Super Powereds: Year 2 (70 page)

Alice was being catcalled by some drunk guys at the bar.

“Hey, come on baby, don’t be like that. Come back and have a drink with us.”

“Fuck, you’ve got an ass, girl. I want to bounce my dick off of it.”

“I love the glitter! Are you a stripper, ’cause if so I’d like to buy a dance.”

Alice had reached the table by the last one and Nick felt something in his gut tighten. Her eyes, beneath the smear of pink sparkles she’d taken to applying on a regular basis, were beginning to grow moist. She set the beers down silently and angled herself away from the rest of the table.

Thomas and Will hadn’t noticed the boisterous voices; they were easy to miss amidst the chaos if you weren’t listening for them, so they didn’t know why Alice had returned in a significantly sadder mood. It was only a matter of time until they pieced things together; both of them were perceptive enough to figure it out. That situation was too dangerous to be allowed to manifest.

“Guys, why don’t you go find a waitress and get us some wings,” Nick said. “Right now, if you don’t mind.”

Thomas and Will looked at each other. Something was off with Nick. His affable, silly demeanor had all but evaporated. When he spoke that request, if it could be called one, it was with absolute authority, as if even the idea of being disobeyed was a foreign concept to him. It was strange, but Nick was right: they were both perceptive. It was obvious something was going on, and they would give their friend the space he needed. For now.

“Sure,” Thomas said. “We’ll be close by, just in case you decide you want anything else.”

“Much appreciated,” Nick said without looking at them. Thomas and Will peeled off and began wading away from their table, toward a small serving area near the back of the restaurant. Once they were gone, Nick leaned in toward Alice so he could lower his voice. “Alice, there’s something I’ve been wondering about.”

“What?” She still faced away from him, but he could tell her voice was thicker than normal. She was still fighting back tears.

“The glitter you wear: it’s because of your mother, isn’t it?”

Alice whipped her head around and stared at him with a surprised look.

“High attention to detail, and I got you that book of pictures of her for your last birthday, remember? You’ve never shown any interest in that kind of look - in fact, you usually stay away from it - and then after you get some as a gift it starts showing up on you all the time. Didn’t take a genius to figure out.”

Alice nodded slowly. “My dad told me she used to wear it all the time. Said she believed it was impossible to be unhappy when you were sparkly.”

“I see.” Nick took off his sunglasses and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He slid both across the table to table toward Alice. “When this is over, call speed dial number three on my phone. Tell the person on the other end my name, where we are, and let him know I need a Counter’s Exit.”

“What does that... what are you going to do?”

138.

Nick didn’t answer Alice’s question; instead he dropped off his stool and moved toward the bar. While the others had jostled and pushed their way through the crowd, Nick flowed through it like a river across a bed of rocks. He barely got touched by the time he reached the three drunken offenders.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

The tallest one, a frosted-tip blonde who had made the stripper comment, looked him up and down. “What do you want?”

“I want you to apologize to my friend, beg her for forgiveness, and then get the hell out of this place while it’s still an option.” There was no aggression in Nick’s voice or his body language; if anything, he seemed to be perfectly peaceful. The only hint of what was simmering beneath his calm surface was his choice of words.

“Go fuck yourself.” This one was smaller than Tips, a dense figure with a close shave along the top of his head and a tribal tattoo encircling a sizable bicep.

“Yeah, get out of here before we get annoyed.” The third fellow was darker skinned than the other, lean with long hair.

“So, just to be clear, you are refusing to act like men and own up to your drunken acts of rudeness? Rather you prefer to be petulant children, content to wallow in their own idiocy while giving each other congratulatory hand jobs over their perceived prowess with women?”

“What the hell did you just say?” Tattoo asked. Nick sighed; it seemed despite their status as seekers of higher education he was going to have to go low-brow in order to move this along. He really had hoped for a quick resolution, but the longer he delayed the greater the risk that Thomas or Will would get involved. Well, when in doubt, play the odds. Since he was dealing with drunken adolescents trying to prove their masculinity, it didn’t take a big leap of intelligence to guess what might set them off.

“I called you cowardly morons and implied that you were gay. You know, pillow-biters, pole-smokers, fudge-”

Nick was interrupted as Tattoo stumbled off his chair and took a swing at him. “Finally,” Nick mumbled under his breath. He sidestepped the drunken punch and drove his own fist into the muscular man’s throat. Tattoo immediately began to cough and clutch where Nick had struck, which left him defenseless for the follow up blow to his right ear. Long Hair finally began reacting, lurching forward to help his friend. Nick delivered a sharp kick to his sternum, slamming him back-first into the edge of the bar. Nick made no attempt to conceal the boredom evident on his face.

Tips finally jumped into the fray, clearly surprised at his lackeys’ inability to handle one lone challenge. He reared back and swung with all of his might. Nick was disappointed; even if they weren’t intoxicated, these three were still too slow to be any kind of a challenge. As drunks, well, they were hardly worth all the training his Vegas teachers had given him in the art of quick combat. This was not a style most of his HCP peers would have been familiar with. The vast majority of their martial arts were rooted in the idea of defense, in minimizing harm to each party and subduing a threat. Nicholas hadn’t been taught that kind of fighting. He'd never learned how to win fights; he'd been too busy being taught how to end them.

Nick plucked an empty beer bottle off a nearby table and used to it meet Tips’ punch. He couldn’t hear the subtle cracking of the small bones in his hand, but the way the taller boy howled in pain still confirmed that Nick had been successful. He used the time to deliver a few quick kidney blows and send Long Hair stumbling to the floor.

This had all happened in less than ten seconds, so quickly that neither the other patrons nor the bouncers had time to react. That was changing; Nick could see two massive forms slowly shoving their way through the crowd. His way of fighting was quick and efficient, built for injury and swift victory. Still, he needed to step it up if he wanted to finish in time.

Tips was still clutching his hand as Nick’s fingers snarled through his hair and jerked him to a near standing position.

“Believe it or not, today I’ve been your damn savior,” Nick hissed in the now-terrified drunk’s ear. “We live in a world where gods masquerade in mortal flesh. Learn some fucking propriety.” Nick jerked the jerk’s head back then drove it forward on a collision course with the edge of the bar. He was well-versed in the use of hard surfaces in a fight; it was one of the first things you learned handling drunks in Vegas. If he angled it right, Nick could give this asshole permanent brain damage. In another direction it could do long-term damage to his eye. Briefly Nick entertained both of those options; however, in the end he remembered that Alice was watching, so it was probably best to show at least some mercy.

“Mah teef!” Tips slurred from his bloody mouth. Funny thing about people: they always clenched their jaws when anticipating a hit. If you drove that tight mouth into a hard corner, you could do quite a bit of damage along both rows of teeth. It would only be cosmetic and could easily be capped, but it would hurt like a mother fucker.

“You’re welcome,” Nick said, staring down at the victims of his carnage with a curved smile slicing across his face. As the bouncers closed around him, the smile never wavered nor faded: if anything it seemed to grow more intense. It would be years before Tips would stop seeing that smile in his nightmares, a predicament many regretful former drunken gamblers in Las Vegas could have sympathized with.

Five tables away, Alice’s mouth hung open as they dragged Nick out the door. As quietly as she could, Alice scooped up his phone and sunglasses and followed them at a distance.

By the time Thomas and Will had gotten the wings ordered, it was all over and both of their classmates were already gone.

139.

“Campbell, Nicholas. You’re up.”

Nick happily stood from the stiff wooden bench he’d been sitting on. The cell wasn’t too bad; he’d certainly been tossed in worse over the years. Plus, it was still early in the evening, so there was only one drunk accompanying him. That dapper gentleman had passed out on the opposite side of the bench before soiling himself, so Nick was quite glad the family extractor had been quick with this one.

“Never seen someone get cleared of assault so fast,” the police officer remarked as his keys jingled in the lock. “You must have a hell of a lawyer.”

Nick gave him a sheepish smile, nothing like the devil’s grin he’d worn when being dragged away from his victims. “Something like that.” The jailer didn’t need to know that the order had actually come from a local politician who either owed the family a favor or owed someone who owed them. Crime only didn’t pay if you forgot to give the politicians their piece of the pie.

“Can’t believe a little guy like you took down three fellows. I mean, you’re fit, but the report said any one of them had twenty pounds and a few inches on you.” The jailer’s face grew uncertain as he pulled open the door. “You... you ain’t one of those Supers, are you?”

“Man, don’t I wish. Nah, the simple truth of it is that big guys can’t fight worth a crap. They’re big, so no one ever challenges them. We smaller folks know how to scrap because we’re the ones everyone tries to take on.”

The jailer’s face eased; this explanation clearly fit into his worldview. “Well, you’re free to go. Seems everyone saw them throw the first punches and you didn’t have any booze in you, so this is officially self-defense.” He closed the door and re-locked it, lest the pee-soaked drunk get any ideas of escape. “By the way, there’s a girl waiting for you in the lobby. She what this whole thing was about?”

“It’s possible,” Nick admitted.

“Can’t say I blame you then,” the jailer said with a conspiratorial wink. “Can’t say I blame you one bit.”

* * *

Hershel’s body was aching as he lay on the hotel’s plush bed. He could have shifted to Roy, but Owen had been adamant that the more he was able to push himself, the better the results would be. Evidently working through pain was a part of that equation. It was invaluable experience; the closer Hershel could come to complete bodily destruction, the greater the gain for Roy would be. He would have to pick up an exercise regimen once back at Lander, but this kind of intense training was far too dangerous to do without experienced supervision.

Hershel found he couldn't just sit still, in spite of his body’s fervent demands he do just that. He decided to compromise and engage his mind. A sore walk over to the desk and few quick button punches fired up his laptop and jumped his connection onto the free hotel WiFi. The hotel’s front page came up, along with a few advertisements for local businesses a weary traveler might be interested in. There, in the lower left hand of the screen, was a small ad for Owen’s bar: Tartarus.

Hershel suppressed a grim chuckle. His father never had been all that creative. Owen had only taken the name Titan at a friend’s suggestion when he couldn’t think of anything better. Naming his bar after the place where the gods had sealed away the titans of ancient myth... it was just so predictable. Not that it was really appropriate, anyway. The Titan Scandal had certainly changed things for him; however, it didn’t have to mean his exile. Owen made that choice himself.

A new browser window opened and a quick search revealed countless articles about the former Hero. Amidst the hate-speech and conspiracy theories, there were a few archives of images taken of him before the scandal. There he was knocking out a gorilla equipped in a battle suit. There was one of him lifting a bus of children off of a collapsing bridge. There he was shaking the president’s hand. It always looked so effortless, in his blue jeans, red mask, and red shirt. No wonder he was considered one of America’s great Heroes. A strong, powerful man, who often talked about his wonderful family, though never with enough detail to deduce his identity. A steady anchor of decency for people of all walks to rally around. A symbol of goodness and morality. Everyone loved Titan.

Until he was caught having sex with another man.

Honestly, Hershel was amazed his mother had kept the truth of what happened from him for so long. He’d been in his teens before he finally found out about the Titan Scandal, a few weeks after Roy’s fateful trip out here. He’d found out about the reporter who’d spied on Titan, hoping to glean some information on his identity, and instead recorded the famous family man carnally engaged in homosexual acts. The cheating was bad, but one would think that in this day and age people wouldn’t have completely lost their shit over something like that. One would think wrong.

Hershel browsed through the articles now, it wasn’t like he was going to read anything new. Conservative groups denounced Titan as a sinner and a liar who was secretly promoting his gay agenda. Homosexual advocacy groups rallied around his image in support. Conspiracy theorists screamed to anyone who would listen that the whole thing had been set up by a shadow government. And, in the eye of the media storm, hidden away in a small house in Chicago, a family self-destructed as a piece of truth that Owen had been trying to hide from everyone, even himself, finally came to light.