Generation Next: A Superhero Adventure (The Pantheon Saga Book 3)

by C. C. Ekeke

  Helena leaned forward to weigh in. “For viewers and potential fans to really buy your redemption, they have to know everything.”

  Missy wrinkled her nose in distaste. One of her lackeys opened his mouth. She silenced him with a swift hand chop, never breaking eye contact with Quinn. “Anyone with a cellphone can find my Extreme Teens history,” she whined, sounding her age. “Along with my music and TV shows.”

  Quinn expected this pushback. “Tabloid gossip and interviews full of softball questions,” she dismissed.

  “And that cringeworthy self-produced documentary,” Helena added, shuddering. “We want to show our readers a mature Missy Magnificent owning her mistakes and her new mission.”

  This caused whispering between Missy and her flacks. She looked back at Quinn and Helena with a dazzling white smile. “I like it.”

  Quinn wanted to do a touchdown dance but curbed her enthusiasm.

  Packer then spoke. “SLOCO Daily’s writers bring credibility to the table.” He gestured at Quinn down the table. “You know about Quinn’s Vanguard interviews and exposé on Titan’s murder. But she also investigated The Hurricane’s murder and Middle America's superhero scarcity.”

  “Don’t forget her piece covering The Pack in the Southwest,” Jensen added with pride. Helena, Packer, and Missy stared at her.

  “Sorry,” Jensen said quietly, shrinking in her seat.

  Quinn itched to hide from all this spotlight. She never expected such acclaim from Packer. People had noticed her hustle. “I’m just a journalist doing my job,” she stated humbly.

  Helena scoffed at her modesty. “A very good journalist.”

  Quinn had to look away.

  After that, Jess Richardson-Palmer presented details what sponsors SLOCO Daily could attract. Quinn was impressed. She always considered Jess as Packer’s candy gopher who stole other department’s developer resources on Packer’s command. Jess was a solid salesperson.

  “Actually,” Missy stated after Jess finished. “I’d like every sponsor to be from The Junction. If I’m protecting their neighborhood, they should reap the financial benefits.”

  The SLOCO Daily team hushed. No one had seen that curveball coming. Quinn doubted Packer knew any small businesses existed in The Junction.

  “Junction businesses lack the publicity,” Jess said girlishly, “or the funds this project needs.”

  Missy’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t care,” she responded rudely. “I want all-Junction sponsors.”

  Quinn flinched. if Missy got this petulant over sponsors, then her profile could get really unpleasant.

  Jess opened her mouth to speak, but Packer interjected. “Again, that’s great.” He smiled, in advertising agency mode. “But this project needs big sponsors. Or else it’s another interview.”

  And Missy was done. “Your team approached me. Missy Magnificent. I’ll walk away if I’m unsatisfied.”

  Jess turned bright pink. Jensen’s eyes bulged. Packer maintained a jovial smile. But it was obvious his patience for this brat was wearing thin.

  Either way, Quinn could taste the project slipping away. So, she made a hail Mary pitch. “How about a middle ground?” she blurted out, glancing at Helena.

  Missy scratched at her scalp exasperatedly but kept listening. “Explain.”

  Helena spoke. “Half of the sponsors are Junction businesses. The other half, larger corporations.” Exactly what Quinn had been thinking. Then Missy got her wish while the profile still made money.

  Missy had another whisper session with her two lackeys before replying. “I can agree to that.”

  Quinn’s relief was euphoric. “Jess? Packer? What do you think?”

  Trapped in a box, Packer had no other options. “That can work.” Hopefully he wouldn’t take Quinn’s salvage attempt as a slight. He’d nursed grudges against other employees for far less.

  With that, the plan was for SLOCO Daily and Missy’s lawyers to hammer out the contract. As the room cleared, Missy exchanged contact info with Quinn to start bouncing ideas off each other.

  “Your sidewalk confessionals after Titan’s death convinced me to take this meeting.” Missy’s charming smile was like warm sunshine. She extended her hand again. “Can’t wait to get started.”

  And like that, Quinn was sold. “Same here, Missy,” she said with a firm handshake.

  Chapter 15

  The fiery sunset outlined the jagged horizon of silhouetted mountains, northeast of Sacramento. In the valley below surrounded by several storage facilities, two factions gathered. They all looked ant-sized this far away.

  All Hugo could focus on was this costume. People would now see him wearing it. He inspected himself yet again, trying to sync his mindset with the Kid Liberty persona wearing white stars around a red waist.

  “Kid Liberty.”

  Hugo wasn’t bothered by the costume’s fit. After a few patrols around San Miguel, the suit moved like a second skin.

  “Kid Liberty.” The voice repeated.

  Hugo knew in his heart that this alias and costume didn’t fit him. Yet here he was, about to debut an alias he disliked. And if Hugo didn’t buy it, why should anyone else?

  “Hugo!”

  Hugo nearly jumped out of his costume. He spun to face his mentor. “Yeahwhathi?”

  Lady Liberty crouched on his left. She resembled an Amazonian sculpture made flesh in her trademark crimson costume, with those long and athletic legs. The superhero’s silver diadem sat atop her brunette mane, twinkling in the fading sunlight. She studied Hugo with concern. “You with me?”

  “Yeah…yes.” Hugo shook his head, realizing he’d zoned out. Remembering he was on a mission with Lady Liberty. “Sorry.”

  Lady Liberty seemed unconvinced, placing a hand on his padded shoulder. “Deep breath.”

  Hugo inhaled, then sighed loudly. That took the edge off his stress. “I’m kinda nervous.”

  Lady Liberty’s smile warmed her features. “We all get nervous, even years into this.” She squeezed his shoulder.

  Hugo stared at her. He’d have thought a veteran like her faced down the worst of the worst without fear. “Thanks for that.”

  Lady Liberty winked and pointed at the valley dipping below. “Scan the perimeter. What do you see?”

  Hugo perused the gathering below, really watching this time. With 140/20 vision, there wasn’t much he missed. “Two groups meeting.” He squinted. One side was demonstrating some futuristic rifle, smooth and shiny and metallic. “It’s a weapons sale.”

  Lady Liberty nodded approvingly. “And the players?”

  One faction was twelve guys deep, brawny with attire ranging between tracksuits or custom suits. Hugo guessed the tracksuits were the muscle and the suits were in charge. All had solemn, hard-bitten faces evoking old-world machismo with an undercurrent of violence. To Hugo, they looked Eastern European. “One side’s some European mob. The other is…” Hugo looked closer. His heart dropped into his stomach.

  The group facing the Europeans had six people. Hugo zeroed in on two giant men doing the rifle demonstration. One man was blue-skinned and bald, glowing yellow eyes with three stacked Vs on his dull-grey chest plate. His companion, lankier but equally menacing, had tattoos covering his torso and an obnoxious purple mohawk. Beneath his trench coat, he had forearms built like battering rams. Part of Hugo’s training was identifying major names in the hero and villain world to distinguish friends and foes. “Vincent Van Violence and Warmonger. Their companions look like muscle.” As if a psychopathic powerhouse and a battle-crazed cyborg needed bodyguards.

  “The Ukrainian Brotherhood is leveling up,” Lady Liberty explained. “Warmonger and V3 have gone solo at times. But they’re known to moonlight for bigger underworld names. Which means someone else is running things.” By her tense gaze, this meeting bothered Lady Liberty more than she was letting on. “What else do you see?”

  Hugo listened to the far-off conversation. Warmonger’s croaky voice described the rifle he
hefted. The weapons dealers gestured to several black cases nearby, talking of impact grenades and photon canons.

  Hugo whistled. He heard nothing from the car behind Warmonger and V3. “The Escalade is soundproofed. Apparently, those cases have some Star Wars-level weapons.”

  Lady Liberty frowned at him. “The weapons are based off Dynamo tech.”

  “Raymond Dempsey Dynamo?”

  She nodded. “Ray had several foundries across California to craft his armor suits. He shuttered most of them after retiring. But The Vanguard lost track of some thanks to Morningstar’s hacking.”

  Hugo guessed how this story ended. “V3 and Master Mayhem found one.”

  “Correct,” Lady Liberty replied ruefully. “And with a third party's help, retrofitted Raymond’s technology into weapons of war.”

  Hugo glanced at the gathering. By how V3 and Warmonger’s minions began pushing the storage cases over to the Ukrainians, this meeting looked almost over. “What’s the plan?”

  “You zoom in, bowl through V3, Warmonger, and the Mafia guys,” Lady Liberty answered, brisk and business-like. “I fly in, we destroy the weapons then take V3 and Warmonger together.”

  Hugo nodded. A swarm of bees buzzed in his stomach. This was happening.

  “On my mark, okay?” Lady Liberty rose to her feet.

  “Okay,” Hugo replied in a pitifully small voice. He grabbed whatever courage he could find.

  “Superhero voice,” Lady Liberty scolded.

  “Shit. Sorry.” Hugo's vocal cords could mimic almost any voice he imagined, from Mariah Carey high to Barry White low. He chose a deep, vibrating bass. “Superhero voice on.”

  “Now run.” And Lady Liberty exploded off the ground.

  Hugo ignored his escalating heartbeat, dropping into runner’s stance, and ran. He reached the gathering faster than anyone could see, every participant frozen mid-motion. Vincent Van Violence had an ugly kisser up close, and bad teeth. Hugo weaved between him and Warmonger, cracking both in the jaws, then shoving their three heavies hard.

  He braked in front of the Ukrainians, fists on hips. The stone-cold killers backpedaled in shock. Behind Hugo, V3 and Warmonger went flying in opposite directions. Their thugs skidded across the ground in plumes of red dirt.

  The Ukrainians recovered, aiming handguns and assault rifles at Hugo.

  Smirking, Hugo said, “BOO.” Packing a hypersonic boom, that one word mowed every Ukrainian down like bowling pins.

  Hugo loved using that power. “Mess with Kid Liberty, you get…messed up.” He cringed. That line sucked.

  Lady Liberty floated down from the heavens. “Weapons!” She pointed at the stacked cases.

  Hugo glanced to either side, seeing Warmonger and V3 get back up. “And them?”

  Lady Liberty’s expression grew severe. “I got them. Destroy the merchandise.” She launched herself at Vincent Van Violence, tackling him with such force Hugo’s teeth rattled.

  He opened his mouth with a sustained sonic shout at one stack of weaponry cases. Within seconds, cracks formed. Hugo increased the volume.

  “NOOOO!” From the corner of his eye, Warmonger aimed a forearm morphing into a cannon.

  Hugo flinched instinctively, cutting off his hypersonic scream to face this foe. Then twin fiery red beams drilled Warmonger’s chest. The cyborg cried out and crumpled.

  Lady Liberty stood over him. She glared at Hugo with glowing eyes. “Finish destroying the weapons.”

  Hugo felt stupid. “Sorry.” He turned to resume his hypersonic shout.

  Lady Liberty pivoted toward Vincent Van Violence, who sprang up startlingly fast.

  Hugo watched in horror as V3’s uppercut to Lady Liberty’s stomach folded her in half. Another uppercut struck her jaw like a thunderclap.

  “WHUGHH!” Lady Liberty’s head snapped back before she sailed through the air, crashing through a nearby storage facility’s walls as if made of paper.

  “Lady Liberty!” Hugo cried out in normal tones. She’d gotten distracted by his mistake. Anger and fear over his mentor’s condition seared through Hugo. “Motherfucker!” He lunged at Vincent Van Violence with a barrage of furious punches, knocking the supervillain several feet back.

  Hugo shook his stinging knuckles, despite the gloves. Hitting V3’s nigh-invulnerable skin hurt.

  He advanced on V3, remembering his superhero voice. “If you hurt her…”

  V3 wiped blood from his busted lip. “Nice punch. And who are you? Baby Titan?” he mocked.

  “I’m…” Hugo tried but couldn’t get this superhero name out. I’m Kid Liberty. It felt stupid. “I’m your worst nightmare.” Hugo charged.

  V3 rose to meet him. He was huge, maybe six-foot-nine, throwing brick-handed fists cat-quick.

  Hugo ducked and weaved faster, landing a swift backhand that dropped Vincent Van Violence on his knees. He’s done, Hugo gloated and cocked a fist to finish him.

  A whistle through the air, followed by unbearable pain slashed across Hugo’s shoulders. He screamed along with his back muscles.

  His outfit wasn’t torn, but he felt shredded flesh beneath. Dammit.

  Hugo had spaced out on using his hypersensitivity, hence why Warmonger had snuck up on him. He turned.

  The cyborg had one hand morphed into a two-foot razor-sharp blade.

  Two on one. Hugo backed away from getting sandwiched between V3 and Warmonger.

  Vincent Van Violence staggered upright and shook off the cobwebs. “Let’s see what you’re made of, Baby Titan.” Both he and Warmonger guffawed at their wounded adversary.

  Hugo’s eyes watered from injury and insult. His upper back was on fire. Lady Liberty still hadn’t emerged from the hole in that facility. V3 must hit hard. Hugo had trained for weeks to handle split-second decisions. Now, his mind had gone blank.

  Panicking, Hugo opened his mouth to sonic scream—until an invisible wall slammed into his face.

  Suddenly, Hugo landed on his screaming back. “What the—?” He looked up.

  A shorter man in a khaki trench coat and fedora over shaggy grey hair approached from the Escalade, hand raised. His vulpine features were unmistakable. Master Mayhem.

  The heavies Hugo had knocked down were upright and grabbing the weapons he should’ve destroyed.

  “No!” Hugo tried standing. A savage punch from V3 almost took Hugo’s head off. He lay sprawled again, seeing stars. A scorching blast from Warmonger’s arm cannon nailed his chest. Hugo screamed as the crimson beam’s heat bled through his durable flesh like a sieve. Suddenly, Hugo’s insides burned until he was sobbing from the agony.

  Mayhem waved his hand again. Now Hugo’s skeleton shuddered, every cell threatening to burst.

  V3 mounted him, fists rising and falling. Each jackhammer-like punch struck Hugo’s face viciously, pounding his consciousness into pitch-black.

  The barrage of punches then ceased. In the darkness, V3 roared. There was the crack of bones breaking. Warmonger’s howl echoed across the landscape.

  A booming explosion jarred Hugo back awake. His eyes fluttered open to see Lady Liberty’s stunning face staring down at him. “You alright?”

  Hugo's self-assessment found agony all over. “Things hurt.” His groan was barely intelligible.

  Lady Liberty looked relieved. “What hurts specifically?”

  Hugo forced himself onto both elbows. Even that hurt. “Everything…” He took in the surroundings. V3, Master Mayhem, and Warmonger were gone, their car driving off. One stack of weapons was destroyed. The other was missing. Only the Ukrainians remained, still out from Hugo’s sonic shout.

  “They’re escaping,” Hugo groaned. moving his mouth ached spectacularly.

  “You’re more important.” Lady Liberty helped Hugo up.

  His roasted innards and the gash across his back protested. Hugo swallowed a scream.

  “I slapped a tracker on Warmonger before breaking his arm.” Lady Liberty slipped an arm around Hugo’s waist. “We should leave before th
e FBI arrives to arrest the Ukrainians.”

  Hugo could only nod weakly as she soared into the heavens. They reached San Miguel in under half an hour, silent the whole way. Hugo was already healing, but the slash across his shoulders needed extra treatment. Currently they were in the small medical room of Lady Liberty’s Paso Robles underground headquarters. He sat hunched over on the edge of a bed under pale and cold lighting, wearing just jeans. While Lady Liberty watched, her medical guy, Oscar, treated his wounds from behind. The beefy man was dabbing tingly ointment on the gash covering Hugo's shoulders. The Samoan's head was still ringing from Vincent Van Violence’s punches. At least his face didn’t ache much anymore. No wonder Titan had considered V3 one of the most dangerous strikers around.

  “With your accelerated healing, this wound would be gone in a few hours.” Lady Liberty sounded like Ms. Ortiz again. “Now it will take ten minutes.” She nodded to Oscar, who exited the room.

  Hugo nodded mutely. An avalanche of shame landed on him. Today’s mission had gone down the toilet because he hadn’t listened. And hated being Kid Liberty…

  “So…” Lady Liberty rounded the bed to face Hugo. She stood with arms folded, in costume minus her silver diadem, brunette hair tucked behind her ears. “That could’ve gone better.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hugo confessed. He let his head hang to stop the spins. “I didn’t follow orders, which distracted you and caused all that mess.”

  Lady Liberty gave a stoic shrug. “At least we stopped most of the weapons from reaching the streets.

  Nice for her to see the silver lining where Hugo only saw failure.

  “Hugo, look at me,” Lady Liberty requested.

  He reluctantly lifted his head and met the superhero’s searching gaze. He tensed for a harsh critique.

  “Take a few days off. From training and everything else.”

  Hugo’s heart gave a terrible lurch. “Are you…dumping me as your apprentice?”

  “Of course not.” Lady Liberty shook her head vehemently. “But what happened tonight is a serious matter. I want to make sure you’ve processed this before running back into battle.”