by C. C. Ekeke
Sentinel’s six-foot-two inches of chiseled muscle dominated the doorframe, even out of costume. The supersoldier wore a tan leather jacket over a grey shirt with loose blue jeans. His short blond hair wasn’t buzzcut or spiky, styled with minimal product. Quinn found herself giving him a lingering onceover before regaining her wits. “Hi!”
Sentinel’s self-deprecating smile flattered his handsome face with that impossibly square jaw. “Sorry to drop in like this.” His eyes tightened upon noticing Annie. “Oh, you have company.”
Annie, in only an oversized hoodie holding the shock baton, looked ready to jump out of her skin. “I can leave.” She made for the guestroom.
Quinn froze her in place with a stare. “Not happening.” She turned to Sentinel. “Come in, Kurt.”
Annie clumsily placed the baton on the coffee table as Quinn and she sat side by side. Sentinel took the lounge chair, leaning forward. He came off so nervous—in her apartment. Quinn still couldn’t process this.
“I’m in town to speak at a juvenile delinquent center and…” He clasped his hands to stop fidgeting. “I need to talk about Mikaela.”
Knew it. “Sure,” Quinn replied, ignoring Annie’s questioning look.
Sentinel sighed, as if caught stealing from a cookie jar. But Quinn doubted this law-abiding patriot would ever commit such an act. “You know Kaylie and I split up.”
Annie gaped at Quinn, who gave a warning glare. Her friend knew about Seraph and Blur’s affair, while Kurt did not. Quinn planned to keep it that way. “Mikaela told me.”
Kurt nodded and continued. “We’ve had rough patches before. But after the Titan and Morningstar scandal, things imploded. With the avalanche of bad press, sponsors cutting ties, Ray leaving, Robbie’s rebelliousness, Wyldcat’s slow-moving self-destruction.” Bitterness laced those indictments. “Then there's leading Vanguard and saving the world. I’m barely keeping above water.”
His blue eyes, usually so alert, held a fatigue Quinn hadn’t seen before. “I knew Kaylie felt neglected. But I’d been telling her that would change when things calm down. Then Kaylie dumps me out of nowhere!” He sat up, sounding defiant. “She says there’s no room in my world for her anymore besides being a teammate. Doesn’t she understand everything I’m facing?”
Quinn kept her expression blank listening to this bullheaded alpha used to everyone following his orders unquestionably. “Kurt,” she interjected as Sentinel kept ranting. “May I speak?”
He swallowed his knee-jerk annoyance and gestured at Quinn. “Please. It’s why I’m here.”
“I get everything is happening at once,” Quinn began. “But remember saying that Seraph is your MVP?”
Sentinel furrowed his brow while fishing for the memory. “Yes…” He smiled after a moment. “Kaylie’s still my MVP.”
“That’s the problem,” Quinn replied. “She needs to be your partner, not just an important player.”
Sentinel was lost. “She is…” He flinched, visibly pained. “Was my partner.”
“Your partner in everything.” Quinn pointed at him to drive home her argument. While she pitied Sentinel, his mindset had driven Seraph into the arms of another guy. And ultimately away from him. “Share each other’s burdens. Be a team within the team.”
Annie gripped Quinn’s shoulder with a questioning look. The reporter nodded for her to chime in.
“Don’t say you love her once in a while or on anniversaries,” Annie said. “Don’t change things to win her back and then return to status quo after a few weeks.” Her eyes grew unfocused as she no doubt pondered her own messy relationship. “Tell her in little or big ways. With words and actions.” Annie’s gaze refocused on Sentinel. “Every. Day.”
Quinn grinned proudly, rubbing her friend’s back in slow circles.
Sentinel leaned back, looking like someone who’d never seen the world in color until now. “This is a lot to consider.” When he stood, Annie and Quinn followed suit. “Thank you.” He shook the reporter’s hand with bone-crunching strength. Sentinel then turned to Annie with a questioning frown. “Sorry, I never got your name.”
“Giaconda,” Annie cooed, batting those long eyelashes. Her grin was pregnant with lust.
Oh, good Lord. Quinn briskly guided Sentinel to the door. “Good luck, Kurt. I’m rooting for you.”
“Me too!” Annie called from the living room.
Once Quinn locked the door behind Sentinel, Annie was fanning herself with both hands. “I'm changing my freebie five list. Sentinel is much hotter in person. I mean, his arms are thicker than my thighs.” She slapped her curvy bottom for emphasis.
Quinn rolled her eyes and laughed. “Girl, you’re so extra! I’m over it.” Annie had zero chill about her celebrity crushes. But seeing her friend back to her sassy, flirty self was worth it.
An urgent buzzing from Quinn’s phone interrupted their giggle fest.
She gaped at several missed texts, emails, and calls. One work email from Helena had a last-minute request for to replace Jono on a noon N3 panel. Quinn cringed, knowing Jono wouldn’t like that. She then eyed her texts.
Colin: Where are you? Missy got her ass kicked this morning by a telekinetic named Earthshaker.
Quinn scoffed at the awful codename and kept reading.
Colin: He dropped a store on Missy and bolted. She’s banged up but ok. Saved a little kid.
Quinn glowered, this Junction conspiracy burning through her brain. And suddenly, the endgame grew clearer. They’re going to level the Junction, then rebuild it into the pricey high-rise heaven it was supposed to be. Would Damián Hazard turn certain high-rises into crime havens? And what about those sponsors’ stores that remained undamaged in Missy’s battles?
Speaking of Missy…. Quinn skimmed through news app headlines showcasing a bruised yet resilient Missy emerging from the rubble with a child in her arms.
Quinn gasped, the realization a cold slap to the face. The courageous superhero fighting to save Junction residents from an earthquake. That sight would reframe Missy into a top-tier superhero. And make every fledging hero want to be managed by Super Solutions.
“Sweet lord...” Quinn's brain swimming. The cellphone slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor.
Annie was at her side immediately. “What’s wrong?”
Quinn hid her nausea behind a harried grin. “Work’s gonna be a bear today. I’ll explain on the car ride to your hotel. Go shower.” She shooed her friend toward the bathroom.
“Cool,” Annie stated, walking backward. “Can I crash here tonight? I need a day before talking to Johnny.” Her voice caught at the end.
“My home is always your home,” Quinn agreed. “Text Johnny so he knows you’re okay.”
Annie brightened. “Luv ya, Quinnie.”
Quinn didn’t fake her smile this time. “Love you more.”
“Love ya most!” Her friend twirled about and disappeared into the bathroom.
Quinn stopped smiling. Upon hearing the shower start, she snatched her phone from the floor. Thank God for protector cases. She activated an encryption app and made a call.
“Quinn,” a growling voice answered.
“Geist,” Quinn said, not hiding her panic. “I think I know Damián Hazard’s plan.”
Chapter 41
Cool drafts buffeted Greyson’s face. His heart drummed from euphoria as he levitated high off the earth. The attack on Merenwjick began today. Should House Bowen fall, then House Fourmon in Côte Royale would certainly surrender.
Yesterday, AmeriForce had laid out Greyson’s role in their strategy. But he had devised his own plan with Connie and CJ to counter the rogue team's forthcoming dictatorship. Whether it would work…Greyson had no clue.
He inspected his armored military fatigues. Beneath that was glowing neon paint from the fighting pits, a tree-like emblem covering his torso and a bright forehead dot. Far beneath his feet, lush jungle sprawled in every direction. Somewhere in that sea of tropical shrubbery, Ame
riForce’s army waited for the signal to attack.
Jutting out of the jungle were tiny greyish concrete gun turrets protecting Merenwjick from intruders. From this high, the towers resembled buttons. Greyson had to be over ten thousand feet up, hidden in fluffy billows. On one side was a massive Noordaal warship, which dwarfed Greyson. The rusty, iron-grey battleship had to weigh several tons. But thanks to Greyson’s gravity powers, the floating ship was lighter than a bubble. An identical warship hovered on his other side, its gravity also negated. Carrying its absent weight was Solomon Shen, looking so tiny beneath his gigantic cargo.
Despite his immense tasks, Greyson watched Solomon curiously. “You okay, big man?”
Solomon looked thoroughly tickled. “It’s so light, yea,” he exclaimed. “How ya do it?”
The boyish innocence in that question made Greyson smile. “Magic,” he called over a loud wail of wind and winked. The time for levity, figuratively speaking, was brief. “Tigre?” Greyson declared over his earpiece. “Whenever you’re ready.” He swallowed his vitriol for AmeriForce. Strike when the time's right, he reminded himself.
“Almost in position,” the AmeriForce leader purred over the comms. “Drawing the Bowen and Fourmon forces further out.” The plan was to place a small AmeriForce unit three miles outside Merenwjick, with scant ordnance or organization. Easy pickings for Houses Bowen and Fourmon’s military. Or so they believed.
Silence ensued, interrupted by sharp breezes. Greyson and Solomon waited.
“NOW,” Tigre roared.
Greyson turned to Solomon. “Drop!”
The Amaranthine tossed the gigantic warship down as Greyson quintupled its gravitational pull. Solomon plunged after to steer the ship in the right direction. Both shrank quickly until the blanket of green jungle swallowed them up. A distant boom echoed across the land, mushrooms of dust rising from where the battleship struck.
“Payload delivered,” Tigre confirmed.
Greyson’s smile was grim. No doubt thousands of Fourmon and Bowen soldiers had been crushed by the airborne surprise. He clenched a fist, restoring the second warship’s gravity times ten.
The huge warship dropped with a whoosh, almost sucking Greyson down too, until it landed on an invisible barrier above the forest.
The forcefield. Greyson reached out with both hands, clutching the tether of the warship’s gravity, amplifying it. Crackling light started flashing, the forcefield straining under the warship’s increasing weight. All gun towers swiveled, peppering the warship. Greyson increased the ship’s gravity times twenty-five. His muscles burned from the strain, sweat beading his forehead before the winds cooled him off. The forcefield held...
Until a thunderclap sounded below, as loud as if Greyson stood on the ground. The forcefield ruptured under the strain in sparking showers. The warship crash-landed in the middle of Merenwjick. The impact echoed even louder across Amarantha than the first warship.
Greyson released both ships and sagged in exhaustion. “Did it work?” he gasped.
“Forcefields are destroyed,” Frostknife confirmed, joy in her voice. “Forces east of Merenwjick, move in and breach the gates. Scorcher. Pummel the backup forcefields now that the main one's crippled. Hirsch, you know the drill. Enter, seek, and destroy.”
“On it,” Greyson said with a nod. He increased his own pull to the earth, floating hundreds of feet down in minutes. Greyson landed light as a feather on a gun turret.
All around him, Merenwjick bled. Eruptions of war spouted from every corridor of the jungle-based city, brutal yet strangely beautiful. AmeriForce’s military had breached Merenwjick from two sides. AmeriForce's airborne supers fought House Bowen's supers, flooding the sky with energy blasts and brawls. Below, the warship’s mangled iron carcass left a massive ugly gash across several city blocks.
Greyson climbed down into the turret’s control center. Three soldiers manning the guns lay dazed and wounded. The forcefield explosion had knocked them silly. Without a word, Greyson raised a hand at the trio, then hesitated. They’re unconscious. Killing them is unnecessary. Greyson increased their guns' gravity until the weapons cracked. Now he tapped his earpiece to find Rodrigo.
“Fastball, where you at?” Using codenames felt nostalgic.
“Fifth level in the south tower,” the Amaranthine replied.
Greyson soared across the war-torn cityscape to the location. His head swam by the time he reached the other end of the city. Greyson was almost running on fumes. Rodrigo greeted him with a smile in a hallway sporadically lit up by sprays of sparks from ruined lights. Behind Rodrigo was a corridor of broken bodies clad in Bowen military regalia.
Greyson gave the corpses a dispassionate glance, chilled by his growing numbness to the sight. “Okay, Fastball,” he said as they weaved around the maze of bodies. “Where to?”
Rodrigo pointed down the bloodstained corridors. “Power generators at the end of the hallway, yea.” Bright sparks briefly revealed Rodrigo’s face, aged by war. “Do your thing to take down the power grid. Then I do my thing.”
They reached the door guarding the generators, locked and secured to keep out unauthorized personnel. Greyson raised his hands to use his gravity powers on the door. Although tired, he had enough in the tank for this task.
Rodrigo abruptly grabbed his shoulders, breaking Greyson’s concentration. “Wait!”
He turned and dropped his arms in concern. “What’s wrong?”
Rodrigo shook his head, panicked and unsteady in the shadows. “You can’t go there.”
The worry was appreciated, but Greyson wouldn't let that stop him. “Rigo. The generators—”
“It’s a trap.” Rodrigo pulled Greyson back. “I was supposed to lead you into an ambush. They knew you’d be tired after dropping the ships.”
“They” being AmeriForce’s Leaders. Frostknife. Tigre. Radiant. Somehow, Greyson knew all wasn’t forgiven. Yet the treachery wounded. He jerked away. “You betrayed me,” Greyson said, low and angry.
Rodrigo shook his fluffy-haired head, tears in his eyes. “I pretended to prove my loyalty. I planned to tell you…AHHH.” He cried out and collapsed, too heavy to stand.
“Liar!” Greyson activated his powers on instinct. Hatred ruled him as he stared down at this traitorous boy. “You got cold feet.”
Rodrigo wept uncontrollably. A pitiful sight. “You're right,” he confessed between sobs, his head too heavy to lift. “AmeriForce is bad for Amarantha. They’re power-mad!”
Greyson scoffed, unmoved. “I should kill you,” he snarled. “Make it so brutal, no one would recognize any part of you.” Greyson clenched his fist, increasing the gravity of Rodrigo’s bones. Elation filled him at the Amaranthine’s screams.
“Go ahead, son. Embrace your baser instincts.” The familiar voice whipped Greyson’s head left. The wizened, balding form of Aaron Hirsch stood beside him. Greyson almost screamed.
Then he remembered. I killed Dad. Another hallucination.
Dad sneered. “Be the killer I know you are. End him!”
The urge was overwhelming. Rodrigo couldn't be trusted.
“Don't, Grey.” Another voice turned him around. Lauren, beautiful as ever in that slinky dress from the bioengineering conference they’d attended. Her beseeching face squeezed Greyson’s heart. “Rigo made a mistake. Give him another chance.”
Dad shook angrily. “That bastard had his chance!”
“Rigo came around when you needed him," Ghost-Lauren rebutted.
Greyson clutched his head from all the voices. Nothing made sense, even his own thoughts. He just wanted them to stop.
“I’m sorry, Greyson,” Rodrigo wailed, limbs quivering as gravity increased. “I should’ve listened—”
“SHADDUP!” Greyson barked. Dad and Lauren’s ghosts vanished. Only Rodrigo remained. Despite his seething anger, Greyson restored the boy's gravity with a flick of his hand. The Amaranthine slumped over, gasping for air.
Greyson was too angry to feel we
ary. He paced back and forth, gaze locked on his former friend. “What was their plan?”
Rodrigo struggled to a kneeling position, hollowed out. “An AmeriForce’s soldier is waiting to snipe you behind that door. They’d say House Bowen killed you,” A racking sob shuddered through Rodrigo. “Then AmeriForce would use Connie’s grief to control her.”
The plan to manipulate Connie with his death rocketed Greyson’s hate to venomous, ungovernable heights. These people were repulsive. No more waiting. He crouched, grabbing Rodrigo’s hair and jerking back so their eyes met. “Where are they?”
“Top level of the fortress,” the Amaranthine blurted out.
This could be another trap. But something told Greyson that Rodrigo wasn’t an award-winning actor. He let the youngster go and rose. Something felt amiss at sparing Rodrigo. He shook away the worry. “AmeriForce goes down today.” Greyson turned to leave the corridor.
Rodrigo scrambled to his feet. “I’ll come too.”
Greyson pivoted sharply. His withering stare froze the Amaranthine in place. “Stay the fuck away from me.” He kept marching toward the end of the hall. Rodrigo didn’t follow.
Greyson found an elevator shaft but no elevator. That allowed him to float to the very top floor, attaching himself to the ceiling's gravitational pull. After dragging the elevator door open, Greyson stepped onto another graveyard. The amount of Bowen soldiers piled everywhere was borderline cartoonish—crushed, slashed, scorched. Greyson covered his nose to block the stench. He floated just off the floor to mute his arrival, moving toward a light several doors down the corridor. No one guarded the corridor, making this approach easy.
Soon voices floated out of that room. “I don’t like this,” a man explicated. “She’s a child.”
“A dangerous and powerful child,” Tigre countered.
Frostknife supported him. “We know what she did to Summerhill when strapped to this amplifier.”
Greyson slowed. House Bowen’s secret weapon had been a power-amplified super? It stunned Greyson which side was worse. He approached unhurriedly and listened.
