by Ekeke, C. C.
Luckily, Connie asked for him, a hand on his shoulder. “Why didn’t she recognize Hirsch?”
“Like I said,” Gwyneth answered, “we’ve invested a lot of resources in our partnership.”
Greyson clenched his teeth at the doubletalk. “You didn’t answer the question.”
Gwyneth sighed. “For three months, our telepathic agents have altered memories of your family, friends, and colleagues.” She tapped her desk with each point. “Your medical details were changed. We even fed the local St. Louis news media false stories and hacked in to government databases to change your records.”
Connie let out a wordless cry. As shocked as Lauren’s appearance had been, this news took Greyson’s breath away. “Why?”
“The narrative,” Gwyneth spread her hands, looking smug, “is that you, your father, Connie, and Hurricane were killed by your alias, Damocles. Except that your first names were changed.”
“What the hell?” Connie remarked.
Greyson opened his mouth, stopped to gather his colliding thoughts, then tried again. “You’re saying that I murdered myself.” Yep, just as insane out loud.
Gwyneth laughed. “In a way, you did, the night you killed your father and Hurricane.” She spoke of his crimes as if discussing a grocery list. “The world thinks Graham Hirsch and Cordelia Ishibashi are dead, while your alter ego gets elevated.”
Greyson cradled his aching head. “Whoa…”
Gwyneth went on. “Offing a few heroes shows how dangerous you are. A string of murders makes them martyrs and puts too large a target on your back.”
That snapped Greyson out of the data overload. “Martyring them isn’t our goal.”
“Then what is?”
Greyson felt like he’d stated this hundreds of times. “To expose how poisonous and parasitic superheroes are to society, and stop them from doing further damage.”
Gwyneth’s eyes glittered. “Then do it publicly. Force them into lose-lose situations.”
That statement shook Greyson’s confidence in his approach. Gwyneth was right. He looked to Connie, who nodded favorably. “Where do we start?”
“Shenandoah.”
Greyson recoiled. “That shithole?”
Gwyneth rolled her eyes understandingly. “That shithole has a team, the Natural Born Thrillers.”
Greyson had never heard of them, but he’d heard about Shenandoah, Virginia. The once-booming city had an economic collapse over a decade ago, leading to record poverty and crime.
Connie snapped her fingers in recognition. “The team name sounds familiar.”
“Superhuman discrimination is sky-high in Shenandoah,” Gwyneth remarked. “The Thrillers are trying to change the conversation about supers and superheroes.”
Greyson perked up. “Are they making progress?”
Gwyneth pulled a face. “Slowly.”
Greyson suddenly found this challenge far more intriguing than Aegis—for now. By Connie’s elation, the feeling was mutual. “When do we leave?” he asked.
Chapter 6
“I just can’t with you, Bogota,” Jordana blurted out.
She’d been amused earlier today when Hugo offered to help unbraid her cornrows.
Now Jordana sat mystified as he unbraided every braid himself.
He paused and looked up at the bedroom mirror. “What?” he asked playfully. The reflection showed him on the edge of Jodie’s bed with her cross-legged before him on the floor. His kinda-girlfriend’s hair was an explosion of wild bushy curls, except for one last cornrow.
“How are you so good at this?” Jodie demanded.
Hugo chuckled while unbraiding. A logical question. “Before dance battles, I’d get my hair cornrowed.”
Jordana’s jaw hung open. “And now I got follow-up questions!”
Hugo chuckled. “My hair kept flopping in my face. The cornrows were Grace’s idea.” He took a quick listen outside the house with superhearing. Today’s patrol had been boring. But the good boring.
He refocused on Jodie and her persistent bemusement, which now concerned him. “I’m not pulling too tight?”
“It’s just right, baby.” Jodie’s warm brown eyes studied him through the mirror. “Do you miss dancing?”
“Sometimes.” Hugo finished the last cornrow, then reclined as Jodie combed out her hair. “The Phenoms are fine without me.” That lie helped mask the dull ache in his chest.
“They miss you…” Jodie held his gaze. “Especially Grace.”
Hugo stood and turned away to escape the guilt. “I know.” Their ongoing rift was his fault. He just needed to speak with Grace when their schedules didn’t conflict.
Jodie’s bedroom, decorated with all kinds of NYC souvenirs, could’ve been mistaken for a boy’s room. But Jodie’s many Extreme Teens posters, which Hugo mocked repeatedly, disputed that belief.
Hugo noticed a stack of large envelopes on Jodie’s desk. Curious, he walked over. “What are these?”
“College applications. You started looking yet?”
“Nope,” Hugo replied distractedly, scanning over the university names on the envelopes.
Morehouse. Princeton. Vassar. UNC Chapel Hill. Brown. Dartmouth. Columbia. Boston University.
Hugo’s chest tightened. “These are all East Coast schools.” He turned to see Jordana’s guilty face.
“Yeah…” She focused on the mirror while combing out her hair. “I’ve always wanted to attend college back east. And…” She shrank back. “My family’s moving back to NYC when I graduate next year.”
Cold shock flooded Hugo’s veins. “But…why?”
Jodie placed her comb down, leaning against the drawer for support. “My mom’s wanted to move for a while. Hates all the superhero fights. But after Black Wednesday, she finally convinced my dad.” Jodie still couldn’t meet Hugo’s stare.
“Shit…” Hugo knew what this could mean. Time was flying so fast, graduation would arrive before he knew it. If we’re still together.
“Bogota. Relax.” Jodie approached and cupped his jaw. “I’m not bouncing tomorrow.” Her sexy smile soothed him somewhat, bushy curls spilling around her face.
“The same shit happens in NYC.” Hugo took her hands in his. “Protectorate and the Harlem Knights fight plenty of supervillains.”
“I told her,” Jodie replied wearily. “My mom’s got tunnel vision.” She sat on her bed.
This irked Hugo more than expected. “Cable news makes it seem like big cities have superhero battles every damn day.”
“Aegis fought some Godzilla monster,” Jodie threw back, unwittingly parroting her mother’s gestures. “The Elite thrashed downtown. Then there’s that teleporting weirdo, Saracen, spray-painting monuments all over the country.”
Hugo had no comeback. Everything Jodie said was true. According to Clint, Saracen had leaked about classified OSA and CIA programs to control supers for years. Defacing monuments was new behavior, forcing news media to stop ignoring the cyberterrorist.
And Jodie’s mom wasn’t the only citizen who felt heroes were the problem.
Hugo kept things light. “Your mom won’t escape superheroes unless she moves to Newfoundland. And even they have a few.”
Jordana doubled over laughing as her cellphone rang. “Hold up.” She popped to her feet and rounded her bed to pull the cellphone from her purse. One look, and her face drained of color.
Hugo frowned, hearing her pulse spike. “Who is it?”
Jordana hastily swiped to voicemail. “Robocall.” Tossing her phone in her bag, she forced a smile.
Hugo almost pressed further. But if he wanted her to trust him, then he should do the same.
“Shower time.” Jordana took off her Mets tee, sashaying to him. “You joining?”
Hugo stared at her ample chest. “Do birds shit on sidewalks?”
“Boy!” Jodie tossed her shirt in his face. “You watch that gutter mouth!”
Hugo chuckled, flicking the shirt aside. “You love my gutt
er mouth. C’mere….” He hoisted Jordana up with one arm, silencing her delighted squeal with a kiss. Her arms draped his neck, thick thighs squeezing his waist. Hugo nearly yanked the bedroom door off its hinges and carried Jodie to the bathroom as fast as humanly possible.
He loved their little routine when at her place. Sex. Shower. More sex. A meal with TV or homework on school nights. Even when they didn’t have sex, Hugo loved the other ways they’d fool around. The normalcy kept him grounded. He wouldn’t lose himself in his alias like Titan.
Later, they took Jodie’s car for their date, the Aegis interview, and dinner with his family. The hazy orange sun began setting. Jodie was dolled up, black hair in a sleek topknot, short-shorts and an off-shoulder creamy sweater. Still drunk off her body, Hugo ran feathery fingers along Jodie’s neckline. Her eyes rolled back a little.
“Soooo,” Hugo prompted. “About what I’ve asked?” He’d given her space to decide what she wanted from their relationship.
Jodie stiffened as they reached a red light. “I just… I’m not there yet.”
Hugo’s buzz withered. He withdrew his hand. I knew it.
Jodie eyed him anxiously. “Please don’t hate me!”
“I wanna be with you,” Hugo declared, his voice thick with longing.
“Me too…” Jodie turned away guiltily, focused on the road. “Just gimme more time? Please?”
“Okay.” The mood got awkward the rest of the trip until they arrived at Hugo’s house.
AJ was back from soccer. Mom had on some flowing purple dress.
“Hello!” She scurried toward Jordana for a hug, and the two started chatting.
Hugo greeted AJ, or “Junior” as he called himself now. “Hey, little uso.” They pounded fists.
AJ frowned. “I’m not that little.”
Hugo waggled his hand. “Kinda.”
AJ wasn’t wrong, now standing five-foot-eight at thirteen years old and covered in lean muscle. His hair had grown somewhat longer than a buzzcut for the first time in years. AJ was looking more like a man each day…more like Dad.
His dad, Hugo self-corrected, which AJ didn’t know—couldn’t know. He cleared his throat. “We ready?”
Mom and Jodie moseyed over to the couch. “We ready.” Mom eyed her youngest son keenly. “Angelo?”
“Let’s go.” AJ turned on the TV, skimmed to channels, and clicked Newsworthy.com’s turquois icon.
As the channel loaded, Hugo’s nerves grew fraught. This had been his first interview as Aegis. Countless people would be watching. Pressure sat like an anvil on his chest.
Mom watched Hugo, eyes brimming with reassuring love. AJ squeezed his shoulder, causing the younger Malalou to wince. Ha!
Jodie, oblivious to the silent exchange, slipped an arm around Hugo’s waist. Soon, rows of video thumbnails appeared. One included an interview of Senator Noah Huntley from West Virginia. The well-dressed Senator, with curly red hair and an oddly flat face, was delivering another anti-superhero rant. Ugh.
Another video discussed a ninth former sponsor suing the defunct SLOCO Daily.
Jodie’s eyes lit up, and she held Hugo tighter. “The shit my cousin experienced there was crazaay.”
Hugo already knew that, exchanging looks with Mom and AJ, both whom he’d told. “Huh.”
When the interview started, Quinn Bauer appeared on the TV. Her hair in big kinky curls and wearing a peacoat, she waited between two buildings in early morning downtown.
Hugo smiled, remembering that day. August this past summer. Jodie squealed in anticipation.
A purple figure blurred into the frame. Then Quinn started shrieking as everything blasted into the air.
Hugo choked down laughter at Jodie’s, Mom’s, and AJ’s reactions.
Quinn and the camera vantagepoint were abruptly on a rooftop, stumbling about.
Aegis dwarfed the petite reporter in his purple-hooded costume. Damn, I look good, Hugo mused.
“What?” Aegis asked innocently in his deep cadence. “Just making sure everyone knows it’s me.”
Quinn glared daggers into him on camera. Hugo lost it, as did everyone in the living room.
The interview went better than Hugo remembered, the cameras never focused long on his face.
He and Quinn had discussed Black Wednesday, Titan comparisons, superheroes on social media, and The Vanguard’s demise. Hugo had said the standard respectful things about these topics. When Blur and his trash-talking came up, Hugo had been more unfiltered. “Blur is great at what he does. Run fast and run his mouth.”
Jodie gasped in scandalized shock. Mom applauded the wisecrack.
Hugo shot his mother a warning look. Not too much enthusiasm.
Then Quinn had asked about Tomorrow Man taking credit for Aegis’s saves. “Tomorrow Man has four brain cells. None stop fighting long enough to form an original thought. Or the truth.” Onscreen, as they walked under a pinkish sun, Aegis went on. “He’s a bootleg Titan 0.75 created by focus groups and consultants, since he doesn’t have the brains or personality to be Titan 2.0.”
Hugo couldn’t decide what tickled him more. Quinn turning from the camera to hide her amusement or the collective howl of laughter in his living room.
Saying the interview had been well-received was an understatement. J-Tom, Simon, Quinn, and Therese texted their enjoyment. Annie Sherwood, his PR Goddess, texted an approving thumbs-up.
Reactions across social media were overwhelmingly positive.
Hugo kept that love close to his heart for hours after Jodie headed back home.
Presently, he soared through maroon evening skies in costume, the cityscape a jagged grid of dazzling lights. Hugo loved evening patrols over the city, getting time to think.
Jodie wanting to keep things casual and applying to East Coast colleges left a bad taste in his mouth.
Hugo was glad he’d kept his dating options open. He then mulled over citizens who found heroes dangerous and public perception of a superhero versus the reality. As a government-sanctioned superhero, Hugo followed the rules of engagement. Provide support for disasters, earthquakes, and fires. Non-powered crimes except mass shootings, bomb threats, and large hostage situations were avoided. Incidents like fighting kaijus weren’t common. If the crime was supervillain or superhuman-related, San Miguel PD’s dispatch center pinged Hugo. Geist had introduced him to some police contacts before departing the City of Wonder.
Brief sadness filled Hugo. He really missed Geist, surliness and all.
Hugo dove and flew low over Grand Blvd drawing honks and cheers below. There was one call Hugo had been impatiently waiting for since last week. Vincent Van Violence. Just his idiotic name pissed Hugo off. V3 had kicked his ass months ago, but Hugo was still green as stadium turf back then.
V3 had skipped town after locking horns with Justice Jones this past summer.
Now the police had informed Hugo that V3 was back in San Miguel after committing a string of murders. “When we draw him out,” his police contact, Detective Beale had said, “we’ll let you know.”
They better, Hugo fumed. He’d worked his own contacts to no avail—
“Aegis.”
The cavernous voice sounded right next to him, stopping Hugo in mid-flight. He swiveled his head around, scanning the surrounding skyline. Who? How? Where?
“It’s a frequency only you can hear,” the voice startled him again. “We’re on the Sanwa Building.”
The two figures stood on the Sanwa building roof, dressed in dark suits like Men in Black agents.
Hugo floated down but remained a few feet in the air, studying them closely.
He knew the blonde female, deep blue eyes but vacant features. Agent Devon Strauss from the Office of Superhuman Affairs, Quinn’s friend.
The older bearded man was a mystery, with rigid confidence to his carriage, and sporting a blown-back white shock of kinky hair. This couldn’t be good…
“Hello again, Aegis,” Strauss greeted. Her blue eyes warmed.
“Agent Williamson.” The man’s voice was so deep, it must’ve had its own subwoofer.
Hugo narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?”
A dangerous half-smile pulled at the side of Williamson’s mouth. “A partnership.”
“Not interested.”
Williamson’s smile vanished. “That would be a mistake.” His voice dropped another octave.
Hugo began floating away from these people. “I have no use for an organization that let Paxton-Brandt kill Helena Madden.” Yeah, Quinn had told him all about that.
Agent Strauss’s expression spasmed briefly before she regained control.
Williamson’s glare never wavered. “You know nothing, Mr. Malalou.”
The agent uttered his name so casually, it took a moment for Hugo’s brain to process it. He knows about me? He forced on a poker face. As a registered superhero, Hugo understood that his identity was known to a handful of high-level state and federal officials. Quinn wouldn’t have told Strauss. How did these random OSA field agents know his identity?
Williamson’s dangerous half-smile returned. “We could be your best friends. Be smart, for the sake of your mother and brother—”
In half a second, Hugo was on the ground and nose to nose with the smarmy bastard. “If you value your chest space, NEVER mention my family or friends.” His skin was crawling underneath his costume. He barely stifled the urge to backhand Williamson across this roof. “Do you fucking understand me?”
To his credit, Williamson never flinched from Hugo’s superfast charge. His glare hardened.
“Enough.” Strauss wedged her slender self between the two. “Back off, Williamson.” She glared at her partner then focused back on Hugo. “Let us help you fight Paxton-Brandt. Quinn Bauer trusts me. You can too. Don’t let your pride force a bad decision here.”
And Hugo was done. “Buh-bye.” He crouched and blasted upward. Staying any longer wasn’t safe for either of these agents.
Hugo climbed into the starry heavens, seething. Beneath that anger, fresh fear took root. Would OSA hurt his friends and family for refusing? He shivered, not wanting to find out.
