by Ekeke, C. C.
Ramon’s expression said “Yeah right.”
Hugo nodded. “It works, Ray-Ray.”
“I studied the stealth mode in Hugo’s suit,” J-Tom explained, “and reverse-engineered it.”
“Huh.” Ramon rubbed his throat, then pointed to another program appearing onscreen. “And this?”
“Heat shields.” J-Tom’s confidence began growing. “Still need tweaking, but they work too.”
The threat of a smile pulled at Ramon’s lips. “About the stealth mode. Walk me through your approach.”
J-Tom rubbed her hands together. “Sure…” The two went into a deep technical discussion back and forth about how she’d built the armor. Kindred souls.
Hugo smiled to himself. Hopefully, it led somewhere for J-Tom’s future.
After almost twenty minutes, they were oblivious to anything but each other and J-Tom’s armor.
Hugo felt completely invisible. “So I’m heading out. Should I come back in an hour?”
Ramon brushed off the need. “I got it covered.”
J-Tom replied with a glowing look, mouthing, “Thank you.”
“Cool,” Hugo replied, feeling dismissed and okay with it.
“Ice cream helps me work,” Ramon suggested. “How about some cookies and cream?”
J-Tom’s eyes got big, like a fish on dry land. “YES! Ice cream plus technobabble are my favorites!”
Hugo’s heart soared before he turned to leave, pulling his mask and hood back on.
Chapter 14
Greyson arrived at the Natural Born Thrillers’ headquarters as dawn cracked through the darkness. The location was an old repurposed rubber factory at the edge of Shenandoah.
Greyson took in the boxy and rusted iron exterior, silhouetted against a scarlet dawn. He adjusted his workout attire, inhaling deeply for steadfastness. “Let’s do this.”
Upon gaining entry, he walked through a vast and empty foyer.
Erika Skye was waiting in full gold costume, all smiles, braids tumbling freely. “Levi! I hope finding us wasn’t too hard.”
All too easy. Greyson shook her hand, forcing a smile. “Wasn’t too bad, Erika.”
She guided him down a long hallway before they stepped through another door.
Greyson looked again to make sure he was in the same place. The room they’d stepped into was sleek and futuristic, with all kinds of training equipment. He closed his dropped jaw to focus on the other people in the room.
Erika gestured fondly at her team. “Here’s the crew.”
The other four Natural Born Thrillers introduced themselves. Reverb was spry and friendly, very young in appearance. Brightburn had doe-eyed beauty and amusing spunk to match, when not working every angle of her toned body to snap selfies. Shattershot, strikingly handsome, came across as reserved. Only Bulldozer was rude, a head taller than everyone, even in human form, with tree-trunk arms and honey-brown skin. He glared at Greyson’s outstretched hand.
“Hey, everyone.” Greyson turned his rejected handshake into an awkward wave. He then noticed an athletically built stranger standing apart from the team. “Hello.”
The man strode forward, dressed in a unitard with a physique seen on fitness magazine covers. He stood noticeably taller with a dazzlingly toothy smile and perfectly cropped brown locks. Greyson felt self-conscious about his unchiseled body and thick beard. This fitness model’s aggressive handshake rattled Greyson’s arm. “Arthur Strong. Call me Art.”
Greyson frowned, still unsure why this person was here. “Hi, Art.” He turned to Erika Skye for answers.
Reverb spoke first, boyish face alight. “We’ve done the background checks and know what you could do. We need to see more of what you can do.”
The kid chuckled at his own pun. Greyson stared at him.
“It’s a tryout,” Bulldozer grunted. “To see if you can cut the mustard.”
Greyson understood what was happening. Two contenders for one spot, which Erika never mentioned.
She noticed his irritation. “It would’ve been just you,” Erika began contritely.
Bulldozer steamrolled over her. “But we’re exploring all options for our next member.”
Erika eyed him with such disdain, Greyson almost pitied Bulldozer. “Thank you, Dozer,” she stated curtly.
Greyson caught the palpable tension between them. Shattershot and Reverb looked away in clear discomfort. Brightburn was oblivious, puckering her lips for another selfie. There’s more beneath this. Definitely a flaw to exploit once he made the cut.
Erika schooled away her displeasure when facing Greyson and Art. “This will go a few hours,” she announced. “So bring your best.”
Bulldozer guided Art and Greyson farther into the center. “We start with sprint drills. No powers.”
“Good luck,” Art remarked. His expression oozed with arrogance. “You’ll need it against me.”
Greyson said nothing. Wasting breath served no one. The sprint drills were forty yards wall to wall for an hour. Ten minutes in, Greyson’s leg muscles screamed. He was fit but no athlete.
Art dashed around like a gazelle. The sweaty sheen on his forehead glistened like his insolent smile.
Greyson didn’t get angry. He got even while huffing forward.
By Greyson subtly increasing Art’s gravity, his rival was slowing and panting within minutes.
“You okay, Art?” he asked in mock concern after passing him.
Art nodded, struggling for breath. “Yeah. Just…need to…” He slowed and bent over, hands on knees, stunned by his own failing stamina. “Catch a second wind.”
Greyson shrugged and kept going, catching that important second wind as he struggled to not smile.
The end couldn’t have come soon enough. Both Greyson and Art sagged against the wall, drenched.
“Next!” Brightburn announced. “Target practice.”
Bulldozer brought out a machine that belched out clays. Art went first, his green optic blasts smashing almost every clay spat out. His aim was sublime, head turns cat-quick, once destroying three clays in one sweeping blast.
“Fantastic, Art!” Bulldozer bellowed, drawing loud condemnation from his teammates.
“What?” he remarked innocently. “I’m encouraging a candidate.”
Greyson went next to zero fanfare. Over the last few months, he’d been honing his nuclear blasts to where the energy flowed through him like fire. Shooting clays was easier, his reflexes and targeting honed to near perfection. Then three clays were belched out at once in different directions.
Greyson dropped to a knee, blasting a clay with each hand, then the third with a two-handed burst.
Art seethed, confidence slipping. But only the Thrillers’ opinions mattered to Greyson, all of whom were impressed—even Bulldozer.
After a second fifteen-minute break, they’d reached another section of the training center.
What Greyson walked into was a disaster area. Overturned cars, debris, and shattered street pavement.
“A replica of a crisis,” Erika explained. “Navigate to the other end looking for any survivors.”
“Aaaaaand. GO,” Reverb barked.
Greyson ran into the chaos, scanning for any survivors amid the rubble. Digging through chunks of concrete wasn’t easy without his gravity-based powers, so he struggled.
Art found his first survivor as if he were a bloodhound, behind an overturned four-by-four truck, a female dummy and a teenage boy dummy. Tossing the female over one shoulder, Art reached for the boy.
Greyson saw the flash of steel in the boy “mannequin’s” hand. He snapped up his fist and fired. The dazzling blast smacked the boy’s face, tumbling him away from Art.
The other super dropped the female mannequin, bone-white. “Whoa!”
Art got in his face barking obscenities. The tryouts screeched to a halt.
Greyson remained calm until the Natural Born Thrillers approached with varied reactions.
“Why did you shoot that
innocent?” Reverb asked.
Greyson gave a knowing smile and punted the mannequin onto its back. There was charred metallic skull where the face once was…and a pistol. “The teenager was armed.”
Art’s eyes went wide.
Erika beamed. “Huh.”
“Very observant,” Reverb marveled.
Bulldozer scowled. “Hmmph.”
An hour later, Greyson found his sweaty self in the rusted-out foyer with Art. Neither spoke while the Thrillers remained inside the training center, deliberating.
Greyson sat cross-legged, catching his wind, confident. “May the best man win,” he told his pacing rival.
Art stared through unfriendly eyes. “The better man will win.” He resumed pacing.
Greyson chuckled and waited.
The Thrillers finally emerged, solemn and unreadable. Greyson rose, suddenly uncertain.
“Gentlemen.” Erika stepped forward, arms spread benevolently. “Thank you both for your time today.”
Greyson stood beside Art, who stared ahead with smirking arrogance.
“Art.” Erika beckoned him with her hand. “Step forward.”
Greyson deflated. He forced himself to stay pokerfaced, already mulling a Plan B.
Art swaggered forward, full of confidence.
Erika’s smile was plastic as she continued. “You performed very well.” Her gaze shifted to Greyson. “But we’re going with Levi.”
Greyson swiveled his head. I won? His thoughts ground to a halt, euphoria spreading through his body. “I won,” he murmured.
Art looked from Greyson to Erika and back, the reality of not being selected not registering full. “Him?” His tone and demeanor went from dumbfounded to boiling in a flash. “Him?” He flushed angrily at Bulldozer. “You told me this was locked!”
Greyson blinked. That motherfucker.
Bulldozer’s team whirled on him.
“You what?” Erika’s voice was a sharp slap bouncing off the walls.
Art glared at the Natural Born Thrillers in disgust. “To think I wasted my time trying out for this pathetic team instead of the one in San Miguel.” He stormed off in a huff, pushing the door open and vanishing around the corner.
“Congratulations, Levi.” Erika shook Greyson’s hand with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Thanks,” he said, happier than he expected.
Erika walked toward the training room, and her smile dropped. “Dozer. We need to talk. Now.”
The larger man rolled his eyes and trailed her. As soon as the door closed, muted bellowing erupted.
“That’s normal,” Brightburn dismissed lazily. “Welcome!”
Greyson smirked, filing that factoid away. “I appreciate this opportunity to join the Thrillers.”
His three “teammates” swarmed around him.
“You’ll start as an apprentice for three months,” Reverb declared with a toothy smile.
“Depending on your performance,” Shattershot went on. “Then we’ll decide whether we bring you on with Seneca International’s sign-off or not.”
Greyson nodded. So he had three months to destroy the Thrillers from within. “Sounds good.”
More muted shouting behind the training center walls. Brightburn maintained her smiles. “We’ll be in touch with more details, moving into the compound, all the blah blah blah.”
After farewells and more congrats, Greyson headed back to his condo in the Palisades.
Once at home, he plopped onto the couch, laughing hysterically. His crazy scheme had worked.
He was about to exclaim, until a shift in the air near the kitchen caught his eye. Someone wearing a cloaked outfit—inside his condo.
Greyson smiled. “Hey.”
The air shivered as the cloak dropped, revealing Connie in a figure-hugging catsuit. “Hi.” She sashayed over and crashed beside him. “Well?”
Greyson grabbed his wife’s face, planted a huge kiss, then pulled away. “I’m in.”
Connie pumped both fists. “Yay!”
“Just waiting for details and my start date.” He smiled even wider and drew Connie into another kiss. Besides Art Strong’s unexpected arrival, Paxton-Brandt had provided full intel on the tryout thanks to their Seneca moles. He leaned back as a question popped up to Connie’s audible dismay. “What about you?”
Connie’s mischievous grin set his heart racing. “The command center was too secure. So I placed hidden cameras in the bedrooms and common room.” Infiltrating the Thrillers’ base had been Connie’s mission, which she’d completed.
Greyson looked her up and down in pure delight. “You’re swell, Constance.”
Connie burst out laughing. “You cornball.”
Greyson chortled. “Now the real game begins.” He dragged Connie on top of him to start celebrating.
Chapter 15
Hugo braked behind a smeared expanse of colors and fast-moving rides. Morro Bay’s annual Fall Carnival by the Sea was in full swing. Twelve minutes past seven was later than he’d told his friends. That couldn’t have been helped. Afternoon patrol ran long due to stopping a turf fight between the superpowered Wonder Boyz and Mala Tierra Gang.
Plus, stopping by Michelman’s penthouse and winery had come up empty. The doctor and Spencer were gone. That wouldn’t have worried Hugo if Michelman were answering his calls.
But those worries, like many others, had to wait.
“It’s carnival time,” Hugo muttered.
At the end of September, the fall carnival took over Morro Bay for three weeks of music concerts, carnival rides, and cheesy local activities.
Dressed in jeans, a black V-neck t-shirt, and red sneakers, Hugo adjusted his white beanie and strode out from his hiding place. Squeals, chatter, the whines of ride motors and EDM performances flooded Hugo’s ears. Garish neon lights from lofty carousel-like rides, Ferris wheels, and rows of vendor stands spread before Hugo’s eyes. Countless Paso High students were milling about. Competing aromas of deep-fried foods like hotdogs, burgers, and pretzels collided with the stink of too many human odors. But Hugo managed the sensory onslaught with a smile.
Tonight was about enjoying Jordana, his friends, and cheesy carnival fun. Hugo slipped into a back entrance and weaved through the crowds wandering the carnival grounds. He focused his superhearing, quickly locking on to Jordana’s and Simon’s voices. They’d just gotten off Coronado’s Revenge, a freefall ride. After a few minutes of searching, Hugo spied Raphael’s head above the swirls of humanity.
The usual suspects had gathered. Jordana was in the center, laughing at someone’s joke. Her curves were on full display in a cropped suspenders top with matching black jeans, long curly hair in a J.Lo-style half ponytail. Briseis was gabbing with her, happy and healthy. Her auburn hair was up in a lazy half-knot, the rest of it framing her bewitching face perfectly. Brie’s attire, a long cardigan over a t-shirt and hip-hugging capris, fit her slender frame well.
Hugo gazed at her and Jodie, happy to see these BFFs reunited. Simon shared his cotton candy with Grace. Groban, Wale, and JT were arguing over something dance-related. Raphael was a big boulder, eyes only for his girlfriend, Karlee. The strawberry-blonde Stanleys were sniping at each other while glaring at Brent Longwell. The buzzcut blond had deigned to join the group, but with one of his lumbering basketball bros.
My real-world people, Hugo mused. This group and his family kept him grounded.
Hugo almost advanced, only to freeze. His friends didn’t seem to miss him, carrying on with relish.
Hugo stood paralyzed, the potential abandonment almost too painful to bear. Eventually, the constant lateness and absences would make them lose patience.
Brie shifted her stare a fraction, and her pale-green eyes brightened. She eagerly poked Jodie and pointed. The shorter girl went from annoyed to happily squealing.
Now the whole group saw Hugo, breaking out into a chorus of animated greetings.
Confidence restored, Hugo strode to them. “Hey, crew
!”
He didn’t have to walk far as his friends cut the distance between them. Jordana skipped over, long curls bouncing and gold hoop earrings jangling.
“Sorry,” Hugo murmured, cheeks burning after kissing Jordana. “Things ran late.”
Brie strutted over, smiling her face off, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Hugo embraced her with his free arm. Her pleased sigh quashed his stubborn worries. When Jodie and Brie drew away, the rest of his friends greeted him with side-hugs and high-fives. Even Grace seemed friendlier, thanks to Simon and cotton candy, no doubt.
“Broseephus!” Brent embraced Hugo fiercely. The lanky ballplayer was in great shape.
“Hey, Brent.” Hugo pulled back, admiring Brent’s attire. The blue t-shirt showed Aegis, hands on hips staring ahead, standing on the words “Beast Slayer.” Annie and Johnny made that shirt after the Tiamat battle. This one, and the “Half-Man, Half-Amazing, All Hero” shirt should sell as well as the prior three.
“New Aegis shirt?” Hugo remarked with practiced innocence.
Brent’s eyes crinkled from a huge grin. He remained Aegis’s biggest fan. “I bought five.”
Hugo chuckled. “I believe you.” He enjoyed this Brent; loyal, nerdy in his obsessions, kind, and humble. But that version rarely appeared after basketball success last year had gotten to his head. Now Brent usually hung with other popular jocks, bragging about himself to pretty girls. Hugo prayed this was just a phase. “Which ride do we wanna hit up?” he asked.
He held Jodie’s hand while wandering through the carnival with his friends, hopping on popular rides where the wait lines weren’t long. The rollercoaster, Twist and Shout, whirled up and down like a snake on speed. While Jodie, Brie, Grace, Simon, and others screamed their lungs out, Hugo was bored. Flying had ruined this ride for him, so he took pleasure in his friends’ over-the-top terror.
Hugo needed this real-world time, during which he tried speaking with Grace. But each time, she kept getting pulled into other discussions. Or was she avoiding him? Weird.
“Aren’t you cold, Bogie?” Brie asked later, gesturing at his t-shirt. The skies had darkened, and the temperature dropped. Everyone else, Jodie included, had some jacket or extra layering.
