by Charlie Wood
“Oh, I think you misunderstood,” Nova said, turning to the crowd, his hand still glowing. “You don’t have the option of refusing.”
The crowd was speechless.
“Any other questions?” Nova asked.
***
At the prom, Tobin was standing at the hotel bar and watching the dance floor as the slow song came to an end. The boy was trying not to be nosey, but his eyes kept drifting toward Jennifer and Tommy. When the song ended and all of the couples parted, Jennifer and Tommy shared a kiss.
Tobin was surprised. He watched as Jennifer and Tommy walked back to their table. Sighing, Tobin turned to the bartender.
“Hey, Steve, I’ll have another—”
Tobin’s eyes went wide. His adrenaline kicked in. Steve—the friendly bartender with whom Tobin had been talking all night—was suddenly stuck against the wall, with his body wrapped in grey spider-webs from his neck down to his feet, his arms pressed against his sides. His mouth was also gagged by the sticky, grey webbing, and his face was filled with horror, his eyes fixed on Tobin.
“Oh my god,” Tobin said.
Suddenly the banquet hall went dark—the electricity was turned off. The students screamed as they were plunged into pitch-blackness.
Tobin could not see anything in front of him as he looked around the banquet hall, and the shrieks from his classmates and chaperones only grew louder as someone—or something—began running through the dance floor, growling and snapping and knocking people out of its way.
The banquet hall dissolved into chaos, with the students fleeing from the dance floor and running toward the exit. Tobin, however, headed the opposite way, walking against the crowd and toward the DJ booth. But between the darkness and panicked mob of students, he could not make much headway.
Over the sounds of screams and trampling feet, the DJ’s voice was heard over the microphone.
“Hey, what the—aaaaahhhhaaah! Stop! Help! Help! Someone—”
A growling now came through the microphone, along with the agony-filled howls of the DJ. As Tobin finally made his way through the crowd, the lights came back on, and the boy found himself standing in front of the DJ booth. He looked up.
The DJ was hanging from the ceiling, dangling from a long spider-web, with his body also wrapped thousands of times over by the disgusting webs. He was still alive, thankfully, but a demonic Gore with eight arms was clinging to his body, with its fangs only inches from the DJ’s neck. Tobin was even more shocked to see a massive spider-web on the wall behind the Gore, with words written in the middle of it. The words read:
THE DAYBREAKER IS COMING.
Gunshots and screams suddenly rang out, as several hotel security guards and police officers ran into the banquet hall and fired their guns at the Spider-Gore. The five-foot tall arachnid hissed at them before crawling onto the ceiling and skittering out a doorway, escaping into the halls of the hotel.
“What the hell was that?” a policemen said.
“Who’s gonna go find that thing?” a security guard asked.
Tobin stared at the gigantic spider-web on the wall in front of him, then dashed out of the banquet hall.
CHAPTER SEVEN
On the roof of the warehouse at Sullivan’s Wharf, Scatterbolt and Keplar were looking through the skylight and into the building.
“I can’t believe this,” Scatterbolt whispered. “How is this happening?”
“I don’t know,” Keplar replied. “But we just gotta keep quiet for now and watch. See if we can find out what the hell they are planning.”
Inside the warehouse, the secret meeting was over, and the dozens of criminals were now waiting in a line that led to the stage. At the end of the line, Rigel was injecting each of them in their right shoulder with a syringe of red liquid. Within seconds of Rigel pushing the plunger, the criminals were granted their superpowers: some of them sprouted demon-like wings, some began to create ice from thin air, some began to levitate, and some were granted super-speed. Many of the criminals were transformed into completely inhuman beasts—one man turned into a seven-foot tall, black-scaled dragon with barbs running down his back, while a group of six others became impish goblins, with long fangs and two extra arms.
On the roof of the warehouse, Scatterbolt walked away from the window and to the edge of the building.
“We gotta go tell Orion.”
Keplar was lying on the skylight and peering inside. “And just leave these things here?”
“Yeah! What are we gonna do, take them all on by ourselves?”
With his back against the glass, Keplar turned to Scatterbolt. “I guess you’re right. Krandor. This is really, really bad.”
“I know. I’m just glad none of them saw us.”
Keplar nodded and exhaled. Then there was a CRACK!
“What was that?” Scatterbolt asked.
“I don’t know.”
Another CRACK!
“I hope it wasn’t…”
Keplar turned over and looked at the skylight underneath him. A crack was running across it.
“Uh-oh,” the dog said.
SMASH! The skylight shattered and Keplar fell into the Sullivan’s Wharf warehouse. Shocked, Scatterbolt stared at the broken window.
“There’s no way that just happened,” the robot said.
After landing on the floor of the warehouse with a THUD!, Keplar lay on his side a moment, surrounded by broken glass. After he pushed off the ground and got to his feet, he looked around.
The dozens of super-powered criminals and newly-created demons and monsters were gathered around him. They were shocked, confused, and angry.
“Hey, fellas,” Keplar said, wiping the dust and shards of glass from his pants. “I’m here to get my superpowers. I saw the sign-up sheet out front and—hey, look at that! Looks like I’m a little late!” The dog turned and saw a man with the face of a hyena standing next to him. The hyena-man was drooling, and his eyes were crooked. “Yeesh,” Keplar said. “Whatever that guy had, I ain’t having.”
Rigel pushed through the crowd of super-powered criminals and stepped into the center of the circle. When the red-skinned giant saw whom it was that had crashed the meeting, he grunted and snarled.
“Hey, Rigel,” Keplar said. “What’s up, pal. Thought you were dead. Long time, no time.”
Rigel walked toward the husky and punched him across the face, sending the dog crashing into a pile of boxes.
“Now is that any way to greet an old friend?” Keplar asked, as he clumsily climbed out of the cardboard.
Several of the demonic and super-powered criminals stepped toward Keplar— ready to rip the dog limb-from-limb—until suddenly a giant net dropped down on them from the ceiling, ensnaring them and pinning them to the floor.
“Look out!” Scatterbolt said, as he jumped down through the broken skylight and into the warehouse. When he hit the ground, he held out his open palms and three more nets sprang out of his hands and trapped six more of the criminals. “You are all under arrest! Please wait here until the police arrive! Thank you!” The robot looked at the remaining criminals. “That’s not gonna work, is it?”
“Kill them!” Nova shouted. “Both of them!”
The criminals pounced on Scatterbolt and Keplar, shouting and growling, the newly super-powered beings whipped into a rage. The dog and the robot did their best in the sudden brawl, with Keplar using his laser blasters and Scatterbolt using his blasts of sticky oil from his hands.
“Hey, Keplar?” Scatterbolt said. “Probably shouldn’t have leaned on that glass.”
“I think it might be finally time to go on that diet I’ve been putting off,” the husky replied.
The grey-masked, white-caped Nova ran at Scatterbolt, readying a blast of gold energy from his hand, but Scatterbolt sprouted a helicopter from the top of his head and flew up towards the ceiling, avoiding the beam of devastating heat from Nova.
“I really wish I was at the prom like Tobin right about now,”
Scatterbolt said, hovering above the melee.
***
On the top floor of the Grand Wellemore Hotel, Strike carefully walked through the dark hallway, holding his electrified bo-staff. He was still wearing his tuxedo, but luckily he had been able to tie on his mask after leaving the banquet hall and chasing the Spider-Gore. After a few skirmishes with the arachnid (which had left several cuts and bruises on the hero’s face and arms,) he had chased the demon here to the top floor, but had now lost track of his enemy.
His enemy, however, had not lost track of him, and suddenly the Gore pounced on Strike from behind, tackling him to the floor. After suffering a few more stinging slashes from the giant spider’s clawed legs, and narrowly escaping having his neck chomped on by its fangs, Strike was able to roll out from underneath the Gore and blast it with a lightning bolt from his staff. Screeching and smoking from the electricity, the Gore ran out a door and onto the roof of the hotel.
Pushing the door open after the Gore, Strike sprinted across the rooftop, ready for another round with his opponent. But, the hero realized, his part in the battle was done—somebody else was already standing at the edge of the rooftop, engaged in a fight with the Spider-Gore.
It was a beautiful young woman. She appeared to be in her early twenties, and was dressed in a tight-fitting purple costume with a black cape. She had long black hair, almond-shaped eyes, and the body of an Olympic volleyball player. Surprised and confused, Strike watched the battle: the Spider-Gore swung three of its arms at the girl, but she ducked, swung her legs in a circle around her, and knocked the Spider-Gore on its back. The Spider-Gore jumped up, ready to counter-attack with its eight legs, but found that the girl was gone. Unbeknownst to the arachnid, the girl in purple was now standing behind the demon; after quickly pulling two circular discs from her belt and holding them in her hands, she swung them across her body, one in each direction, and the discs flashed with a bright, purple energy. Instantly, the Spider-Gore was cut into three pieces—a head, torso, and legs. The three pieces dropped to the rooftop, twitching, but no longer a threat.
Tobin had never been in love, but he was pretty sure this is what it felt like.
“Hi,” the girl said, turning to Tobin. She moved her black hair away from her face. “You must be Strike.”
“Uh...” was all Tobin could muster.
The girl looked at Tobin’s feet. “Nice pants,” she said.
Tobin looked at his exposed ankles. “They gave me the wrong ones.”
The girl chuckled. “Right. You’re friends with the blue dog and the robot boy?”
The girl leaned down to tighten her boots. Tobin watched her.
“Well?” she asked, looking up at Tobin while she tied her laces.
“Huh?” Tobin replied, his eyes glazed over. “Oh, yeah. Yeah. The robot and the dog. I know them.”
“Then you better get to Sullivan’s Wharf if you wanna save their lives.”
“What? Why?”
“Just go there.” The girl turned to the edge of the rooftop. “Oh, and do me a favor,” she said, arching her head back. “Don’t tell anyone I told you any of that. Okay?”
The girl jumped off the building and disappeared.
“I’ll do anything you say,” Tobin replied, staring where the girl once stood, with a punch-drunk look across his face.
***
With the old, rotting Sullivan’s Wharf warehouse barely standing from the battle within, Keplar and Scatterbolt finally escaped the wooden building and ran out its front door. Free from the super-powered criminals, they stopped to catch their breath in the parking lot, beaten up and exhausted.
“You think they saw which way we went?” Scatterbolt asked, his internal gears wheezing.
“No,” Keplar huffed, leaning over with his hands on his knees. “Probably not.”
SMASH! The wooden doors of the warehouse were blasted open, and the army of super-powered criminals and enraged monsters poured out of the building and stampeded toward Keplar and Scatterbolt.
With the little bit of energy they had left, the dog and the robot ran from the twisted mob and toward the street. Just when it appeared they had nowhere else to go, an ultra-sleek, midnight blue racecar convertible pulled up in front of them and screeched its tires. It was Tobin, driving the Bolt Racer and dressed in his full Strike gear.
“Get in!” Strike said.
Scatterbolt and Keplar jumped into the car, Strike slammed his boot to the gas, and the trio of heroes screamed off down the street.
The super-powered criminals and monsters didn’t give up, however—the creatures that could fly flapped their wings and took to the air, the villains that had super-speed dashed down the street after the Bolt Racer, and the rest of the criminals jumped into vehicles of their own, following the trail of super-powered beings and rocketing through the city of Boston.
As Strike steered the Bolt Racer wildly in between the other vehicles on the road and tried to make his way out of the city as fast as possible, Keplar turned back to the insane army of creatures chasing them.
“Hey,” the dog shouted, “can’t this friggin’ thing fly?”
Strike reached forward and pressed the “Morph” button. “Change to Flying Mant—”
But then a blast from one of the criminals’ laser guns zipped past Keplar and nailed the dashboard, frying the Bolt Racer’s control panel. Strike turned to Keplar and shrugged.
“So much for that,” Keplar said. “Bolt, see if you can fix it. Tobes, stay on the wheel and floor it.”
“What are you gonna do?” Strike asked.
Keplar stood and took his plasma cannon from his back.
“What I do best,” he said.
As Strike drove the Bolt Racer out of Boston’s twisted streets and toward the highway, Keplar turned to the rear of the car, braced his foot on the backseat, and began blasting away: BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The dog had to maintain extreme focus—not only did he have to fire at the half-dozen cars following them filled with criminals, but he also had to turn his weapon to the sky, to take down the bat-winged demons that were swooping down at him and his friends in the Bolt Racer.
At the wheel of the car, Strike was soon able to relax a little; they were out of the crowded city, and he no longer had to worry about all of the civilians caught in the crossfire. Just when he was thankful to be out on the open road, however, he realized that he was driving straight towards a bridge...and the bridge was opening.
“Oh, crap!” Strike yelled. “Hold on!”
The Bolt Racer hit the open bridge as if it was a ramp, and the car flew off the street and up into the night sky. Many of the criminals’ cars also hit the ramp and went airborne, making them easy targets for Keplar—as if they were ducks floating in the air, he blasted them with green plasma bursts from his gun, one-by-one: BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
Crashing back to the street on the other side of the bridge with a screeching of rubber, Strike desperately tried to regain control of the Bolt Racer, which was fishtailing wildly and kicking up dirt and stones and narrowly missing the other cars coming toward them.
“Kid, keep us on the damn road!” Keplar yelled. The dog looked to the rear of the car; thanks to the open bridge, most of the criminals were stuck on the other side of the river, and there was now only one convertible full of villains chasing them. However, the heroes weren’t out of danger yet; Keplar could see swarms of flying demons in the air above them, and a few of the tougher super-powered criminals with the power of flight were still following them. “SB, how’s it going down there?”
Scatterbolt was underneath the dashboard on the passenger side of the Bolt Racer, working on its exposed wires with his hands, which were turned into welding tools.
“A couple more minutes!” the robot yelled.
“Okay,” Keplar shouted, over the sounds of screeching tires and honking horns. “Just let us know when—Aarrrggh!”
Keplar grunted as his arm was hit with a laser blast from one of the fly
ing super-criminals. He fell into the front of the car, holding his wound.
“You okay?” Strike asked, his eyes pinned to the road.
“Yeah, but—aarrrghhh!” Keplar tried to move his arm, but couldn’t. “This arm is blurkopped...damn it! Kid, you can’t drive for crap. Get up there and shoot.”
Keplar took the Bolt Racer’s wheel from Strike and pushed him out of the way. Strike jumped into the back of the vehicle and picked up Keplar’s plasma cannon.
“How the heck do you work this thing?” Strike asked, inspecting the gun.
A bullet whizzed by Strike’s ear and he had to drop to the backseat.
“Just pull the thing on the bottom!” Keplar yelled.
“Where?”
“The thing, the thing!”
“What thing?!”
A flying, one-eyed, grey-skinned demon dropped from the sky and landed on the back of the Bolt Racer, screeching at Strike.
“Ah, the hell with it,” Strike said. He swung the Plasma Cannon and bashed the demon in the head with the butt of the weapon, as if the gun was a giant hammer.
“Uh, not exactly how that thing works, kid,” Keplar told him.
After whaling on the demon’s head with the Plasma Cannon and finally getting the demon to let go, Strike tried one more time to figure out the gun, but gave up and tossed it away.
“Forget it,” Strike said.
Keplar looked in the rear view mirror; the last convertible of criminals was catching up with them. “How are you gonna hit them from here?” the dog asked.
Strike stood on the backseat of the Bolt Racer, leapt into the air, soared across the street, and landed inside the criminals’ convertible, where he immediately started taking out the villains with his glowing bo-staff.
“Huh,” Keplar said, turning back to the road. “That works, too. Sometimes the kid impresses me.”
“Okay, got it!” Scatterbolt shouted, closing the control panel on the dashboard of the Bolt Racer. Reaching out, he pressed the “Morph” button. “Change to Flying Mantis!”
