by C. C. Ekeke
“Kathleen,” said an older woman taller than Greyson. She was thick-waisted, her blonde hair styled in a shag peppered in white. Kathleen’s lined and pudgy face might’ve been attractive if not in a permanent scowl, like someone’s intimidating grandmother. Greyson knew not to piss this one off.
“Israel. How’re you doing, brutha?” Israel looked to be in his late forties, salt-and-pepper curls closely cropped with a hairline in full retreat. By the stocky build, the dark-skinned man looked formerly athletic. But his bulging abdomen spoke to a physically placid life.
“Hello.” Greyson introduced himself to the four with a tight smile and a firm handshake. One positive thing Dad had taught him was that offering someone a dead fish for a handshake showed weakness.
With everyone introduced, Dr. St. Pierre strode into the center of the warehouse. “You’re here tonight with me instead of your families because you want to master your gifts. And like I told you individually, mastery can be better achieved in a tribe of likeminded people.” He pointed at the walls on either side.
Greyson gawked. Several of what resembled workout machines and random paraphernalia lined both sides of the warehouse. He wasn’t alone in his bewilderment.
“What is all this CrossFit shit?” Israel mumbled, making Greyson chuckle.
St. Pierre gestured at the daunting setup. “This series of exercises will help you get to know each other better and gain more familiarity with the basics of your powers. But let’s start with sharing stories of your power manifestation.” He spread his hands disarmingly. “Doesn’t have to be particulars you’re not ready to share yet.”
“And you’re sure this will help us gain enough control?” Connie asked, her face awash with anxiety.
“And not endanger our loved ones?” Greyson added.
Dr. St. Pierre smiled with rock-solid confidence, folding both arms behind his back. “This won’t be easy. But if you’re willing to do the work and hold each other accountable, all your goals are possible.” That seemed to calm the group’s nerves. Greyson preserved his wait-and-see approach.
“Alright.” St. Pierre clapped. “Who wants to show off their gifts first?”
No one moved, eyeing each other in clear anxiety.
“I’ll go,” said Tom aka Captain Ken Doll. His face tensed as if ready to take a dump. There was a sudden explosive noise and Tom vanished, a black cloud in his wake. Several black clouds erupted across the span of the warehouse in seconds.
Greyson whirled about to follow this succession of clouds, as did everyone else. Dr. St. Pierre remained stock-still, a look of unyielding patience on his face.
Then Tom reappeared, doubled over and gasping. “Still can’t accurately stick where I teleport without jumping all around a room. On a positive note, I kept my clothes on.” His toothy smile was infectious.
Dr. St. Pierre attempted to stifle a laughter and pointed at Tom. “Shoes.”
Everyone looked to Tom’s shoeless feet, then back to the empty shoes remaining where he’d originally stood.
He blushed. “Correction, most of my clothes.”
Everyone belted out laughter, shattering the tension. Greyson held his aching sides, previous assumptions shattered. Guess Tom’s troubled like the rest of us.
He raised his hand like an eager student. “I’ll go next.”
Chapter 17
“Can you believe this?” Quinn was welded to her seat, nearly having a panic attack. But the good kind, thanks to her destination.
Colin Garner glanced at her from his adjacent plane seat, reading on his iPad. “You mean the boneheaded speedster who raced down a building last night? In mid-town San Miguel of all places?” The lankly videographer scoffed. "How fast was that idiot running for his feet to tear right through the concrete?”
Quinn smacked his arm. “No, Einsteiner!” She gestured at the spacious plane cabin, beige and ultramodern in design. “We’re going to interview the world’s greatest superhero team!” They were two of many SLOCO staff on a private jet racing to Northern California at supersonic speeds.
Two days ago, Quinn had filled out countless documents for government clearance. The assignment hadn’t sunk in.
Yesterday, Quinn had been studying Vanguard history, roster changes, rogues’ gallery. Her assignment still hadn’t sunk in.
Gazing out the window at the rural expanse north of Sacramento, Quinn finally felt the weight of her assignment. I’m interviewing the Vanguard!
“How fast are we flying?” Collin exclaimed, brushing back his floppy dark hair.
Quinn suppressed a shudder. “Around MACH 2.”
Colin shook his head and stashed the iPad. His soft grey eyes found Quinn. “Thanks for picking me.”
She shrugged off the compliment. “Of course, Colin.” She had chosen a few crew members. Colin, her frequent collaborator on many field assignments, was her first choice. “You deserve to be here as much as me.”
Colin blushed at her candor and looked away. Quinn, getting all flushed and smiley as well, turned back to the window. What was that?
Another muffled outburst interrupted their moment. For most of the hour-long flight, an argument had raged behind closed doors in the rear compartment.
Colin twisted around. “What’s that about?”
Quinn flinched. “Don’t ask.” She knew who was arguing and why. Helena picking Quinn over Jono for the assignment had caused serious turbulence in their relationship. Jono, feeling betrayed, now barely spoke to Quinn unless they had to have a conversation. Yet his understated hostility was palpable. Quinn honestly didn’t care, except for the discomfort of working so close with Jono.
Later, Helena emerged and slammed the door behind her. Quinn and Colin pretended not to notice.
After a calming breath, the Editor-in-Chief put on a smiling veneer like nothing had happened. This didn’t hide the dark circles around Helena’s eyes.
Colin straightened in his seat as she approached. Quinn occasionally forgot that many SLOCO Daily staff feared Helena Madden. She hadn’t expected The Editor-in-Chief’s presence on this assignment. But SLOCO Daily was in good hands back in San Miguel between Helena’s multi-tasking expertise and the managing editor holding down the fort.
Quinn eyed Helena curiously. But her warning stare said Not your concern.
“Look.” Helena pointed out the window. Quinn followed Helena’s finger, initially seeing only sprawling green forests.
Then she saw it. Quinn’s jaw dropped. “Holy mother of pearls!”
Golden sunlight bathed a handful of box-like blue warehouses on a stretch of land tucked away in untamed woodlands. The largest buildings had a familiar massive V emblem on their roofs, resembling a campus. Quinn spotted a jet shaped like a sleek, silvery V on a circular red launchpad. The famed V-Jet, which ferried the Vanguard from battle to battle. Vanguard headquarters, the real-life equal of Mount Olympus. While Vanguard had waystations around the country, this remained their primary headquarters.
Hidden in northernmost California with more security than Fort Knox, no civilians knew its exact location. All the security clearance and NDAs Quinn had completed now made sense.
Colin took several rapid-fire camera photos, then clutched Quinn’s shoulders excitedly. “We’re here!”
“I know!” she squealed like an eager kid. How was this real life?
Glancing at Helena revealed similar happiness. “You young’ns ready to get your minds blown?”
Quinn nodded. “Frakk, yeah!”
Soon after, their plane landed on a mini tarmac behind a lengthy grey hangar. The SLOCO Daily crew exited the jet through its rear door. Quinn and Helena came first. Colin, Jono, another videographer Shelley, and three digital content producers fell in behind the two ladies.
At the hangar entrance, Quinn spotted two figures waiting. First was a thickset bull of an older man, bald with sunburnt skin and a white beard totally contradicting his black suit. Quinn guessed he was an ex-biker turned security guard. A
nnie would love him. Older bikers were a guilty pleasure of Quinn's BFF.
A younger woman stood beside the ex-biker. At first glance, Quinn pegged her as generically American. Once they got closer, Quinn realized she was from somewhere in Latin America.
The woman stepped forward. Her lidded eyes were brown like bourbon, and curtains of wavy caramel blonde pulled in a loose up-down hairstyle. Her button-down white blouse and jeans boasted a tall, willowy physique. Everything about this girl's presence oozed confidence. Quinn recognized her even in casual attire.
“Which one of you is Quinn Bauer?” she asked in a light Argentine accent.
“Kinky-haired girl, here,” Quinn pointed at herself. Helena smiled.
The woman gestured toward the main double doors. “This way, please. The rest of you can go with Jax. He’ll get your luggage to your assigned rooms.”
Helena and the others followed Jax, the ex-biker type. He guided them toward an extra-long trolley parked beside the hangar. Jono shot a venomous look at Quinn before trudging after Helena. Both women traded eyerolls.
Colin was following their coworkers when Quinn called for him to wait. She turned to the Argentine woman. “Can we bring one videographer so we can start shooting?”
“Absolutely.” The woman smiled, emphasizing her attractiveness.
Colin shrugged and trailed them, beginning to record their tour guide.
“Alexis Refel.” She held out a hand. “I’ll show you around before your interviews start.”
Quinn accepted Alexis’s firm shake. “Morningstar, right? From Vanguard’s Reserve team?” She’d researched each current and reserve member.
“Formerly,” Alexis corrected, smiling. “Just made the main roster.”
Quinn winced. “Congrats.” How’d I miss that? “And sorry.”
Alexis waved off the faux pas. “The callup happened this week, so no official press release has gone out yet. Shall we?”
“Lead the way,” Quinn stated eagerly.
Alexis proved to be a knowledgeable, friendly host. Her enthusiasm did feel Stepford wife-ish. But Quinn wrote that off as Vanguard’s newest member aiming for a good impression. Alexis pointed out each building’s functions, where the team trained, slept, and relaxed between missions.
They entered the main building with the huge V. Alexis indulged Quinn’s request to take her and Colin’s picture in front of the building. “For SLOCO Daily's Instagram feed,” Quinn assured her.
Once inside, her eyes popped. In the vast foyer's center stood towering bronze statues of Vanguard's first team from the early 1980s. Stately Dr. Stormfire, red, white, and blue-clad Sergeant Victory, ballerina-like Skydancer, and giant-sized Leviathan all struck heroic poses while gazing into the distance.
The hallways teemed with memorabilia from Vanguard’s over three-decade existence. Some rooms took Quinn and Colin through Vanguard’s greatest battles, hour by hour sometimes. Alexis showed Vanguard’s first confrontation with Lord Borealis in 1996. Discussing the supervillain soured Alexis’s mood, like fog passing over the sun. Quinn understood why.
The next room showcased wall-length pictures from every Vanguard era. Familiar and unexpected faces decorated each wall. Apparently, American Maiden had joined Vanguard briefly in 1990 before joining Stars & Stripes.
They reached a room dedicated to Vanguard’s famous 1996-2005 roster. “Recognize this?” Alexis gestured to a massive team photo.
Quinn nodded, smiling broadly. “The Sensational Seven.”
Titan, Lady Liberty, and Sentinel stood beside then-teen speedster Whiz Kid, ice-sheathed cryokinetic hero December, and a French former spy named Severine known for her combat skills and skintight catsuits. Quinn’s eyes landed on Tsunami, the bikini-clad Mexican bombshell who could manipulate water. They all looked so young and powerful and eager to save the world.
According to Quinn’s research, only Titan and Sentinel remained by 2010.
Tsunami had gotten fired from the Vanguard late-2005 after posing nude in Playboy. Lady Liberty went on sabbatical in 2006 after an acrimonious split with Titan. She returned to action in 2010, but never full-time with the Vanguard. Whiz Kid went solo in 2009, then retired in 2015 after losing two races to Extreme Teens’ Blur. Severine was killed in action around 2007 on the same mission where December received career-ending injuries.
“I’ve watched their battles thousands of times.” Alexis gazed worshipfully at the image. “Once my powers manifested, my dream was to join the Vanguard.” Before, Alexis had been extra happy like that Pharrell song.
Now her eyes watered. “Titan was a great mentor to me and so many others…” She looked as wounded as Wyldcat after Titan’s death.
Quinn exchanged an uneasy look with Colin. He gestured for a follow-up, jolting her into reporter mode. “You cared a lot for Titan.”
Alexis stared at her as if forgetting she wasn’t alone and wiped away her tears. “Everyone idolized Titan. To have someone he called friend kill him?” Her features darkened. “Titan deserved better.”
That took a turn. Quinn wanted to dig deeper.
“Alexis!” a boy’s voice called. “If that’s how you entertain guests, then I’d better take over.”
Alexis turned and immediately brightened. “Ray-Ray!”
Quinn and Colin turned as well, surprised to see a teenage African-American boy in a wheelchair.
Alexis leaned down, hugging him fiercely. “This is Ramon Dempsey,” She beamed, approaching with the boy. “My best friend since joining The Vanguard.”
“Hi,” Quinn said as handshakes were exchanged.
Ramon studied her with large, curious eyes. “You’re the SLOCO Daily reporter shadowing us?”
“I am,” Quinn said. “Are you an intern here?” Made sense, since the Vanguard was both government and privately funded.
Ramon chuckled. Alexis laughed out loud. “Ray-Ray’s our resident genius. Works on our computer systems and tech. He created Dynamo's AI and armored body.”
Quinn gawked in disbelief. “You’re a fetus!” she blurted out.
Colin snorted. Ramon stiffened. “Fourteen to be exact.”
“Ray-Ray graduated from MIT at age ten,” Alexis explained, arm resting comfortably on Ramon’s shoulders. She seemed relaxed around the boy, less practiced. “Built Dynamo a year later. Vanguard wisely grabbed him.”
Ramon looked flustered by his litany of accolades. “Alexis…”
Quinn watched him with newfound awe. “No shiatsu.”
Alexis and Ramon gave her odd looks. Colin stifled a knowing laugh while filming.
“Sorry,” Quinn explained. “My mouth used to need a sensor. I use substitute words to curb my swearing.” Alexis and Ramon both looked amused. After more small talk, Ramon took his leave.
Once he wheeled away, Alexis touched Quinn’s shoulder, an intense look on her face. “We’re asking you not use any footage involving Ramon.” It wasn’t a request.
Quinn frowned in annoyance. SLOCO Daily didn’t consent to that. “We agreed to full access.”
“With Vanguard members, yes,” Alexis replied, inflexible. “We’re public figures. Our civilian support personnel aren’t. Any news appearances put them or their families at risk.” She leaned closer in concern. “Especially since Ramon's the genius behind Dynamo…”
Quinn needed no further explanation. “Understood. No Ramon.” She pulled out her phone, glancing at today's schedule to see who she was interviewing first. “I’ve got Seraph in half an hour.”
Alexis nodded, her smile picture-perfect. “I’ll take you to her.”
Later, Vanguard personnel swarmed the headquarters’ small chapel as Quinn and her team prepared for Seraph. Benjamin Crane, Vanguard’s longtime publicist, had portfolios of do’s and don’ts. Like many Vanguard’s minders, the gaunt man protected Seraph’s image religiously. Saying that list killed many of Quinn’s questions was an understatement.
“It’s fine, QB,” Helena stated when Quinn vented her
concerns. “We knew Seraph would be difficult. Get soundbites about Titan’s death before moving on to Sentinel or Wyldcat.” Jono contributed nothing to their strategy, glaring at Quinn from afar. What an a-hole.
Once everything was ready, Seraph entered. A hush filled the chapel as she approached in her collared uniform of angelic white covered in silvery religious symbols. Long, wavy black hair spilled down her back, framing a round cherubic face. The former Catholic novitiate turned superhero truly looked angelic. Quinn stared, dumbstruck. She was about to interview Seraph of the freaking Vanguard. Her, a girl from small-town Massachusetts.
Colin clearing his throat jarred Quinn from her stupor. Adjusting her sports jacket and horn-rimmed glasses, she approached to shake Seraph’s outstretched hand.
Quinn made a fist to stop shaking so bad. Colin and Shelley had their cameras ready; one with a wide shot of the two ladies, another focused on Quinn, a third on Seraph.
“Do you prefer Seraph or Ms. Guerrero?” Quinn asked as they sat across from each other.
“Mikaela,” Seraph replied, her soft voice flavored with thick Cuban accents.
Quinn breathed in deep before reciting the interview parameters. “We’ll ask some pre-Vanguard questions, discuss your time on the team, relationship with Sentinel and Titan. Nothing too hahd.” She smiled, happy to have recalled all that. “Sound good?”
Seraph frowned. “You’re from Boston?”
How the… “Outside of Boston,” Quinn corrected in surprise. “How’d you guess?”
“You said ‘hahd’ instead of hard.”
Quinn grimaced. Of course, that would happen. “My Rs drop when I’m excited or nervous. I’m from Scituate, Massachusetts,” she said, believing that would end it.
Seraph’s cherubic face brightened. “Seaside town with fantastic clam chowder?”
Quinn openly marveled. “Yeah. You’ve been?”
