The Pantheon Saga | Book 5 | Absolute Power

by Ekeke, C. C.

  “Speaking of Ramon.” He turned around to J-Tom. “How did you ditch your armor and get here so fast?” That drew Mom and Simon’s attention.

  “Yeah, you arrived before everyone,” AJ noted.

  J-Tom sprang up so excitedly, Hugo thought she might hit the ceiling. “Watch this!” She reached behind the couch, grabbing a gym bag. J-Tom then pulled out a silvery briefcase and placed it down. Kicking the latch flipped open the case, revealing two tube-shaped protrusions.

  J-Tom bent over, sticking her forearms inside, then stood and drew the briefcase onto her chest.

  Hugo couldn’t really process the next thirty or so seconds. The briefcase shifted and unfurled across J-Tom’s torso, then wrapped around her limbs. Thin lines fashioned angular patterns along the metal, glowing bright blue. Before long, J-Tom was sheathed in menacing dark-silver armor.

  The helmet formed last, engulfing J-Tom’s head in an armored mask with glowing blue eyes.

  Mom slapped a hand over her mouth. Simon stood, then fell back down.

  Hugo picked up his jaw, recognizing the suit from earlier. “Good…LORD! Portable armor?”

  “Right?!” J-Tom’s digitized voice answered.

  “How’s that shit even possible?” AJ demanded.

  J-Tom’s helmet slid away, revealing her grinning and freckled face. “Technology, young Angelo.”

  Hugo’s heart was full from this welcome surprise. “You ready, Jenny!”

  After J-Tom collapsed her armor back into a briefcase, she, Hugo, and Simon retreated upstairs. Then the Samoan confessed his suspicions of who’d orchestrated this attack.

  “It’s gotta be Paxton-Brandt.” J-Tom leaned forward in Hugo’s chair, shamelessly watching him change.

  “Maybe…” He pulled on a fresh tank top with black boardshorts.

  “Or the OSA,” Simon rebutted, lying on the bed.

  J-Tom shook her head, ponytail swinging. “Why would they attack a possible recruit?”

  Hugo frowned at her naiveté, plopping down beside Simon. “The OSA does shady shit. That Aegis-bot could’ve been a warning shot.”

  J-Tom sank back in the chair with familiarized comfort. “Well, I’m staying to guard you.”

  Simon looked at her sharply. “Me too.”

  Hugo rolled his eyes over this jockeying for BFF position. “Simon. What happened at the Carnival probably hit the local news, which your parents watch. Go home before they freak.”

  Simon looked deflated. “But—”

  Hugo mussed his BFF’s Bruce Lee bowl-cut hair. “We’ll talk tomorrow. And call G-Mama tonight.”

  The Korean boy grumbled a sullen goodbye and trudged off as if being sent to a gulag.

  “Thanks for protecting me,” Hugo muttered to J-Tom.

  Her smile was magical. “Always.” J-Tom raised both arms in a catlike stretch, her long-sleeved shirt inching up to reveal a flat and firm belly.

  Hugo’s eyes lingered there a moment. “I wasn’t sure you could be a superhero.” His chest tightened as J-Tom’s smile vanished. But he continued. “I worried that you might get hurt.”

  “I know.”

  Hugo choked on her nonchalance. “You what?”

  Her lips pulled into a grin. “Your poker face needs work.” She tapped her foot against his shin. “But you believed in me when it counted.” J-Tom grew serious, hunching her shoulders. “Why Paxton-Brandt?”

  “They have enough reason.”

  “Cuz you trashed The Elite and their Titan-cloning project,” J-Tom recited.

  Hugo felt a sudden, sick fatigue. “That…” Only Simon knew what he was about to say, and even he hadn’t been happy. Hugo braced himself for J-Tom’s reaction. “And I’ve been lowkey working with Dr. Michelman to take Paxton-Brandt down since summer.”

  J-Tom flinched as if she’d been stung. “What?” The single whispered word carried such revulsion.

  He hastily pressed forward. “I don’t trust Dr. Michelman. But he’s got reasons to hate them—”

  J-Tom shot out of the chair like a spring. “You can’t.”

  Hugo leaned away from the terse demand. “Excuse me?”

  “The Michelmans are monsters.” Anguish contorted J-Tom’s face. “Spencer’s scheming destroyed Briseis, ripped my heart out. She literally almost killed you.” Her voice rose. “Her Dr. Frankenstein dad created the Elite and tried cloning his best friend!”

  Hugo absorbed her tantrum. “Keep your voice down.” Admitting this was a mistake. He forgot sometimes how deep Spencer had sunk her claws into J-Tom, and how much healing she still needed.

  J-Tom breathed heavily, lowering her hands as if settling her emotions. “Promise that you’ll stop.”

  “Jen—”

  “Promise me.” Her ragged voice almost cracked Hugo’s resolve—almost.

  But a threat like Paxton-Brandt cared nothing for feelings. Hugo pushed upright, standing six inches taller than J-Tom. “Can’t. We need Michelman’s help against Paxton-Brandt.”

  J-Tom’s eyes narrowed and turned hard. “Fine. Get yourself killed.” She whirled around to leave.

  Good lord… Hugo caught her elbow. “Stop. I need you in this fight.” He wouldn’t bend on this mission, even for her. “Especially now.”

  J-Tom glared up at him but relaxed in his grip.

  She’s listening. Hugo released her arm. “Once PB’s toast, no more Michelmans. I promise.”

  J-Tom nodded hesitantly, still not facing him. God, she looked so wounded.

  Hugo couldn’t leave things so frayed and held out his arms.

  J-Tom walked up and hugged him like a teddy bear she couldn’t part with.

  Electricity coursed through Hugo as they embraced in blissful silence.

  Since the summer, he’d pulled J-Tom from the black hole of heartache. And tonight, Hugo was desperate for an escape. He walked his fingers along J-Tom’s flat midriff.

  A soft little gasp escaped her lips. Hugo slid his hands under J-Tom’s shirt, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear, distracting her further. She gasped again and sagged in his arms…

  Much later, Hugo stood in his bedroom fastening on his Aegis costume. He looked in the mirror and shivered. That robot had been identical.

  AJ and Mom slept soundly in their rooms. The neighborhood was tranquil aside from a few households watching late-night TV. Outside, a pale crescent hung in the sky.

  He studied the leggy outline draped across his bed, facedown and passed out.

  Hugo traced a thumb along J-Tom’s freckled shoulder blades, then down the soft and supple length of her left arm. He smiled, remembering her eager mouth, how his touch made her melt into a puddle, causing him to melt away with her. The familiar guilt was absent tonight. Jodie probably would’ve dumped Hugo until the Aegis-bot nabbed him.

  He drew a bedsheet over J-Tom, placing a folded paper sheet beside her pillow. She’d enjoy his gift. Then Hugo pulled on his hood and half-mask.

  There was another location he hadn’t looked for Dr. Michelman.

  He left home in a rush, flying to the abandoned strip mall outside of San Miguel.

  Touching down minutes later, he entered the complex’s maze of hallways. After going through body scans and security checks, he stepped within the elevator to Michelman’s lab.

  The expected blinding flash washed everything away, fading seconds later.

  Hugo then choked on putrid, smothering smoke.

  The high-tech laboratory with its futuristic workstations had been reduced to smoldering wreckage. No sign of Michelman or anything salvageable.

  Paxton-Brandt did this. Frightened, Hugo crouched and ran his fingers along the burnt flooring. His psychometry activated instantly. Ghost-like images floated up around him. What happened here had been a fierce battle between the wiry form of Dr. Michelman and a pair of masked operatives.

  By the way the spectral images viciously danced and collided, Michelman had held his own for a few minutes. Then old injuries and numbers took the ex-superher
o down.

  Hugo yanked his hand off the floor. The ghostly images vanished. Scorched tech encircled him again.

  “They got Michelman.” His best ally against Paxton-Brandt had been neutralized. “Fuck.”

  Chapter 18

  The day after getting chosen, Greyson moved into the Natural Born Thrillers’ compound. He only brought a few suitcases of clothing and some personal belongings, but not much else.

  But Greyson quickly learned that trying out had been the easy part.

  Day one was pure torture, starting with an onslaught of sprint drills at the crack of dawn. After that and some breakfast, he’d sparred with each Thriller in one-on-one combat.

  “You’ll enter the circle,” Erika had stated on the first day. “So we can see how you square up against us and keeping a battle contained.” The circle occupied another part of the training center, a gymnasium space with a blue outlined circle in its center for sparring.

  Greyson got his ass kicked—on purpose—to see what each superhero could do.

  Basically, the Natural Born Thrillers were showing him how to defeat them.

  He first squared off against Brightburn, who’d traded her provocative costume for a figure-hugging sports bra and yoga pants. Greyson thanked the lord he was happily married. Social media narcissism aside, Brightburn could fight. She shaped weapons out of her electricity to deflect Greyson’s radiation bursts, then electrocuted him with relish. Their matchups would’ve gone shorter if she wasn’t such a showoff.

  He faced with Erika Skye next, who proved why she was in charge. She could fling those hot knives from any direction or wield them like claws. Greyson made more effort with her, dodging and weaving around her swipes and throws. In three battles, each won a match and fought to a draw in the final.

  “Nice, Levi,” she commended breathlessly while helping him up. “Your combat instincts are solid.”

  Bulldozer harrumphed, massive arms folded. “Yeah, solid.”

  Erika ignored him.

  Shattershot entered the circle eagerly. “Let’s see how you do with me.” He didn’t take a fighting stance.

  Greyson cracked his neck, fists glowing. But something in him couldn’t attack. It would be like kicking a puppy. Greyson dropped his fists, powering down.

  “You don’t want to fight, do you?” Shattershot inquired, smiling warmly.

  Greyson really didn’t. “No...”

  “Where are you really from, Levi?” Shattershot asked.

  “St. Louis…” Greyson answered readily. Why wouldn’t he admit that? Luckily, the Paxton-Brandt folks made sure his new identity hailed from the same city.

  He glanced at Bulldozer then, who was watching with intense, gleaming eyes.

  That poked a hole in the fuzzy haze surrounding Greyson’s brain. Why so curious?

  He looked back at Shattershot advancing. “What’s the extent of your power—AWWW!” The empath’s face scrunched up—after Greyson field-goal-punted him between his legs, and felt horrible doing so.

  When Shattershot crumpled, a fog lifted. Greyson felt like himself again.

  “Nice try, Shattershot.” Cold fingers of dread crawled up his spine. That could’ve gone badly if Shattershot had asked the right questions. Greyson had to watch himself around that kid.

  Bulldozer snarled in disgust at Shattershot. “Useless.”

  In a burst of scary speed, he charged.

  He struck, full-body tackle, launching Greyson out of the circle.

  Coming to, Greyson found Bulldozer loomed over him, blotting out the lights.

  “Lesson one, newbie.” He poked his chest, which felt like a piston to the ribs. “Never drop your guard.”

  “Noted,” Greyson managed to groan.

  Bulldozer stomped off without offering to help him up. Asshole.

  During a break, Greyson limped off for some water outside the training center. Instead, he found Bulldozer and Shattershot in a quiet yet terse argument. Correction, Bulldozer was chewing Shattershot out.

  Greyson tried finding a place to hide and listen.

  But Bulldozer caught him. Grumbling under his breath, he stomped back inside the training center.

  Shattershot leaned against a wall, visibly shaken by whatever Bulldozer had said.

  Greyson approached and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

  Shattershot pushed him off. “I’m fine.”

  Greyson backpedaled, not taking it personally. “Sure.” He repeated his question. “You okay?”

  “I’m sick of him!” Shattershot erupted. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “That asshole’s still like this, even when I’m a full member!”

  The candor shocked Greyson. Seeing an opening, he dug deeper. “How long have you been full-time?”

  Shattershot wiped his tears with a trembling hand. “Six months. He’s just waiting for me to break bad.” He suddenly glanced around in pure panic. “I shouldn’t have said that—”

  “No worries,” Greyson interrupted softly. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  Shattershot walked off, red-faced.

  Greyson watched him go. I might have an unknowing ally, he mused.

  By day’s end, Greyson couldn't move. Every muscle ached, but in the good way. Steaming hot showers and seasoned chicken eased the soreness.

  His room was simple in its trappings: large bed, workstation, nightstand, closet, drawers, and a wall-mounted TV.

  Currently in a t-shirt and pajama pants, he texted with Connie on his encrypted phone. The nightstand lamp provided enough illumination as the couple talked business.

  CIH: How goes it so far?

  ME: Team training. Learning their strengths and weaknesses.

  Greyson texted over flaws in each Thriller’s fighting style, useful for when he moved on the team.

  A knock startled Greyson. He glared at his steel-grey door. Who was visiting this late?

  “Levi?” Erika announced from outside. “You awake?”

  Greyson fired off a quick text.

  ME: Got company. Goodnight.

  He hastily aborted his VPN and encrypted chat app before hiding the cell beneath his bed. “Come in.”

  The door opened. Erika entered wearing an “I Love Shenandoah” t-shirt and slacks, her braids piled on top of her head. She waved with both hands. “Hey there.”

  “Hi, Erika,” Greyson greeted.

  The Thrillers’ leader took a seat on the side of the bed. “How’s the first few days been treating you?”

  Greyson made a wincing face and shook his left arm. “Sore all over.”

  Erika’s smile revealed crinkly laugh lines around the eyes. “Bulldozer can be rough. But he’s just making sure you’re cut out for what we do.”

  Greyson nodded. “Understood.” Bulldozer could definitely become a problem. But Greyson deflected to another Bulldozer victim. “He bullies Shattershot.”

  Erika looked wounded hearing that. “Dozer doesn’t feel villains can change, which is cynical as hell.”

  Oh, the irony. “Completely agree,” Greyson replied, fighting the smirks off his face.

  “If we don’t believe in the best of people,” Erika gestured as she grew more passionate, “we might as well become like Geist and murderize them.”

  Greyson jerked back a little. “Murderize?”

  Erika side-eyed him. “It’s been a long day, and I’m tired.” Both of them laughed.

  “Is Bulldozer why Nighthawk left?” The question killed the jovial mood, but Greyson wanted insider dirt.

  Erika shook her head. “They were close friends. Us three grew up here.” Sadness passed over her face. “She was burned out on Shenandoah. And Blackbird’s so much happier.” Her pain ran deep.

  “So then,” Greyson went on, tickled at this woman’s frankness, “are you and Bulldozer together?”

  “Were,” Erika corrected frostily.

  Greyson shifted uncomfortably in his seat, knowing he’d crossed a line. “Sorry.” He raised his hands to emphasi
ze the apology.

  Erika softened. “We broke up a few months ago.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Dating a teammate, seeing them every hour of the day is hard.” She shook her head, visibly tired. “The arguments were worse when we were together.”

  Greyson scrunched his face in mock discomfort. “Eeesh.” Another flaw to exploit.

  Erika shrugged indifferently. “It’s for the best.”

  Sensing the finality in her tone, Greyson switched topics. “You told me there was a plan to regain Shenandoah’s trust.”

  Erika predictably brightened. “We’re working to improve our relations with the police, the fire department, and other emergency services. Then hospitals and charitable events appearances.”

  Erika went on for a while about her plans to help revitalize Shenandoah while Greyson listened. The scope of her vision was quite impressive.

  “Paragon and the Chicago Massacre left so many scars,” Erika admitted, gesturing with her hands. “I’m focused on pushing this city toward a renaissance, top to bottom. And whatever I can do to shepherd that forward, I’m game.”

  Greyson blinked, almost feeling…guilty. “Your passion is inspiring.”

  With hands on hips, Erika nodded with such pride that Greyson had to smile. “That’s what leaders do…I guess.” She turned and smiled at some unbidden thought. “I used to work at a community center for troubled kids, many of them supers.” She met his gaze with hopeful eyes. “I can effect more change using this platform.”

  “I’m sold,” Greyson proclaimed, arms wide. “Find me a synagogue to spread the good word.” Erika burst out laughing again. “I’ll keep that in mind. Anyway…” She stood and winked. “Get some sleep. More training torture awaits tomorrow.”

  “Goodnight,” Greyson said. Once the door closed behind Erika, his smile grew pained. This was unfortunate. Striking Erika down would now be harder than expected once he eventually fought her team.

  Chapter 19

  “No fingerprints,” Ramon said over the phone. “Tracking got disabled, which was why Vulcan couldn’t find the Aegis-bot. There’s plenty of footage shadowing you on patrols.”

  “Damn it.” Hugo scowled, crouched in the dilapidated storage room that was his gear stash on Paso High’s campus. Dark-blue jeans and a blood-red tee were today’s attire. Snack period had started a few minutes ago, allowing him time to speak with Ramon. “Were you able to track the video feed to the person controlling it?”