Oh, I see. That kind of friend," she says.

  "What?" I ask, genuinely confused.

  I hear my own voice rise an octave and realize it's because I think she somehow knows about Midnight, that she somehow knows who I really am and that she somehow knows where I'm heading.

  "It's fine, Connor. We broke up. You're allowed to see other people."

  "Huh? No! No, that's not ... no," I stammer out.

  She thinks I'm already seeing someone else when nothing could be further from the truth. Suddenly I realize that, as bad of an idea as having a conversation about us and what happened between us might be tonight, having her think I've already moved on is even worse.

  But what else can I tell her? I start trying to convince myself that flat out denying it is the best idea since there's a chance that if she thinks I'm seeing someone, she might try to follow me to see who it is. But I know that she's not going to do that. That's just me trying to justify it to myself. She's not going to follow me. She's not like that.

  "Seriously, Connor. It's fine. You don't have to explain anything to me. You don't owe me anything," she says. I can tell that she doesn't fully mean it, but she feels embarrassed now and isn't sure what else to say.

  "It's not like that," I say as I take a quick glance at my watch. Damn, I'm already late. Midnight is not going to be happy. "I'm sorry, but I actually really have to run."

  Sarah gives a tight-lipped smile and nods to me.

  "We'll talk, though?" I say, meaning for it to sound like an invitation but having it come out sounding more like a plea.

  "Sure."

  I smile back at her, forcing it myself somewhat too, and turn to head out the door and out of this situation. The front porch of the house is filled with even more people, most of whom are sitting on the tall steps leading to the front door. I curse them under my breath as I contort my feet to fit into the tiny slivers of open space as I descend the stairs.

  Suddenly I'm angry at everything. I'm angry at how all of these circumstances have colluded to ruin what started off as such a great night. My initial eagerness to use my powers again has given way to feelings of anger and disappointment. The one thing that makes me stand out from everyone else in a good way is now compromising my regular life.

  The crowd continues along the stairs and into the front yard with even more people spilling into the street. I stop for a moment to get my bearings and figure out the direction I need to head toward to meet Midnight. It's so loud out here that I can barely hear myself think. Cars are pulled up along the curb with their doors open as their stereo systems compete with each other, forming a loud, mangled mass of noise. If Winston isn't careful and doesn't ask some of these people to leave, he's going to have the cops show up.

  Right as I'm thinking this, the cops show up.

  They've obviously been lying in wait nearby until they had enough backup. A dozen cop cars come screeching from around every corner on the block. If you're going to try to wrangle this many people, you'd better come prepared, and that's exactly what they did.

  I breathe a sigh of relief when I see this, because I'm already across the street and clear of the party. If I'd left a few seconds later, I would be stuck in that house with no way out in time. I start to pull my phone out of my pocket to check the time again, jogging to make up the lost seconds, but before I have a chance to hit the home button on my phone, I hear someone yelling in my direction.

  "Hey! You! Freeze!"

  At first I'm sure they aren't talking to me. They must be yelling at someone else, someone trying to make a run for it from the party.

  "Are you deaf? I said freeze!"

  The second shout is louder and closer. There's no one else near me that he could be talking to. Instinctively, I turn in the direction of the yelling. I lock eyes with a police officer for an instant before I'm blinded by his flashlight.

  Any doubt about whether or not he was talking to me is instantly removed.

  "On the ground, now!"

  There's only two choices I can make. I can do as he says, stop my jog, and get on the ground. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to explain to him that I was leaving the party already, and I wasn't trying to run from him.

  The other option is to turn this jog into a sprint and hope I can outrun him. My reaction time is slower right now, and I'm taking way too long to figure out what I should do. That's when I remember the drinks I had. He'll smell them on me. I'm sure of it. And even if he didn't, he'd still make me do that test where you have to say the alphabet backwards or something. One way or another, he's not going to let me go just because I tell him I was already leaving.

  In the distance something in the sky catches my eye. At first I assume it must be a metahuman, but as I focus my attention on it, I can see it isn't a metahuman at all. It's a reflection in an otherwise dark night sky. The reflection changes, catching moonlight as it turns. For just a fraction of a second, when the moon hits it just right, I can see its entire outline and tell what it is: a jet.

  There are only a few people in the world who would have their own jet with some kind of advanced cloaking technology, and only one that I know personally.

  It's Midnight, and he's leaving without me. No choice now, I think, as my jog becomes a full-on sprint. Behind me I can hear the jangling of handcuffs on the police officer’s belt as he chases after me. It hasn't even occurred to me what I would do if I were caught, which is why I can't get caught.

  The footsteps behind me are growing closer. I underestimated how quick the cop could run, and I realize that the chances of me putting more distance between him and myself are slim. It's time to pull the emergency cord.

  With a thought, my metabands appear around my wrists again. I chance one last glance over my shoulder t
o see where the cop is, hoping that he’s far enough away still to have not had the chance to get a good look at my face. In the second that I take my eyes off the road in front of me, my right foot catches a crack in the road. I'm airborne, but not in the way I'm used to.

  Instinctively, I put my hands out in front of me, not even thinking about the metabands I'm wearing. Luckily for me, once they're active, they don't require much more thought to turn on. The metabands just barely graze each other as I put my hands up in front of me just inches before I'm about to slam into the ground. Not exactly the most graceful powering up sequence, but it still counts.

  Time around me slows. The metabands sense the imminent danger I'm in and adjust to give me time to get myself out of it. As the suit leaks out of the bands and wraps itself around me, I pull up, and my nose just barely kisses the asphalt as I swoop into the air.

  I take another look over my shoulder now that I don't have to worry about falling and breaking my face. The cop chasing me slows his running to a halt. He’s doubled over, trying to catch his breath.

  I made it. Now I just have to catch Midnight.

  * * *

  Scanning the cloudy nighttime horizon, it's difficult to spot him at first, but within a few seconds I'm able to make out the heat trail coming from the jet's engine about a mile in front of me. Head down, I push myself hard to catch up with him. Within seconds, I reach the jet and realize I have another problem I didn't anticipate: getting inside. The jet is all black and appears completely seamless. I can't even find where the door would be on this thing, so I move around to approach the cockpit, or at least what I assume is the cockpit. The reason I can't tell for sure is that the windows, if you can even call them that, are completely tinted over.

  I hang in front of the jet for a few seconds, figuring Midnight has to see me inside. I consider knocking politely on the window, but ultimately decide against it, knowing that Midnight's likely already mad at me for being late. After a few seconds, I hear the sound of hissing pistons and moving mechanical parts coming from the rear of the plane.

  A previously hidden cargo bay door reveals itself, and I waste no time finding my way to it and enter the plane. Once inside, the door snaps shut, and I can feel the area re-pressurizing before a door at the front of the bay area slides open.

  "You're late," Midnight says from beyond the door.

  I head toward his voice, through the sliding door, and into the cockpit area. It's a tight squeeze and there's only one seat, which Midnight is currently occupying as he stares ahead at the starless night sky in front of him. The tinted cockpit window is not only crystal clear from this side, but also filled with information overlays showing a three-dimensional, textured map of the ground beneath us hidden below the clouds.

  "Sorry about that. Ran into a little trouble with the local law enforcement," I say. He turns his head to give me a stern look. "Don't worry. They didn't get a look at my face."

  I consider suggesting to Midnight that he should have had me fly him wherever it is that we're going. Even with dragging him along behind me, I can easily fly at least twice as fast as this jet. Then I remember the last time I suggested flying the both of us somewhere. It didn't end well. Apparently Midnight doesn't like people picking him up.

  "So, where are we off to in such a hurry?" I ask.

  Without a word or taking his eyes off the night sky in front of him, Midnight hits a couple of buttons, and a screen behind him blinks on. Displayed on it is a large white man whose face looks pulled and distorted. His mouth is three times larger than it should be.

  "The street name he goes by is Chomp. He was one of the escapees from Silver Island that hasn't been caught yet," Midnight says. "In case you haven't guessed it already by his name, his metahuman abilities give him a nearly indestructible jawbone and teeth. He can bite through any material known to man. He's used his talent to break into stores, homes, bank vaults, you name it. He wasn't a high priority recapture until this was found last night on the streets of Seattle."

  Midnight hits another button, and the screen changes to show something that looks like a steel birdcage crossed with a bike lock.

  "What is that?" I ask.

  "That was his muzzle. While Chomp could bite through nearly anything, that was the limit of his abilities. In order to keep him from simply eating his way out of Silver Island, this headgear was designed to keep anything larger than a plastic straw away from his mouth."

  "Why the size of a plastic straw?"

  "That's what they fed him through. Shortly after the headpiece was found, a local liquor store was burglarized. The bite marks on the cash register match Chomp's."

  "So how do we find him? There must be a reason he went to Seattle. Does he have family there, former business associates?"

  "No. He did once, but Chomp owes a lot of bad people a lot of money. Going to any of them for help wouldn't get him more than a bullet between the eyes."

  "So then why go back there at all? Seems a lot riskier than just finding a new city and starting over."

  "He went back to Seattle because it’s the only city with these."

  The screen changes again to show the interior of a fast-food restaurant. The angle and quality of the footage tells me that it's from a security camera. Before I have a chance to ask what exactly I'm looking at, I see a tall, bulky man wearing a scarf around his face enter.

  "That's him. Did he rob this place too?"

  "No. He bought a dozen hamburgers."

  "Okay. So what's illegal about that? Ignoring of course that he most likely paid for those hamburgers with money he stole."

  "That's not what we're concerned with. The name of this place is Hammy Hamburgers and it's Chomp's favorite. He needs a tremendous amount of calories every day for him to do what he does, and my guess is that he'll be back there tonight. There's a reason why he didn't just rob the place after hours: he wants them to stay in business so he can keep eating there. If my hunch is correct, he'll be back.”

  * * *

  The plan is relatively simple, at least as far as Midnight's plans usually go. Although he's always quick to criticize me for underestimating enemies, the speed with which he has to react to Chomp's reappearance leaves very little time for his usual elaborate traps.

  Soon after they took over Bay View City, Alpha Team made it their publicly stated goal to recapture and execute every escaped prisoner from Silver Island who hasn’t surrendered. Even the few who have surrendered haven't been seen or heard from since. Alpha Team insists that they're being kept in a secure, off-site facility far from any populated areas. They also claim that giving any more information about where this place is would jeopardize the security of it. At the end of the day, though, the simple truth of the matter is that most people just don't care. They see these criminals as less than human. Whether they live or die isn't something that concerns most. In their minds, they aren't privy to the same basic human rights the rest of us enjoy.

  Alpha Team has placed bounties on each of the escaped prisoners' heads. Most of the escapees can't be caught by traditional means, though. Most can only be caught by another metahuman, and given Alpha Team's general attitude toward metas, few expect that they will actually keep their end of the bargain.

  So here I am, sitting alone in a Hammy Hamburgers, slowly nursing a soda and waiting. My metabands are powered down, but still active around my wrists and hidden under the sleeves of a sweatshirt.

  I'm here as a lookout, and it is boring.

  Really, really boring.

  I'm seriously kicking myself for having left the one party I've ever had fun at to come sit in a fast-food place all night by myself.

  Midnight wants me here as backup, but it's hard to imagine a situation where he would actually ask for help. Instead, I have to just sit here, keep an eye on the line at the front counter, and send Midnight a message through my phone if I see Chomp. Midnight is lying in wait in a nearby alley with his own version of the headgear that previously kept Chomp d
ocile.

  Once Chomp steps back out of the restaurant, Midnight will ambush him and lock the restraint over his head. Easy. And if anything goes wrong, I’ll power up and get Chomp away from here immediately. But of course, Midnight expects nothing to go wrong.

  After eight free soda refills, I can't wait any longer and decide Midnight would never know if I went to the bathroom real quick, even though he's given me explicit instructions not to take my eyes off the front door.

  I swear I'm in the bathroom for all of about fifteen seconds, but when I come out, there he is, right at the front counter: Chomp. Even for Seattle in the fall it's too warm to be wearing a scarf tonight, and that's the dead giveaway.

  I fumble around in my pocket for my phone, quickly opening the secure messaging app hidden three folders deep and get a message to Midnight right as Chomp grabs his two bags of takeout and heads for the door.

  My instinct is to immediately follow him, but Midnight warned me not to come out until he gives me the signal. He doesn't want Chomp spooked, and he doesn't want a fight between two metahumans in the street, so I have no choice but to sit back down and wait.

  It feels like an eternity, even though my watch says it's only been thirty seconds. I'm just about to break Midnight's rule and go outside to see for myself what's happening when the text comes through.

  Target Captured. Rendezvous at rooftop of 14th and Lincoln.

  31

  The cargo bay door of Midnight's jet unfolds from the body of the plane, making a ramp from the rooftop to the interior. Inside, Chomp sits on one of the parallel benches lining the opposite facing walls. His hands are bound together and attached to a galvanized steel hook bolted to the wall before his back.

  His head is completely encased, offering only an obscured view of his face through a steel mesh weave, allowing him to breathe and speak. When he sees me at the bottom of the ramp, I can hear him repeatedly slamming him teeth together in an effort to intimidate me. I almost jump when I first hear how loudly they clap together. My metabands are back on and activated to keep my identity obscured from Chomp. Even if I didn't have to worry about that, I still wouldn't want to be within ten feet of this guy without some kind of protection.