Teen Superheroes Box Set | Books 1-7

by Pitt, Darrell

  Teen Superheroes

  Book One

  Diary of a Teenage Superhero

  Chapter One

  My name is—

  Wait.

  What is my name? And where am I?

  I was lying on a bed in a small rundown room. Above me was a ceiling coated in peeling mustard yellow paint. Light streamed in through a grimy white curtain at the window. Beside the window hung a small white hand basin. Over it sat a square mirror, and to the right of this was a white, circular clock that was counting off the minutes.

  3.07pm

  Not only did I not know my name, but I had no idea how I came to be here. It looked like a seedy hotel room that stunk of musty carpet, stale cigarette smoke, and sour alcohol. My head felt heavy and everything was vibrating as if I’d been drugged. Groaning, I sat up and staggered to the hand basin and peered into the mirror.

  I didn’t recognize the face staring back at me.

  But this was me. I was male with brown hair and eyes, aged maybe seventeen or eighteen, and I had a small scar on the left side of my chin. I wore a blue and white striped t-shirt, gray jacket, and faded blue jeans. Peering down at my shoes, I saw they were clean but worn.

  I examined my hands. They’re not rough. They weren’t the hands of someone who did outdoor labor. I was probably still at school.

  But this didn’t answer my single most important question: Who am I?

  I turned to examine the room—and fell back in horror. A man lay on the floor beside the bed, and he had what appeared to be a gunshot wound in his side. His shirt and mouth were wet with blood.

  I hadn’t seen him earlier because he was lying so close to the bed. Did I do this? Did I harm him? There was no weapon. Surely there’d be a weapon lying about if I shot him. Regardless, I had to help him if I could. Kneeling, I gently pulled his shirt apart to examine his wound. I didn’t know first aid—no medical training sprang to mind—but this looked bad. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a handkerchief. Pushing it hard against the injury, the man’s eyes shifted to me.

  Thank goodness, I thought. You’re alive.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll get help.’

  Shaking his head, he tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

  ‘I’ll get an ambulance.’

  ‘No. My…’

  The man’s eyes searched the ceiling hopelessly.

  I took his hand. ‘You need medical assistance.’

  He squeezed my hand and forced it around something hard and rectangular in his coat pocket: a book. Dragging it out, he pointed to me, and I understood what he was saying.

  He wants me to take the book.

  I didn’t care about the book. ‘I need to get someone.’

  He shook his head. With an enormous effort, he took a deep breath and looked into my eyes.

  ‘Your name is Axel,’ he said. ‘You have to find the Swan. You can’t trust…’

  A spasm of pain seized him. For a long moment, I thought he was about to die. Then the pain seemed to subside as his breathing became more rapid.

  ‘Trust no one,’ he said. ‘Some…at The Agency…will help you. All your answers…are in the book...’

  ‘The book?’

  His hand traced a path across his body and pointed to my arm. Tiny pinpricks covered my skin. Frowning, I touched them. My other arm was the same. Someone had either injected me a lot of times, or I was a confirmed drug addict.

  ‘The Agency…’ He tried to speak again, but the pain stopped him. Sweat broke out across his forehead. I should find you a doctor. He gripped my hand tight.

  ‘Make…’ he began again.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘…a difference,’ he said. ‘Make…’

  How I was supposed to make a difference would never get explained because the stranger then gave a final sigh. His head fell back, his hand went limp, and his eyes lost focus.

  He was dead.

  The whole incident was so shocking, so unexpected, so wholly mind-numbing that I felt like someone had hit me with an electric shock. The man was dead, and I had to find—who? The Swan? Apart from a bird, I had no idea what or who the Swan could be. And then there was The Agency.

  Fantastic, I think. Trust no one, but at least some people at an Agency are on my side. There are only about a million agencies. Shouldn’t be hard to find the right one!

  I slumped next to the body. And yes, the man had become a body now. That’s how quickly a living, breathing person turns into a corpse. My gaze fixed blankly on the walls. I didn’t know what to do. I was alone in a room with a dead man. I had nothing. Except—

  There was one vital piece of information the stranger had shared with me.

  My name is Axel.

  I’m Axel—someone. No last name. No address.

  I’m Axel…Axel…

  It was no good. I racked my brain, struggling to remember my full name, but there was only a blank void. It was like a black hole in the center of my memory. My name—Axel—meant nothing to me. It was as if it belonged to someone else.

  This is insane.

  I couldn’t remember my name, address, friends, or family. Still, I could remember television shows, types of food, lyrics of songs. As soon as I turned my focus towards personal information—anything about me—I got nothing.

  The sounds outside the window slowly intruded: the din of traffic, the faraway whistle of a train, the overhead drone of a passenger jet. They slowly brought me back to the present—the horrible truth of this situation. I was sitting on the floor with the body of a dead man whom I may have killed. If I didn’t kill him, then someone else did. The final icing on the cake—as if things couldn’t get any worse—was that I didn’t know how I came to be here.

  Under normal circumstances, I would have gone to the police, but these were not normal circumstances.

  Trust no one.

  That’s what he told me. Trust no one. The book he handed me was lying on the floor. I pushed it into my back pocket. Then I started a search through the dead man’s clothing. I was squeamish, but not so squeamish I didn’t make a thorough job of it.

  I need to know what’s going on.

  His pockets were empty except for a business card with a name on it:

  Cygnus Industries

  Below it was an address on West Forty-Ninth Street in New York City.

  A sound came distantly from within the building: a jarring, clanking din. It could only be an elevator. As it wheezed to a halt, I slowly stood and stared at the door. I have to get out of here. The best course of action would be to make some distance between myself and this crime scene. Staying here was asking for trouble.

  I crossed to the door and reached for the door handle, but then I heard a sound from outside: a jumble of footsteps. It was more than one person. Maybe two or three. Purposeful. Determined. The steps drew frighteningly close as my hand hovered over the door handle.

  Someone muttered a few words on the other side of the door. I stood poised, holding my breath, not daring to make a sound.

  And then someone turned the door handle from the other side.

  Chapter Two

  The handle turned. Shook. Jangled.

  The door was locked.

  My heart was beating so hard I felt faint. The handle turned once. Twice. Jiggled vigorously. I stared at it in horror. Then someone slammed into the door with their shoulder.

  Wham!

  The muffled voices grew louder.

  Spinning about, my eyes helplessly searched the room. The only way out was through the window. I was several floors above the street. Except—

  I ran to the window and unlocked it to see a fire escape on the other side.
I tried pushing the window up, but the owner of the building had very helpfully painted it shut.

  I pushed up on the sash. Come on. It moved an inch. Glancing back to the door, I saw it shudder as the strangers on the other side slammed against it. It would give at any moment, so I drew back from the window, raised my leg, and kicked hard at the glass. It shattered, and I punched out the remaining jagged shards with my hand. Climbing headfirst onto a fire escape, I arrowed for the stairs on my left. Within seconds I was charging down them as I heard the door crash open behind me.

  There’s was no time to think; there was only time to act. I don’t run as much as fall, scramble, and tumble from one level to the next. Above me, I heard someone land onto the escape, followed by more footsteps. They were chasing me.

  The terror of being caught pushed me on. I slipped on the stairs and banged my knee. It sent a burst of shooting agony up and down my leg. But I ignored it as a fresh fear took root in my mind.

  They’re not the cops.

  Cops would have identified themselves. These aren’t the cops. Or any other authority, for that matter. So, who were they? There was no time to ponder the question, though, as I took another turn in the fire escape and found—it ended.

  My heart nearly stopped from sheer fright. There’s nowhere to go. Then I looked to my left and saw a ladder.

  Of course. Attached to the escape was a sliding ladder, designed to allow residents to evacuate the building, but not give thieves access to the apartments. I pushed the ladder down hard, and it clanked noisily to the ground.

  Seconds later, I was on the street. Again, there was no time to think. I was in a back alley behind a row of buildings. Large square trash cans lined the sidewalk. I sprinted up the alley as the sound of feet clattered loudly on the ladder behind me.

  Bang!

  And then—

  Bang! Bang!

  A bullet ricocheted off the road. I weaved to make myself a more challenging target. The gun fired again and whizzed past my ear. I put on an extra burst of speed, reached the end, and rounded the corner.

  The scene that confronted me was insanely normal.

  A man and woman walked past hand in hand. A shopkeeper swept the sidewalk in front of his business. Two businessmen were in the middle of an animated conversation. It looked like one of them was excited about some deal he’d hatched. A teenager further down the block was reading a newspaper. Cars crowded the street. The racket out here was overwhelming. No one had heard the gunshots.

  The couple glanced at me oddly. Maybe I was wild-eyed and looked like a crazy person. I fought back the urge to scream. Someone is trying to kill me. Instead, I charged across the street. A car screeched, and I veered around it as another braked in front of me. I kept moving and rolled across the bonnet.

  Got to keep going. Just keep—

  Someone screamed.

  Bang!

  Bang! Bang!

  There were more cries. A shop window exploded into shards. A man clutched his stomach and toppled to the sidewalk.

  No!

  But I couldn’t stop. If they were prepared to shoot a complete stranger, then they’d kill me without hesitation. Sprinting up the sidewalk, I found a narrow alley between the buildings. I raced down it, reached the other end, and gazed in both directions. Left or right? It made no difference because I had no clue where I was. I just had to put distance between myself and the people chasing me.

  The street was congested. Starting to cross, I paused between two trucks. It had been just after three on the clock in the hotel room. That meant I was in the middle of the afternoon rush hour.

  What city this could be, I wasn’t sure, but I thought it was Manhattan. Some signage on the shops looked distinctly New York in style. I lingered between the trucks. The traffic wasn’t moving, but among the chugging, I heard a high-pitched whine.

  A girl on a motorcycle stopped in front of me. Slim, dressed in black jeans and a leather jacket, a helmet obscured her face. Her eyes met mine.

  ‘Get on!’ she snapped.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Get on! I’ll get you out of here.’

  I stared at her, undecided. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted three men rounding a corner. They were all muscle-bound, dressed in matching tank tops and jeans. One of them grasped a handgun.

  I looked back at the girl.

  Trust no one.

  Turning my back on her, I weaved through the cars and raced down another narrow alley. It suddenly occurred to me that the book was still in my back pocket. That man entrusted it to me. Slowing, I spotted a gap in the brickwork near the bottom of a wall. I slide the book in. Yes. Not only did it fit, but the color of the spine blended perfectly with the red bricks.

  The end of the alley opened out onto an empty patch of road and a river. I was right. This is Manhattan. I was sure of it. At least I knew my location. My name is Axel, and I’m in Manhattan. I felt calmer for all of five seconds before I heard the squeal of brakes.

  A truck came screaming up the street. I raced up the sidewalk, but within seconds it had pulled up beside me. Half a dozen thugs leaped out. One tackled me to the ground. I screamed for help, but there was no one in sight.

  ‘No!’ I yelled. ‘No. Please—’

  They dragged me into the van. Something hit me hard just above my right ear, and my world turned black.

  Chapter Three

  The sounds came first—a confusing mishmash of words and phrases that made no sense. Then there was a smell—the scent of fabric. Sight came last. Opening my eyes, I saw only darkness.

  Something’s over my face.

  A hood.

  In the books, they always say something like the memories came rushing back, but it was nothing like that for me. My name is Axel. That much I knew. Then there was the dead man in the hotel, my desperate dash through Manhattan, and the men in the truck.

  What followed next came with a burning certainty.

  I’m in big trouble: the kind of trouble that people rarely survived.

  Then the hood was dragged off, and I found myself blinking under a harsh light. They’d handcuffed my hands to the armrests of a wooden chair. Metal restraints secured my ankles. The chair was bolted to the floor.

  Peering into the glare, I made out a timber room with whitewashed walls and ripped carpet. It’s a derelict building. Angling my eyes upwards, I spied a single light set into the ceiling. It was intensely bright and hot and cast a cone of light on me.

  The walls were bare except for a clock. The second hand ticked by relentlessly. 6.10pm?

  I’d been unconscious for about two hours.

  But the worst part of all this was the man sitting beyond the cone of light. The darkness was so complete that I hadn’t spotted him at first. Now I focused and saw a gaunt figure watching me in silence.

  He looked emaciated, so skinny that his suit almost looked ready to fall off. His face was narrow, and he was bald except for graying tufts of hair above his ears. He had an almost nonexistent chin that receded straight into his neck. His glasses had round lenses; they were the type that John Lennon made so famous. His lips were slender and tight. They twisted into a thin smile.

  I wish he hadn’t done that.

  It was almost reptilian.

  ‘Ah.’ The man’s voice was soft and calm. ‘You’re awake. I’m so pleased. I was afraid Terrance had struck you so hard you would never speak again.’

  I said nothing.

  ‘Speak to me, boy,’ he said, the smile never leaving his face. ‘What is that old expression? Has the cat got your tongue?’

  I slowly shook my head.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ He leans forward. ‘Is your head sore?’

  ‘Whatever it is you’re after,’ I began, my throat dry, ‘I don’t—’

  He cut me off with a wave of his hand. ‘Save your breath,’ he said. ‘We are still in the introductory phase. We will become friends. You believe that? Don’t you? We will be friends?’

  Out
of all the things I might have believed at that moment, becoming friends with this weirdo ranked last on the list. Regardless, it was pointless to antagonize him. I nodded.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Now, would you like a drink of water?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He rose from the chair and left the room. I tried the restraints. There was a tiny amount of give, but only keys would open the locks. The chair was timber. Given time, I could rock back and forth to collapse it into pieces. But time was a luxury I didn’t have.

  The man reappeared with a glass of water in his hand, held it to my mouth, and I drank thirstily. It was only after the third gulp that I wondered if it could contain poison, but that could be a blessing depending on what the man had planned. He removed the empty glass and sat back in the seat.

  ‘How easily most problems are answered,’ he said. ‘A man is thirsty: he drinks, and it quenches his thirst. It is so simple.’ He nodded. ‘My name is Doctor Ravana. As they often say on television shows, I will be your host for the evening.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Questions and answers they require can also be simple.’ He bit thoughtfully on his bottom lip with his thin, even teeth. ‘As long as the questions are answered correctly, honestly, and with humility, there are no problems.’

  He spoke as if delivering a lecture.

  ‘I’m not going to lie,’ I said. ‘I have nothing to lie about. I don’t know anything!’

  ‘Everyone says that,’ he replied, ‘in the beginning.’ He nodded again with the same humorless smile. ‘Yes, everyone says I don’t know anything at the start. But as time passes, they remember and, in the end, they are desperate to share their knowledge.’

  ‘But I really don’t know anything!’ I said. ‘I woke up in a room. I couldn’t remember my name—’

  ‘But you remember now.’

  ‘My name is Axel.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘We have a beginning.’

  ‘But I don’t remember how I got there. There was a man in the room. A dead man—’

  ‘His name?’ the doctor said, like a cat pouncing onto a mouse.