Omega Superhero Box Set

by Darius Brasher

  As shocking as those and other images were, two others chilled me to my marrow. At about eye level was a monitor that showed the nighttime exterior of my house on Williams Place. The way the camera that recorded the image was angled, no one would be able to come or go unnoticed. Isaac’s second floor bedroom faced the street. His room’s lights leaked out around the window’s blinds, indicating that he was still up despite the late hour. I wondered where the camera was located. Discreetly mounted on top of a nearly power line, maybe.

  The second disturbing image was on the monitor next to the one showing my house. It was of a glitzy nightclub packed with drinkers and dancers. Neha stood next to the dance floor. My heart fluttered as I looked at her. This was the first time I had laid eyes on her since the night I had told her I was in love with her.

  Neha wore the Smoke costume the Old Man had given her, the form-fitting gray and white one with the shifting curls of smoke on it. Even at a time like this, I couldn’t help but admire how great Neha looked in her tight costume. Twenty-one years old, she had the build of a dancer, toned yet feminine. I missed touching her. My sudden yearning for her was as strong as the jonesing of a cokehead for a hit. Her costume’s cowl covered her whole face except her mouth, eyes, and nostrils. As Neha was of Indian descent, her skin was olive-colored.

  The clubgoers were apparently too cool to make a big deal about the fact there was a costumed Hero in their midst, but they still gave Neha a wide berth. Despite their surface nonchalance, you could tell many of them checked her out from the corner of their eyes.

  Neha watched her employer Willow Wilde, the reality television star, dance with three men. Neha was obviously still on the clock as Willow’s head of security. The men Willow danced with were dressed like they had just left a GQ photo shoot. They were so handsome, they made me look like a turd with eyes. I felt a hot stab of jealousy at the thought these were the types of men Neha was around these days.

  Willow’s dress—what there was of it—was so tight it was a wonder she could walk, much less dance. Her artificially large gyrating butt looked like two alley cats fighting to get free of the bag they’d been stuffed in. I wondered what Willow would do for a living once she got a little older and her looks and popularity faded. Pop out a few kids, make them get plastic surgery, and continue the Wilde get rich from doing nothing dynasty, probably.

  It was impossible for me to tell from this raw footage where Willow and Neha were. Astor City, New York, Los Angeles, Paris, Rome, Moscow—any major city would have clubs like this one with the sort of clientele this one did. Besides, Willow was an international superstar who didn’t let moss grow under her feet; she would be welcomed as a celebrity wherever she went. Neha’s arms were crossed as she watched Willow. She somehow looked simultaneously bored and alert to any threats. A woman as rich and famous as Willow attracted a lot of attention, often of the unsavory kind. I knew Neha well enough to read more into the expression on her face than mere boredom and alertness, though. There was contempt for Willow and the other clubbers carefully hidden in her expression which seemed to say, “If I slit my wrists right now, how long would it take for me to bleed out and be done with this frivolous nonsense?” I wondered if she regretted taking the job with Willow. Maybe if I’d read her emails and texts or listened to the voicemails she had sent me since I’d moved to Astor City instead of ignoring them all, I would know.

  I was not so naive as to think Sentry showing images of my friends at my eye level was coincidence. The Sentinels were sending me a message as clear as it would be if they had written it out: We know who your friends are, and we know where they are. If it wasn’t an unspoken threat, I didn’t know what was. But to what end?

  “Please, come closer,” Mechano said, his voice jarring my reeling mind. “Join us. I promise we will not bite.” His tone was a combination of patronizing and amused. Though I knew Mechano was the consciousness of a man in robot form, it was still weird to hear him use an idiom like “we will not bite.” It seemed more natural for a robot to say something, well, robotic.

  I walked closer to the three. Not because Mechano asked me to, but to keep from having to shout in the huge room. I stopped short of the table.

  Mechano said, “Please do have a seat. You can sit in Avatar’s chair. It is really quite an honor, being asked to sit in the chair of one of the greatest Heroes the world has ever known. You would be only the second person to sit in his chair since his unfortunate demise.”

  ‘Will you walk into my parlor?’ said the spider to the fly, I thought. “I’m good right here,” I said.

  “Come now. You are too young to be so suspicious.” My face must have shown my wariness. Unlike mine, Mechano’s metal face was immobile and didn’t display emotions. His face was as animated as a mannequin’s. His voice sounded amused though, as if he spoke to a child who had done something funny. “We mean you no harm, Theo. Maybe I call you Theo?”

  “No. My friends call me Theo. Someone who has tried to kill me and is spying on my real friends is not my friend.”

  Mechano barked out a laugh. The slightly artificial quality of it made it seem mocking. His head swiveled slightly toward Seer. “So full of single-minded devotion and righteous indignation. Ah, to be young again.” The fact he didn’t deny to his teammates that he had tried to kill me wasn’t lost on me. Were all the Sentinels in on the attempts on my life, or just these three? And why?

  “As old as you are, you’d think you’d have fallen out of love with the sound of your own voice by now,” Seer said. I got the impression there wasn’t any love lost between the two. “Let’s get down to business. We have many other matters to attend to.”

  “The fact I am as old as I am is why I have learned to enjoy the simple pleasures of life when they are presented to me,” Mechano said. His head silently swiveled back to me. “In any event, despite her unseemly impatience, Seer is quite right. Let us get down to brass tacks. We let you in here unmolested because we understand you have questions. We have answers. You say we are not your friends, but we want to be. Friends should not have secrets from one another. So shoot. We will tell you any and everything you want to know.”

  Why beat around the bush? “Did you try to kill me during my Trials by programming nanites to attack me?”

  “Of course I did. But you already knew that thanks to your friend Hacker,” Mechano said. “Oh, do not look so surprised I know she hacked into Overlord. Actually, on the surface, you do not look particularly surprised. You have a decent poker face for one so young. My systems let me see past your deadpan expression, though. When I mentioned Hacker, I heard your heart rate increase, my infrared vision noted the increased blood flow to your face, and your perspiration rate jumped. All clear indications of surprise. But I digress. I was talking about Hacker. Overlord is my creation. Did you really think someone could force her way into it without me knowing about it? Hacker’s power and talents are impressive, but not as impressive as mine. To analogize to the mythology you are so fond of, it would be like Jehovah not knowing Eve had taken a bite of the fruit of the tree of knowledge.” I wished God would smite Mechano for calling Christianity mythology. If He was too busy to do it, I would happily try my hand at it instead.

  I tried to smother my anger. Though Mechano was of course right that I already knew about the nanites, hearing him admit it without a trace of shame, proudly even, made me want to dismantle him piece by piece. Maybe later.

  “And did you also plant the bomb in the baby stroller in the holographic mall during the Trials?” I demanded.

  “Me personally? No. I was here in the mansion at the time. However, the bomb was my design. And, I circumvented Overlord’s security protocols to permit the bomb to be placed in the mall without alerting the Trials’ proctors.”

  My fists balled up in anger. “You could have killed dozens of people.”

  “Could have. Did not. Thanks to you. Well done, by the way.”

  I was as interested in Mechano’s compliments
as I was in eating a plate of puke. The casualness with which he dismissed endangering others’ lives infuriated me. And this sociopath was a Hero? “Who planted the bomb, then?”

  “Brown Recluse.” Brown Recluse was a Trials’ proctor, one I had liked. I’d have to drop him from my Christmas card list and add him to my enemies’ list. “I paid him quite handsomely to do it,” Mechano said. “Not directly, of course. It would never do for him to know of my involvement. A man as profligate in his personal life as he is cannot be trusted to keep a secret. The payment to Brown Recluse and the delivery of the bomb to him was through a discreet third party, one of the non-Metas I sometimes use to handle unpleasant tasks. It had come to my attention some time ago that Brown Recluse is an inveterate gambler when he is a civilian. Since he is as unsuccessful at it as he is dedicated to it, he had accumulated substantial debts to some unforgiving and unsavory people who do not accept excuses as a form of payment. They are so unsavory that Brown Recluse had grown quite alarmed over what they might do to him even though he is a Hero. The money I offered him in exchange for sneaking the bomb into the Trials gave him the financial lifeline he was so desperate for. Let his example be a lesson to you, Mr. Conley: if you insist on playing poker, it really does not pay to draw to inside straights. You would think a Hero like Brown Recluse would have a better grasp of finite math and probabilities.” Mechano sighed, which was a bizarre sound coming from a robot. “Addiction really does defy common sense and reasoning. How such an undisciplined man lacking in self-control ever became a Hero is beyond me.”

  “You’re hardly one to judge someone’s worthiness to be a Hero.” I was in disbelief over how blasé he was about trying to assassinate me. “You’re an admitted attempted murderer.”

  “Yes, but in the pursuit of the greater good. After all, my attempts on your life have resulted in you coming here.”

  “So you trying to kill me was what? An invitation to come visit? You could have sent me an Evite instead.”

  The smug sonofabitch had the nerve to laugh. The slightly inhuman sound was worse than nails on a blackboard.

  “Your sense of humor is perhaps what I like the most about you. No, the nanites and the bomb were not an invitation. They were a test of your worthiness.”

  “Worthiness for what? To get my Hero’s license? Aren’t the Trials enough to do that without you sticking your nose in?”

  “No, not of your worthiness to become a Hero. As you say, the Trials do an adequate job of that. Of your worthiness to be a vessel for the spirit of Omega Man.”

  The Situation Room was quiet for a few beats as the Sentinels and I looked at each other silently.

  “Based on our young friend’s steady vital signs, he already knew that,” Mechano said to Seer, breaking the silence. “He really is full of surprises. How did you find out?” he asked me.

  “A little birdie told me,” I said. I wasn’t about to volunteer information to someone who had tried to kill me. If knowledge was power, it would be like handing more bullets to a sniper so he could shoot at me more. Clearly the Sentinels did not know I had consulted with Cassandra. Maybe they also didn’t know I had hired Truman. It was good to see that they didn’t know everything. With the reputation and history the Sentinels had, it was all too easy to forget I faced men and women, not all-knowing gods. “Why do you care if I’m worthy to carry around the spirit of Omega Man? What business is it of yours?”

  “Because protecting the world is our business, Mr. Conley,” Seer said. “Omega Man is the key to that. There is a legend about how Omega Man will return to protect the world when it faces an existential threat. Have you heard of it?”

  “I have.”

  “Like most legends, it is not entirely true, though there is a nugget of truth at the heart of it,” Seer said. “Omega Man does not need to return because he never died. Yes, his body was destroyed in his successful attack on the V’Loths decades ago. His spirit lives on, though. The Omega spirit was born with mankind, and will exist as long as he does. The Omega spirit walked the Earth amidst the earliest humans, and it will be here after we’re all dead and gone.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Mechano interjected. “I will still be here, hale and hearty in another state of the art robot body, centuries after you three are worm food.”

  Seer ignored Mechano as if he hadn’t spoken. Yeah, there definitely was no love lost between the two. Maybe he had tried to kill her at some point too. As for Millennium, he had not said a word since I had entered the Situation Room. If it was true he operated on mystical planes, perhaps a hellcat had gotten his tongue.

  Seer continued by saying, “The Omega spirit will live on as long as humanity does, trying to protect it and the world he inhabits from harm. It moves from host to host, finding a new host to inhabit when its old one dies. Only it knows for certain exactly how it chooses the people it uses as hosts. But, I can say that it has inhabited some of the most consequential men and women the world has ever known, helping them to avert threats to humanity. King Arthur, Gilgamesh, Lady Mu Guiying, Hercules, Sampson, Joan of Arc, Rama, Beowulf . . . these are but a handful of the men and women through the course of mankind’s existence, both famous and lost to history, the Omega spirit has inhabited.”

  “King Arthur? Hercules?” I scoffed. “Myths and legends. Many of the people you named aren’t even real.”

  Mechano laughed his harsh tinny laugh. “You can lift a boulder without touching it and fly faster than the fastest projectile. You even have a friend named Myth who can turn into dragons and other mythical creatures. Do you realize the irony of you of all people being so dismissive of myths, legends, and extraordinary deeds and people? Many ancient myths are grounded in actual people who possessed powers beyond the ken of ordinary men. Namely, Metahumans. Did you really think Metas were a creation of the modern world? There have been Metas sprinkled throughout history. Some legends are merely that—tales to astonish and amaze, created out of whole cloth, with no foundation in fact. Others have the deeds of Metahumans at the root of them. Distorted by time and exaggeration, yes, but based on actual events and people. Hercules’ Twelve Labors, Icarus flying too close to the sun, Noah building the Ark . . . all are based on Metahuman feats.” I could understand why Seer did not seem to like Mechano overly much. He was one of those annoying know-it-alls who used three words where one would do just as well, and a SAT word where a more common one would do. If it weren’t for the fact he was giving me the information I wanted, I’d want to slap a muzzle on him. If he had a mouth, that is.

  “You’re saying I’ve been walking around all my life, carrying inside of me a spirit as old as time, whose purpose is to protect the world?” I could hardly believe my ears. If it hadn’t been for what Cassandra had told me, I would have called the Sentinels imaginative liars. What they were saying was just too absurd. I was the latest in a long line of possessed Metas which stretched back in time as far as Gilgamesh and God only know who else? Maybe I should talk to an exorcist instead of these three.

  “No, you have not been a vessel for the Omega spirit your entire life,” Mechano said. “When Omega Man died, the Omega spirit then inhabited Avatar. Before then, Avatar had been a formidable Meta, but certainly not Omega-level. The Omega spirit augmented his powers, transforming him into an Omega-level Meta. That is the effect being inhabited by the Omega spirit has: it augments the Metahuman abilities—whether latent or already existing—of the person it possesses. When Avatar was murdered, the Omega spirit sought out and entered a new host.” Mechano pointed a metal finger at me. “You. Think about it—your powers did not manifest until shortly after Avatar’s death. That was no coincidence. If Avatar had never died, leading to the Omega spirit inhabiting you, your latent Metahuman abilities would likely never have been triggered. After all, only a tiny sliver of the world population has powers. Even if you had beaten the odds and developed powers on your own, they almost certainly would not be Omega-level without the Omega spirit. That level of power is e
xceedingly rare. The odds of it are less likely than rolling a thousand dice at once and having all of them come up snake eyes.”

  I glanced at Millennium, the other Omega-level Meta in the room. Though he still appeared to be staring at me, he had not said a word or moved a muscle since I entered the room. It was weird, like being stared at by a mannequin with black holes for eyes. It felt as though I would be swept off my feet and sucked into those eyes if I looked at them too long.

  “You will have to forgive my taciturn colleague,” Mechano said of Millennium, perhaps reading my expression. “Though part of him can hear us, most of his consciousness is on another astral plane right now, tending to another matter. Though it is pressing, it is of no concern to you.” He said “on another astral plane” casually, the way I might say someone had gone to the bathroom.

  With effort, I tore my eyes away from Millennium. Looking at him made me shiver. I said, “Though I get that the Department of Metahuman Affairs’ tests say I’m an Omega-level Meta, I’m nowhere near as powerful as someone like Avatar.” Or Millennium, I added silently, if he really can do things like travel back in time. “People say Avatar could’ve moved the Moon out of its orbit if he had wanted to. If I have the Omega spirit inside me, why don’t I have the same level of power Omega Man or Avatar did?”

  “Think of it this way,” Mechano said, “if someone has the genetic capacity to become a championship level weightlifter, does he slide out of his mother flexing, with his muscles rippling? Of course not. A lot of time, energy, nutrition, and training must be invested before that person reaches his full genetic potential as a bodybuilder, potential that will not be reached if he never curls a barbell or he does not step foot into a gym. The same is true of you and your Omega-level powers. They must be developed and cultivated. In the time we have been observing you, we have seen how much your powers have advanced. You are still in the adolescent stage of your development. Just imagine what you will be able to do given more time and training.”