by Tom Reynolds
Now that there are countless new metas out there, the top of a building gives you a much better vantage point than a tunnel twenty feet underground, especially when you consider how many of the new metas can fly.
What we weren't expecting, or at least I wasn't expecting, was that there would be so many pigeons. Pigeons, literally everywhere. The water tower has been retrofitted and sealed off from the outside. The walls were replaced with floor to ceiling panels that relay images directly from cameras mounted outside, essentially making it feel like you're out in the open even though you're safely hidden from the outside world. Well, hidden from everyone except the pigeons. They know. Somehow, they know, and somehow, they always find a way in.
I open the hatch in the floor and start shooing the three pigeons I find toward the opening and out of the water tower. Just as I get the last pigeon to leave, something heavy slams up against the ten foot long rusty ladder leading up to the hatch. It's Midnight, and he's hurt.
I grab his left arm as he struggles up the rickety ladder. I pull him into the tower, and the interior momentarily darkens as a series of red lasers crisscross the room, landing on Midnight and scanning his entire body. This is part of the water tower's automated systems and serves two functions. The first is identifying that this is, in fact, Midnight or me, as it did upon my arrival earlier tonight. The second is assessing what injuries either of us may have sustained and the appropriate medical attention required.
"What happened to you?" I ask as he pushes my hands away, indicating that he doesn't want my help standing up. "Oh my God, what happened to your arm?" I almost yell.
The left sleeve of his black, armored suit has been ripped to shreds, exposing his bare arm. Aside from bruising and lacerations, the skin on his arm looks strange. It’s slightly pinker and shinier than it should be, almost like a skin graft on a burn victim. Upon further inspection, it becomes clear that this injury wasn't recent. The skin is smooth, hair giving the arm an almost plastic-like appearance. I only get another second's worth of a glimpse before Midnight retreats to the medical bay and slams the door behind him.
I still don't even know what Midnight looks like without his mask on, but I know him well enough not to even bother knocking on the door.
"I'm going to be awhile," Midnight says in a voice barely above a whisper. From the other side of the door, I can already hear the various medical machines moving into place.
"Number one or number two?" I ask through the door, trying to lighten the mood.
No response.
"All right then. I'm gonna head home for the night."
Still no response.
"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. Feel better. Light a match when you're done, okay?" I say as I open the floor hatch to descend the ladder.
Still nothing. If it were anyone else, I'd be worried, but I learned months ago that Midnight could more than take care of himself. He's survived this long as a non-meta, running around dressed like one. He doesn't need my help after a rough night out doing ... whatever it was that he was just doing.
Another thing I've learned about Midnight, if tonight’s any kind of example, is the guy doesn't know a good joke when he hears one.
Chapter 5
It's late by the time I finally get home. I'm still not completely used to the idea that this new apartment is home now. Since record numbers of metas have been appearing again, my brother Derrick's knowledge of all things meta is in much higher demand. A guy who used to be seen as just some weirdo investigating conspiracy theories on the Internet has quickly become a very in-demand weirdo now that everyone wants to know what he knows.
His work covering the meta beat at the Rogerson Post took off in a big way a couple of months ago. Just about every single one of his articles went viral within minutes of publication. It only took a few weeks before Derrick's posts made up the majority of the Rogerson Post's traffic for their entire website. And it only took a week after that for him to decide he'd be better off without them and begin running a site of his own. ConnollyReport.com was born shortly after.
Derrick works pretty much nonstop now, but the upside to all of that newfound work is that we just moved into an apartment that cost about ten times as much as the house we previously lived in. Between moving from a one-story ranch style house to a thirty-fourth story penthouse, as well as moving from an abandoned subway station to a water tower, things are literally looking up these days. Actually, I guess, technically, they're looking down? Or at least, I'm looking down since I'm always up so high? Look, I don't know. It's a saying, and the pun works so I'm sticking with it.
The other nice advantage to being in the penthouse is that it's very easy for me to slip in and out through the skylight. I don’t have to worry about wasting energy teleporting or accidentally smashing something that I didn't expect to be there when I arrive. Derrick’s still mad that I landed on his new XStation. He didn't have time to play it anyway, but trying to tell him that probably wasn't the best way to calm him down.
He's not home right now, but that's nothing new. I miss having him around, especially now that I don't have to worry about keeping how I spend my nights from him anymore. He has a team of his own to manage with ConnollyReport.com, and a lot of people that count on him. On top of all of that, he's quite literally the face of the website, which also means a lot of media appearances.
Crap! That's why he's not home tonight. I almost forgot. Derrick's supposed to be on MetaLine tonight, his biggest national TV appearance to date. I set an alarm on my phone to remind me, but that doesn't do much good when my phone is underneath a suit created out of matter generated from intergalactic wristbands using my own imagination. Those alarms tend to get muffled.
I power down the metabands and grab the monstrous touch screen remote control that controls the ridiculously huge wall-mounted TV situated in the living room. I'm sorry, the “main gathering area” as the real estate agent described it. The TV clicks on, and I plop down on our huge new leather couch as my suit becomes fluid and pulls back into the powered down silver bands on my wrists.
I'm just in time as the image of Ruby Kelly, the host of MetaLine, fills the screen. Ruby looks almost impossibly perfect. Impeccable makeup without a blond hair out of place, and trust me, I'd be able to tell since I’m watching her four-foot tall face on the giant screen in front of me. MetaLine is one of the most popular shows on MNN, which is the most popular of three twenty-four hour meta-devoted news networks.
While it'd be tough to classify her as “anti-meta,” she’s a huge proponent of the idea that metas no longer get to enjoy a large number of rights when they assume the powers the metabands grant them. Privacy, from both the public and the government, is just one basic right she believes metas should no longer get the right to. Ruby believes metas should be held to the highest standard of our laws, and that if a meta wants to take it upon him or herself to become a “crime fighter,” then they must do so by the same avenues available to any normal citizen: by becoming an employee of a federal or state government. To say she doesn't care much for vigilantism is putting it lightly.
The image divides into split screen, with Derrick on the right, looking confident and relaxed, and Ruby on the left. Derrick’s gotten much better at this since the first few times he went on live TV and needed a bucket next to him. Ruby begins to give Derrick his introduction.
"Joining me tonight on MetaLine is a name you might be familiar with, but a face that's new to us on the 'Line: editor-in-chief of the world's most popular meta blog ..." Derrick is already rolling his eyes at his website being referred to as simply a blog, especially considering about ten times as many people visit his website everyday as watch Ruby's show. "... Derrick Connolly. How are you tonight, Mr. Connolly?"
Derrick suddenly seems to realize he's on TV and sits up straight, plastering a smile on his face. "I'm good, Ruby. Thank you for having me tonight."
"Thank you for joining us. I know that you're a busy man, keeping all those ones a
nd zeroes moving along the Internet," she says with a laugh in an attempt to demean what Derrick does for a living. "Tonight, we've been talking about the recently proposed bill that would require all metas operating within the United States to formally register themselves with the United States government for the safety and wellbeing of all of us quote-unquote, regular citizens."
"Right, the bill basically creates a virtual internment camp for U.S. citizens who just happen to be tied to metabands, metabands that they oftentimes didn’t even choose to own, I might add."
"Well, invoking the idea that this would be tantamount to an ‘internment camp’ is certainly a very harsh way to put a law that is simply being proposed to make sure that we know who these people are. They have the ability to kill en masse, after all. What do you say to proponents of this bill who say that you're blowing this out of proportion?"
"That I'm blowing this out of proportion? Are you serious? We're talking about a bill that proposes metaband owners turn themselves into the government, reveal their identity, and submit to monitoring akin to being a parolee. The vast majority of metas have done absolutely nothing wrong. Many metas have decided to use their powers for neither good nor bad, but simply for their own personal use to the detriment of no one."
"But if they have nothing to hide, then why not allow the government to know exactly who they are and what they are up to?"
"Wouldn't you be concerned if the government wanted to keep tabs on you twenty-four hours a day?"
"No, I wouldn't, because I have absolutely nothing to hide, but let's move on to another point you brought up. A lot of new metas who are part of the second wave, as it’s being called, have decided that being a superhero or supervillain is just not something that interests them. Instead, they’ve decided to do something that many think is much more nefarious, and that's using their newfound abilities to put thousands and thousands of hardworking Americans out of a job. Industries such as shipping have been particularly hard-hit by the proliferation of Speeders who have farmed out their abilities. They’ve turned things like overnight delivery into a quaint, old-fashioned notion from an era before metas could literally run your package across the ocean in only a few minutes. We have countless people in the construction and manufacturing sectors out of work now that a single metahuman can do the manual labor of hundreds."
"Well, that's an entirely different subject altogether, but I don't see how having the government keep metas under around-the-clock surveillance is going to help any of those issues."
"But the surveillance would be a fairly simple matter. The government has already made it clear that they are aware of the exact number of metabands present on Earth at this time, along with their approximate locations based on satellite—" Ruby can’t even finish her sentence because she’s interrupted by Derrick laughing heartily.
"You really believe that, Ruby?" Derrick asks between laughs.
Ruby is stunned by the question.
"Yes, of course I believe that. What on Earth would the U.S. government have to gain by lying about that?" Ruby asks as Derrick takes a deep breath, preparing to unleash one of his trademark tirades.
"What would they have to gain? Are you serious, Ruby? You're asking the wrong question. The right question is what would they have to lose by admitting to the fact that they honestly have absolutely no idea how many active metabands there are in the world today. They would lose not only the trust of their own citizens, but also the respect, and frankly, the fear of the rest of the world who believes they have this situation at least somewhat under control. If people knew the truth, or rather, chose to even question the facts being presented to them ..."
The image of Derrick's face freezes on the screen before becoming digitally distorted and pixilated. Ruby holds her hand up to her ear, implying that someone is talking to her through her earpiece.
"I apologize ladies and gentlemen, apparently we're having a problem with our satellite feed from Bay View City. We're going to go to commercial right now, but when we come back ... Should you be worried about your friendly neighborhood meta's X-ray vision? We'll be talking with Ronald Mason, the inventor of Lead-ware, the latest in lead-lined undergarments that just might help you keep your privates, private."
Ugh. I hit the power button on the remote control and the television shuts off. This happens to Derrick half the time he goes on a show and starts spouting his conspiracies about what the government really knows and what they don't. The network pretends like they're appalled by the insinuation that the government is lying, because they rely on the government for protection. Since all the new metas started popping up, every television station in the world has become a target for attention-seeking metas looking to get in front of a camera with a room full of hostages and a list of demands. The major networks came together to sue the government and demand literal protection under the First Amendment, and they got it. Now, government-employed metas are randomly stationed undercover in most major newsrooms on a rotating basis. They’re the newsroom equivalent of an air marshal.
While the network wants to make sure they keep the higher-ups in the government happy so that their newsroom doesn't “accidentally” get skipped in the random rotation, they also know that having someone like Derrick on TV guarantees a spike in ratings. Derrick's not stupid either. Regardless of how frustrated he gets during these interviews, he benefits from the increased traffic to his website, as well as just the notion of getting his ideas out to a mainstream audience that might not otherwise hear them.
So the networks are happy to have him on, roll their eyes at him while they drive up the prices for commercial time, and cut him off when he says something too controversial. What the networks don't know is that Derrick's brother is a meta, so Derrick is way closer to these stories than they'd ever guess. They also don't know that he's absolutely right; the government has no idea how many metabands are out there, and that scares the hell out of them.
Chapter 6
The alarm clock must have been going off for a while, because it isn't until Derrick comes into my bedroom and throws a shoe at me that I finally wake up. Sunday night vigilantism always seems like a good idea at the time, but the non-meta version of me that has to deal with the consequences on Monday morning always begs to differ. The metabands and suit manage to keep any kind of lasting physical harm to my body at a minimum, but I still have a morning-after headache from getting thrown into a brick wall last night, and the bands do absolutely nothing for sleep deprivation.
"Get up, idiot. You're late for school, and I've got to go to the office," Derrick says as he ducks out of my room and back into the hallway.
"Thanks," I grunt. My eyes struggle to adjust to the morning light streaking in through the floor to ceiling windows that surround my corner bedroom overlooking the city. I practically fall out of bed and drag myself into the bathroom to take the shower that I probably should have taken last night, and would have if I hadn't been so tired. The metabands can do a lot, but they don't keep me from smelling like garbage after a night of basically running around the entire city. And by running, I mean mostly flying of course, but you know what I mean.
It's a bit of a hike to get to school now that Derrick and I have moved downtown, but I refuse to go to another new school. It took me a full year to make the few friends that I have at this school, and I’m not about to start over just because Derrick wants to live in a nicer neighborhood. Derrick offered to buy me a car with his newfound wealth, but I declined. The last thing I need is to stick out, and showing up to the first day of class in a sports car would have made that hard, so the city bus it is.
It's really not bad. Plus, if I ever need to get somewhere in a hurry, I've always got the option to teleport or fly, which aren't bad backups at all. Oh, and I can run at the speed of sound. Probably faster, but I haven't actually tested it. All I know is that sonic booms are a hell of a lot louder on the ground than they are in the air, as the storefront windows on Talbert Street can attest to.
That wasn't my fault, though. I mean, it was my fault, but I didn't mean it. Well, I meant to test how fast I could run, so that much is true, but I didn't mean to blow out all the windows with a sonic boom. That's one hundred percent the truth.
Junior year started a couple of weeks ago, and knock on wood, so far, so good. Classes have been going well, and luckily, I've been able to keep my night job to just that, night only. Everything has been exceedingly normal, whatever the new version normal happens to be.
I feel a kiss on my cheek, and a voice behind me whispers in my ear, "You're late."
Turning around, I find Sarah Miller's smiling face. Wait, I'm sorry. My girlfriend, Sarah Miller's smiling face. She's up on her tippy toes to reach me and throws her arms around me as I turn to face her. She looks beautiful. Her short, chin length, light blond hair catches the garish florescent lighting and still manages to shimmer. There's a sparkle in her hazel eyes that gets me every time.
"I feel like I haven't seen you in a week," she says as she gives me another quick kiss, this time on the lips.
"Sorry, just been busy helping Derrick with the new apartment and everything," I reply.
"I know. I'm exaggerating. It's only been a weekend, but still ..." she says as she kisses me again. I think I got used to being able to fly quicker than I’ve gotten used to being able to kiss Sarah Miller almost everyday.
"How about I make it up to you?" I ask.
"Yeah?" Sarah asks back, cocking her head and giving me that smile that melts me every single time.
"Yeah. There's a new place opening up around the corner from Derrick’s and my place this week. I think Rad Eskimo is supposed to be playing there tomorrow night."
