Paranormals | Book 3 | Darkness Reigns

by Andrews, Christopher

  Except, at the moment, the front of his mask was pulled up to his nose so that he could take swig after swig from a bottle, swishing the water around his mouth and spitting it out onto the warehouse floor.

  “You know, Lincoln,” Michael was saying, “you didn’t have to spit acid in that rogue’s face.”

  “Speak for yourself, young’n,” Mark chuckled. “I woulda paid good money to’ve seen that with my own eyes.”

  Ignoring him, Michael continued, “In fact, you didn’t have to use the acid at all. As soon as they opened that hatch and saw you were in one, unburned piece, you were welcome to just use your usual muscle.”

  Lincoln spat out another mouthful of water. “I know, I know. It’s just that ... well, once I heard them talking about making slaves out of these confused people ...” He shrugged. “You know how I feel about that sort of thing, after the threats Richard McLane made about my brother and sister ...”

  Steve stiffened at the mention of Richard McLane, the man responsible for the deaths of his own family, but chose not to comment. All of them knew what a sick bastard McLane had been, before Steve inadvertently turned his brains into mush during their first big group fight together.

  Michael cocked his head to the side. “Well, considering that you gained access to said acid because the rogues in question gave you a shower in the stuff, I would wager the PCA legal staff can squash any ‘excessive use of force’ charges the suspects might try to press.”

  Mark snorted. “Yeah, like any of the Class Ones ever bother, given the shit they get up to. We deal with ‘em as we do.”

  “Speaking of dealing with them ...” Michael turned to Steve and snapped his right wrist downward so that his special, compact “V9.1” slid into his hand. “I’ve been meaning to thank the team over at Davison Electronics for this. I think I prefer the ammo capacity of my usual sidearm, but this proved especially useful today.”

  Steve nodded and lowered his voice to say, “I’ll pass that along to Ardette.” Ardette Blounts, alongside Alan Russell, worked behind-the-scenes with Steve on all things Vortex; Davison Electronics also led the field in supplying the PCA with anti-rogue technology, and over the past year or more, Team Takayasu & Shockwave had been getting a lot of exclusive first-runs. “I thought of it, but she’s the one who made it happen. I got the idea from the phasers on Star Trek — the bigger ones were standard issue, but they had these smaller, less conspicuous ones that—”

  Mark barked a laugh. “Nerd.”

  Steve held his head high. “And proud of it. You wouldn’t have that suit without us nerds. Or the psi-bands. Or the psi-jammers. Or the—”

  Mark held up his hands in surrender. “Or cell phones or computers or motorcars, okay, okay, I get it. All hail the mighty geeks.”

  Steve chuckled and Lincoln grinned (before spitting out another mouthful of water), but Michael was busy looking around the warehouse while giving a slow nod of his head.

  “This was a good win today,” he said, with some pride. “It’s a nice feeling. The last few weeks, we’ve been seeing a lot of the nastier type of rogue crimes.”

  “Yeah,” Mark agreed. “I wonder what’s been up with that. I’d think it was maybe, you know, the full moon or somethin’, ‘cept it’s been goin’ on for the better part of the month.”

  Steve remarked, “Anytime you need help from Vortex and Shining Star, just ask.”

  Michael assured him, “We will. We certainly needed your assistance today, given that both Lincoln here and I were acting as doe-eyed plants. Thank you for—”

  Mark cut him off by whistling under his breath and blurting, “Jesus Christ, boys, check out those bodacious sets of massive ta-tas.”

  Steve, Michael, and Lincoln looked in the direction he tilted his head. The two scantily clad and astonishingly top-heavy women who had accompanied the shadow-controlling rogue were being escorted through the warehouse. At no point during the fight had they put up any resistance or displayed any signs of paranormal abilities, but it was standard procedure to treat them as the rogues they might be — the PCA had little choice in the matter, until a definitive test could be created to accurately distinguish paranormals from norms (the Taalu, who could detect the energy signatures of the more powerful “converts,” were working with them in that regard). As such, the women wore psi-jammers on their foreheads, and their hands were cuffed behind their backs, which served to push their foremost “feminine attributes” into further prominence.

  It was on the tip of Steve’s tongue to rib Mark for his use of “bodacious” and “ta-tas” ... but as a heterosexual young man, he was a little too distracted by the view.

  Lincoln’s jaw was hanging open as well. “I used to work with this guy, Carl, who wished for all women in town to grow ‘Class One tits.’ If those two are paranormal, he sort of got his wish.”

  Michael, on the other hand, was not phased in the least. “If they’re not paranormal, Powerhouse, then I’m seeing a change that’s occurred a little too quickly.”

  “Huh?” was all Mark managed to say.

  “Tongue back in your mouth, Mark,” Michael said, sounding a little irritated. “Try looking at their faces for a few seconds. I believe those ladies were two of the very first victims to go missing via the church.”

  Nudging Mark and Lincoln aside, Michael marched to intercept the prisoners; the other three followed a moment later, Steve maintaining enough acumen to shush Mark when he started whispering crass comparisons to basketballs.

  “Excuse me, ensigns,” the lieutenant called; the agents escorting the prisoners (someone had wisely assigned the duty to two female agents) halted so that he could catch up.

  The prisoners stared at the lieutenant, the redhead glaring as though he were a repulsive bug as she asked, “What do you want, you little traitor?”

  Steve wondered for a moment how in the world Takayasu was a “traitor,” then remembered that both women first saw him as a member of the wannabe-gods’ newest batch of slaves. He shook his head and thought, Stockholm syndrome at its finest.

  “I was hoping to ask you a few questions—”

  “Go to hell,” she snapped. “We talk to no one until we get a lawyer.”

  Takayasu nodded. “Fair enough. But you should understand that it’s not that clean cut for you.”

  The redhead blinked at that, but the blonde asked in a tired, wary voice, “What do you mean?”

  “You two have been arrested in conjunction, not only with kidnapping and probable sex-trafficking, but as accomplices to paranormal crimes. Which under current law are akin to acts of terrorism.”

  “ ... so?”

  “So ...” Takayasu stepped closer to the blonde, and Steve had to admire the apparent ease with which he maintained eye-contact; the horrendous stiletto heels the woman wore left her taller than the lieutenant, creating all the more temptation. “... you’re going to have to wait a lot longer to see an attorney than if this were a traditional, norm crime. Are you sure you don’t want to expedite that process by helping us out ... Madison?”

  The blonde gasped, taking a step back and bumping into the agent behind her. “How ... how did ...?”

  Takayasu’s voice grew softer, kinder. “Madison, your disappearance was among the first that led to our investigation into the church. Your mother is worried sick about you. Don’t you want to see your mother again?”

  The blonde, Madison, lowered her eyes to the floor, tears welling up within seconds.

  “Damn it, Madi,” the redhead growled, “you better keep your mouth shut or—”

  Takayasu cut her off. “Your brother is looking for you, too, Hannah.”

  The redhead also appeared startled (though not quite as shocked) upon hearing her name. Unlike Madison, however, it only served to anger her further. “To hell with my brother, and to hell with you, asshole. Our god will get out—”

  “Your ‘god,’ huh?” Shockwave gibed. “You mean ‘the god of comb-overs’? That god?”

&nb
sp; The redhead shifted her glare from Takayasu to Shockwave, but similar to his handling of the long-haired devotee, he lifted a fist and ran a brief, air-distorting shockwave over his calloused knuckles. Hannah closed her mouth, her lips still locked in a sneer, but her eyes showed less certainty.

  Before Takayasu could question them further, Madison, still staring at the concrete floor, whispered, “I’m surprised you could recognize me, now that I look like ... this.”

  Steve realized that she wasn’t looking at the floor after all — that she probably couldn’t see the floor, given her upper-body proportions. And whatever erotic appeal the oversized breasts had before evaporated.

  Takayasu reached out and slipped a finger under her chin; he lifted her head until she was again looking at him. “I recognize you just fine, Madison. I take it you were physically altered like this against your will?”

  Madison shrugged, and her neck wobbled a bit; it was unclear to Steve whether she was trying to nod or shake her head.

  Finally, she said, “... sort of. He ... he told me I would be ‘sexier,’ and I agreed, but I had no idea I’d end up looking like ...” She tried to gesture over herself, but with her hands bound behind her, it only resulted in a vague elbow movement, which struck Steve as pitiful.

  “He did make us sexy,” Hannah hissed. “Look at the guy in red. He’s practically drooling over us!”

  The ever-brazen Shockwave looked as though he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar; he actually blushed, causing the scar on his cheek to stand out whiter. He averted his gaze, turning away with as much nonchalance as he could muster.

  But Madison and Takayasu remained focused on one another. He asked, “How were you altered? Did one of the rogues have this ability?”

  Madison shook her head. “No, the gods— the rogues we’ve met didn’t have that, you know, power.” Hannah stared death at her for correcting away from “gods,” but she continued to ignore the redhead. “They took me to a doctor, a plastic surgeon.”

  Takayasu took a step back and looked down at her caricatured figure, but it was clear that he was not leering, and so Madison did not shy away. “Forgive me, Madison, but for cosmetic alterations this extreme — all performed within the past few weeks — I would expect to still see residual bruising.”

  Curious, Steve switched his vision to the ultraviolet spectrum, which he had learned penetrated deeper into human tissue. But as Takayasu had noted, he did not spy a single bruise anywhere on Madison; in fact, her skin was almost unnaturally clear.

  Madison shrugged. “I ... I don’t know about that. He took us to see—”

  Hannah stamped her foot in rage like a spoiled child. “Goddamn it, Madi! Don’t you dare—!”

  “Ensign Powler,” the lieutenant overrode her. “Please escort your prisoner to the transport truck, and place her near the back.” The PCA’s new transport truck, Steve knew, consisted of specialized, reinforced cells. “Feel free to stun her if necessary.”

  The field agent nodded and jerked the redhead away. Hannah kept trying to throw curses and threats over her shoulder, but Ensign Powler was pulling her by the arm so fast, it was all she could do not to trip over her stilettos.

  Once the troublemaker was out of earshot, Michael nudged, “You were saying, Madison?”

  More at ease with Hannah gone, she said, “I don’t know anything about, you know, bruising. But they did take us to this plastic surgeon. He has a big office and everything, near the top floor of that bluish skyscraper overlooking the lake?”

  Michael nodded. “I know it.”

  “I ... I guess he specializes in ...” she gestured with her chin toward her breasts, “... this sort of thing. He had these posters of porn stars, and even some real movie stars, and his receptionist was even bustier than I am now, if you can believe that. That was when I first had second thoughts, when I saw those huge things trying to explode out of her shirt ... but I couldn’t say anything, it was too late for that. My g— my rogue master had already shown us what his shadows could do if we didn’t ... worship him, in all things.” Her gaze had drifted downward again, but she looked back up to Michael now, with hope in her eyes. “Do ... do you think he could put me back ... the way I was before?”

  Michael admitted, “I don’t know, Madison. But I promise to look into it right away. If the person running this cosmetic surgery facility, Doctor ...?”

  Madison hesitated one last time, the tortured look on her face making Steve want to give her a hug (and most definitely not because of her clearly unwanted new appearance). Finally, she told him, “Park. Doctor Andrew Park. He ... he had this stupid little sign at the front desk that said something like, ‘Park your worries out here.’ I guess it was supposed to reassure us. He’s the one who changed us. I was led into this small operating room and went to sleep normal, and woke up looking like this.” She shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t know about any bruising, but I recovered almost immediately — I was barely sore or anything. If Doctor Park is a ... you know, a paranormal, I wasn’t awake when he used his power on me and turned me into a walking sex doll.”

  Michael nodded. “I see. Well, Madison, my partner and I will be paying a visit to this Doctor Andrew Park. If he was simply hired to perform this procedure on you — paranormal or norm procedure — then we’ll take it from there. But if he is more intimately involved with your captors, then we will deal with him with considerably more force.” He reached out to place a reassuring hand on her arm. “Either way, we will pursue avenues of reconstructive surgery for you.”

  The tears that had been threatening to stream from Madison’s eyes finally rolled free. “Th-thank you.”

  “Thank you for your help. We may have more questions for you soon.” He turned to her escort. “Ensign Coppedge, please lead her to the front of the transport truck. Treat her as a cooperative suspect, so long as she doesn’t cause any trouble.” He looked back to Madison. “You won’t, will you?”

  Madison shook her head.

  Michael patted her on the arm one more time, then stepped aside. Ensign Coppedge led her away with far more care than Ensign Powler had given to Hannah.

  The four stood in silence for a minute; Mark was still stewing over getting caught ogling, and Lincoln continued to rinse-and-spit from his nearly-empty water bottle. In the comic books, Steve knew they would all strike a pose on the rooftop at the end of a fight — something he had literally done a time or two, especially when he first started out as Vortex — but in reality, the lingering adrenaline after combat left them all listless, or numb, or somehow both at the same time. Since Vortex did not officially work for the PCA (though he proudly wore his special “independent consultant” badge on his uniform’s belt), he was not required to stick around for the paperwork — if Michael needed any followup information, he knew where to find him.

  Should he just take off? That’s how he often handled it, but the “ick” factor of this case — this conspiracy to enslave people, whose only mistake was to believe the paranormals were “gods” — left him feeling like he should do or say something more. The proclamation Michael had given, that this had been “a good win,” remained true, but the exchange with poor Madison had tempered the victory a bit.

  The increasingly awkward silence was broken when Lincoln’s new partner, the slump-shouldered and pale Lieutenant Junior Grade Ashton Gant — who had replaced the late Ensign Pendler many months ago — joined them. “I brought you another bottle of water, sir,” he said to Lincoln.

  Steve cringed under his mask; whereas Pendler had been a risk-avoiding nonentity (until the end, when he had been killed refusing to abandon Lincoln when he was down), Lieutenant J. G. Gant was so subservient to the famous Powerhouse that it was sometimes uncomfortable to watch.

  Lincoln accepted the bottle with a polite, “Thank you, Ashton.” He had given up telling the hunched young man not to call him “sir.”

  Michael brought his hands together. “Okay, we know our next step...”


  Mark smirked as he groused, “Paperwork.”

  “Yes, but after that, we go pay a visit to this Doctor Park, find out what’s going on there. I’m thinking we do that first thing tomorrow morning, assuming his office is open.”

  Steve asked, “Want a tagalong?”

  Michael thought for a moment. “Probably not at this stage. If Doctor Park is innocent — that is, if he was just hired to do a job, and it does sound like both ladies went along willingly at that point — then we don’t want to put him off any more than the PCA badge already will.” He looked to his partner. “That means no red suit.”

  Mark stuck his bottom lip out in a pout. “Not even under street clothes?”

  Michael rolled his eyes. “Fine, if it will make you feel safer from a large-breasted receptionist, and a plastic surgeon who may or may not be able to give you large breasts, then yes, you may wear it under your clothes. But only so long as you finish your homework and wash behind your ears.”

  Mark chuckled and flipped him the bird.

  A glow shone over them all as Grand Lord Callin Lan of the Taalu, a.k.a. the Shining Star, swooped in through the hole in the wall. He alighted onto his feet, his glowing aura fading away. “Lieutenant, the transport truck is ready to depart. Would you like me to give them an aerial escort?”

  Takayasu looked to Powerhouse. “You all done rinsing your mouth?”

  Powerhouse shrugged and pulled his blue mask back into place, covering his entire head except for his dark brown eyes. “Honestly, I might still be tasting this crap until next week. If you need me on the job, I’m there.”

  “Shockwave?”

  “I’m good.”

  Takayasu turned back to Shining Star. “Thank you, Shining Star, but no, I believe we can handle things from here. You and Vortex are released.”