by C. C. Ekeke
“But House Bowen orchestrated that attack,” the first person reasoned. “She was a captive.”
Frostknife spoke again with less patience. “Lord Bowen had been powering her up to destroy one of the cities we’ve captured. She has to die.”
Greyson stiffened as this debate continued. Peeking into the room, he assessed his opponents.
Frostknife and Tigre stood with their backs to him on the room’s farthest side. Radiant’s glowing form faced them. Carga, the hulking, pink-skinned powerhouse of a woman, stood nearby. There were four other soldiers he recognized, all local Amaranthines, including a bark-skinned super named Bosca. A handful of bodies were splayed across the floor, mangled and ruined. By the fancy clothing remnants, Greyson could guess they were either House Bowen representatives or members.
“She’s one of us, Tigre,” Bosca spoke, the voice who differed with Frostknife and Tigre.
All that paled before a sizable golden sphere AmeriForce gathered around. A girl floated in the center, probably in her teens with wavy black hair. House Bowen’s deterrent against the other cities of Amarantha. Her abilities must have been insanely powerful.
Radiant shouted over everyone. “Frostknife and Tigre are right. With Carolina dead, her brother will do whatever it takes to bring all this island humans to heel—”
Greyson had heard enough. He triggered his power like a switch. Striding into the room, Greyson latched on to the gravity of everyone standing and waved his hands. A chorus of shouts serenaded his ears as AmeriForce and their bodyguards crumpled. Now everyone was pinned to steel flooring. Greyson stood over Tigre and Frostknife imperiously.
“Slaughtering children now?” he remarked in blistering disgust.
“Greyson?” Tigre failed to hide surprise. “How are you here?”
Greyson cocked his head to one side with a sarcastic smirk. “That’s not happiness to see me.” His smile vanished. He cranked up everyone’s gravity. Frostknife groaned in discomfort. Tigre yowled. Bosca’s bark-like face scrunched up.
“You won't turn this island into your personal kingdom,” Greyson declared. “Amarantha deserves better.” From what Greyson had constantly seen, the mantle of hero always poisoned the holder. But Greyson wouldn’t let these false saviors ruin this island like the royals had.
“Who else can govern this island?” Radiant demanded, oozing with gross entitlement. He struggled to stand, glowing with impotent rage. “You’re making a mistake, Greyson.”
“Like when you almost killed me?” Greyson threw back, shutting Radiant up. “Or killing this girl?”
“She’s the most powerful telekinetic anyone has encountered,” Frostknife spat. “Too dangerous to control!”
Greyson looked again at the teen floating in this golden sphere with such a familiar face. He stumbled back in recognition. “My God,” he murmured, hand on his throat. “Solomon’s sister, Carolina. You were going to frame House Bowen for her murder. Like you tried framing them for mine.” Greyson stared at these beasts in human skin. “How sick are you people?”
Frostknife, pinned to the floor, looked unapologetic. “Solomon already hated the royals for separating him from his sister. Killing his parents. Making him their gladiator. Passing him around the human elite to slake their carnal lusts.”
That last point drew Greyson back to Lady Thuraya, how she’d given him a choice to be her plaything. Clearly no one had given Solomon any choice. Greyson shuddered.
“This will remind him what these humans are capable of,” Tigre added through bared teeth.
“By making Solomon your pet destroyer?” Greyson asked in anguish. “There’s always another way.”
“Like murdering the Hurricane? And your own father?” Tigre smirked at Greyson’s surprise. “Internet's been restored. You and Connie are quite famous in America.”
Greyson trembled with rage and betrayal and sorrow. Once again, superheroes had corrupted something pure. Titan had been a false beacon of justice while abusing his power. Hurricane had used Greyson and others to do his dirty work. Now AmeriForce had corrupted a resistance to liberate Amarantha’s supers, moving to become dictators. Greyson ached to destroy these so-called heroes. But a Statesider killing AmeriForce without evidence of their crimes would make them martyrs. He had to do this the right away. “I’ll let the citizens of Amarantha decide your fates.” He moved to free Carolina Shen.
A sudden stampede of clanking footsteps turned Greyson about. A shiny boulder of a man came charging. Greyson raised his hands to defend himself and use his powers. But the man ran too fast, driving a wrecking ball shoulder into Greyson’s stomach.
He felt something break—quite a few somethings. Suddenly, he lay on his back, curled up in agony. His stomach was on fire, bone rubbing against bone. Greyson hadn’t seen his attacker coming, which had been the point.
The metallic man stood over him, a blank look on his face. “You’re not doing anything, traitor.”
With Greyson down, his hold over Tigre, Radiant, and the others stopped. AmeriForce were back on their feet and triumphant.
The metal-skinned man hauled Greyson up by the throat. The simplest movement shot explosions of pain through his midsection. His ribs were beyond shattered. The metal man held him in a rear chokehold, which barely allowed breath. Using his powers was useless when everything hurt so much.
“Thanks, Metallico,” Frostknife complimented, adjusting her combat suit. “Hold him steady.” She turned to Tigre in pure disgust. “Rigo had one job. Spineless boy.”
Tigre shrugged. “Guess we’ll have to handle business ourselves.” He nodded at the golden sphere, now surrounded by AmeriForce’s lackeys. “Frostknife, kill the girl. Freeze her just enough to look like she was already dead. I’ll deal with the Statesider.” The catlike man unsheathed yellow curled claws from his fingers. He inched closer.
In his condition, Greyson was powerless to stop him. “Don’t do this,” he begged. Every breath was torture, like his lungs were being dragged across a bed of knives. Metallico’s grip was literally iron, unyielding. “You’re here to save Amarantha. Not become what you're supposed to be fighting.”
Radiant laughed. Bosca and Carga looked away, ashamed but unwilling to budge. Two other Amaranthines displayed similar reactions. Frostknife rolled her eyes and placed both hands on the sphere holding Carolina. A frosty condensation from her fingers spread across the globe.
And unlike the last few times he’d faced death, Greyson struggled like crazy. He wasn’t ready. Not when monsters like these walked around calling themselves heroes. “Please…don't.” The rest of his words were lost in violent, painful coughing that caused blood to dribble down his lips.
Tigre stood before him, calm yet remorseful. “AmeriForce lost so much to the royals before. Our teammates. Our countries. AmeriForce won’t lose again. You and Carolina have become obstacles keeping us from Amarantha.”
Tigre poked Greyson’s stomach with a curved claw. “This will hurt.” His amber eyes glittered as he dug in, piercing flesh. “But I’ll be quick.”
And Greyson screamed.
Chapter 42
Quinn sat in a SLOCO Daily studio, half-listening as Ben Halbrook and other Behind the Cape contributors quarreled over the Elite. Mercifully, Rebecca Reyes wasn’t on today’s show.
The Junction conspiracy dominated Quinn’s focus. Another search of the Junction sponsors for Missy’s profile yielded new revelations. As of two days ago, all were owned by Solstice Equity, with no sale announcements. My theory about leveling the Junction is right. Quinn felt no satisfaction when thousands of people could perish.
“Quinn,” Halbrook stated, drawing her back into the debate. “Thoughts on the Elite claiming to be the next Vanguard?”
Quinn chuckled, ready to answer. “The Elite are powerful and formidable. But Mathias is correct.” She sobered. “Protecting bystanders and containing collateral damage is as important as stopping the bad guys. The Elite have been active less than six mont
hs,” she continued. “Time will tell if they're the next Vanguard, the first Elite, or a group of grim-dark, uber-violent blowhards.”
Other panelists digested her words. Halbrook smiled. “Rumor has it that you’re profiling Missy Magnificent’s latest comeback.”
Quinn’s forced smile hid her distaste. “Correct.”
Halbrook perked up like a prospector hitting an oil gusher. “Is Missy’s comeback legit this time?”
Not after Missy learns the truth. Quinn went the cheeky route. “Wanna know something?”
Halbrook’s eyes widened. “Yes.” The other contributors leaned in.
Quinn smiled from ear to ear. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
The host recoiled playfully. “Such intrigue.” He faced the main camera. “On that note, Behind the Cape on N3 returns after this commercial break.”
Once the show ended, Quinn exchanged small talk with other contributors before exiting the studio. She had to tell Helena everything. That would determine her next steps. An elevator ride later, she reached the main editorial floor. Once within eyeshot of Helena’s office, Quinn stopped cold. The editor-in-chief and Jono were in a muted shouting match. Big gesturing and furious expressions from both. Regrettably, the glass walls were soundproofed. Most employees passing or sitting snuck glances at the fight.
Finally, Jono threw up his hands in exasperation, shoved open the door, and stormed out. Helena leaned on her desk, head bowed. She looked visibly and emotionally drained.
Jono plodded in Quinn’s direction, vibrating with anger.
“Jono,” she greeted.
The Irishman glared daggers into her and headed for the lobby.
Quinn watched him in alarm. Hopefully, Helena dumped him. She brushed off the wish and entered Helena’s office, closing the door. The editor-in-chief didn’t even notice.
Quinn moved closer. Helena’s shell-shocked expression was worrying. “Helena?”
The editor-in-chief lifted her head, eyes sparking back to life. “Hey, QB.”
Quinn wanted to discuss her story, but Helena’s wellbeing meant more. “What was that?” she asked.
Helena had a pinched look, as if weighing whether to share. Her resolve caved quickly. “Jono thinks I'm undermining him. He didn’t like losing the N3 contributor spot.”
Jono was a talented writer, headed two editorial sections, dated the editor-in-chief. Yet Quinn couldn’t believe how insecure, petty, and small Jono was. “Not that I mind, but why the switch?”
“N3 made the call.” Helena pushed off her desk. “Audiences like you more.” She sat, shaking her head as if to regain clarity. “He comes off too smug, apparently.”
Quinn snorted. “Smart audiences. Sorry,” she added upon Helena’s warning scowl.
The editor-in-chief reclined in her seat, looking at her ceiling. “Jono also hates the leeway I give you.”
Sharp guilt gripped Quinn, knowing Helena and Jono's issues started after she'd been chosen to interview the Vanguard over him. Since then, their relationship continued declining. “I’m sorry for causing any issues,” Quinn apologized.
“No.” Helena swatted off the apology. “I’m just protecting you. I know how Jono is around employees he sees as competition. Plus...” She squeezed her eyes shut briefly, conveying a pain that Quinn felt across the room. “There are grumblings from HR about potential sexual harassment cases.”
“OH,” Quinn gasped, catching the plural in that statement. Like Jono wasn't gross enough.
Helena slapped herself on both cheeks to wake up. “I’m handling it,” she stated, brisk and blunt. “You’re here for work reasons. Speak.”
“The Missy profile,” Quinn said.
Helena gestured at the chairs in front of her desk. “Talk to me.”
For half an hour, Quinn revealed all, including images from Therese and even unverified threads.
When the reporter finished, Helena’s mouth hung open. “What. The. Fuck?”
“Right?” Quinn exclaimed.
Helena glanced beyond the glass walls suspiciously. “Who else knows?”
“A few sources.”
Helena’s eyes gleamed. “Same ones from the Morningstar exposé?”
Quinn uncurled in her seat, sensing the probe behind her boss’s query. “Yep,” she conveyed tersely.
Helena’s gaze lingered before she backed down and exhaled. “Wow. How much can you prove?”
“Hazard's endgame is still unconfirmed,” Quinn explained. “But by Solstice Equity’s land grabs, it’s the only thing that makes sense. Not only that. I searched all the Junction businesses we have sponsorship deals with. Solstice Equity bought them two weeks after our deals finalized. But they are acting like the original owners are still in charge.”
“Wow…” Helena’s trim figure sagged in her seat. “And you’re sure Missy doesn’t know?”
Quinn wanted to confirm. Then she recalled Seraph’s affair with Blur. And Titan’s Boy Scout image being false. “I confronted Missy about the staged fights. Unless she’s a good actor, I’m sure.” Quinn hoped Missy Magnificent was different, flaws aside. “She’s just a damaged girl who fell for the wrong guy.”
The comment rocked Helena like a physical blow. “I can relate.” Her eyes dulled over.
Quinn’s heart ached for Helena, but she knew her boss would shut down if she pried further. “Clearly, I can’t continue with Missy's profile. What do you want to do?”
Helena stared at the ceiling for several seconds, then looked back at Quinn with renewed verve. “Get rock-solid proof and write the Junction story. I’ll handle the sponsorships.”
“You sure?”
“Of course.” Helena’s smile was infectious. “You’ve proven yourself constantly. And I trust you.”
Quinn sprang to her feet, ready to conquer the world. “Thanks, boss!”
“Please be careful,” Helena warned.
“Always am,” Quinn called over her shoulder.
Upon reaching the parking lot, Quinn called Missy. The hero deserved to know everything. “Missy?” she said when the superhero answered. “Where are you?”
“On patrol with Colin.” Missy sounded blithely unaware. “We’re talking about my foundation’s block party two nights from now. It’s for the businesses damaged from my battles.”
Quinn almost tripped over her own feet. That has to be when the Junction gets demolished. Dread prickled her flesh. “Let's meet. Alone.” Realizing how panicked she sounded, Quinn calmed herself. “To discuss the block party. Tell no one.”
“Sure,” Missy answered, a smile in her voice. “I have a house in Morro Bay. I’ll text you the address.”
After that, Quinn went on a texting spree.
ME: Get all SLOCO Daily personnel out of the Junction ASAP. Play it cool and go.
Colin: Done.
She texted Geist through her encryption app.
ME: Hazard's attack is in two days. Getting Missy away from the Junction now.
Missy’s text came with her address. Quinn forwarded that to Geist, then to Helena with a note.
ME: I’ll be at Missy’s house. Address below.
A safeguard in case anything happened to her. For some reason, the possibility no longer petrified Quinn. With that, she drove off.
When she reached Missy’s beachside estate, the superhero was outside waiting in costume. “Hi, Quinn,” she greeted with a hug. “What’s the emergency?”
Quinn waited until they were inside Missy’s living room. “I’m gonna be blunt.” She grasped the slender superhero’s shoulders. “You’re being played.”
Missy stopped smiling. “What?”
Quinn grimaced, hating herself for revealing this. But better Missy heard this from her and not every news network. “Monty has been paying actors to fight you and lose.”
Missy jerked from Quinn’s grasp. “That’s…not true.” Her hooded costume glittered under the living room lights as her eyes gleamed in outrage. “You’re lying!”
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“I’m not, Missy.” Quinn stood firm. “There's more. He's using you in a scheme to level the Junction, reframe your image so Monty’s superhero management agency gains clients, and rebuild the Junction into some crime haven hidden in overpriced high-rises.” It sounded insane saying all this. But after the evidence Quinn had seen, her belief remained adamant.
Missy quivered with fury. “Monty was right. You don’t believe in me, just like everyone else! SLOCO Daily only came to watch Missy Magnificent self-destruct in realtime.”
Quinn flinched from the accusation. “That’s not true.”
“Fuck you!” the superhero cried. “No wonder you think I can’t win my own fights. Heaven forbid Missy Magnificent triumphs without the Extreme Teens.”
Quinn didn’t have time for this. It was only a matter of time before Montgomery Major realized his wife was missing. “Listen to me—”
The sound of the door opening turned both women’s heads. “Missy?”
Quinn almost swore, something she hadn’t done in years.
Montgomery Major moseyed into the living room. His expensive suit looked cheap on that unremarkable physique. Monty's ratty face grew alarmed when he saw Quinn. “What’s all this?”
“Monty!” Missy launched herself at him with a desperate hug. “Thank God…”
Quinn’s stomach flip-flopped. The situation had grown critical. “Missy.” She stayed calm, despite her fear. “Please listen.”
Missy whipped around with a hateful glare. “Get out before I throw you out!”
Montgomery glanced from Quinn to his wife. “Dearest. What has she done to upset you?”
Missy started to cry, jabbing a petulant finger at Quinn. “She says all my fights were staged. And that you were using me to level the Junction.”
Panic fluttered across Montgomery’s face, gone in a flash. But Quinn saw, confirming her suspicions.
“Sounds crazy, babe,” Montgomery lied smoothly. He gave Quinn a stern look, playing the protective spouse. “You’ve overstayed your welcome, Ms. Bauer. This SLOCO Daily profile is over.”
Quinn knew she’d lost Missy, who stood united with Monty. Until a last-ditch gamble popped into her head. “Would Damián Hazard call this fiction?” she inquired casually.
