by Matt Cowper
“I will do no such thing!” the woman shouted. “You are gravely injured! Why, you can barely speak! To rejoin the fight would do your body irreparable harm!”
“Fine,” Nightstriker said. “I’ll do it myself.”
His hands moved slowly by Nightstriker standards, but he was still able to yank a syringe from her bag, plunge it into his arm, and inject half its contents into his body before someone grabbed his hand and knocked the needle away.
“Damn you!” the woman said. She looked like she wanted to slap Nightstriker, and wasn’t scared one bit of the repercussions. “That was––”
“Overdrive Juice,” Nightstriker said. “Mainly used to give superhumans a power boost, but it still works on normal humans.” He rose, and Sam saw a rippling effect move through his body, like someone was poking his muscles with electric charges. His voice now sounded more energetic, more driven. “Fly me back down there, Blaze. We finish this now.”
“No way!” Sam said. “Like the doctor says, you’re only hurting yourself more! Stay here, sir! We can handle this!”
“No!” Nightstriker roared. The noise caused everyone to jump back; Sam had been around superhumans with sonic screams who weren’t as loud. “I refuse to rest while others fight. I’m getting back down there, no matter what it takes – even if I have to fight all the people on this rooftop, or jump off this building and break both my legs.”
Sam sighed. “Come on, then.” The doctor and the others nearby looked at them in disbelief. “He’s Nightstriker. He means what he says.”
“Thank you, Blaze,” Nightstriker said softly. “You all have already performed admirably today, and while I don’t know how exactly you found me, I’m sure it was a stroke of genius. But we can debrief later. Let’s go.”
Chapter Eighteen
Nightstriker
The Overdrive Juice surged through his body like lava. He realized that he wasn’t healed, that his body had just been given a temporary boost, that all his pain, both physical and mental, had been locked in some other room for the time being, but it was still difficult not to let the feeling of invincibility intoxicate him.
This was why he usually steered clear of drugs. There was no doubt that they could enhance his already world-class abilities, but he’d known people with incredible mental toughness who still fell prey to addiction. He wouldn’t take that chance.
But there were times, when the situation was desperate, that he’d used Overdrive Juice. Only three times in his entire career, and he’d regretted his usage for weeks afterward, but it had helped him get the job done.
This was the fourth time, and he planned to make the Giftgiver pay dearly for forcing his hand.
Blaze was wobbling in the air as they descended. Nightstriker didn’t want to burden the kid with all this weight, but he had to get to the fight quickly. He clung tightly to Blaze and hoped they’d land before the fiery hero could no longer handle the strain.
They dropped through the hole in the warehouse’s roof, and when they were about ten feet from the floor, Nightstriker let go and landed in a roll. Blaze floated down, rubbing his back and shoulders.
“I’m sorry to push you like that, Blaze,” Nightstriker said. “But necessity means we have to do things we wouldn’t normally. Now, where is the Giftgiver? You sealed him in that trench, correct?”
“Yeah, he was over here,” Blaze replied. He flew over to the trench, and Nightstriker jogged after him. But the steel beam that Blaze had placed over it had been moved, by someone with enormous strength: the metal had been squeezed and warped like putty. Inside the trench there was nothing besides some fresh bloodstains and scraps of scorched white robe.
“Dammit!” Blaze said. “I knew I should’ve––”
“You did what you thought was best,” Nightstriker said. He looked around the warehouse, but there was no sign of anyone else, nor a blood trail. “We’ll just have to hope that this net you all have set up is tight enough. Where is everyone else? I hear fighting outside.”
“Slab, Buckshot, Gillespie, and some others were going to assault this warehouse head-on, while me and Metal Gal dropped in from above,” Blaze said. “I don’t know where Gal is, though….”
“Come on,” Nightstriker said, running towards the rusted door he’d seen used so many times during his captivity. He kicked it open and jumped outside – into chaos.
He was standing in an open area that had once been a loading and parking area. Dozens of tractor trailers had once lined up here, and dozens of employees had once parked in the white-lined spots. The warehouse had been in disuse for years, however, and normally this area contained nothing but weeds and dust. Now, though, it had at least forty superhumans running, flying, blasting, transforming, rolling, flipping, or skidding across it. It was like a fireworks show, a football game, a ballet, and a circus all combined into one.
In the middle of it all was Slab, Buckshot, and Gillespie, fighting with everything they had. Buckshot was hitting everything with unerring accuracy – hopefully with rubber bullets or some other non-lethal measures – and reloading so quickly even Nightstriker couldn’t see his fingers moving. Slab’s blows were so powerful Nightstriker could feel them in his teeth, even from this distance. Gillespie had a dozen contraptions she was using to take out their attackers, from flash grenades to pulse rifles to shock gloves. Her body was also a weapon: if a superhuman managed to get within five feet of her, she disabled them with an assortment of precise martial arts moves.
Several superhumans on the fringes noticed the two new entrants to the battle royal. One woman that looked like a walking tree shot a vine at Nightstriker. Five minutes ago, it would have snagged his ankle and slammed him to the ground like a doll. But with the Overdrive Juice giving him new life, he could no longer be caught so easily. The tree-woman’s eyes went wide as Nightstriker flipped over her vine and rained dozens of punches down on her.
Now that he was no longer close to Nightstriker, Blaze didn’t have to worry so much about controlling his powers. A flash like a solar flare bathed the area with light, and the temperature jumped twenty degrees. Nightstriker watched as his protégé took out five superhumans with a blast that moved like some sort of mythological fire serpent.
More superhumans fell, and the Elites seemed to have energy to spare, and plenty of support from allies stationed both on the ground and on the rooftops, but Nightstriker knew it couldn’t last. For every superhuman they KOed, two more sprang up from somewhere. Expertise and resolve counted for a great deal, but so did overwhelming numbers.
They’d thought they could take on the Giftgiver’s army before, and it had led to Nightstriker’s capture. He had to admit that, untrained or not, these superhumans posed a grave threat. Plans needed to be adjusted, egos needed to be tamped down, if they wanted to ensure no one got captured again.
And the Giftgiver was nowhere to be seen. Nightstriker needed to get to the others, form a plan….
He began to plow through the mob, but then he noticed something overhead. The air was filled with colorful energy beams, fireballs, and all sorts of other projectiles, but they all seemed to be converging on one spot. Squinting, Nightstriker saw that most of the airborne superhumans had targeted Metal Gal. Her leg-thrusters kept her aloft, and she’d turned her arms into rectangular shields, but the projectiles were coming from too many angles for her to block or dodge everything. It didn’t look like she could maintain her bodily integrity much longer.
“Blaze!” Nightstriker shouted. The intensity of his voice caused several of his opponents to gape in terror, and Blaze’s head whipped towards him like he’d pulled it with a rope. “Help Metal Gal!”
Blaze looked up and saw his teammate’s plight. Nightstriker thought the kid was already infuriated, but to his surprise the temperature jumped another ten degrees, and the fire crackling around Blaze was now so intense Nightstriker could barely make out his features. Blaze burst into the airborne gang attacking Metal Gal like a meteor, knocking a dozen of them out o
f the sky in an instant.
And they doubted Nightstriker when he said Blaze had Class S potential. That one attack seemed to turn the tide of battle. One second, the superhumans were as ferocious as Spartans – the next, they looked like they’d been pulled from a bright, euphoric dream back into dull reality.
Most of the superhumans stopped fighting and ran towards each other, like they were being pulled together by some invisible magnet. After a moment of confusion, Nightstriker knew exactly what they were doing. He’d seen it before, when they captured him. They were linking hands so someone with teleportation powers could send them away from this lost battle and to whatever other hideout they had.
“Stop them!” Nightstriker shouted. “They’re trying to use a teleporter to retreat!”
It looked like his teammates understood what was happening. Slab pounded the ground, trying to create a fissure to separate the superhumans. Buckshot and Gillespie tossed explosives to block their advance. Nightstriker subdued as many as he could with his hands and feet. But there was too much area to cover, and several superhumans had either been instructed or had decided on their own to stay behind, and were fighting relentlessly to protect their retreating comrades.
The group linked hands around a rusted-out car, and blue light surrounded them. There was a “bamf” sound, like when Nightstriker had been abducted, and they were gone.
Nightstriker’s rage flowed through his battered body, seeming to touch every cell. Coupled with the Overdrive Juice, he felt like he could fight the entire world if need be. His rage didn’t manifest as Blaze’s had, with roaring fire and searing heat, but the few remaining superhumans clearly knew they were in trouble. Nightstriker moved through them like a tornado, downing even the toughest-looking ones with two or three blows.
His teammates on the ground looked equally pissed off, and the superhumans who had remained behind so others could escape were quickly neutralized. Overhead, Blaze and Metal Gal sent the rogue superhumans who could fly crashing into dumpsters, buildings, or the cracked concrete. One superhuman who looked like his skin was coated in gold shrugged off their attacks, though, and mocked their incompetence – until Blaze again turned up the heat and blasted the man out of sight.
With that, the battle was over. All the superhumans had been defeated, and the Elites were tired and bruised, but alive.
The war, though, was still going on. Nightstriker ran over to Slab, Buckshot, and Gillespie, and Blaze and Metal Gal floated down to join them.
“Are you OK?!” Gillespie asked, grabbing Nightstriker by the shoulders. “Did they––”
“No time for that!” Nightstriker shouted. “Where’s the Giftgiver?”
“We thought that bastard was in the warehouse,” Buckshot said, quickly reloading his pistols.
“He was,” Nightstriker said. “Blaze trapped him, but someone helped him escape. None of you saw him?”
“No, we haven’t,” Slab said, “but it’s been crazy out here. He coulda easily snuck away.”
“Dammit!” Nightstriker said. “Gillespie, check with your people. Someone had to have seen something!”
Gillespie stepped aside and started barking into a radio. While Nightstriker waited impatiently, he noticed his teammates were staring at him with a mixture of fear and compassion.
“What is it?” Nightstriker snapped.
“We’re…we’re glad you’re OK,” Metal Gal whispered. “We’re sorry you got caught.”
“It was our fault,” Slab said. “We shoulda been more careful.”
With the rage and Overdrive Juice flowing through him, Nightstriker found it was difficult to form a good-natured – or at least non-crazy – smile on his face. He did the best he could, though, and nodded at his teammates.
“Everyone messed up,” Nightstriker said, “including me. The Giftgiver’s army has made us all look like fools. Their training is poor, but they have numbers, and can at least plan a retreat, as we’ve seen on two occasions. We need a better strategy if we’re to defeat him.” He frowned at the unconscious superhumans scattered about. “I plan to interrogate these people very thoroughly.”
“While I agree whole-heartedly, boss man,” Buckshot said, “I don’t need hawk-sharp eyes to see you’ve been through the ringer. You sure you––”
“I’ll be fine,” Nightstriker said. “I have endured torture before – far worse torture than the Giftgiver can imagine. I do need a rest, though – a brief rest. Right now, Overdrive Juice is keeping me going, but that will wear off soon.”
“Overdrive Juice?” Slab said. “That stuff’s dangerous. I took it once, and it buffed me up so much that every step created an earthquake.”
“We tried to stop him from injecting himself with that stuff,” Blaze said, “but he was too quick for us, even in his condition.”
The other Elites were looking at Blaze much like they were looking at Nightstriker. Blaze’s Fire Shield still looked like it could melt ultimatium; he was melting the concrete beneath him simply by standing there. Sparks flew from his eyes, and fire was still spewing from his mouth. Nightstriker smiled; it was good that his teammates were giving him respect. He’d earned it, and then some.
“I’m sorry, Blaze,” Nightstriker said, “but when I’m dealing with a crisis of this magnitude, I go all out. There will be time to heal later, once our job is done.”
Blaze looked like he was going to argue, but Gillespie rejoined the group, her features pinched in frustration.
“I’ve talked to every squad leader,” she said. “No one’s seen the Giftgiver or any other superhumans, besides the ones we just defeated.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” Nightstriker said. He clenched a fist and stared at it. He wanted to hit something – but what?
“What do we do now?” Slab asked.
Nightstriker took a deep breath. “We search this area ourselves. I will not give up hope yet. The Giftgiver must be found and stopped, before he taints more people with his utopian madness.”
“What if he’s gone?” Metal Gal whispered. “For good, I mean. Suppose he decided all this was too close for comfort and––”
“He’s not gone,” Nightstriker said. “If we don’t find him here today, he’ll resurface soon enough. And if he does, we will be ready for him this time – I promise you that.”
Chapter Nineteen
Blaze
Sam thought he’d been exhausted when they were searching the forest outside of Z City. He was now learning that there were levels of exhaustion, and he was on about the fifth stage.
They’d spent the rest of the day combing the blighted area around the warehouse where Nightstriker had been held captive, but they found nothing noteworthy besides fingerprints and footprints. The Beacon analysts were already putting them through every known database, but Sam doubted that any of those clues would point to the Giftgiver’s location.
Around two in the morning, Nightstriker had finally called off the search. By then, the Overdrive Juice had long ago worn off. His shoulders were slumped, and he moved as slowly and ungainly as Slab. But he was still going, and wouldn’t accept any help, even when he nearly tumbled down an open manhole.
Every time Sam thought he’d seen everything from Nightstriker, the legend did something even more extraordinary.
They’d returned to the Beacon – Nightstriker, Slab, and Buckshot flying in the Sirens, Metal Gal and Blaze flying under their own power. The city should have looked beautiful from above. Its millions of lights pressed against the darkness, and the neverending traffic, always so irritating when you were stuck in it, looked almost cute, with the cars the size of children’s toys from this height. But all Sam saw were endless places for the Giftgiver to hide and scheme.
The superhumans they’d battled had already been transferred to the Beacon and locked in cells. Sam didn’t quite know how due process worked for people like this, and he wasn’t exactly aching to improve his knowledge of civil liberties. The Giftgiver’s foll
owers had information that could help them; as far as Sam was concerned, they could stay locked up forever until they coughed it up.
They were now back in Briefing Room One. Gillespie was elsewhere; with Nightstriker’s return, it seemed to be understood that he’d again lead the team, while she would again work behind the scenes.
Nightstriker looked out at them from his position at the head of the table, weary and bruised, but still standing. The medical staff had cleaned him up quickly, and he’d put on a clean costume. The costume seemed to perk him up slightly; Sam reckoned that when you wore something for so many years, it became a part of you.
Unlike the other times they’d been in this briefing room, everyone was standing along with Nightstriker, including the analysts.
“First off,” Nightstriker began, “I’d like to commend you all for your efforts. Everyone fought intelligently and bravely, and though the bulk of the Giftgiver’s force teleported away, we have still captured eight of his people. Their intel will be invaluable.”
He nodded at each of them. Such a simple thing, but it made Sam’s heart swell with pride.
“Now, you all have been pestering me about my experience during captivity,” Nightstriker said, grinning wryly. “I will answer any questions you have – but first, I have a question of my own: how did you find me?”
The four Elites smiled at each other. Everyone opened their mouths, but Metal Gal got in the first word.
“It was actually Buckshot’s idea,” she said. “We went to that forest site you looked over, but we couldn’t find anything. We scanned everything using every piece of equipment we had. We interrogated Randall Macomber again, but by now he’s out of the loop, and doesn’t know much. But then Buckshot said…well, he basically said you are what you eat.”
She giggled, and Nightstriker arched an eyebrow.
“Anyone care to elaborate?” Nightstriker asked.
“Sure thing, boss man,” Buckshot said, puffing out a mushroom cloud of cigar smoke. “Ya see, some critters eat every darn thing. For example, raccoons and bears. So I had me a thought: if those critters happened to stumble upon that camp, they’d surely stick around to grab them some grub from the garbage heaps. If the Giftgiver’s folks were smart, they’d vaporize their trash, but I was bettin’ their plans weren’t that particular. Even if they did think of that, they probably wouldn’t zap everything. So I suggested we check out the critter droppings in the area, and to really get thorough, to grab us some critters and see what was in their stomachs. Might be some clues in their shit or rumbling around their gastrointestinal system.”
