by C. C. Ekeke
Sentinel clearly didn’t, charging toward Blur to teach him some manners. “You little—” The speedster was within arm’s reach.
An instant later, Blur sped several feet away, laughing fiendishly.
Seraph finally stepped in Sentinel’s path. “He’s not worth it, Kurt.” She shot Blur a reproachful look. “Please.”
That reached Sentinel. He relaxed and backed away.
Roadblock held out his thick arms as if in truce. “Just say thank and we’ll call it a day.”
“We’re leaving.” Wyldcat turned with a defiant toss of her hair and walked to the V-Jet. The rest of the Vanguard followed.
“Walking away again when emotions get involved, Kurt?” Truelove called out, sounding so bitter. “I truly pity your fiancée.”
Sentinel froze. There was momentary silence. Robbie Rocket gave the Extreme Teens an angry look and hovered behind his leader. Vulcan hefted his warhammer, eager to swat these children down.
Truelove set his jaw defiantly, daring Sentinel to respond. Blur looked stunned. He gestured to his team to converge around Truelove, expecting retaliation.
Quinn watched and waited, goosebumps on her skin.
Sentinel turned with a worn but resolute look. “You want the glory. Fine,” he said in harsh tones. “You clean the mess up, and make sure whatever the Underlanders tried here won’t happen again.” With that, the supersoldier marched back to the V-Jet with the rest of the Vanguard. Quinn quickly boarded with them.
Once inside the V-Jet, Sentinel ripped off his helmet and chucked it at a wall. Quinn and Colin scurried over, both their cameras recording.
“9-to-5ers like the goddamn Extreme Teens give superheroes a bad name!” Sentinel roared. “They’re violent, narcissistic, and leave too much collateral damage. All they care about are their Instagram likes or how many endorsements they can collect. Or dating K-Pop singers.” Sentinel’s generic good looks were brick-red, veins bulging. It was the most attractive Quinn had ever found him. “9-to-5ers don’t give two shits about what really matters. Protecting lives, stopping criminals and terrorists.” The supersoldier gestured angrily at his teammates, who stood silently. “That’s why the Vanguard puts on these costumes.”
Quinn, shaken by the rant, saw an opening about the Sentinel/Truelove rivalry. “You feel Johnny Truelove no longer understands that?”
Sentinel glared at Quinn. For a second, she thought he’d snap at her too. Instead, Sentinel let his shoulders slump. “I did whatever I could to save Johnny from himself.” His voice rose again in anger. “You have to want to get better. Johnny instead sells his soul for what? Managing some overpowered prostitots?”
Wyldcat pointed at the supersoldier with a clawed finger. “What he said.”
“That was some serious Kurt-splaining,” Robbie Rocket murmured to Quinn. The reporter was getting a sense that Rocket didn’t like Sentinel.
Seraph fluttered to her fiancée’s side, holding his broad shoulders like a mother calming a distraught child. “Honey, let’s relax.”
Sentinel shrugged her off with undue force and stormed off toward the cockpit. “Jax, take us home.”
“Guess my big debut will have to wait.” Alexis Refel sighed when she passed Quinn.
“Pretty sure there’ll be a next time,” the reporter said, making the superhero laugh.
Takeoff was delayed due to shrapnel from the Underlander fight. That enraged Sentinel more.
While they waited, Quinn checked in with Colin to make sure the drone footage was useable. The videographer had already begun uploading footage to SLOCO Daily’s cloud servers. “You’re the best, Colin,” Quinn gushed. The reporter wandered around the V-Jet, looking for Dynamo. The android was to provide Quinn a detailed breakdown on the Underlander engagement and his thoughts on Titan.
The search took Quinn to a private bedroom near the passenger cabins. The open door revealed Seraph perched beside a window in costume, wings furled inside her back. Something outside the V-Jet held her unwavering attention. She didn’t notice Quinn at the door.
The reporter turned to the window beside her to see what Seraph was watching.
Blur stood alone outside the V-Jet, even though his team had boarded their own jet. He smirked and blew a kiss in Seraph’s direction.
Quinn scoffed at his insolence. She turned to see Seraph bashfully catch the kiss and place that hand over her heart with a sigh.
Quinn blinked rapidly, dumbstruck. Sweet merciful CRAP.
Seraph finally noticed the reporter. Her eyes went saucer-wide. A slack-jawed Quinn stared back, unsure what to do.
“Quinn.”
The robotic voice from behind made Quinn whirled around. “Oh, hi!”
Dynamo towered over Quinn, a statuesque mountain of cobalt blue and white armor. "You wanted a detailed analysis of our mission?” he asked, yellow eyes burning on that flat cobalt face.
Quinn turned back to Seraph. She was gone, exiting the bedroom through its door on the other side. The reporter shook her head to gather her thoughts. “Yeah...yes,” she stammered. “Let’s do it.”
Chapter 20
"Flashpoint?” AJ offered, forking another bacon slice. He sat at the dining table, his strapping frame filling out a tank top and boardshorts.
Hugo chewed on the codename while pulling on a grey t-shirt. He and AJ had returned from another grueling workout at the junkyard. “Nice. But sounds kinda villain-ish.” The brothers had been debating potential codenames since returning home. With Simon in Seoul for three weeks visiting family, AJ subbed as Hugo’s trainer/confidante.
“Atlas?”
Hugo frowned, uninterested. “I can name like three heroes who've used that.” He placed a diamond stud in each ear, which he hadn’t worn in ages. These powers were helping him return to his old self one day at a time.
“Powerhouse?” AJ tried, chewing his bacon.
Hugo snorted. “Hell, no.”
“Samoan Superman?”
Hugo side-eyed AJ, unsure if he was serious. “That'll get me sued. We’ll choose a name when Simon gets back.” Hugo loved his little brother, and superhero training had brought them closer. But Simon was irreplaceable. “Anyway, I’ll be home in an hour.”
AJ stiffened in his seat. “You’re supposed to stay home except to train.”
Hugo waved off the warning. “Relax, Angelo. I’ve gotten good at sneaking around metro areas.” He ran his fingers through his long hair, falling past his shoulders now. “Besides, my errand is part of my superhero journey.” Hugo headed out the back door, scanning about. Seeing no eyewitnesses, he supersped to downtown Paso Robles. San Miguel during daytime had too much exposure risk.
During the trek, suburbia flew by in vibrant streaks. Hugo couldn’t believe seven weeks had passed since gaining Titan’s powers. With under two weeks until school started, Hugo could lift a Suburban for ten whole minutes without getting tired. His mile was down to 4.5 seconds, and he could hit 485 mph easy. Hugo’s goal was 775 mph, like Titan. Irritatingly, he still couldn’t fly. Leaping tall buildings in one bound was an okay consolation. Hugo figured another week of training before he was ready to don his near-complete costume and fight crime.
And not a moment too soon. Hugo slowed in a vacant alleyway in mid-town Paso. Maybe it was the newscasts still poring over Titan’s death, but in his secret trips around town, Hugo noticed overall melancholy. Suicides, drug use, and crime were rising not just in San Miguel. Across America and the world, people had lost hope. "If Titan could die, what's the point" had become a common consensus.
Hugo had grown obsessed with these kinds of stats. Besides, a superhero had to know about the world they faced.
Superheroes and law enforcement were doing their best. Lady Liberty was more active in San Miguel, and Justice Jones had stuck around after Titan’s funeral to help. The Extreme Teens had been more tolerable, their recent superhero missions less for show. Simon still hated them with the fury of a thousand suns. Especially since the Extr
eme Teens kept posting superhero selfies on social media with obnoxious hashtags like #RemembertheTitan and #WhatWouldTitanDo.
The Vanguard were on a worldwide tour stopping bad guys and kissing babies. This upcoming documentary about their post-Titan direction was coming at the perfect time. But was that enough?
“Who do you think could be the next Titan?” Brie had asked during their two-hour phone talk last night.
“There’ll never be another Titan,” Hugo had declared emphatically.
“Right,” Brie had snort-laughed adorably. “I should never debate Titan lore with you, Bogie.”
Hugo had enjoyed the compliment, especially since he was right. Titan was a once in a lifetime superhero. Like Paragon from the late 1970s. Someone can carry on his mantle of truth and justice, the Samoan thought with a hopeful smile. He’d show Brie and the world soon enough. Hugo would honor the gifts he’d received from the greatest superhero of all time.
Walking outside bathed in delicious warm sunlight reminded Hugo how secluded his summer had been. He drank in the San Miguel suburb’s sights, sounds, and smells, learning its ebbs and flows. A superhero should know their patron city intimately. Despite Paso Robles’s recent growth, Hugo appreciated the small-town vibe from Old Town's pocket of small businesses. It was reminiscent of pre-earthquake San Luis Obispo. The colors around here popped in ways he could’ve never imagined before gaining Titan’s powers.
After a few minutes, he found his destination, like Simon had said. Lyon’s Mane’s exterior walls sported a cornucopia of dark pinks and baby blues, colors begging for new paint. Hugo nearly gagged on the hairspray and product fumes flooding his nostrils. But what he needed was inside, so the Samoan suffered the stench and entered.
Lyon’s Mane looked larger inside, with barely any clients this early. Two hairstylists worked on clients, a remix of some Adele song crooning in the background.
One hairstylist was being shadowed while working on his customer. That shadow was Hugo’s age, Japanese and pretty with a pear-shaped dancer’s figure. One side of her hair was intricately braided, the rest spilling over her left shoulder in glossy violet swaths. Her sleeveless green and black plaid dress sported a low collar. She also wore white feather earrings and a nose ring.
It had been months since they’d spoken, and Hugo never replied to her text after Titan died. He steeled away his fears over her reaction upon recognizing him and approached. “Grace Misawa?”
The Japanese girl turned, no taller than Hugo’s chest. “The one and only.” She pursed her black lips, studying Hugo with curious eyes. “Can I help—?” Grace cocked her head sideways, squinted, then backpedaled as if electrocuted. “Jumping Jay-hovah! Hugo?”
Hugo recoiled at her swift recognition. “The one and only.” He tensed for an explosion of anger.
“Excuse me while I scrape my jaw off the ground!” Grace lunged forward and hugged him.
Hugo sighed in relief, returning her embrace. “You grew out your hair.”
“You grew out your whole body!” Grace craned her neck back to inspect him. “Who did this to you?” she demanded as they drew apart.
Hugo laughed. “Gym membership plus second puberty perhaps.”
Grace raised her brow, hands on hips. “Puberty isn’t like breakfasts are for hobbits, friend. You get one and you’re done.”
Hugo guffawed, drawing stares. Conversing with Grace Misawa frequently involved fun wordplay, which Hugo loved. She always had a million plates spinning; street dancing, designing her own clothes, and more. Hugo understood Simon’s huge crush on her. Grace had personality for weeks, the coolest girl you’d ever meet. Someone he regretted pushing away last year.
“Simon said you’re interning here for your hairstyling certification?” Hugo remarked. “New side gig?”
Grace nodded. “Speaking of Simon. When he gets back from Seoul, you, me, him, and Wale need to celebrate being sophomores. Hit some clubs as a foursome.” She caught Hugo’s sophomoric smirk at the word “foursome.” “Not sexually,” Grace added, killing any potential euphemisms.
“Why not?” Hugo protested, arms spread in mock displeasure. “I thought you were cool, Grace!”
Grace snatched a nearby Starbucks cup. “This cup’s full of hot tea,” she stated with barbed sweetness. “Wanna wear it?”
Hugo laughed off the playful threat. “Hard pass.” Hearing former friend Wale’s name soured his mood. “Not sure about Wale. He’s not the forgiving type.”
Grace sipped her tea and frowned. “He’d come around if you hadn’t ghosted everyone.” She prodded Hugo’s chest. “Including me.”
Hugo’s gaze fell. He’d dreaded this conversation and the gut punch of emotions. Desperate to bury his grief, Hugo had taken on too much six weeks after Dad’s death. Specifically, he’d let down his former dance crew. Confronting some asshole from a rival crew at a competition for tripping him, decking the douche ignited a brawl. Starting fights was a dance battle no-no and had gotten his crew disqualified. Seeing his friends’ anger as rejection, Hugo had avoided them the rest of ninth grade. Now that selfish choice caused a painful wave of regret.
“I…” Hugo met Grace’s stare. “Thought you wouldn’t talk to me again.”
Grace scoffed. “Over the dance competition fight? I don’t live and die by that shit like Wale.” She sighed, and her shoulders slumped. “Yeah, I was mad we got DQ’d. But I moved on. You’d lost your dad. Everyone wanted to be there for you. Until you went AWOL.” Grace didn’t hold grudges. But she deserved an apology.
“I’m sorry,” Hugo said. “Won’t happen again. Bygones?”
Grace grinned. “Bygones.” She held her arms out. “Gimme some Samoan sugar.”
Hugo returned her hug, shaking with laughs. “Samoan sugar sounded dirty,” he said as they untangled.
Grace snorted. “Unplanned, but it sticks.”
“OHHH.” Hugo guffawed at the continued double entendre. “Sure about that?”
“Aaaand scene,” Grace concluded with a hand chop. “So, what brings you here, besides your favorite hairdresser in training?”
“Well…” Hugo never expected to say these words. “I need a haircut.”
“Huh.” Grace ran affectionate fingers through his long, wavy mane. “And harm these luscious locks?”
“New haircut for a new me.” And more practical for a costume. But Grace didn’t need to know that. “Can you help ya boy out?”
Grace’s expression soured. “I know you’re a hardcore Titan-iac. But if you request the Titan cut with the bleached color, I’ll fight you!”
Hugo recoiled from her wrath. That explained the bizarre Titan cosplayers he’d seen around town. “Nope. Just shorter and not goofy.”
Grace relaxed and guided him to a client chair. “G-Mama knows exactly what you need.”
Half an hour later, Hugo walked out of Lyon’s Mane with a short spiky coif, bedhead tousled with minimal product. Grace did great work obviously. At first, Hugo had felt awkward staring into Grace’s mirror. He’d had long hair since fifth grade.
“It takes some adjusting,” she'd assured. “But you’ll love it.”
“Already do,” Hugo had gushed after a few more minutes of looking. Glad as he was for the haircut and reconnecting with Grace, Hugo was happy to leave that salon. The fumes made him nauseous.
Strolling down the streets, he got lingering glances from some women. Grown women.
"Huh." Hugo smirked and began strutting, feeling himself, approaching the nearby Beach Bum Burger for lunch. He smelled the mouthwatering aroma from three blocks away. A server stood outside, a slim Chinese girl in a red 3B shirt and baseball hat, on a cigarette break.
Then familiar voices across the street turned Hugo around. Several athletic girls in Paso High softball gear scurried to an intersection, clucking like an excited bird flock. Hugo recognized one of them instantly.
Jordana Buchanan, Briseis’s BFF. Hugo stopped and stared, as if never seeing her before.
Compared to Brie, Jordana was modestly attractive. Then again, Brie was a goddess.
Away from Brie was another story. On a scale of 1 to Rihanna, Jordana looked next-level sexy. Well…once Hugo’s gaze moved past her pendulous cleavage. Today the half-Dominican/half-black teen looked jaw-dropping; her mocha-brown complexion, long wavy locks styled in a half up-down hairdo, her JLo-like hips sashaying with her fierce gait. Too bad Jordana gets all sour-faced whenever she sees me, Hugo sulked.
Jordana’s hatred for him surprisingly wasn’t Brie-related. Back in eighth grade, Jordana had been that girl who developed earlier and more bountifully than other girls. Fourteen-year-old boys had reacted as maturely as expected when confronted with large boobs. And her nickname “Jody Big Cans” had been born. That same year, Hugo had been pointing a friend toward a counselor’s office. “Make a left around that corner behind Jody Big Cans,” he’d said carelessly, right as Jordana turned in his direction. Many bystanders had heard and howled, embarrassing her. The nickname stuck throughout eighth grade and part of ninth. Jordana had loathed Hugo ever since, despite numerous apologies.
As long as Brie likes me. He shrugged and headed for Beach Bum Burger as the softball girls reached the nearest crosswalk.
“LOOK OUT!” The scream rang clearly as if directly in Hugo’s ear. He whipped around.
Several softball girls at the curb watched in horror at Jordana stepped onto the crosswalk. Hugo was confused...until he saw the ginormous Escalade blowing a red light toward her.
Hugo’s heart stopped. In a flash, he pictured the grief of Jordana’s family losing a loved one. And Brie…losing her best friend. His body clenched in familiar anguish.
Not her! Not bothering with a safety check, Hugo hurtled forward. He moved faster than ever, fueled by panic. The world around Hugo became blurry streaks except for Jordana, frozen and half-turned toward the car about to mow her down. She didn’t see him; neither did her dumbstruck friends.
Hugo zoomed between Jordana and the Escalade first, throwing a shoulder into the SUV’s grill to stop it. For a fraction of a second, he nearly grabbed Jordana and stopped to shield her. Which made sense if I was in costume. Not in civilian clothes. Hugo glanced at Jordana’s unmoving friends, understanding what to do. Swiftly looping around the softball posse, he gently nudged through them from behind. Hugo reached out, grabbed Jordana by the waist, and decelerated.
