Shades of Gray

by Jackie Kessler; Caitlin Kittredge

  She swallowed thickly. “Hal … I fell in love with George before Corp gave out the comlinks.”

  “Holly, you don’t remember what they did to you. But I do. They controlled me, forced me to bring you to them. And then they cut open your mind.”

  Holly wanted to faint. She wanted to scream at him to shut up, that he was lying to her, but …

  … but a tiny voice whispered that he was telling the truth.

  “They made you his sex toy, and all I could do was watch. And now they made you his broodmare. You’ve got his whelp inside of you, all because they decided a child would distract Blackout, would let them better control him. His child,” Hal growled, “growing in you, all on the whim of Dr. Moore.”

  Holly couldn’t breathe.

  “Even before they took you, they were controlling you, controlling us. All of us, with Dr. Moore’s drugs. The Runners put them everywhere. In your food. In your drink. They were in you whenever we made love.”

  Too much. It was all too much. He had to be lying to her. Because if he was telling the truth, her entire life was a sham. “Stop it, Hal.”

  “I killed Dr. Moore first. Slowly. I made him see just how evil he really was. He dug out his own eyes.”

  “Stop it!”

  “Don’t you see, Holly? He made you stop loving me. He made you go to the Shadow.”

  George.

  “The world is a better place without him. I’m just sorry his brother escaped. I had something special planned for little Martin.” He chuckled wetly.

  Fear on her tongue, now, thick and sour. “Please. Hal. Where’s George?”

  Both hands back on her shoulders, pressing lightly. “We talked.”

  She whispered, “What did you do to him?”

  A pause, then the massaging continued. “He’s just sleeping, Holly. If I’d killed him, that would have hurt you. I’d never hurt you. I love you.”

  Holly closed her eyes, made the decision that would haunt her for the rest of her days. “Hal,” she said, a small purr in her voice. “I knew you’d save me.” Then she turned around, pulled his face down to hers, and kissed him deeply, allowed herself to remember just how much she once had loved being with him, how he’d made her feel.

  He responded, opening wide.

  When the kiss ended, she looked up into his dark eyes and smiled. “I love you too.”

  Doctor Hypnotic let out an ecstatic roar, then he embraced the woman he loved.

  Holly kissed him again, memorizing the feel of him on her lips, taking in his scent until she felt giddy.

  And then she kneed him in the balls.

  CHAPTER 35

  NIGHT

  One common trait in Mental powers: Too much exposure leaves the recipient fragmented—sometimes, permanently.

  —From the journal of Martin Moore, entry #8

  Night blinked, then blinked again. He’d been in a world of darkness—a world of the Dark—and he had been worshipped as a god. No sun; no spotlight; no heroes or villains or humans begging to be saved from themselves. Just Night, and the strongest—the most worthy—of the extrahumans.

  And the Shadow, of course. Everything belonged to the Shadow.

  That hadn’t been real.

  But, oh Jehovah, how he wanted it to be real. Even now, he could hear the whispers, the Shadow voices urging him to make it real, to turn that delectable vision into a window of the world. A better world. A dark world.

  It wasn’t real.

  But it could be.

  He shook his head to clear it. And then he saw Luster next to him, rubbing his head and … blushing?

  “I’m going to kill that bastard,” Bradford muttered.

  Who …?

  Hypnotic.

  Night spun to the left, and there was Angelica …

  … kissing Hypnotic? Madness. She had to be under his control.

  Night snarled and summoned the Shadow, ready to take them both down if necessary—but then Angelica slammed her knee into Hypnotic’s crotch. And she hit him again, and again: balls and chin and gut, slamming her fists and her knees and her feet into him, again and again. She was screaming like a madwoman every time her skin connected with his.

  And Hypnotic let her. He didn’t raise a hand to stop her. Didn’t use his Mental power to mesmerize her.

  Hypnotic loved her, Night realized. And it was love that betrayed him and defeated him.

  Poetic. And that was also why Night never allowed himself to fall in love; inevitably, it would end poorly, either in tears or blood or both. Better to be alone and be certain than to be in love and risk everything.

  “What …?” That was Blackout, pulling himself up from the floor. “Holly?”

  As Blackout ran over to his shrieking wife, Night took a quick count of the people in the room, most of them snapping out of Hypnotic’s spell. The extrahumans—their New York compatriots—were coming around, but most of the civilians whom Hypnotic had used were still down for the count from when Night had smothered them in Shadow. At least they were still alive.

  Night frowned, thinking of all the men and women who’d lost their lives to Hypnotic’s insanity. Thinking of how he himself was responsible for those deaths.

  Thinking that he didn’t really care.

  Night clenched his fist. He had to care. He was supposed to save humans, not allow them to be used as pawns, to be caught in the extrahuman cross fire.

  Fifty-three people. That was how many Hypnotic had killed.

  That was how many people Night had sent to their deaths when he whispered a lie to Hypnotic and gave him the medicine that would help him go free.

  Fifty-three dead. And he couldn’t bring himself to care.

  Christo, he didn’t care.

  Someone was screaming.

  No, people were screaming. Angelica, who was now wrapped in Blackout’s loving arms. The New Yorker strongman, Major Victory, who was punching through the walls. Another New Yorker, Bonfire, who was clawing at his eyes and bleeding fire.

  And Night himself. He was screaming to prove that he cared, screaming to drown out the Shadow voices whispering in his mind, telling him that they would help him bring the darkness to the world.

  A hand on his shoulder. “Night,” said Luster. “Rick. Come on, Rick. It’s done now. Our girl’s taken him down. It’s all right now.”

  “No,” Night whispered, his voice raw. “It’s not.”

  That was when Bonfire lit up like a dying sun, shrieking to the heavens as he burned away his flesh.

  “Look out,” one of the New Yorkers yelled, “he’s going nova!”

  Major Victory slammed his fists through another section of wall just as Bonfire went critical. The building groaned, and the walls seemed to tilt—and in a scream of metal and concrete, the whole place came down.

  They all would have died if not for the New Yorker called Barricade. Her force field shielded them as the building crashed on top of them.

  They made it out, and they tried to save the people—those normals whom Hypnotic had entranced—who’d been buried in the rubble. A handful got out. Most didn’t.

  It was a long, silent ride home. Night stared out the window, his thoughts dark. If he noticed the Shadow licking at his eyes, he ignored it. When everything was dark, one Shadow was no more noticeable than another.

  Back in New Chicago, Corp debriefed them. Angelica spoke for them, because Luster, Night, and Blackout claimed they didn’t remember much after they’d gone in after Hypnotic. Night wondered if they were lying. He could remember.

  Even now, he could see that dark, dark world, and him as its god.

  Angelica told a story of how they’d all fought bravely and how Hypnotic, defeated, played his last card: He controlled Bonfire’s mind and forced the man to blow up the building in a firebomb.

  Corp bought it. Then they set up the press conference. This time, it was Luster who lied smoothly for the vids. The story had a happy ending: The traitorous villain, Doctor Hypnotic, would be tri
ed by jury, and, assuming he was found guilty, he would be as Luster put it, “abso-bloody-lutely sentenced to life in Blackbird, medicated to the point of coma.” The media loved them.

  Luster went home to his wife and child. Blackout and Angelica went home to console each other between the sheets.

  Night learned the names of everyone who died in what the press had dubbed the Siege of Manhattan. The number was far greater than fifty-three. For a little while, he pretended that he cared about those deaths. And then the day came when he stopped pretending.

  If anyone noticed the deeper chill in his voice, or the dark cast of his gaze, they didn’t say anything.

  CHAPTER 36

  TEAM ALPHA

  Blackout showing renewed signs of decay. Decommissioning out of the question; Corp-Co too invested in its Siege of Manhattan celebrities. May require Therapy. Will continue observation.

  —From the journal of Martin Moore, entry #170

  The most innocent of things can lead to the most damning of consequences.

  This particular game of telephone didn’t actually use phones or communicators or comlinks. It began a month after the Siege of Manhattan.

  … Angelica, still horrified over what her old love had become, told Vixen what Doctor Hypnotic had confided to her—that Corp had forced her to fall in love with Blackout, and that the earpieces were tools to control their minds. Sheer lunacy, of course, but there were times when Angelica would catch herself thinking “What if …?” Vixen patted her hand and told Angelica that between the stress and the pregnancy, Angelica was not thinking too clearly, and everything would be better once she had the baby.

  Six weeks go by.

  … Vixen, exhausted after yet another sleepless night (damned colic) mentioned to Luster that Hypnotic had accused Corp of raping Angelica’s mind and enslaving her to Blackout. That led to a heated discussion about Hypnotic, whom Luster thoroughly despised, and that led to Vixen distracting him with a kiss. She didn’t mention the bit about the comlinks brainwashing extrahumans; frankly, she thought that was complete cowcrap, and Lester was in no mood for such nonsense.

  Eighteen months come and go.

  … Luster, patrolling with Blackout, was horribly short-tempered because Vixen had had a miscarriage yesterday and Luster had spent the whole night holding her and telling her he loved her and everything was going to be okay, so when Blackout made a bad joke about Vixen getting her girlish figure back, Luster snapped that Blackout would be better off focusing on his own wife even if their marriage was a sham—that everyone knew the only reason Angelica was with Blackout was because Corp made her do it. Luster apologized immediately, and sheepishly told Blackout about the miscarriage and said he hadn’t meant it about Angelica, and Blackout said he completely understood and was so very sorry for their loss … but then he became strangely quiet and said nothing for a very, very long time. Luster, who was grieving, was too upset to notice.

  One day passes.

  … Night, sparring with Blackout, commented that the other Shadow power was fighting poorly, and he asked what was wrong. Blackout wondered aloud if Angelica truly loved him. Night, who didn’t care about such things, merely shrugged and suggested they continue sparring. He noticed splotches of Shadow staining Blackout’s eyes as they fought, but Night decided that was simply from the physical exertion.

  The very next night, Blackout hit Angelica for the first time.

  Interlude

  So,” Jose says after a long sip of coffee. “Any word from the hospital?”

  Garth manages not to slam his fist through the table. “None. Julie’s like everyone else that’s been brought in: catatonic.”

  It’s enough to drive a person mad. No help from the nurses at the hospital, and even less from the doctors. No one knows anything, other than the hospitals are overflowing with zombies.

  A hand claps him on the shoulder. “Hang tough, mate,” Terry says. “She’ll pull through. She’s no porcelain doll.”

  Garth wants to punch in Terry’s dentures. If the man had agreed to have the Latent Network up and running, maybe Julie would be sitting by Garth’s side even now. But no—lashing out at the leader of their ragtag group wouldn’t help matters, especially since now, at least, Terry was willing to hear him out.

  Although punching Terry would make Garth feel a hell of a lot better.

  The five of them take up the small card table in Jose’s back room: wiry Jose, beanpole Luke, broad Terry, hardened Claire, and Garth himself, each with a minor power that keeps them safely off Corp’s radar. As if old Terry with his minor control of levitation could be Squadron material, or scar-faced Claire with her ability to sharpen knives. Jose could whisk away dust with a thought. Luke’s cast-iron stomach and unbreakable teeth let him bite through and eat anything, which was a plus whenever he’d tackled Julie’s cooking.

  Ah, Julie.

  Garth grimaces, pushes away her image. She’ll be all right. She has to be all right.

  He’d just finished telling the others about what had happened over the past few days, from the fights in the street to Arclight’s crashing into his apartment to Julie and the others falling victim to the so-called zombie plague. And now he’s waiting for Terry to tell him that yes, the Latent Network will become active, and to hell with Corp and being discovered.

  But time passes as Garth and the others sip coffee and half listen to the newscast in the background as the tele blares. And Terry doesn’t say shite about it.

  Garth drains his coffee and slams down his cup. “So what’s it going to be? We going to sit here and watch the world burn? Or are we going to do something about it?”

  Silence from his friends. In the background, the newsie blathers about Mayor Lee condemning extrahuman activity—possibly even those who have been helping the police and National Guard. “They cannot be trusted,” the mayor rants. His voice sounds tinny and ineffective.

  “Do what?” Terry finally says. His voice is old and strong, his tone is thoughtful. “Tell me how we’re supposed to stop this insanity and I’ll happily listen.”

  “Just get out there,” Garth replies, pointing toward the door and beyond that, to the city. “Do the little we can do. Something’s got to be better than nothing.”

  “We’re not real extrahumans,” Jose says with a shrug. “Barely any extra there. We’d get killed.”

  “Something’s better than nothing,” Garth repeats, his voice a growl. “We call up the whole Network, get everyone to come out. Yeah, there are hundreds of Squadron members gone bad, but we’ve got a thousand tucked away.”

  “A thousand wannabes,” Claire grumbled. “None of them battle trained.” She, of course, could hold her own—the woman had been in more knife fights than Garth could count.

  “And all living normal lives,” Jose says. “Paying bills. Avoiding Corp. We get involved now, we can’t go back to that.”

  “There may not be anything to go back to,” Luke says quietly, and Garth could kiss him for having his back. “The city’s in ruins, and Corp’s still not saying anything about it. And it’s not just New Chicago. The Americas are dying, man. The Squadron’s gone mad, and they’re destroying everything.”

  “What’re you supposed to do?” Jose asks. “Eat the country to safety?”

  Claire stiffens in her seat. “Guys.”

  Luke snarls, “Now look—”

  “Boys,” Terry sighs, “come on, this won’t help …”

  “Help what?” Garth demands. “We’re not helping anything.”

  “Guys! Shut it, will you?” Claire points to the tele. “Listen to this.”

  Garth pivots in his seat, and he sees on screen a text banner declaring DOCTOR HYPNOTIC AT LARGE. The anchor, the lovely Gena Mead, looks appropriately serious as she tells the world, “It’s been confirmed that the supervillain Doctor Hypnotic has in fact escaped from Blackbird and is at large.”

  A clip appears: Commissioner Wagner, looking haggard. “Harold Gibbons, known to the world a
s Doctor Hypnotic, has escaped Blackbird Prison. Citizens are strongly encouraged to stay off the streets until he, along with the other former Squadron members, have been captured.”

  Right, Garth thinks. Just stop our lives for the next who knows how long. Just stay cowering in our holes while the gods duke it out.

  Wagner is bombarded with questions, but one stands out: “Commissioner, does Doctor Hypnotic’s mind control have any bearing on the zombie plague infesting New Chicago?”

  “Too soon to be determined,” he says grimly.

  “However,” Gena breaks in, “some are already pointing to Hypnotic as the cause of what’s being called the zombie plague. Specifically, the few Squadron members who haven’t, as they call it, gone rabid.”

  The image shifts to a black screen, and a woman’s voice is heard as the text appears along with the spoken words: “Not all Squadron members have gone rabid. There are a handful of us still sworn to protect the citizens of New Chicago and all of the Americas, and we’re doing everything we can. Our top priority is bringing in Doctor Hypnotic and curtailing the effects of his mind control.” The speech is attributed to the strongwoman Steele.

  “That message from Steele was delivered to Commissioner Wagner earlier today,” Gena says. “Whether that will sway Mayor Lee, who is still contemplating whether to ban all things extrahuman, remains to be seen.”

  Her coanchor dives into another story—the stock market has continued its swan dive—and Jose clicks off the tele.

  None of them speak.

  Doctor Hypnotic. Garth’s mind is churning so fast, he can barely think. A Mind power in a long line of Mind powers with the same name. He’d flipped two decades ago and gone rabid. When he’d tried to take over New York, thousands of people had lost their minds. Hundreds had died. Garth had been a teenager at the time, but he still recalled the despair in the streets, the palpable sense of fear and loss that had filled the air. Until Hypnotic had been captured, no one had been safe.