by C. C. Ekeke
Greyson was scared. The pressure inside demanded release. And if he surrendered… “I…don’t want to hurt…anyone,” he wept.
Dr. St. Pierre's smile warmed. His eyes looked shinier than usual. “You won’t. Trust me.”
Greyson trusted him, touching the bubbling gravity well within and choosing to draw back. He’d never known that choice before. At the same time, he let the radiance magnify. His feet touched the ground, as did any floating debris. “Feel that energy within?” St. Pierre continued, calm and hypnotic. “Crackling across your skin? Rushing through your veins? Igniting every nerve ending? Reach deeper and claim that power. It’s yours.”
Greyson’s flesh burned with increasing pain. He embraced the agony like a friend.
Energy sizzled up his legs like lightning. Greyson’s body blazed brighter. Everyone else in the warehouse had to shield their eyes.
Greyson lurched forward. “HOLY MENORAH!”
Power flooded him from head to heel. The kind of power that leveled buildings. A burning sensation tickled his spine. Intoxicating.
“That’s some neon flashlight shit!” Big Izzy exclaimed.
Dr. St. Pierre pointed to his left. “See that box there?”
Greyson followed the therapist’s gaze. Sitting yards away was a box he’d levitated for Kathleen and Connie bathed in Greyson’s glow.
“Point at it,” St. Pierre commanded. “All your hatred. All your fears. All your rage. All your power. Unleash everything on that target!”
Greyson aimed both hands at the lone wooden box. The energy within swelled, burned, begged for release. Greyson screamed as the burn overtook him and unleashed all that power. Thick, golden beams ripped from Greyson’s hands, scorching a track across the warehouse floor—blowing the box to ash. The force sent him skidding backward.
He lay on his back gasping for breath, baffled by what just happened. The burning sensation was subsiding. Greyson sat up and gawked at his handiwork, frightened…and exhilarated.
“Sweet tap-dancing Christ. That felt weird!” he blurted out.
“Jesus, Greyson!” Kathleen said from behind, her voice wavering with emotion. St. Pierre crouched beside him. Greyson turned away from the destroyed wooden box and saw his therapist also crying. The tears were joyful. “How else do you feel?” he asked.
Greyson turned back to the smoldering box shards and answered unthinkingly. “Relieved. So…relieved.”
St. Pierre offered his hand. When Greyson took it, the therapist pulled him upright. As soon he was standing, Connie rushed forward with a fierce hug around Greyson's waist.
Big Izzy approached next. Then Kathleen. Tom bearhugged everyone. Greyson half-laughed and half-cried as his fellow patients offered their compliments.
He locked eyes with Dr. St. Pierre looking proud and overjoyed in ways Dad never had. Greyson was okay with that. Nodding a silent thank you, Greyson sank into his fellow patients’ affection.
“You’re really warm,” came Connie’s muffled comment within the group hug.
“No kidding,” Tom added, making everyone laugh. Greyson held his friends closer.
Much later, he returned home. Lauren was fast asleep, beautifully swaddled in bedsheets and her favorite penguin-covered pajamas.
Greyson didn’t want to disturb her, but he couldn’t wait to share tonight’s breakthrough.
After a few gentle shakes, Lauren stirred and opened her eyes. “You’re back,” she murmured, scratching her disheveled head and sitting up. “Was wondering—”
Greyson kissed her mouth with feverish hunger. Lauren stiffened in surprise at first but soon sank into him. When they broke apart for air, she was flustered and blinking. “What was that for?”
Greyson gazed at her in the dark, feeling so free. All thanks to her. “For everything and more,” Greyson gushed, not caring how cheesy he sounded. It was cheesy, from Lauren’s amused reaction. “I love you.”
His girlfriend melted. “I love you too, Grey,” Lauren replied, voice rough. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again, drawing him down with her.
Soon they were naked and entwined, writhing in passionate rhythm.
When Lauren cried out his name, Greyson’s heart soared higher.
Chapter 19
“The Underlanders were a minor threat in the UK. Then the Champions drove them out,” Robbie Rocket explained with a lazy smile. His Canadian accent was thick. “Now they’re stateside.”
Quinn smiled while sitting across from the superhero in the V-Jet’s rear passenger cabin. Other Vanguard members moved about with business-as-usual calm. But the undercurrent of urgency beneath everyone’s actions was palpable. Sentinel was in the next compartment discussing strategy with Vulcan, Seraph, and Wyldcat. Dynamo stood in the cockpit with the pilot, tracking the Underlanders’ movements. Alexis Refel, aka Morningstar, paced nearby in her skintight gold and white uniform, visibly nervous. This was what Vanguard did. Though today, they were doing it with cameras and without Titan.
Most of the team were pleasant to Quinn and Colin. Wyldcat remained aloof and unhelpful.
Robbie Rocket had volunteered to speak with Quinn once the V-Jet lifted off. He cut a lean figure in his fire-red costume, manspreading on a seat while discussing his Vanguard tenure.
“The best perks about being a superhero?” Quinn went with softballs. Any deep Titan questions could wait after Vanguard handled the Underlanders.
Rocket’s ruddy face lit up. “The women. I mean, I don’t have to do much since joining the Vanguard,” he bragged with a toss of his shaggy ginger hair. “I know that’s not a PC answer, but who cares? We save the world repeatedly. Those perks make the world-ending danger worth it. The merch royalty checks are nice too.”
Quinn had to laugh. Robbie Rocket was the kind of douche you’d want to get drunk with. Might be my post-mission strategy, she considered. Rocket might spill all kinds of gossip after several drinks.
Sentinel entered the cabin in full utilitarian-style soldier’s uniform. This included his trademark grey helmet with tactical face mask and four red vision lenses covering everything but the mouth.
“Gilford. Refel. We’re getting close,” Sentinel stated like a drill sergeant. He gave Quinn a terse nod. “Ms. Bauer.”
“Sentinel,” she greeted.
Robbie gave her a commiserating eye roll and rose. “Time to kick some ass.”
Alexis looked ashen, resembling a deer in headlights. “One second."
Once Rocket and Sentinel left, Quinn approached Alexis with Colin. She saw this rookie as one of the interview series’ main perspectives. It complemented Sentinel taking the leadership mantle and Wyldcat moving past her grief over Titan.
“How ya feeling?” Quinn asked over the droning jet engines.
Alexis turned. She looked quite different in the gorgeous costume shimmering like gold, teased-up hair cascading down her back. But Alexis’s wide-eyed terror truly humanized her. “I don't want to embarrass myself.”
Quinn’s heart ached for her. “Exactly how I felt stepping into your HQ,” she replied. “You’ll do fine.”
That made Alexis smile. “Thanks, Quinn.” The fear left her as she marched from the cabin.
Later, the V-Jet arrived over rolling green North Dakota plains stretching on forever. One tubular pipeline marred the perfect green landscape, next to a massive hole in the earth and what resembled a giant drilling device. Quinn sat beside Colin at the rear of the jet’s mobile Crisis Center. Sitting with the Vanguard on a live mission felt surreal. Quinn grinned, thinking how Annie Machado would act. Tears and fangirl hysterics, of course. Colin, also geeking out, stayed professional. He had to fly the drones hovering over the pipeline site. Quinn realized the Vanguard must have called ahead to evacuate any workers.
No wonder the entire pipeline looked vacant. Until it didn’t. Quinn popped up. “Are those people on the ground?”
She saw bodies around the hole in the ground. Not fully human bodies with hybri
d mole teeth and claws. Several Underlanders wore chainmail armor over pinkish skin. All were motionless yet breathing.
“Whaaattt?” Robbie Rocket exclaimed, leaning closer to a massive screen.
Vulcan stroked his bushy beard and his warhammer. “Another warrior has smitten our foes?”
“Who could’ve done this?” Seraph asked.
Sentinel adjusted his helmet, nonplussed by this development. “We’re about to find out.”
The team left the crisis room for the V-Jet exit. Seraph winked at Quinn before departing.
Minutes later, Quinn watched on the Crisis Room viewscreens as the Vanguard outside circled the gaping hole. Watching the Vanguard fight from afar felt normal. Still, Quinn’s body couldn’t stop buzzing.
Wyldcat, in her barely there and tiger-themed uniform, popped her catlike claws. Angelic wings sprouted from Seraph’s back, spreading radiant warmth. She took to the skies, a glorious sight to behold.
Robbie Rocket exploded off the ground, his legs disappearing in a furnace blast giving off trailing smoke and muted roars. Morningstar glowed in sizzling solar energy.
Sentinel pulled out one of two massive iron boomerangs from his back while aiming a rapid-fire pistol. The supersoldier barked orders with military-like briskness. Quinn heard everything, thanks to body mikes the Vanguard agreed to wear. “Dynamo. Head inside that hole, scout what’s going on. Wyldcat, Vulcan, and Morningstar. Flank me.”
As Dynamo hurtled down the hole, Sentinel looked to his airborne teammates. “Robbie, Seraph. Scan the plains, make sure the Underlanders aren't elsewhere—”
The V-Jet began tremoring. Colin and Quinn clung to their seats. A glance at the monitors showed the Vanguard looking equally alarmed. Abruptly, Dynamo rocketed out of the hole. “Team!” the android cried in digitized alarm. “The Underlanders are coming!”
No sooner than the android flew behind his team, a throng of Underlanders spewed from the hole.
At first, Quinn’s breath caught at the ugly near-humans with their long claws and mole-like teeth, flailing and shrieking. Then she saw the Vanguard bracing for impact. This was another day's work for them. Dynamo’s metallic arms twisted and morphed into futuristic-looking cannons. Vulcan gripped his warhammer with both hands, ready to swing.
Once Quinn moved past her excitement, she noticed some oddness about the Underlanders’ charge. No formation, ranks completely scattered.
Colin noticed too. “Are the Underlanders running away?”
“Yeah.” Quinn's eyes narrowed, spying terror on each Underlander’s face. “Something attacked them.”
If the Vanguard had discerned the same thing, they made no show. “Dynamo, Seraph, and Robbie, go high and hit hard. Wyldcat and Vulcan, just hit them,” Sentinel ordered, centering his stance like a football lineman. He readied his boomerang before bellowing Vanguard’s battle cry. “Vanguard, ADVANCE!”
“Hearing them say that was AMAZING!” Quinn gushed as the team barreled toward their frightened foes. Dynamo’s arm cannons glowed bright crimson. Seraph’s wingspan widened to unleash paralyzing flechettes.
Then a crack of thunder split across the Dakota plains.
Underlanders flew like bowling pins as a purple streak smashed through their ranks. Green energy beams erupted from the hole, cutting down more Underlanders around the Vanguard.
Quinn felt as confused as the superhero team looked.
A sun-kissed blonde teen girl rocketed out of the hole on a surfboard of pure white energy. Another girl, slim and bald, crouched behind the surfer on the board and leaped off, brandishing nine-inch claws for fingers. She landed amid the Underlanders still standing, slashing through them viciously. Then another girl flew out with burning green hair, glowing eyes shooting energy beams. Following that was another kid, covered head to heel in a rocky exterior. A smaller boy sheathed in golden cybernetics clung to his back.
The purple blur halted in front of these teens, revealing a biracial boy with a shock of black hair and a cocky grin. Quinn instantly recognized them.
“You gotta be kidding me,” she murmured in shock. “The Extreme Teens?”
The teen superheroes made short work of the remaining Underlanders. And the Vanguard, who were to be highlighted in combat, stood there like chumps.
Osaq‘an’druu, aka Starchylde, floated with her emerald mane churning like a smoke cloud. The supple girl, blessed with flight, superstrength, and energy powers, claimed to be an alien. Fans accepted the bizarre façade, knowing Starchylde was a human cosplaying as a fictional alien.
Bethany Sabins, aka Sunrider, rode on an energy forcefield shaped like a surfboard. With her long, loose blonde hair, sun-kissed complexion, and laid-back persona, Sunrider was a fan-favorite. She’d joined after winning a contest to replace Missy Magnificent on the team.
J.R. McAllister, the mountainous Roadblock, was covered in granite-like stone except for his intense brown eyes. He seemed more tolerable than most.
The short Filipino boy Joven Santos, aka Cyberpunk, wore a gold bodysuit covered in cybernetic cables and dark circuitry. He claimed to be the best hacker alive. Quinn doubted that.
Most Extreme Teens' civilian and superhero personas were open books. But Vendetta’s real name remained unknown, either by choice or OWE’s desire to bolster her femme fatale mystique. She wasn’t on social media, only appearing on teammates’ feeds. Her body was covered in a dark copper sheen that allowed her fingers to stretch into claws. Looking at her dark pupil-less eyes made Quinn shudder.
Front and center stood Luke Shinoda, aka Blur, the Teens’ leader. His spiky hair constantly looked perfectly windblown from running. His purple aerodynamic body-suit was covered in endorsement logos. The wiry speedster, of Japanese and Caucasian descent, was the most popular Extreme Teen, thanks to his bad boy charm and K-Pop star girlfriend L.U.N.A.
Quinn grabbed one of Colin’s cameras. “I’m going out there.” She ran for the exit, despite Colin’s panicky protests. Once outside the V-Jet, Quinn zoomed her camera on the confrontation.
“Eesh,” Cyberpunk fretted. “Disabling that power drill came close. But I always deliver.”
Blur whistled. “Who knows what damage the Underlanders could’ve done if the Extreme Teens hadn’t arrived?” He winked at Sentinel. Even with his face mask on, Quinn sensed the supersoldier seething.
Wyldcat scowled at the teens. “We would’ve stopped them, you ill-mannered toddler.”
Safeguard scoffed and folded both arms over her chest. “Not from where I’m standing.”
“You beat us here.” Sentinel waved off their bragging. “Good for you. Are we sure this wasn’t the Underlanders' first wave of attack?”
Sentinel’s words caught in his throat at the sight of someone behind the Extreme Teens. Quinn followed his gaze and gasped. A tall, skinny man with wild dark hair and an impeccable Armani suit emerged beside Blur. Unlike the teen superheroes, he looked Quinn’s age or older. He watched Sentinel with hateful intensity.
“That who I think it is?” Colin asked on the walkie-talkie.
“Yup.” Quinn nodded, flabbergasted. “Johnny Truelove, Extreme Teens’ babysitter.”
“How did I not know this?”
Quinn didn’t bother answering, too focused on the tense summit. The reporter’s research had informed her of Johnny Truelove, another cautionary tale in the superhero community. Once named Kid Patriot, Sentinel’s former sidekick burned bright and fast. Three rehab stints and three relapses later, Sentinel had stripped Truelove of the Kid Patriot title. With no job or prospects, the media conglomerate OWE got him cleaned up and installed as the Extreme Teens’ mentor two years ago. By the way Truelove and Sentinel snarled at each other, time had healed no wounds between them.
Starchylde hovered forward, arms spread. “We mean you no harm, earthlings,” she stated in an ethereal and heavily modulated voice. “We are here to deliver Earth’s citizens from evil.”
“Wow!” Quinn exclaimed quietly. “She said that
with a straight face.”
Vulcan seemed as affronted as Quinn was amused. “False alien.” He jabbed at Starchylde with his warhammer. “The Vanguard will not abide by your deceptive guise.”
“Says the loser who thinks he’s the son of Zeus,” scoffed Cyberpunk. “Go back to playing with your sledgehammer, bruh.”
Blur focused his insolence on Sentinel. “How’s life, Dick? Sorry...Kurt.”
Sentinel visibly bristled. The supersoldier made no secret his hatred of corporate-sponsored teams or 9-to-5ers like the Extreme Teens. “That’s Sentinel to you, son,” he replied with cold anger.
The speedster rolled his eyes. “I’m not your son, dude.”
The posturing between superhero teams continued growing nastier. Established veterans versus young upstarts, both eager to prove themselves in a post-Titan world. Sentinel and Blur traded barbs. Roadblock and Vulcan were arguing. Wyldcat and Vendetta literally hissed at each other.
“Can you believe this?” Colin marveled over the walkie-talkie.
Quinn was bouncing on her heels at this footage. “It’s high school with superpowers!”
Now Blur was hitting on Seraph, just to trigger Sentinel. “What’s poppin’, Angel?” The speedster gave her a leering once over. He wiped his goggles to emphasize how hot he found her. Gross. “Why does your heavenly face make me feel so devilish in my pants?”
Seraph recoiled in disgust. Sentinel advanced, seething. “Don’t even look at her.” He turned to Johnny Truelove, who watched the confrontation with silent relish. “Get your boy under control.”
Truelove’s gaunt face twisted. “He’s not my boy,” he spat. “And I don’t take orders from you anymore.”
Blur cackled. “That’s right, Sentinel.” He beat his own chest. “Johnny knows I’m my own man. If you want proof, I can show your fiancée firsthand—”
“Ewww.” Quinn couldn’t believe her ears. This kid was beyond crude. “Isn’t he dating the hottest pop star on the planet?”
“That’s how Blur is with a lot of female celebrities,” Colin replied. “Most find his lewdness charming.”
