by Tom Reynolds
They charge using some form of energy we don't understand yet, or at least, that's what we all assume based on the fact that no one can figure out how they charge. Considering how no one had any idea how solar panels worked a hundred years ago, it's not too far-fetched to think there are other ways of gathering massive amounts of energy that we just haven't figured out yet.
"Good work, Omni," Halpern says to me. "Guess all there is to do now is read them their rights and ask them the question.
Gentlemen," Halpern begins before looking back at me. "They're both guys right?"
I shrug.
"Anyway, gentlemen, ladies, whichever you are. You have been detained by a government-authorized meta during an alleged attack on a federally-backed financial institution. You are hereby ordered to power down your metabands or face detainment," Halpern says to the barely conscious metas I've brought in.
The big one, Malfour, is the first to seem to process the question and reply. Fortunately for everyone, his reply is simple. He brings his fists up to his chest, connects his metabands, and deactivates them. Standing in front of us is no longer a hulking monster, but instead, a very scared looking young woman who appears to be barely out of college, if she's even that old.
"Drop your metabands! Drop them now!" one of the guards screams in her direction with the laser sight of his assault rifle aimed squarely at her forehead.
She reaches for the metaband on her right hand.
"Slowly!" another guard yells, his rifle also trained on her.
She jumps slightly at the order and slows down her movements. She slips the metaband off of her right wrist, and it hits the ground with a clang that reverberates throughout the steel and concrete structure.
"The other!" the first guard yells.
She nods and removes the metaband on her left hand. Before it has even hit the ground, a stun gun is fired, and she falls to the ground.
"Hey! She's complying! You didn't have to do that!" I yell at the guard.
He turns to me, and I see his eyes widen before I feel a blast of heat hit my back.
The Elemental's metabands have recharged enough to allow him to reactivate them. Alarms begin sounding throughout the facility as warning lights bathe the entire room in red. Stupid. I should have never turned my back on him. I need to incapacitate him before he hurts anyone here, or before they kill him.
I can hear the clicks of triggers being pulled fractions of a second before I react. I run toward the Elemental, driving him into the nearest wall. This accomplishes two things: First, it gets him out of the way of the hundreds of bullets, fired by the facility guards, about to rip him to shreds. Second, it knocks him out. Or at the very least, it disorientates him to the point where he can't use his powers.
This meta is a criminal, and there's no doubt about that. He tried to rob a bank that didn't belong to him, and he’s done his best to hurt me in the process. Luckily for him, I decided not to carry a grudge and know that neither of those actions deserves execution by firing squad. He tried to hurt me, not the guards after all, and I can take it.
"Get him into the processing room, now!" Halpern yells at the guards who just put holes in the large, pristine white and stainless steel hall that we're in. "And get Rogers!"
The guards rush in and grab the nearly unconscious, would-be fire starter. They quickly lift him before running to a nearby room. The room is covered on all sides by glass with ceilings even higher than the hall we're currently in. I've heard stories about the processing room, but I've never seen it used.
A slender, middle-aged man enters the hall by himself, wearing a pair of khaki pants and a blue, oxford button-down shirt. He's skinny and bespectacled, wearing black, horn-rimmed eyeglasses. While he looks the part of a meek corporate drone, he walks with the kind of confidence and intent that suggests otherwise.
"What have we got?" Rogers asks Halpern without even glancing at me. As a guy wearing head-to-toe, red, skintight spandex and a mask, I’m not used to being so blatantly ignored. So whoever this guy is, he's either not impressed, or he’s used to seeing metas in person.
"Maybe a level two Elemental. Fire equipped. Low-level invulnerability at best," Halpern replies.
"We'll try the soft touch first then," Rogers says as he thrusts his arms out to summon a pair of metabands right before he brings them together to activate.
In an instant, he transforms into a monster. Literally. His face still bears a strong resemblance to his non-meta appearance, but his body is another story altogether. Muscles bulge across his body to the point where his pale white skin appears paper-thin. Muscles also bulge across the two new sets of arms that have sprouted from his torso. His skin writhes and pulsates across his new form, which now stands a good three feet taller than he did two seconds ago.
The guards clear a path, and Rogers enters the processing room. A solid glass door closes behind him as soon as he crosses the threshold. He moves slowly across the room to where the fire Elemental is lying on the ground, just beginning to regain consciousness and gather a sense of where he is.
Rogers moves slowly but deliberately toward him.
"You've never been here for one of these, have you?" Halpern turns to ask me. We're standing shoulder to shoulder on the other side of the glass that separates us from Rogers and the Elemental.
"No, I haven't."
"Let's get audio from that room," Halpern instructs one of the guards, who then hits a button inside a panel on the nearby wall.
"Under the Twenty-eighth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States of America, you are hereby ordered to remove your metabands. Failure to comply with this demand will result in the forfeiture of your Eighth Amendment rights with regard to cruel and unusual punishment for the purpose of securing your detention. Do you understand your rights as I have read them to you?" Rogers asks the fallen meta in a deep monotone growl that reverberates throughout the glass cage.
There’s a long silence both inside the containment area and in the hall where I’m standing. All that can be heard is the labored breathing of the fire Elemental, still lying in a heap in the far corner of the containment cell.
"Sir, do you understand your rights as I have read them to you?" Rogers asks again.
Without warning, the Elemental's breathing morphs into a scream as he turns to blast a wall of fire toward Rogers. I instinctively move toward the door, but a hand reaches out and grabs my arm, stopping me. The hand belongs to Halpern. He gives me a pensive look and shakes his head slowly, telling me with his eyes to not even think about it.
I turn back to the window of the cell where the fire is still raging, but slowly growing smaller as the Elemental depletes the last bit of energy in his metabands. The fire is still large enough to completely envelope Rogers to the point where he cannot even be seen from where I'm standing. And then suddenly, it stops. The Elemental collapses with a thud on the glass floor. Rogers emerges unscathed, and begins slowly walking toward him.
"I'll take that as a 'no' then," he growls. He’s not amused. "Let's take the rest of the energy out of those bands, shall we?"
What follows is hard to watch. Rogers pummels the meta over and over again. The Elemental repeatedly tries to rise to his feet, only to then be bashed back to the ground by fists the size of basketballs.
"Stop resisting. Deactivate your metabands, immediately," Rogers barks, but the Elemental does not listen. He continues to try to get to his feet and return the attack.
Finally, when it seems as though I can't stand to watch this any longer, the Elemental's bands begin to glow red. They've been depleted and are in standby, or life support, mode. They will not allow the Elemental to use any of his powers until the bands have had time to recharge and are manually reactivated.
Rogers grabs both of the Elemental's wrists and pulls them as far apart as he can without ripping his arms out of their shoulder sockets. The doors to the glass cell fly open quickly, and the room is once again accessible to the outside world.
>
"Move! Move! Move!" an armed guard shouts from behind me. I step aside as a team sprints into the cell, holding various pieces of metallic hardware. Halpern casually follows them.
"It didn't have to be that way," he says with a sigh to the Elemental.
The Elemental's face is covered in blood. He doesn't even seem to have the strength to hold his head up and is only on his feet because Rogers is holding him there.
With the precision of a stock car pit crew, the guards quickly slip bulky cylindrical steel sleeves over the prisoner's forearms. The second they’re in place, one set of guards moves out of the way as another set moves in, holding enormous drills that are already revving to make sure they’re working and ready.
Without hesitation, the guards begin drilling screws through holes in the steel sleeves, directly into the Elemental's flesh. His head jerks up suddenly as he screams and writhes in pain. Rogers continues holding him by the arms, preventing him from moving, as the guards move their drills around the sleeves, driving screws through steel and into flesh. Once the screws are tightened, another guard moves forward with a blowtorch, which he uses to weld the screws in place, ensuring they can’t be removed.
The Elemental is no longer screaming, but now softly weeping in pain. Twenty more seconds and it's done. There are two pools of blood on either side of the prisoner from where his arms were held out to his sides. Finally, Rogers releases his grasp and the Elemental crumples to the floor, cradling his newly steel-encased arms close to his body, crying.
Chapter 3
"Drink?" Halpern asks as he unlocks a wooden cabinet in his office and pulls out a bottle of what I assume is whisky, along with two small rocks glasses.
"I'm all right, thanks," I reply.
"Oh, that's right. You're too young to drink. I always forget."
"How did you know that?"
"I didn't. Until just now, that is," Halpern says with a smirk as he places one of the glasses back in the cabinet. The other is put on his desk, and he pours himself a rather large glassful of the brown liquid.
Stupid. I sometimes forget to keep my guard up around Halpern. I forget that he's always after more information about me and about metas in general. Nothing about my appearance right now indicates that I'm only sixteen. Right now, I stand at six feet, three inches tall and look like I'm two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle barely contained within a skin-tight crimson suit covering me from head to toe. Only my jawline is exposed, and even that is different, stronger looking, than how I normally look. “Normally” refers to how I look when these metabands aren't turned on, making me into a superhuman that can throw a car through a building if I wanted to.
"Listen Omni, I'm a big fan of yours. A lot of the guys around here are. You consistently bring in troublemaking metas, and you do it cleanly. No civilian casualties, minimal property damage, hell, you even manage to grab these guys before the press gets involved most of the time. That's actually the most impressive feat of them all, to be honest. We want to start making sure you're compensated for all the good work you've been doing around here."
"I'm not doing it for compensation."
"Sure you are. We all are. Whether it's cash, fame, glory, or vengeance, it's still compensation. At least, if you take the monetary compensation, I'll sleep better at night knowing what your motivations are."
As Halpern says this, he reaches under his desk, and I hear the beeping of a code being entered on a safe's touchpad followed by the click of a heavy metal handle being turned. Halpern leans under the desk and reaches into the unseen safe. When he sits back up, he places a steel suitcase on the table. Without saying a word, he presses the latches and pulls the case open, turning it toward me. It’s full of neatly stacked bundles of one hundred-dollar bills.
"You'd feel better knowing that my motivation for doing this is getting paid, rather than the kindness of my heart?" I ask, somewhat sarcastically.
"Look, I don't care what the reason is, but if I know what it is, it helps me understand. And it helps me make sure—"
"That I don't turn against you?"
There's a long, awkward silence.
"We just want to make sure you're happy and taken cared of, Omni. Money is one of the ways we do that."
"And what if someone else comes along and offers me more?"
"I feel relatively comfortable with the United States government's ability to match any competing offer, provided you tell us what you really want out of all this."
"I don't want anything. All I want is for people to be able to live their lives in this city without fear. You're able to contain rogue metas better than anyone else; that's why I bring them to you."
"Fair enough," Halpern says. He turns the case back toward himself and closes it before pushing his chair away from his desk. He leans down to return the suitcase to the safe where, presumably, it’ll wait for the next meta that Halpern doesn't fully trust. Relatively sure that we're done, I turn my back to Halpern and begin walking out of his office.
"There's one more thing I want to ask you, Omni," Halpern calls to me as he takes another swig of whiskey from the rocks glass on his desk. I turn to give him my attention.
"We've got a takedown that I'd like you to help with," Halpern says.
"A takedown?"
"A metahuman takedown."
I walk back toward Halpern's desk. "Okay. Who?"
"Well that's classified right now," Halpern responds.
I can't help but laugh.
"So, you want me to take down another metahuman, but you can't tell me who because that's classified. Look, I know secrecy is everyone's favorite pastime around here, but if you want me to takedown a meta for you, I’ll need to know who they are. I'm good, but I'm not that good," I respond with maybe just a touch of ego.
"We don't want you to take him down. We want our guys to take him down."
"What do you mean?"
"We've got a team. Not many know about them, but they specialize in this type of job," Halpern says before pausing. "This is all very classified. I'm afraid I'm going to have to gloss over some of the details."
"Still don't trust me?"
"Asks the guy wearing a mask?"
He has a good point, but still, I have a feeling that he needs me more than I need him right now.
"Do you want my help or not?" I ask. He thinks for a few more seconds before grabbing his whisky off the desk and finishing what's left in one huge gulp.
"The hell with it, fine," he relinquishes as he slams the empty glass on the table. "We've got a special operations team that specializes in taking out metas. These guys are good. Very good, but this particular job is ... delicate."
"What does that mean?" I ask.
"I can't get into the details until I know if you're onboard, but let's just say that this meta is somewhat high profile."
"Then why all the secrecy if I presumably already know who he is?"
"That's just it. You don't. No one knows he's a meta, except us."
I'm very confused, but decide to keep listening before I ask any more questions. The whisky seems to have loosened Halpern up a bit, and I'm not going to slow him down now.
"This is a big one," he says. "Once this meta is taken down, there's not going to be any hiding the operation from the media or general public. Everyone will know."
"All right ..." I say, attempting to prod him into telling me more. He picks up the empty glass from his desk and turns his back to me to prepare another drink.
"People well above my pay grade think this is a good PR opportunity for us to publicly announce the existence of this task force. They think if regular people know that the government can take down a meta without the help of another meta, it'd make them sleep better at night," Halpern says as he pours another glass of whisky. This one is a little bit bigger than the last.
"So, if they want non-metas to take this guy down, what do you need me for?" I ask.
"To go in with them, of course," he says like I've ask
ed the stupidest question in the world.
I give him a blank look to express my lack of understanding. He sighs.
"We need you to go in with them. Not like this," he says as he gestures up and down with the hand holding his drink at the outfit I'm wearing. "We need you to go in with them looking normal. Still powered up, of course, but not wearing the unitard."
"It's not a uni ..."
"I'm joking with you. Relax."
"So what? I go in there with them, take this meta out, and then they get all the credit?" I ask.
"No. They still take the meta down. You're just there as ... insurance. We want the public to know we can handle these types of situations, but at the same time, we can't take any chances with one this big. That's why I'd like your help as a backup. You’re only there in case you’re needed."
I stand in Halpern's office, considering his offer. I'm not sure it even is an “offer” since it doesn't sound like I get much out of it, other than taking a presumably bad meta off the streets. That should be reward in and of itself, I guess. If I were doing this for the credit, I wouldn't be wearing a mask in the first place, would I? Halpern takes another sip.
"So what do you say? Help us out?"
Chapter 4
It’s been a long night, and I desperately just want to go home, but I haven’t heard from Midnight all day, so I decide that I should swing by his new hideout to at least check in. I’ve made the mistake of not checking in before and had to deal with being chewed out often enough this summer.
I arrive at Midnight's new base of operations to find it completely empty. Well, that's not entirely true. It's full of various machines, computers, gadgets, and pigeons. So. Many. Pigeons.
Pigeons literally come with the territory, though, when you decide to move your base of operations from abandoned subway tunnels to the water tower on top of an abandoned skyscraper. Midnight said the place makes a lot more sense with the new threats we're dealing with. Or rather, the threats he's dealing with, and I just occasionally “assist” with, according to him.
