Red Light Hero

by Kory Shen

  Yes, the difference was that he was in control. The sex wasn't burning him out. He was enjoying himself. He wasn't someone's hired worker or a science project. He was becoming what he had always wanted to be, on his own terms. Not a hero, no. That word was corrupt, just like the alphas who hid behind it. He would be a difference maker.

  Apart from sleeping with plenty of women, he wasn't making much progress on his plan, though. Recruiting a beta circle wasn't an easy task, and he wasn't quite sure where to begin. He focused instead on trying to manifest new alpha powers. The issue was the same as before. How did you use a power if you didn't know that you had it?

  Alan had worked up the nerve to attempt Violet's energy projections, but he found that those powers wouldn't respond. He had probably run out of that viral load. But he should have some new powers by now, shouldn't he? Violet had mentioned that he had five or six viral strains back when he was with Godmother. If he gained new strains at a similar rate, shouldn't he have a couple new alpha powers by now?

  Unsure of what to do, Alan spent half an hour each night in a quiet parking lot trying to activate hidden powers. It was silly. He would jump, trying to fly. Of course, nothing happened. Was there any alpha even known to fly?

  He punched the asphalt and swore as the hard surface skinned his knuckles. No super strength, then, and no rapid healing.

  He focused on burning the offending piece of parking lot into molten slag. Nothing happened. So much for fire powers.

  He tried glaring extra hard instead. Nope. No laser eye beam powers, either.

  Tonight, he was in the middle of attempting to make a pebble on the ground float with his mind when someone cried out loudly. Alan tried to ignore the sound. It was probably some drunk party goer who had tripped or something.

  The man cried out again. He was crying in pain, as if attacked. Alan glanced around, but no one else was around. He ran to the edge of the parking lot and spotted a figure lying on the ground. Three other men were kicking the prone figure and digging through his clothes. They were robbing him.

  Alan turned away from the scene. This wasn't his fight.

  "Help." Even from that distance, Alan could hear the pitiful plea and the cruel laughter in response.

  Oh god. He wasn't a hero.

  Alan clenched his fists. That's right. Fuck the heroes. No, he had to be better than them. Alan took a deep breath and approached the men.

  "Hey!" Alan shouted. "Get out of here!"

  The three men stopped to stare at him. Alan was close enough to make out their hard expressions, their muscled bodies, their scars and tattoos. These weren't college kids looking for trouble. These were men of the streets who ate pretty boys like him for breakfast. Shit.

  Alan backed away, but it was too late. The three men stepped toward him.

  "What the fuck you say?" the leading man asked.

  "Uh, nothing, nothing." Alan walked backwards even faster.

  "Kill him," the first man said.

  Alan turned and broke into a run, his eyes darting frantically for an escape path. If he could just make it around that corner—

  A hand grabbed his shirt and yanked him backwards. He fell to the ground and covered his head with his arms as blows rained down on him. Someone kicked his face, and his vision blurred with red blood.

  The blows stopped.

  "Hold him," the cold voice said.

  Rough hands seized each arm and dragged him to his feet. Alan blinked rapidly to clear the blood from his eyes. Orange streetlight glinted off something metallic. A knife.

  Alan struggled in terror, pulling on his arms, but a punch to his gut sapped him of his strength. Someone grabbed his hair and forced his head up.

  A man brandished the serrated blade in front of him. "We going to teach you to mind your own business. Forever." He laughed and raked the blade across Alan's left bicep.

  Alan closed his eyes and screamed as skin and muscle tore. He screamed louder than he had ever screamed. He wasn't a tough guy. He wasn't a secret agent or special forces. He screamed and screamed.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Alan realized that the men hadn't responded. No one was holding him. He opened his eyes. Three figures were scattered on the ground.

  "Shit!" He jumped back. Blood leaked from the noses and ears of the motionless men on the ground.

  Were they dead or merely unconscious? Alan didn't care to find out. He patted his own stinging left arm and found sticky blood mingled with torn cloth. He wobbled away from the bloody scene.

  "Help!" someone cried.

  Christ, he had forgotten about the original victim. Alan returned to find a beaten up man sitting on the ground.

  "Are you okay?" Alan asked.

  The man was holding a hand to the side of his head. He scrambled away from Alan at the sound of his voice.

  "No, no, I'm here to help," Alan said. "The others are all gone now." He looked around. At least he hoped they were. "You should get going. Find the police."

  The old man groaned and looked at Alan for the first time properly. "You took care of them? You saved me?"

  Alan shrugged. "I guess. But there could be more. Can you walk?" Alan took the man's soft hands into his own as he helped him stand.

  "I can walk. What about you? You're bleeding," the man said.

  "I'll be fine." Alan had flexed the arm, and the cut was shallower than he had originally thought. He wasn't ashamed he had screamed, though. Anyone else would have in the same circumstances.

  Alan noticed the other man properly for the first time. Despite being crumpled and muddied, his clothes retained the expensive polish of a designer or bespoke suit. He was a bit past middle-age. Alan pegged him for a rich business type. Apparently, the would-be thieves had as well.

  The man looked embarrassed under Alan's scrutiny. "I thought The Strip was supposed to be safe."

  "Me too. This part of The Strip is rougher. We really should get going." Alan checked the surroundings, but no one else was around.

  "I'll call my driver," the man said as he reached for his phone. He paused. "Do you need a ride?"

  "No, I'm staying around here."

  "You live in The Strip?"

  "Yeah."

  The man's expression changed. He put away his phone and glanced about, licking his lips. "You're like a hero, you know," the man said. "You saved me."

  Alan scowled. "I'm not a hero. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time." He rubbed his stinging arm, but the man didn't seem to care about his injury anymore.

  "No, you're definitely a hero. You should get a name. A hero name." The man slapped Alan on the back.

  Alan stepped away. Something was off.

  "I should thank you properly," the man said. "What do you say you come back with me to my hotel? I'll make it worth your time." The man stepped closer to put his arm around Alan.

  Alan swirled out of the man's grasp. "Don't fucking touch me. I'm not a fucking hero, and I'm not your fucking rent boy." He stomped off, glancing backwards once to make sure the man wasn't following him.

  What the hell? Everything was going wrong. He had risked his life to rescue the man from muggers, and what did he get? A gay proposition? Fucking hell.

  And what had happened with the muggers? It had to be an alpha power. But what the hell was his alpha power? He could scream and kill people? What the fuck kind of useless alpha power was that? He punched the air with his left arm in frustration.

  "Shit!" He had forgotten his arm's injury.

  He walked the rest of the way home in a quiet fury. Once inside his small room, he slammed the door shut. The neighbor pounded on the thin wall to complain.

  "Shut the fuck up!" Alan screamed.

  There was an answering cry and a final loud thump. Then, peaceful silence.

  CHAPTER 19

  "Alan has been quite productive these days, hasn't he?" Godmother asked.

  Violet had to agree that Godmother's predictions had come true. The field tests were progres
sing nicely. She still had reservations about the uncontrolled conditions, though.

  "We've had five more confirmed infection cases and one confirmed alpha power manifestation," Violet said. "That last one is going to be a problem."

  "Oh, yes. Julia Craig, was it?" Godmother asked. "The one with the sonic attacks?"

  Violet nodded. "Yes. We've managed to hold her in an isolation chamber, but her alpha power is wild and uncontrollable. She's a safety hazard. While that's more your specialty, I'd also wager that her alpha power is tactically near useless."

  Godmother smirked at Violet's last remark. "Perhaps. What do you suggest?"

  Violet hesitated. Godmother's limits went far beyond her own. She didn't want to push Godmother to the wrong conclusion.

  "We can have her burn away her entire viral load. Combined with mid-grade amnesia induction, we could release her back into the public within a few days. That would be a safe and humane option."

  "Ah, Violet. After everything you've seen here, you still have a soft heart, don't you?" Godmother's voice lowered to a deadly whisper. "I could end your problem quickly and cleanly. If you like, I could even drain her alpha powers without killing her."

  But not without injuring her. Violet knew something about how Godmother operated.

  "Let's try my way first," Violet said, more firmly than she intended. For a moment, she feared that she had offended Godmother.

  Godmother, however, smiled. "Of course. This is your project, after all."

  Godmother hovered around Violet's desk, her eyes scanning printouts of the most recent laboratory tests. "And how is Alan doing?" Godmother asked.

  Godmother was watching, always watching these days. Violet understood that she herself was as much Godmother's project as Alan. Is this how he had felt? To be subject to scrutiny, manipulation, and ulterior motives? She had to admit that it wasn't the most pleasant idea, but it was a fair trade, wasn't it? Violet had everything she wanted. Everything except for one person, that is.

  "You know about the most recent incident already," Violet said. She kept her suspicions about Godmother's involvement in that incident to herself. "He suffered a minor injury, nothing serious. Are you sure it's safe to leave him out in the field like that? What if he gets hurt, or hurts others?"

  "He already has, though, hasn't he? Hurt others." Godmother's tone carried a note of…approval? That made sense. She wanted a weapon, not just an alpha.

  "If only he would come back here. We could proceed under more controlled conditions with proper protocols."

  "That's not what he wants right now. What he wants is a taste of authenticity and choice. Or rather, the perception of those."

  Alan had been right. He wasn't only a research project. He was a human. Couldn't she appeal to his humanity? Violet's face must have betrayed her misgivings.

  "Outright interference defeats the purpose of a field test," Godmother chided.

  That was easy for her to say. The Strip was her kingdom. Godmother could warp any desire into reality here, and no one could tell what was genuine and what wasn't. That was the point of The Strip. To live a fantasy, to believe that a girl paid enough money really did enjoy your company.

  But four men were dead from two incidents. No, make that five. They were likely criminals, given Godmother's sense of justice. How many more would die, though? How much more would Alan suffer?

  Violet's eyes flicked to the band she still wore on her wrist. It's readout served as a reminder of her long-gone viral load. What did she really want?

  There was no use hiding her intentions from Godmother. "I have to try to bring him back. For my conscience's sake, if nothing else. And I believe that progress will be more effective with his full cooperation."

  "Of course." Godmother nodded slowly. "You think I'm manipulative, too indirect, don't you?"

  Violet began to protest, but Godmother continued over her. "If everyone would follow simple directions, I would give simple commands. But people aren't simple." Godmother sighed. "All of this? This is the game we play, he and I."

  He? Godmother couldn't mean Alan. Who else was there? Fisher? No, Sire. She had to mean Sire. But what game were they playing?

  "I…I don't understand," Violet finally said.

  "You're brilliant, Violet, but you're not ruthless. Don't get me wrong. I've seen how hard you'll fight to discover the truth. You fight for principles. In his own way, so does Alan. He and I — we don't fight for principles. We fight to exist."

  Godmother shook her head. "Go to Alan. I won't stop you from what you want to do. I never have."

  Violet couldn't shake the uncomfortable notion that they were all mice running Godmother's maze. The maze offered the illusion of choice, but only the maze maker's path would provide an escape - an escape leading exactly where she wanted.

  * * *

  "Ouch!" Alan stumbled as he rounded the corner of a building and ran headfirst into a woman. This part of The Strip was a jumbled labyrinth of cheap concrete buildings spewed over the streets like the contents of an overturned garbage can.

  The woman fell on top of Alan and banged her forehead against his lips.

  "Argh!" Alan cried again as he grabbed his mouth.

  "Oh, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" the woman asked.

  Alan rubbed his lip, a light smear of blood on his fingers. "I'll be fine. What about you?" He blinked at the woman lying on top of him. She was a dark-haired beauty with the exact same hair and cat eyes as Cover Girl. "Page?" No, that wasn't her.

  The Cover Girl look-alike straddled him. She touched his bleeding lips. "You poor thing." She bent over to lick his lips. "Mmm. Tastes salty." She kissed him hard, sucking on his broken mouth.

  His lip stung, but Alan didn't stop her. After a minute, their mouths separated.

  "Hey, my name's Alan."

  "That's nice." The woman bent over to kiss him again. Another minute passed.

  "Um, maybe we should get off the street?" Alan suggested. They were literally still lying on the side of the road.

  "Good idea." The woman got off Alan, helped him stand, and dragged him over to a nearby alley with a surprising amount of strength. She kneeled and started to pull Alan's pants down.

  "Whoa, hold on. I didn't even get your name," Alan said as he tried to stop her. It was evening, and while the streets weren't too crowded, the occasional car or person still came down the road. "And don't you want to go somewhere more private? I live nearby."

  The woman laughed. "You can call me whatever you want. What'd you say? Page? I'm Page." She pushed his hands away to unzip him. "I'm Page, and I love fucking in public. I like people watching me. What about you?"

  Damn. She really was like Cover Girl. A thrill tingled up Alan's spine, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Alan might be good looking, but gorgeous women didn't insist on sucking your cock in the middle of the street unless you were in the middle of a porn movie or prank. Alan looked around, but it was just him and the mystery woman. He looked down. Cover Girl's large eyes peered back, her mouth wrapped around him. It was just like before, in the plane on the way to The Strip.

  Alan had raised his hands to protest, but they fell to his side. This was the closest he would get to Cover Girl again. His first alpha.

  The sex was fast. He finished inside the woman as she bent over in front of him with her hands against the wall.

  Alan had barely pulled his sticky cock back into his pants when a large shirtless man in camouflage pants stepped into the alley. Alan's stomach twisted. What was it with shirtless guys here?

  "How was the trick, Betty?" the man said.

  "Better-looking than most," the woman named Betty replied. She turned to Alan. "That'll be five hundred."

  Alan stared at the other two with an open mouth. "Five hundred?" He was making thirty dollars a day here. They didn't pay minimum wage in The Strip. "Wait, I thought…" The woman running into him, her being so eager, the man showing up right on cue — everything clicked.
"Shit."

  "What's that?" the large man said. "You got five hundred or not?"

  There was no way to escape the dead-end alley.

  "Don't you even think about bailing on Betty here," the man barked. He stepped closer to Alan and jabbed a thick finger into his chest. "So you going to pay or not?"

  Alan's mind raced. He could shove the guy and run. Maybe he'd lose him in the dark.

  "He said he lives nearby," Betty said. "He works at the warehouses. Here's his ID." Betty tossed something to the man.

  Alan patted his pockets. Damn. She had stolen his wallet.

  "Alan Smith," the man read. "Yeah, I know a bunch of the warehouse boys. You must live over in the complex down the street."

  So much for running. He had one other option. That screaming thing from before. Would it work here?

  He looked at Betty and the large man. Could he kill them in cold blood over five hundred dollars? No, he couldn't do that.

  "Well?" The man was still waiting for his answer.

  "I…I don't have five hundred."

  "You fucker!" The man threw Alan to the ground and kicked him. "You think you can disrespect Betty like that? Taking free samples." He kicked him again. "She's a respectable working girl. You hear me? Respectable working girl."

  "Tommy, stop it. You're going to hurt him," Betty said.

  The man stopped kicking. Alan rolled over, groaning in pain. He tasted blood in his mouth again, and his leg hurt where the man had kicked him. He wanted to scream, to scream as loud as he could, but he forced his mouth closed. He wasn't a murderer.

  "You owe us two thousand in four days," the man said.

  Alan managed to stop writhing in pain long enough to look up at the man. "The fuck? Two thousand? You said five hundred!"

  "Five hundred's for a respectable gentleman. Two thousand's for disrespecting Betty here."

  "But I don't have two thousand!"

  "You better find it real quick," the man said. "If you don't find it in four days—" The man made a cutting motion across his neck.