by C. C. Ekeke
“Unless he was a patsy,” Geist added. Vulcan remained a suspect.
No one suspected Robbie Rocket, especially when Quinn stated how Rebecca Reyes had manipulated him.
Quinn noticed how Geist questioned his team not just for different takes or missing evidence. He’s teaching them what to look for in investigations. That suggested Geist had a law enforcement background. But Quinn wouldn't pry further.
“What about Morningstar?” Geist pressed, pacing like a caged tiger.
“She has light-based powers,” Blackjack answered, leaning forward in his seat.
“And x-ray vision,” Quinn added, recalling Morningstar’s scan of Annie.
Geist eyed her sharply but said nothing.
“Huh.” Domino ran idle fingers through her golden-blonde locks. “Does she have any other powers?”
“Not on her file,” Clint replied, “which I didn’t see when not hacking into Vanguard HQ’s databases.”
“Alexis and her brother bounced between foster homes in Buenos Aires before she manifested,” Domino said. “Amado is currently in a long-term rehab facility. Otherwise, she’s clean.”
“Unlike her brother,” Clint joked.
“Oh Jesus,” Therese snapped.
“Wow, Clint,” Quinn fumed.
“What?” Clint retorted, despite Geist’s scowl and everyone else groaning. “We’re all thinking it.”
“What was Morningstar’s connection to Titan?” Therese sat across from Quinn, placing her bow on the table. “She joined the main roster after his death.”
“Titan mentored her when she joined Vanguard reserves.” Geist studied Morningstar’s profile onscreen.
“Was their relationship ever sexual?” Quinn asked, dreading the answer.
Geist shook his head. “No.”
Quinn wasn’t sold yet. “Are you sure?”
“Titan often boasted about his conquests.”
Quinn shuddered, nauseated. Titan really was a pig with women. Like during her research with Helena, Wyldcat was ruled out. Quinn missed her editor-in-chief so much.
“Wyldcat has no self-control,” Geist explained. “The culprit must’ve planned this months ago.”
“Why would Seraph kill Titan?” Blackjack motioned at the image of her in costume.
Quinn almost stayed silent. But after almost dying twice, she would no longer hold her tongue. “Titan knew about her affair.”
All heads turned. Therese’s eyes widened.
Geist’s gleaming eyes narrowed. “You know?”
Quinn looked at him. “You know?” She shook her head, immediately unsurprised. “Of course, you know.” Geist clearly had tabs on every major hero. “Mikaela told me after I caught her in a compromising position,” Quinn continued. “She also claimed to be with her lover the night of Titan’s death. Could be an alibi.”
“Or she’s lying,” Domino suggested. “Then again, I don’t blame her. Seraph must’ve wanted someone more exciting. Sentinel strikes me as a missionary-only guy.”
Quinn coughed out laughter, which worsened when Therese made a face.
“Thanks for the image, Carm,” Blackjack guffawed, rubbing his partner’s shoulders.
Geist, grimdark and allergic to humor, scowled at his associates’ amusement.
“Seraph’s not a virgin?” Clint asked, stunned by the revelation.
Therese ignored him and turned Quinn’s way with an inquiring stare. “Was she screwing Titan?”
“No,” Geist replied before Quinn could. “He respected Weston enough not to take Mikaela from him.”
Hearing that made Quinn's skin crawl. No wonder one of Titan’s teammates murdered him.
“Then who was Seraph screwing?” Therese insisted.
“If she’s guilty, I’ll sing like a canary,” Quinn answered without further explanation. Despite not trusting Seraph, Quinn didn't believe she was a cold-blooded murderer. And if innocent, outing her teen lover would have dire consequences. Quinn was more interested in Geist also knowing of Seraph’s affair. Meaning, he must know with whom. “How did you know?”
Geist glared back, unblinking. “I’m Geist,” he answered, curt and blunt.
Quinn scoffed at the vagueness but didn’t push further.
“Preserving that flawless image made you a liability,” Blackjack stated, fists clenched.
Quinn rubbed her chin and considered that avenue. Maybe Mistura had been a warning. But when Quinn wouldn’t play ball, she decided to finish the job. “In the hospital, Mikaela asked about my investigation. I gave her nothing.” The more she weighed the facts, the more they pointed at Seraph.
Geist nodded respectfully. “Smart choice.” He addressed his team. “It might’ve been more than one of them or the whole team. Or the reserve roster.”
“Or past members,” Quinn added, considering Lady Liberty.
“Whatever the case,” Geist stabbed a finger on the table, “until we get proof, the only people I trust with finding Titan’s killer are in this room.”
Quinn frowned at being so isolated from outside help. “How do we get proof?”
“Clint,” Geist said. The viewscreens shifted from the Vanguard to a video feed inside an apartment, featuring many angles. Quinn spotted six familiar figures milling about and stiffened.
“Tonight,” Geist announced, “we handle these fixers working for Titan’s killer.”
“How'd you get cameras inside there?” Quinn asked breathlessly.
“Me.” Domino raised a hand. “We found a time when all six were out. I snuck in and placed adhesive cameras all over the apartment, with a costume that left no prints or scent.”
“Six?” Quinn was impressed but confused. “What about Hugo Malalou?”
Geist turned to face her. “No longer associated with them.”
“And you're positive?”
“I’d been tracking the kid for two weeks. He hasn’t been around them in almost four days,” Blackjack added. “Before that, Malalou hung with at least Lau every other day.”
“Had one of my drones follow them today,” Clint added over comms. “Six went to Malalou’s house this afternoon. Six left half-an-hour later without him.”
“Now they’re back home.” Geist gestured at the video feed. “Awaiting orders.”
“Or a pizza,” Clint commented.
Geist addressed his crew. “Without Malalou, they’re vulnerable. I’ll grab Priscilla Lau and bring her in for interrogation.” He strode toward Therese. “Longshadow. Stay with Quinn. Protect her.”
Therese turned to her charge with a gaze that lingered. “Done.”
Quinn furrowed her brow. Longshadow?
“Blackjack. Domino.” Geist stopped before them. Blackjack had some inches on him. “Patrol duty.”
Domino didn’t care for that. “While you face six superhumans alone?”
Quinn stood, also seeing that as a no-win scenario. “How does that make sense?”
Geist’s glare was so severe, she promptly sat down and shut up. “I’ve done this before, Bauer,” the vigilante reminded. He looked his team over. “You have your orders. Move out.”
Domino placed on red goggles, masking most of her face, carrying a retractable bo staff and a utility belt of domino-styled bombs. Blackjack put on a bandana with shielded eyeholes, covering his head and face. He holstered two eskrima staffs in his boots and razor-sharp throwing cards in his belt. Geist donned his trench coat, carrying a pair of automatic handguns, a few silver boomerangs, and two tonfa staffs holstered to his boots. Within minutes, Geist’s team was suited up and exiting the safehouse.
That left Quinn and Therese watching six teenagers on the monitors. With nothing interesting happening, Quinn turned to the archer sitting with her feet up. “Why ‘Longshadow’?”
Therese cocked her head to one side. “My justice casts a long shadow.” She snatched one of Quinn’s fries without permission and popped it in her mouth.
Quinn side-eyed Therese, veering between a cack
le and a groan. “Oh, you got jokes now?”
The archer grinned. “I’m learning to speak Quinn.” Her voice caressed the reporter’s name.
Face warming, Quinn glanced away. “Take more lessons,” she snarked, “cuz that was just corny.”
Therese rolled her eyes, her fair complexion blushing. “Then teach me,” the vigilante teased.
Now Quinn felt befuddled and self-conscious. Is she…flirting?
“We can hear you!” Geist on comms broke up the oddly delicious tension, shouting as if on a motorcycle.
Quinn sat up. Therese sobered, focusing on the screens. “Sorry,” she apologized.
Clint’s howling laughs made things more awkward. Quinn fought down the urge to tell the hacker off and kept watching the monitors. This was a more efficient use of time, despite the six teens onscreen not doing much. “Is there audio?”
“Yeah, but not great,” Clint said, recovering. “We were cautious because of that Vargas kid’s hearing.”
Quinn only cared to see Vargas dead after he’d attacked her. Before long, angry voices were audible.
“When will we hear from them?” the tall, muscular Vargas demanded.
“Soon,” Lau assured him. The petite girl seemed piqued. “Once we know how to proceed, we find and kill that reporter bitch, then get the rest of our money.”
Quinn shuddered at the casual mention of her death. She felt Therese watching but ignored her.
“I wish Hugo was here,” a lankly black kid remarked sadly.
The chubby Islander, Gabby, rose up. “He would’ve if Nik and Paul hadn’t attacked him!”
Nikilesh, stout and stern, whirled around. “Hugo never would've joined. Even after Presley’s stunt at that dance.”
All six started yelling, adolescent tempers flaring out of control.
Quinn wondered what Nikilesh meant. Was that why Jordana and her friends were at the hospital? Before she could contemplate further, Geist spoke. “Less than ten minutes out.”
Quinn turned back to the apartment feed, right as Lau quieted her group. This tiny, spiky-haired girl owned the room whenever she spoke. “Hugo was never one of us. Today proved it. Now—”
Vargas placed a hand on Priscilla’s shoulder, glancing around and sniffing the air. “Something’s coming.”
“Our benefactor?” asked Paul Davian with the huge nose.
Nikilesh frowned, stroking on his temple. “No. After the Titan job, we stopped meeting in the same room. Besides, I can’t sense any thoughts.”
Vargas grew more distressed. “I smell…jet exhaust…”
Quinn felt like she’d just swallowed a chicken bone. Only one Vanguard member emitted exhaust. The reporter looked to Therese, who leaped up. “Geist—”
“I heard,” the vigilante interrupted. “I need to see. From a distance.”
Quinn couldn’t believe her ears. “You’ll get slaughtered.”
A loud crash of glass interrupted Quinn or Therese’s protest. Onscreen, the teens appeared startled.
Quinn saw why. The android Dynamo floated into view from three different angles, cobalt and yellow armor gleaming.
“Dynamo is Titan’s killer?” Therese muttered, transfixed.
“Can’t be,” Geist stated firmly.
“Dude, he’s meeting with the fixers,” Quinn exclaimed angrily.
Therese moved closer to the screens. “Then why are they so surprised?”
Quinn frowned. The archer was correct. The kids all looked gobsmacked.
Thin Shady backed up toward the door. “We’re in so much trouble.”
Dynamo mutely raised his hand, discharging a thick yellow beam at Nikilesh Patel. The stubby boy went flying, dead before striking the ground halfway across the room. Smoke curled from a large black hole in his chest.
Another energy blast caught Paul Davian in the face, leaving a scorched stump as his corpse slumped forward. All within seconds.
Quinn shrieked and backpedaled away from the screen.
“Holy shit!” Clint exclaimed.
“Nom de Dieu!” Therese gasped, hand over her chest.
Priscilla cried out for her slain friends. Vargas roared, shifting into a towering, shaggy wolfman.
“What happened?” Geist demanded.
“Dynamo killed two of the fixers,” Therese replied in disbelief.
Priscilla, Gabby, and Thin Shady made for the door. Instead of killers, Quinn saw scared kids running from a murder machine.
Vargas launched himself at the android with claws out. Dynamo casually backhanded him away with an armored fist. With his other hand, he pointed a finger and shot a thin green laser to melt the locks.
Vargas went spinning through the air, ragdoll limp before striking the wall beside Nikilesh with a sickening crack. The huge wolfman slid to the floor, head twisted 180 degrees around.
Quinn couldn’t watch anymore, burying her face in Therese’s shoulder. The archer held her tight as more blasts seared the air, followed by more screams amid the sounds of slaughter.
Chapter 36
Around 7:30 pm, Mom and AJ returned home.
Both had questions Hugo wasn’t ready to answer. “We won’t be seeing Presley again,” he reassured his worried mom.
Thankfully, the Fab Phenoms had practice tonight at Mighty Majestic Dance Studio in Paso Robles. Grace somehow got free studio access two nights a week. The perfect outlet to get Hugo's mind off Presley.
He raced there on foot. The night awakened his senses, darkness and city lights bleeding together in never-ending streaks as he ran. Once Hugo reached an alley three blocks away, he slowed to walking speed.
He spotted Grace’s silhouette outside the studio stretching. Hugo waved.
She beamed and skipped toward him. “Boges! You’re the second arrival. Wale is inside angry dancing like it’s High School Musical.”
Hugo shook his head, laughing. “We gotta wean him off that. The time to angry dance isn’t all the time!” His cellphone buzzed as Grace cackled. He fished the device from his pocket.
The caller ID was a mood killer. Presley.
Hugo wanted to ignore her, but some part of him couldn’t help himself. “What—?”
“Hugo, get over here!” Presley demanded, bald-faced terror in her voice. The background cacophony nearly drowned her out. Furniture tossed around. Bones shattering. Screams. And energy blasts?
Hugo froze. “What the hell?”
“Our client betrayed us,” Presley explained, followed by a bloodcurdling shriek that sounded like Gabby. “We’re getting slaughtered!”
The night around Hugo bled away. Presley, the girl he loved was in danger. “How—?”
“Get over here before we—!” The line went dead.
“Presley?” No answer. Hugo stood paralyzed by terror. Hours ago, a world without Presley was welcome. Not anymore.
“Bogie, what’s wrong?”
Hugo jumped, forgetting Grace’s proximity.
Worry filled her lovely face. “Was that Presley?”
“Gotta go,” Hugo declared. “Emergency!” Not waiting for a reply, he jogged away at normal speed. Once sure that Grace no longer saw him, Hugo raced to Presley’s place as fast as superhumanly possible.
Chapter 37
“Almost there!” Geist called out over the comms, his motorcycle roaring in the background.
His presence wouldn’t have mattered.
Quinn willed herself to watch the monitors again as Priscilla Lau collided into a concrete wall, making a sharp crack.
She and Therese recoiled, helplessly watching the teen slide to the floor. Thanks to her healing factor, Lau had survived five minutes of Dynamo's beatings. She had somehow made a phone call, only for Dynamo to stomp on the phone—and her hand. Lau’s shriek curdled the blood. Quinn’s stomach roiled.
Onscreen, five other bodies lay sprawled around them.
Gabby was facedown. Smoke curled out of the hole in her stomach from an energy blast.
Paul Davi
an lay in a heap after Dynamo savagely rammed a fist into his face. Thin Shady had tried wrapping his elastic limbs around the android to contain him. Dynamo had simply stretched the super until he ripped apart. Now his body was in bloodied tatters all over the apartment.
Priscilla now dragged herself away from Dynamo, elfin features twisted in pain. By how lifeless both legs were, her back was clearly broken.
Quinn rooted for Lau's escape. But Dynamo advanced briskly, palming Priscilla’s entire head and hoisting her up with ease. She looked like a small child.
Studying her with glowing robotic eyes, Dynamo squeezed. Priscilla screamed, clawing at the hand crushing her skull. He drove his other fist into Priscilla’s torso with jackhammer-like force once, twice, three times, each blow harder than before. Quinn turned away again, sobbing. The repeated blows made wet, crunchy noises, shaking Lau like a piñata.
After a dozen rapid-fire punches, Priscilla hung limp in Dynamo’s grasp.
“Please, let that be enough,” Therese prayed.
Yet Dynamo drew his fist back again. Quinn winced.
The android pressed an open palm on Priscilla’s stomach, and fiery energy exploded out from her back.
Dynamo released Priscilla’s head as her body hurtled back, charred bone, blood, and viscera spraying from the hole through her spine.
Her mangled body smacked the floor. She stared at the ceiling with lifeless, bloodshot eyes, not moving.
Dynamo turned and rocketed out of the shattered window where he had entered. What remained was eerie silence and six bodies scattered across the apartment.
“Oh my god,” Clint finally whispered.
Therese and Quinn were both shaking. The reporter couldn’t believe this was real, that she’d seen cold-blooded murders by an android that claimed to be a superhero. Her legs felt so wobbly, she’d have fallen over if Therese hadn’t been holding her. The archer’s overt horror actually surprised Quinn. At least it proved Therese was human.
Geist had to call their names three times before anyone responded. “Bauer. Longshadow. Talk.”
“Dynamo…just killed those six kids,” Clint answered in mournful tones.
The reality slapped Quinn in the face. “Dynamo killed Titan.” The android had been one of her suspects. Quinn clung to the notion, a diseased lifeline in this haze of death. But why? “Either Dynamo did it. Or Ramon programmed him to…”
