Authors: Tom Reynolds
"No smartass. But your strength and speed are what is multiplied by the bands. And they're multiplied exponentially. So even slight improvements in your natural abilities will translate to huge improvements in your abilities when your bands are activated."
"So what does that have to do with my summer job?" I ask.
"Your summer job is at the lake. I've already made the arrangements in the city's employment database," Midnight says.
"What?! There's no way I can work as a lifeguard! Look, I know you're trying to push me to work myself harder, but I can barely swim. Me being a lifeguard is a bad idea," I plead.
"Who said anything about being a lifeguard? You're clean up crew," Midnight says.
I'm about to object to the idea of picking up garbage at the lakefront all summer and ask exactly how that's supposed to help me become a better metahuman, when the sounds of squealing tires and gunshots interrupt me.
Midnight and I lock eyes.
"Don't even think about it," he says to me before turning and leaping off the roof. Halfway to the ground, a grappling hook shoots out from the gun usually holstered to his belt. The hook grabs onto a nearby lamppost, swinging him onto the roof of the car that the gunshots came from, which is now quickly speeding away. The car rounds the corner and out of my sight.
My instincts are conflicted. Do I listen to Midnight or do I power up my metabands and finally do some good for a change? Am I ready?
One thing is for sure at least, I'm not waiting around to find out.
I scurry down the fire escape as quickly as possible and can still hear the car speeding away as more gunshots ring out. I'm at the bottom of the fire escape ladder when I hear the wheels squeal again and then a crash.
I run as quickly as possible down the three city blocks towards the fire. I'm almost there when the sound of another gunshot sends me ducking behind a dumpster.
Against the backlight of the fire erupting from the hood of the car now wrapped around a lamppost, I can see the silhouette of Midnight and three others. I don't know who the three others are, but they don't seem to like Midnight very much.
I stick back behind the dumpster and watch as Midnight fights the three men. His fighting is almost all counter attacks, never attacking first. He waits for one of them to throw a punch, or swing a bat before attacking himself, leveraging their own momentum to his advantage. He quickly dispatches of the three men. They lay on the ground moaning as Midnight turns his back on them and begins walking back towards me.
I am in awe. He almost makes it seem too easy. Who the hell is this guy? I'd always heard tales of him, of course, the entire world has, but to see him actually fight like that? There aren't words to describe the fluidity and speed. Even metahumans can't match the grace with which he fought, I think to myself, as he casually cracks his neck, while walking down the street with the crackling of the flames behind him and the wail of sirens in the distance drawing closer.
There's something in the fire though.
Something that wasn't there before.
Something alive.
I'm not able to scream before it bursts out of the flames and throws Midnight into the nearest store window.
Good God. It is huge. A hulking, red figure that must be at least nine feet tall. Muscles bulging everywhere on its body. Whatever it is, it isn't human. And whatever it is, it is very, very pissed off.
It just caught him off guard, I tell myself. It might not be human but that hasn't stopped Midnight from winning battles before. I'm sure this will be no different, I try to reassure myself as I watch the beast stomp into the storefront it had just thrown Midnight through. A second later, Midnight comes flying through the storefront again, this time onto the street.
He begins to pick himself up when I see something come out of his mouth as he coughs. It's blood. He makes another attempt to stand before collapsing. The red beast clomps out of the busted storefront window. It looks at Midnight, sprawled out on the street and smiles, before making it's way towards him for the kill stroke.
It barely has time to turn its head to see what the metallic clang it heard is, before I've tackled it and plowed both of us through a furniture store and out the front of the Chinese restaurant on the other side of the block.
It's not until we both tumble across four lanes of city street, that I've even become fully aware of what I've just done: started my first fight as a metahuman that I'm not sure I can win. I'm not sure if this "thing" is meta or not, but whatever it is, it's strong. At least that's the thought that goes through my head as it slams both of its fists into my back, buckling my knees and sending me to the ground.
As it lifts its foot to stomp my head further into the pavement, I turn and grab it. With all my might I torque my shoulders and throw. The beast lands almost a block away, but I'm there before it can land to continue pummeling it with my fists.
Is Midnight dead?
That's the only thought going through my head as I continue battering the red beast. Its eyes begin to lose focus as I continue beating it. My punches start coming so fast that they are causing small sonic booms, shaking the earth around both of us. Blood is trickling from its mouth.
"Enough!"
Even over the sounds of my now one-way battle, the yell is deafening. I turn to see Midnight standing in the street. Heaving with each breath as he holds his right hand to his ribs.
In the distraction, the beast hurls itself into the sky ten stories to the roof of the nearest building. The ground around my feet slowly starts trembling as I get ready to follow it skyward.
"No!" Midnight yells.
I hear the sound of helicopters and see a spotlight overhead. A voice over a public announcement system says, "stop, right where you are!"
Before I can look back down, I'm coughing on thick grey smoke. One of Midnight's diversions. There's a tiny explosion nearby that I can barely see through the fog, and I feel a hand grab my bicep and pull me downward. It's Midnight pulling me into a sewer entrance.
I hit the concrete floor with a thud. My eyes struggle to readjust to the darkness. Above, I can hear sirens and screeching tires. Whatever the plan is from here, it's a mystery to me, but I know that we can't stay here.
Midnight shouts to me, "we have to get back-"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"-to my base."
And we're there. I still haven't gotten used to this whole teleportation thing. I guess it's understandable, considering I've gone my entire life, up until this point, without the ability to transport myself any place on Earth instantly with merely a thought.
Midnight lets go of my arm and walks over to a wall unit containing a very advanced looking medical station. He punches a few codes into a wall plate and a number of lasers begin scanning his entire body. They pinpoint the areas of injury and a series of robotic arms begin injecting needles, applying aerosol sprays, sewing stitches and wrapping wounds.
"I'm fine, thanks for asking," I say.
"Give me a break. The only thing you might have hurt tonight is your pride," he says, his back still facing me.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Just then, I look down and find out what that means. I'm basically naked. While my body doesn't have a scratch on it, thanks to the metabands, my clothes have been utterly ripped to shreds by the carnage that just happened.
"Don't worry," Midnight reassures me, "it's a good thing. It means if any of the news choppers got footage of you tonight, they're going to have to blur the hell out of it if they want to broadcast it on TV. That's good for the whole 'secret identity' thing. Unless that's something you've forgotten about entirely, as seems to have been the case tonight."
A computerized voice declares, "Procedure complete. Three days of bed rest is recommended for all fractures to reset and wounds to heal."
Midnight turns back to me. The machine that administers medical aid has removed pieces of his all black costume around his shoulders and thighs where he had been injured. It occurs to me that this is the first time I've seen more than a few inches of Midnight's actual flesh.
"Did you notice something about what just happened?" he asks me.
"Yeah. That machine seems incredible. I've never seen something so-" I'm interrupted.
"This never came off," Midnight says, pointing at his mask, "and it never will. Because this, this, is all I have between me and everything else. If I lose this, if people found out who I am, I'm not the only one who is vulnerable. You still don't understand that."
"No, I do," I meekly plead.
"No, you don't. I bet you're pretty proud of yourself tonight. Beating that...
thing
. You think you saved my life. You're on top of the world. Well, what if that thing saw your face? What if it recognized you and as we speak, is at your house murdering the only family you have left?"
I say nothing. There's nothing to say. He's absolutely right. I feel a pit open in my stomach as I realize that that thing did see my face. It might not know who I am, but it knows what I look like.
"We have to get you a mask," Midnight says.
"I have one, I just forgot it tonight," I reply.
"No. Not like that. A real one. One that's not going to rip to shreds the next time you decide to order Chinese takeout from the other side of the block."
I smile. It's the first instance of brevity the night's had. I can't really tell through the mask, but I think Midnight gives a smirk too. He has to have. It
was
pretty awesome.
"Do you know what it was about Jones that scared people more than anything?" Midnight asks. "It wasn't how powerful he was, or the randomness of the attacks. Sure, that was part of it, but there were plenty of metas just as powerful who showed up when you least expected them. What truly scared people about Jones was how he looked: like any one else. He wore an impeccably tailored business suit, and no mask. He was handsome and looked more like he belonged in a board meeting, than flying five hundred feet above a city. That's what truly terrified people, that he looked so much like them. People can accept a maniac who dresses in spandex and a cape and flies through the air, but show them someone who looks like a businessman doing the same as he kills without reason, and they just can't process it. That's why you need to look the part. It helps people understand."
"And how do I do that?" I ask.
"With those," Midnight says, gesturing towards the still active metabands on my wrists. "Those things have the ability to create matter. It's limited, but they have the ability to create essentially a suit that covers your face and body. At least, that's how the older metas did it, once they realized regular fabrics get torn up pretty quickly when you're running around at the speed of sound."
"So how do I do it?" I ask.
"Hell if I know. How do you do anything with those things? Scientists have spent the last decade trying to figure out the first inkling of how they work and haven't gotten anywhere. If we knew how they worked, we'd have solved the energy crisis and global hunger by now. All we know is that they attach themselves to a person, and they're the only ones who can ever use them. You've got some kind of bond with them, and you've already figured out a hell of a lot of other things they can do, so you tell me. How do you make them make you a suit?"
As my brain processes the question, the metabands react instinctively. I don't command them to do anything, I simply think about the question that Midnight has asked me. A deep, crimson red covers my hands, then begins it's way up my arms. When it reaches my shoulders, it spreads out in two directions: up towards my head and down my chest and legs. It's over just as quickly as it began.
"Very nice," Midnight compliments me.
I look over at a computer display against one of the walls in his base, which is displaying an image from an overhead security camera.
My entire body is covered in a deep red, spandex-like material. It's not armor, but whatever it is, it definitely makes me look to be in much better shape than I actually am. The material covers everything except for my mouth, jaw and eyes.
"I'd recommend covering those up," Midnight suggests.
"No. I think it's better this way. It lets people see that I'm a real person. That they shouldn't fear me. Plus, I don't really know how I did that in the first place, so I'm not sure how much control I have here over custom tailored alterations."
"Fair enough. The rest of the suit also makes it look like you've got about fifty pounds of muscle that isn't actually there. I don't think anyone's going to suspect that it's you under there," Midnight laughs.
"It's not fifty pounds," I protest. I take another look at the display. He's right, this suit really does make me look ripped. "Maybe thirty..."