Megamatrix Hero Within (5 page)

Fletcher wasn’t sure how he felt about being in “the big time.” Something gnawed at him about the whole idea of using his powers to be a supervillain. Maybe it was all those stories his mom told him about his dad, or maybe it was some residual aspect of the Global Defenders’ personalities, but he knew he didn’t have much choice.

There weren’t any superheroes anymore. He had powers and he was going to use them to take care of himself and his brother. And if that meant scaring a few gang members, who cared?

“We’ve got to make sure this goes perfectly, Fletch-o.”

“Could you stop calling me Fletch-o? It’s just Fletcher.”

“No, you need a nickname. Like I’m Tremblor, like an earthquake can be called a trembler. And because I make people tremble when they see me.”

“Except if your name is Tremblor, it sounds like you’re the one who trembles, not others.”

Tremblor reflected on this for a moment and laughed. “Naw. I think people get it.”

The Winslow Street Gang holed up in an old pizza restaurant in the middle of the block. There was no way to approach their headquarters without one of the lookouts at either end of the street seeing you. When Tremblor’s car turned the corner, the word of their arrival spread at lightning speed. Gang members rushed to combat positions. Some took up spots on the rooftop and fire escape across the street. Others filled the street, forming a human roadblock to greet Tremblor.

The car slowed and came to a stop outside the pizza restaurant. Tremblor stepped out, triggering a small quake when his foot his the ground. His smile made it clear he liked that effect and the look on the gang members faces when they tried to keep their footing and look tough at the same time. He also liked that his new partner was nowhere to be seen.

“Winslow Street,” Tremblor called out. “I haven’t been to this side of the bay in forever. What’s new around here? I heard someone saying Technein was letting you guys get away with not sending over all your payments this month.”

“Nobody said that, fat boy” the leader of the Winslow Street Gang replied, stepping out before his loyal followers while holding his arm behind his back.

“You’re right,” Tremblor snarled, any trace of friendliness gone from his voice and his face. “Nobody said that. So what makes you think that’s acceptable?”

“The way I see it,” the leader answered. “Technein’s spreading himself too thin. You said yourself you haven’t been over here in forever. The only reason you guys have any say over us at all is because you have a couple of superpowered goons who think they can push us normals around.”

“That is generally how it works,” Tremblor said with a smile.

“That’s why we decided we needed a little superpower of our own.” The leader pulled his hand out from behind his back to expose a large power gauntlet. It crackled with power as he balled up his fist.

Tremblor laughed. “You used the money you owe to Technein to buy a piece of technology to beat Technein, knowing that he can neutralize any technology you try to use against him? That’s brilliant.”

“I don’t see Technein here now,” the leader said ominously. He pounced toward Tremblor, who spun out of the way just in time. The power gauntlet tore through the hood and the engine of Tremblor’s car like a bowling ball through a china cabinet. “You’re outnumbered, Chubby. There’s only one of you and eighty of us.”

The gang leader grabbed Tremblor’s throat with the gauntlet and lifted him up. Tremblor gurgled a few words in reply, but they were lost.

“What did you say?” the leader asked, loosening his grip for only a moment.

“I said,” Tremblor gasped, “that there are two of us.”

On cue, Fletcher leapt into the middle of the street and made himself visible. While the gang’s attention was on Tremblor’s car approaching from the east, Fletcher had snuck up from the west, hurling himself from rooftop to rooftop with Red Wraith’s silence and invisibility. The line up of gang members was brushed aside by the swinging ball and chain at the end of Fletcher’s forearm, distracting their leader just long enough for Tremblor to squirm away.

“What was that?” someone cried, but the only answers he got were screams of terror. Fletcher grew himself to twenty feet high and kept going. He wrapped his gigantic fingers around the fire escape full of gang members and tore it from the side of the building, dropping them to the sidewalk in a heap of broken legs and arms.

Fletcher lifted his leg and went to step on the pile, but thought better of it. Something in his mind called out for him to stop, and he agreed the message had been sent.

“Fletch-o!” Tremblor shouted. He was hiding behind his car while the gang leader peeled it apart to get after him. A quick aftershock did nothing to slow the gang leader, who was out for blood. He jumped through what had been the backseat, and onto Tremblor’s chest, pulling back his fist.

Kneeling down, the now-fifty foot tall Fletcher could snatch the gang leader up in one hand. The punch intended for Tremblor was on target, but managed to miss by thirty feet as the gang leader was hoisted above the rooftops.

Unintimidated, the gang leader grasped a chunk of the heel of Fletcher’s hand, sending a sharp burning sensation up the giant wrist and forearm. Fletcher let go and dropped the gang leader on the roof across the street from the pizza place and sucked gently on the tiny, bee sting-like wound on his hand.

He threw his arms toward the building where the gang leader now stood with some of his followers. In an instant, the ground turned to liquid. The entire block quivered, but nowhere was the shaking stronger than the building across from the gang’s headquarters. Gang members on the street tried to run, but couldn’t find any footing. Even Fletcher had trouble keeping on his feet and had to fly a few yards off the ground to keep from falling over.

The building seemed to turn into a sand castle. Every brick shook loose of the mortar holding it to the others, bringing the entire place down in a formless pile. The gang members on the roof disappeared into the mass that slipped over and enveloped the pile of wounded gang members Fletcher had left on the sidewalk. People were dying by the dozens and Tremblor was laughing hysterically.

Fletcher watched in horror, but didn’t dare express his shock.

When the shaking finally stopped, he joined Tremblor on the street. “That was a trip, huh?” Tremblor said. “Never should have called me fat.”

“So, that was the message Napalm wanted us to send the Winslow Street Gang?” Fletcher asked.

“No. Remember? He said the message was for anyone else over here thinking of doing the same thing.” Tremblor gestured to the ruined building that would be a tomb for the Winslow Street Gang. “This is what happens when you cheat Technein.”

As Fletcher gazed at the rubble, Tremblor punched him in the shoulder. “Hey, by the way, nice save. I owe you one. That guy had the drop on me.”

“Don’t—um, don’t worry about it,” Fletcher insisted. “Just doing my job.”

“No way, Fletch-o,” Tremblor assured him. “Trust me. I’ve got your back.”

CHAPTER 9

In the weeks that followed, Fletcher proved himself invaluable to Napalm and, in turn, Technein. They found use for his powers nearly every night, and every night he walked away with his pockets full of more money than his mother had seen in years. He and his brother were able to find a new house with a basement away from the chaos of downtown.

Yet while Josh had to wonder where the money came from and why his brother was going out alone every day and never returning before dark, he never asked. Instead, he found ways to keep himself occupied, often reading some books Fletcher had bought him or watching movies on a DVD player like his mother had described to him growing up.

Some nights were harder than others, but those just made the easy jobs that much sweeter. Like the night someone tripped a silent alarm at one of Technein's warehouses across town.

"Security's not responding and back up units won't arrive for fifteen minutes," Napalm told him. "Do you think you can handle it, Fletcher?"

Within minutes, Fletcher flew himself to the roof of the warehouse, crept in through a skylight, and hid himself among the shadows of the rafters. Beneath him, four men loaded crates into the back of an old moving van. They worked quickly, as though they knew the how long they had before security would arrive.

Fletcher had so many options, he didn't know what to do next. Would he be better off waiting until they were leaving then use MaxMolecule's power to turn into a giant and pick up the truck like a toy? He hadn't swung around Korgus's ball and chain in two days, and that was always fun, both to do and to see the reactions of the people on the other side of it.

Whatever he did, he had to be careful. This was a crack team of thieves and would be prepared for some kind of interference. They might even have superpowers of their own. He couldn't afford to take them lightly, to think of this as a game.

With a roar, he dropped from the rafters, ball and chain swinging. One of the thieves threw a last crate into the truck and pulled the door down, slapping it and shouting, "Go! Go! Go!"

The truck squealed out of the warehouse, two of the thieves clinging to handles on the back and standing on the rear bumper. Another tried to slide underneath the still open door on the back of the truck, but slipped right back out and rolled across the warehouse floor as his partners got away.

Fletcher took a half-hearted swing at the truck, hitting the rear passenger side wheel and bending the axle. The truck lurched and continued on its way, though much slower.

Fletcher knew he'd have no trouble finding the truck, so instead turned his attention to the remaining thief on the floor. "You are having a really bad day," he informed the face down thief. "You think getting left behind by your friends sucks, but it's so much worse. Do you have any idea who you're stealing from?"

Fletcher's face involuntarily snarled at the mention of the Revolution. "Bunch of do-gooder idiots. What were you stealing--" He looked at the crates. "Computer processors? You think you're going to overthrow Technein with computer processors? He's Technein, you dummy!"

"We sell them. We sell them and we use the money to help bring about change."

"What kind of change are you going to bring about? Do you know how good we've got it here? Other cities are wastelands, Miguel! Up north, in the territory Domynus took over, everything is on fire. Every day. You can't even go near Kansas without a radiation suit anymore."

"Just because other places are worse, doesn't make what's going on here good," Miguel spat back.

"No? Well, I can guarantee that all you're going to do is make it worse," Fletcher barked back. "You think you're helping, but all this is going to do is give Technein an excuse to make things harder on everyone." He dropped Fletcher to the floor. "I've had enough of you and your stupid Revolution. You jerks are going to get people killed."

Fletcher thrust both arms skyward and blasted through the warehouse's roof. It took less than a minute to find the limping moving van once he reached a high enough altitude. He wanted to drop from the sky with all the weight of a fifty foot tall giant and crush their puny van between his toes, but instead he waited. He floated above them like a helium balloon tied to their antenna by a two thousand foot long ribbon.

Soon, the crippled truck pulled into a garage a few miles away from Technein's warehouse. Fletcher didn't know if it was the new Revolution headquarters or just a waypoint. But he did know there were Revolution members inside who were about to quit the group. He wasn't going to have any idiots ruining things for him and his brother.

Fletcher didn't shout any warnings. He didn't try to scare anyone. He just struck.

If any of the few people who dared to venture outside at night ever bothered to look at the heavens, one might have thought they were seeing a shooting star. In fact, it was Fletcher, streaking downward toward the garage at supersonic speed. The roof of the garage offered no resistance. He tore through it like it was wet toilet paper and continued on through the moving van and then the concrete floor.

What Fletcher didn't know until that point was that while Korgus and Liberty Torch were tough, they weren't invulnerable. When bullets bounced off him and knife blades snapped against his skin, he'd wondered what it would take to hurt him, and now he had the answer. A supersonic impact with a truck and a two foot thick slab of concrete.

In the moment it took to regain his bearings, he could hear the building whining. The walls were collapsing, the structure was crumbling.

"The Revolution is dead!" Fletcher declared, unsure whether anyone was still in the building to hear him. "Go to your homes and be thankful for what you have!"

Fletcher climbed out of the hole he'd made and assessed the damage he'd done. Revolutionaries were scrambling away into the night, but while he hated to admit it, he was in no shape to follow them. Luckily he'd made his point and no one had gotten hurt.

He was about to leave when he heard a noise on the metal staircase that led up to a catwalk and an office space. It made him realize maybe he should grab one of the Revolutionaries to take back to Napalm. That should get him a good word with Technein and maybe a meeting at last. But when he looked up the stairs, he didn’t see a Revolutionary.