Everything happened so quickly in a blur of color, light, sound, and mayhem. It was simply beautiful. I kept my place on the founder’s statue, holding back and observing. I’d much to learn, maestro told me from somewhere in the murky past—or maybe my dreams? Watch and wait.
Watch and wait.
The doll-men inched forward. They were running out of ammunition now, but they continued to hold their guns, moving them side to side as though still shooting an endless rain at the crowd. Instead, I only heard an erratic Pop! Pop! Pop! as their weapons emptied themselves.
Some people trapped in their cars screamed as the dolls neared; others managed to stumble out and crawl between cars in hopes of dodging bullets, or whatever those mannequins used against them.
From somewhere to my left—the rooftops, to be precise—a dark blur tore through the air, leaped down onto the mess of cars, and landed right in front of the advancing group. He stood up quickly, his red-brown and gold costume distinctive even in the confusion.
I watched Calais fight, wonder and something much deeper stirring in my belly at the sight of this young, agile hero throwing himself without a moment’s hesitation into an old-fashioned fistfight with one mannequin after another. At times, he became no more than a blob of color—no doubt because he moved at super speed to dodge blows—and sometimes he appeared somewhere above or behind an enemy, swinging an arm to deal a massive blow against the back of a wooden neck or the side of a wooden head. He’d use his legs and booted feet to fell a mannequin-doll or two. His moves were very eastern, I thought. Martial arts, that is, and coupled with his incredible speed, he appeared to be a beautiful work of destructive art.
The dolls proved to be much more difficult to bring down, though. Calais would knock them off their feet, but they’d struggle back up, lunging at him with renewed energy despite their increasingly erratic movements. Their guns were useless at this point. They’d run out of ammunition, and Calais had managed to disarm half of them.
Calais was alone at first, moving back and forth, taking on however many enemies would jump on him. From a good enough distance, I could see exhaustion setting in. He gritted his teeth, his breathing growing more pronounced till he was visibly panting from his efforts. Not once did he give up, though, and when caught off-guard and thrown off his feet, he bounced back.
“Hold on!” someone cried.
My breath caught. I heard the voice, and it came from a pretty good distance. First, my eyesight, now my hearing. A thrill swept through me at the possibility of other enhanced senses.
The fire girl now came swooping down from somewhere. She landed, miraculously unharmed and on concrete, not on a car, several feet behind Calais.
“Quick! Take them down!” Calais huffed as he kicked one doll’s back, sending it sprawling on the ground. He dove and grabbed hold of its head, yanking it off its joint. The sound of splintering wood reached my ears. The mannequin-doll-thing collapsed in a broken heap under his weight.
“Got it!”
Fire Girl stretched an arm out to her side, and from her gloved hand—the palm, as a matter of fact—something long, slender, and edged with flames emerged. Like a fiery tentacle, it sprouted from her hand and pushed outward, growing till she stopped it by wrapping her fingers around what could be its handle. She stood with a long whip in her hand, which she immediately snapped back as she flew up and above the group of half-broken mannequins.
“Watch it, Calais!” she called out. Calais understood. Wrenching one more wooden head off its battered shoulders, he leaped out of the girl’s way just as she cracked her flame-edged whip.
With deadly accuracy, the whip sliced across the group of wooden dolls, decapitating those it managed to reach, sending their headless bodies crumpling to the ground in a heap of burning wood and cloth.
“Excellent!” Calais whooped. He immediately threw himself against a couple of dolls that had managed to escape the fire whip. All three went down in a tangle of bizarre, costumed limbs.
Fire Girl turned her attention to a couple of dolls that had turned tail and were beginning to totter off in a clumsy retreat. She snapped her whip back, the flames crackling up and down its slender, slithering length.
Now. Now!
I felt the energy stir and throb in a fraction of a second. Suddenly I was airborne—or at least I felt weightless—and I kept my mind on the scene before me. Clenching my fists at my sides, I hurled out another wave of energy, this time aiming for Fire Girl just as she was about to crack her whip against the two retreating dolls.
The waves rippled across the air and caught her in mid-flight, cocooning her in suffocating warmth. She dropped her fire whip and flailed in the cloud of energy that engulfed her, her mouth wide open as she struggled for breath. She stayed suspended in the air for a second, struggling and gasping. Below her, the two battered dolls fell under Calais’s blows.
He stopped to look up.
Run!
Our gazes met. I killed my energy surge, and Fire Girl tumbled down with a cry and landed on a car. She lay there, stunned and breathing heavily, but looking otherwise unharmed.
I caught the split second when Calais prepared to launch himself after me. I immediately poured out another energy wave in his direction, catching him in mid-leap this time, knocking him off his center and sweeping him away. Like Fire Girl, he flailed against the warm energy that encased him. I turned and flew off, my breath catching in my throat as I sailed in a wide arc above rooftops toward a random spot in the projects.
That was close.
I chuckled just as I landed on a rusty, rickety old fire escape. It faced a grimy old alley, and I had to turn away in disgust at the stench—so common in these miserable places. Calais was going to come after me, I reminded myself. I turned to the filthy window that led to the fire escape. It was partially open, and I gingerly pushed it up, crawling inside with some effort when the damn thing got stuck midway. Once inside, I turned and pulled it back down before melting into the shadows of the room in case Calais or Magnifiman or Fire Girl came my way.
I looked around and found myself in an empty room, neglected and well on its way to being condemned, I was sure. Paint peeled off walls and the ceiling in large patches, exposing plaster or rotting wood. There were a couple of dilapidated chairs nearby, both of which were faded and torn. I was sure all kinds of bugs or rodents must have taken up residence among their rusty springs. The floor was littered with debris from heaven knew where. From somewhere a steady rhythm of dripping water could be heard.
I took a calming breath as I leaned against a wall, enclosing myself in the darkness. I tried to wrap my mind around what had just happened, but I couldn’t. Everything had happened at such a rapid rate that even in the peace and quiet of a forgotten home, I still felt outside myself, floating in space, completely in the mercy of something far, far greater than I. I’d no control over anything. Not even myself.
That’s where power comes from. Give up all control, and you’ll rise above the common and the dull. Do you realize you’re now one of THEM?
“I am, aren’t I?” I breathed, wide-eyed and amazed.
You are. Are you enjoying it?
I mulled things over for a brief moment. “I am. It’s exciting. I can help or destroy at will.”
At will? Are you sure about that?
“Well, I’m still learning, aren’t I? I guess this is what they mean when they say ‘coming into his powers.’ I’ll have to depend on you for now till I’m able to stand on my own.”
That’s a charming thought. Do you regret anything?
“Should I?” I laughed quietly in the filthy gloom. “No, of course not. This is a great sandbox I’m in.”
Then go explore. It’s your time now.
A sudden noise outside silenced my mind. I held my breath as I pushed back against the wall. Voices, low and conversational, male and female. I was sure those were Calais and his new crime-fighting buddy. Could Calais hear me breathe, given his super hearing? My heart pounded; could he hear that as well? I dared not sneak a peek and simply waited. The voices grew a little louder, and before long, I could hear footsteps on rusty, decaying steel. They were moving up and down the fire escape, most likely looking through windows and investigating empty rooms. My hearing, just like my eyesight, had improved tremendously since my powers had taken over, but I knew my ability to hear beyond a certain distance was nowhere near Calais’s.
They were now downstairs, in the empty apartment one floor below me. I could hear them picking their way through the debris, their voices a constant, low hum. If I moved to go to the main door and escape to a different empty apartment, Calais would know.
You can levitate.
All right, then. Never mind.
Concentration was all it took. I raised myself off the floor and focused on reaching the door. It was old and decrepit, just like everything else in the room, and was likely to make all kinds of loud, obnoxious sounds when moved.
Use your powers on it. Seal it in a vacuum the way you sealed Calais and the girl.
I did. It took a little more effort controlling the flow of energy as it rippled out of me, being so used to working with it in larger, more dramatic amounts. A couple of attempts were needed, and I made a mental note to practice some more.
I watched the door shiver and contort as a mass of energy encased it.
“Upstairs. I think I heard something,” the male voice said. Then I heard movement—stealthy shuffling through dirt and debris, followed by the cautious rattling of rusty steel as the two superheroes clambered up the fire escape to the floor I was on.
Damn it. I turned the knob and slipped out the door, quietly, effortlessly. It was great. I’d cut off the energy surge just as the sounds of voices and footsteps filled the vacant room at the other side of the door.
Get out.
I did. Still levitating, I floated—no, I could fly now!—toward a window that was way at the end of the dark, rotting corridor. I shot out and flew off to another direction, stopping and hiding behind warehouses and tenements to make sure I wasn’t being followed. Every so often, I’d leap down to some dingy alley and crouch beside a dumpster to limit my presence above. God, the stench! My stomach turned, but I stuck to my task, feeling more and more confident with every danger-filled moment of playing hide-and-seek with some pretty powerful superheroes. I was only now coming into my power, and yet I’d been able to avoid them. This was fantastic.
The voice suggested going to a place where I was least likely to be followed. I smiled to myself. Yes, I never even thought about that. Mentors were good to have around. Once sure of my safety, I continued my trek across the city, above and below, with plenty of pauses along the way for security’s sake. The delay in getting to my intended destination was a bit of a pain, but as long as I got there in one piece, that was all that mattered.
Good job. A little slow, but you’ll improve in time.
* * * *
I blinked and held my breath. I felt like myself again and yet not. I was back in my own body, so to speak, but everything seemed off. For one thing, I found I was flying and descending to a rooftop. My brain was totally clear, but I was too stunned to freak out over my tweaked self. Yeah, I was tweaked—really tweaked. It was like having two personalities merging into one. The last several moments, it felt as though another part of me needed to take over first, fighting the heroes and then saving my skin, before helping my real self ease into place. Into my new body. And yet that other self stayed in the background, in a way, because I felt as though it’d never left. Like it was watching me from the sidelines, coaching me here and there the whole time. And that other self felt older somehow. An older me, hanging around and sharing mental space with me-me.
And I realized that older me was the other voice in my head. As for me-me, I felt myself getting fed weird moods by my other half. Not only was I too stunned to freak out, I was actually going along for the ride, like, being led around on a leash willingly. And I couldn’t stop myself because—I guess I wanted it.
This is where you can hide for now.
I rolled my eyes and then surveyed my new location. “God, isn’t this typical?” I blurted out, shaking my head. “How much more classist can people be, expecting bad guys to come from the projects? Jeez!”
The place where I was directed was the swanky part of Vintage City. I stood—seriously filthy, torn up, and disheveled—in the middle of endless rows of sparkling clean terraced houses, with shiny, expensive cars parked in front. It was a familiar sight, yeah, with all the sanitized prettiness that made the neighborhoods what they were. The extreme contrast to where I’d first hidden myself hurt my brain.
Even more so the thought that Vintage City’s superheroes, those expected to uphold justice and peace, would expect to find me lurking around in the poorer areas like that grungy old building and not think about froufrou places like this.
I guess Eugenics could do a lot to a person’s genes, but it sure as hell couldn’t do much for anything else, least of all a tendency toward snobbery.
You’re a mess. Clean yourself up and then rest. You’ve had enough for one day. You’ll have more time to explore your powers in days to come.
I’d never been big on crime. Then again, I’d never really committed one. A minor no-no here and there—a reluctant lie to my parents regarding my after-school activities the day Peter tore up my locker, snarky exchanges with my older sister, a joking request for Althea to break into the school’s computer and change my Chemistry and Geometry grades. Oh, and that martini party with the Trill’s gang inside their limo. Those were smaller than small potatoes in the criminal world.
At this point in time, given my new powers, I was ready to up the ante. I flitted over to a ritzy hotel nearby, spied on different rooms in the back of the building, and used my powers to weaken the window lock and break into one room that was unoccupied. Seriously, this energy wave thing was pretty handy to have. I was in there, totally enjoying a nice, warm shower, complete with the typical citrus-scented shampoo, conditioner, and soap. My soiled clothes bugged me when I stepped out of the tub. I washed them as best I could—and without laundry detergent—scrubbing as much of the dirt off my shirt and jeans as was humanly possible under the circumstances. Ugh. This definitely made me develop a better appreciation of our washer and dryer at home.
Speaking of, insta-dryer! I lined the dripping clothes along the tub’s edge, all neat and spread out, and blasted them all with my energy waves. Voila! Dry laundry! I told myself to put together a running list of what I could use my powers for, in addition to drying clothes, opening squeaky doors, and encasing pesky superheroes in energy bubbles.
I stood before the mirror for some time, taking stock of myself physically. I expected a few changes in the way I looked now that I was, well, one of them—and wondered how obvious these changes would be to everyone who knew me. Especially my family.
Still tall, still pale, but—hey!—better built. Now how the hell did that happen? I’d been doing my pushups for some time, with really pathetic results. All of a sudden, I had muscles? All because my brain waves enjoyed a form of mental steroids? Well, I’ll be damned.
I continued my survey. Hair still neatly trimmed, but the blue streaks had vanished. My face looked a little more angular—mature, maybe? I couldn’t say for sure, but it definitely gave off a sense of age. Like my other half—the one that was kind of manipulating me right now—was showing himself physically. My eyes startled me. My irises had changed color from green to hazel, with a thin but distinct edging of red. I blinked several times, squinted, and leaned forward for a closer look till my face was practically pressed against the mirror.
Yeah, my eyes were different. What the hell? My skin crawled at the sight, but at the same time, I couldn’t help but feel a major thrill. Gone was the old Eric Plath, I thought. Gone were the stupid grades, the stupid haikus, the stupid sensitivity toward perfection. The boy who stared back at me was better, way better. He was older, stronger, smarter, more independent, and he bowed to no one.
He had control over his life. Cliché would have me go further and say he had control over his destiny. A seriously dumb cliché, but it worked in this case, and I was shocked but in a more positive way. Was he also manipulating me into embracing this “new me”? Then again, I’d always wanted this, hadn’t I?
Do you like what you see?
I slapped a hand against my mouth to keep myself from crying all of a sudden.
I pulled away, took a deep, relaxing breath to get a hold of myself, and walked over to the bed. I tumbled in, exhausted. What if the hotel manager let out this room to a new guest? I yawned against the big, soft pillow as I curled on my side, burrowing under the nice, clean sheets. Let them take it from me. I could crush them if I wanted to.
I didn’t even know which part of me thought that.