Season 1:9 ‘Be Free Tonight’

We’re just a group of strangers sharing the same experience.  Expressing ourselves with abandon.

The cool night air provides an odd sense of satisfaction.  We change at a nearby hotel before hitting the downtown area.  Everyone seems rowdier than before.  Not our team, but the people out on the streets.  Before they were sober and full of anticipation, now they’re drunk and filled with uncertainty.  The night is at its turning point.

Our parents were pretty strict about letting us go places. Looking back it makes sense. Jason was prone to get himself in trouble and who knows if someone would try to kidnap us. Our identities were not so secret after all. Jason spent most of his free time involved in sports, and I either read or messed around on the computer. I had always been a bit of an escapist.

“All of these places seem loud,” Sam says.

Janice and Sam hadn’t taken very long to get ready.  Jason might have taken longer.  I’d always heard girls take forever to get ready to go anywhere, but I’d never had such an experience.  Mom was always the first one ready at home.  None of us had packed clothes for clubbing, or whatever it is we’re doing.

“That’s kind of the point,” Jason says.

“Guys come on, let’s just pick one without a line and go in,” I say.

We decide on ‘Bossa Nova’, a tall concrete slab with the Brazilian flag painted on one side.  I have to work my telepathy on the bouncer for us to get inside.  The music is an upbeat fusion of samba and modern dance.  It’s unlike anything I’ve experienced before.

Our group huddles in a corner.  It smells like incense and cheap cologne. The whole atmosphere is intimidating; people dance as if they’ve done it every night for their whole lives.  I don’t think I could get my body to move with the rhythm.  Jason asks Sam to dance and they disappear into the crowd.  There’s a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach, and it’s creepy, but I consider entering his mind.  Someone bumps into me and shakes the thought from my head.

“Sorry,” she says, I think.  I shrug and she walks away.

“Well, we may as well get out there,” Chase says.

Janice and I follow him out onto the dance floor.  Everyone is jumping up and down with the beat.  I can almost see the hairs on their bodies pulse with the bass.  The music is foreign to me.  At home I would listen to bands with emphasis on guitar and vocals.  This is all raw beats.  Each song is like a menagerie of modulations and electronic instrumentals.

Lights from the mirror ball swim over my face.  I start getting a sense for the beat and bob back and forth.  Someone bumps into my back.  The rhythm makes us reckless.

All around me are people my age, maybe a few years older.  At high school I never felt a sense of belonging.  I had friends and we shared classes, but I didn’t feel like they understood me.  In their defense they had no idea about my ability.  I’d checked.  In this moment none of that matters.  We’re just a group of strangers sharing the same experience.  Expressing ourselves with abandon.  Not giving a fuck.

It’s two in the morning. I get the feeling no one would leave if the club stayed open all night.  The combination of drinks and decibels makes for an unending stamina.  We only saw Sam and Jason once across the room.  Chase says something but I can’t hear him.

“What?” I ask.  He grabs my arm and pulls me through the crowd.  Janice follows.

Jason and Sam are dancing, rather close, on the other side of the floor.  Chase clamps down on Jason’s shoulder.  They exchange a few words and then we’re heading for the exit.  It’s much easier to hear everyone outside.

“That was fun,” Sam says.

“Yeah I hadn’t been out since college,” Chase says.

“Old man,” I say.

We talk about the music, which none of us had heard before, and walk to the hotel.  The lobby is littered with other people who had been out; some of them from the same club as us.  It hadn’t hit me how tired I was until just now.  I feel like curling up in the elevator and passing out.  Fortunately, I make it to the bed.

I wake up at the sound of a thud at the door to our room.  Jason and Chase are still in a deep sleep.  I trudge over to the door and find a newspaper on the floor.  No one else is in the hallway.  It must still be early.

The headline reads, “Hi-Five, Too Slow”.  The article is about the death of five INTERPOL officers.

 

Next Chapter.

Season 1:8 ‘Get Dangerous’

Scream your fucking lungs out for Hi-Five.

The nightclub is packed. Bodies sway and crash into each other. My boots stick to the tile floor with every step. A cluster of strobe lights flash from the DJ booth on the other side of the establishment.

Guys, we have to use telepathy or we won’t hear anything. I open up our only possible line of communication.

Well fine. Ingot doesn’t seem too happy with the idea.

Chase, we’ll lose you if you start running.

I don’t think I can run in here as it is; oof. He bumps into a pair of dancing girls.

I look around for a door or some passage which would lead into a basement. There’s no way he made the video in this room. Everyone starts jumping as a high energy track blares out of the massive speakers. It’s a wonder these people aren’t deaf. The sheer volume clouds my thoughts, making it difficult to maintain the link.

Jason and Dragonette take to the left side of the room while the rest of us head right. The only bar in the club is jammed with thirsty customers. Some guy in a tight shirt and even tighter jeans rubs up against me. Dissuading him with my thoughts would sever my connection with Jason and Dragonette. I try and put a few other people between us. He seems to lose interest and wanders off into the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight, we have a few unexpected special guests in our midsts,” the DJ announces, “scream your fucking lungs out for Hi-Five.”

Everyone goes wild. Spotlights cast down onto the three of us, and two more shine down across the room.

How did he know we’re here?

Well maybe the bouncer told him, I didn’t exactly make him think we were someone else.

In any case, our cover is blown.

“And what would an introduction be without meeting our B.A.S.S. Heads?”

This is bad.

Isn’t a bass head just someone who likes loud music?

No, the way he said it, he means the experimental audio-tech weapons. Blasting Audio Sonics Systems. Ingot has her experience with them at the forefront of her thoughts, so I share it with the group.

These robots look like humans, but their heads are powerful devices meant to concentrate audio. She once watched one explode a watermelon.
Shit.

Two slim figures rise from the tops of the speakers. They’re coated with a slick seafoam colored gloss and have convex spheres in place of heads. Each one moves with a sort of confident seduction in their steps. Not saying robots are hot.

A lot of people make their way towards the exits. This must be a semi-regular occurrence for so many people to know what’s about to happen. Either way, it confirms our suspicions of Progenitor Labs being a front for illegal tech.

You guys ready?

I’m going to cut the link. Though I won’t be much use against robots. You guys fight, I’ll look for our mystery man.

To top it all off, the DJ starts playing “Everybody Get Dangerous”. Both bots hop down from the speakers and start blasting at us. Tiles shatter and fly up into the air. I dash for the far wall and watch the rest of the team spring into action.

Mach speeds out of the way of a shockwave. The pulses of sound distort the air as they throb forward to their targets. Each one is preceded by a reverberating noise. Then something in the room bursts. I can feel the vibrations in my feet and chest as I make my way across the room. Ingot hurls a few of the support structures surrounding the DJ booth at the robots. These ones must be plastic too.

Dragonette unleashes a jet of flames, coating the robot further from me. The unit walks out of the fire without so much as tarnished paint, and positions itself to launch another blast. Our mystery man was thinking far ahead when he orchestrated all of this. There’s no sign of a door on this wall. The only place we haven’t checked yet is behind the DJ booth; a logical place for a secret exit.

Getting behind the booth will be impossible until the robots are taken out. Two of us are useless in fighting them. Ingot clamps one in place by constricting its feet with metal from a door frame. Jason charges in from the side and decapitates the robot.

“You have to crush the head to destroy the audio unit,” Ingot shouts.

It’s too late. One last shockwave escapes before he smashes the head between his hands. The blast churns through the air and misses me by a hair before shattering half the bottles in the bar. Looking through it was like staring up from the bottom of a pool. My left ear stings with a harsh ringing.

I can see Jason’s lips moving, but his speech is garbled. He rushes over to me while Mach and Ingot finish off the other robot. Jason’s words come into focus as he gets closer.

“Desmond,” he says, “you alright?”

I’m not sure.

“I think it got my ear,” I say. My voice sounds louder than normal inside my head. Like I’m shouting even though it’s a normal speaking volume.

“We’ll worry about that later. Let’s go find our DJ,” Dragonette says.

The club is empty save for two scrapped robots. As we had expected, there’s a door behind the booth leading to a narrow set of stairs. I can see their lips moving, but I don’t know what everyone else is saying. Jason will serve as a better set of ears.

“Do we just go in?” Ingot asks.

“Ladies first,” Chase says.

Dragonette descends the stairwell and pushes open the door at the bottom. The rest of us follow when it looks safe. The room is about the size of a subway car. It must be under the rear fourth of the club.
“Where’d the DJ go?”

I shrug.

“Well, those two pods, I think, are used to charge the robots we crushed outside,” Ingot says. Jason grins at the comment. “And maybe this computer can tell us something.” She walks to the large computer on the back wall. It’s flanked by two grey pods.

Ingot clicks around on the console for what feels like an hour. Chase taps his foot and looks around the room. Every other wall is blank. All the code and windows flying across the screen make no sense to me. My ear still hurts.

“I didn’t find much, but it looks like the headquarters for Progenitor Labs is in Sweden.”

“So we’re done here?” Chase asks.

“Guess we just head home,” Dragonette says.

I can sense the enthusiasm in Jason’s thoughts. “Dudes, we’re in Miami and we just crushed two pieces of illegal tech. We should be out partying.”

“I’m kind of tired,” Ingot says.

“Come on. It’ll be fun,” I say.

Next Chapter.

Season 1:7 ‘Club Night’

Who says everything has to be done the same way our parents did it?

Sure enough, the headlines all featured a story about our relationship to The Guardians Society. None of them mentioned any names. Either mystery man decided to leave those details out, or reporters were holding on to them for a follow-up story.

I was the first one to get up. Ingot and Dragonette slept in a different area of the barracks. Jason was still snoring in the bunk above me when I rose to look out the main windows. It was seven and the sun was just coming up on the other side of the city.

The tile is cool on my bare feet, but not cold. I make a cup of tea and sit on the floor in front of the window. A few people are up and out early. Some of them might be heading home after working a night shift, or getting to work early for a meeting. I’ll probably never know what it feels like to be woken up by an alarm clock for an early meeting with a client in China or some other far-flung place on the map. The rest of my life will be dedicated to watching over everyone.

My tea is almost cold on the first sip. I must’ve lost track of the time.

“Dude, have you seen the papers?” Jason asks. I turn and get up to reheat my tea. “He wasn’t kidding about giving stuff to the press.”

I just shake my head and pace back to the window. Chase and Janice are up too.

“Can we issue our own news story?” Janice asks.

“Sure,” Chase replies. He goes over to the command console and accesses a direct connection to the prominent media outlets of the area.

“Who would’ve thought Sam would be the last person up,” Jason says.

“Not everyone has a superhuman body,” Janice replies.

“Bow chicka wow wow,” Chase adds. She groans in response.

Chase types away with a swift deftness while the rest of us watch in silence, his foot tapping all the while. He crafts a very diplomatic response to all of the articles. The stories weren’t scathing assaults on our character or ability to uphold our responsibility.

“One last thing guys. What do we call ourselves? We need to establish an identity,” he says.

“The Mighty Defenders?” Jason says. He sounds less than confident in his suggestion.

“Sounds like we sold out to a fast food chain.”

“Fantastic Five?”

“There’s bound to be copyright infringements in there somewhere.”

“Alright, shut up, shut up, it’s done,” Chase says. He’d already submitted it to all the papers in the city.

“Wait, you called us Hi-Five? What’s that even mean? You know how many drug use jokes are going to spring from that?” Janice says.

“Eh, it’s fine I guess.”

I don’t say anything. It’s not like a label is going to change the task at hand. Within minutes, the press blogs and websites are covered with our response to the mystery source. Now we’ve got our foot in the door.

“Alright team, breakfast and then we storm the castle,” Chase says.

“Do you think our parents ever did anything normal, like as a group?” Jason asks.

“What, do you want to go bowling or something?” Janice replies.

“I mean anything. Do you think they ever just turned off the hero switch for a night and went out to dinner or something?”

“My dad went to a bar with Captain Crypt once. He said it was kind of like getting a beer with a character Stephen King scrapped from one of his novels. But he still had fun, I think,” Chase says.

“Yeah, stuff like that. We should be doing things other than just beating people up and chasing down stolen art.”

As much as I hate to admit it, he has a point. We’re still kids. Everyone else in our age group is going to spend this summer in an inebriated stupor of aspirations and alcohol. We might be battling a giant mech holding the stock market hostage. Who says everything has to be done the same way our parents did it?

“Fuck it.”

Chase sprays his milk over the front of the fridge.

“Dude, Des what’d you just say?”

“You’re right. We don’t have to do everything the way our parents did; we don’t have to pretend to be adults. We should be swearing and getting drunk and beating the shit out of robots in some underground Swedish lair.”

They’re silent for a few moments. Chase cleans the milk off of the fridge. Then Janice speaks up.

“How do you expect to use your powers if you can’t think straight?”

“I’m not saying that, I mean we should be able to be ourselves on top of being heroes. There are just different ways of being heroes.”

“Hell yeah, I’m down. We save the world, party, rinse, and repeat.”

“Whatever, let’s just eat and get going,” Janice says. Samantha walks over into the kitchen and yawns.

“What’s going on?”

“Boys,” Janice says with a roll of the eyes. Sam makes a bowl of cereal and goes to sit beside her.

We suit up and pinpoint the first location for Progenitor Labs. The name sounds damn nefarious. Our mystery guy must think he’s pretty slick. His attitude was condescending and full of arrogance in his thirty second video.

Our destination is Miami, Florida. Nine o’clock on a Thursday in downtown Miami. The streets pulse with heavy bass and drunken catcalls. Neon lights flood the air with harsh hues harkening back to a once revered golden age.

“Well, at least we sort of blend in,” Mach says.

“Why would some creep have a medical facility in downtown Miami?” Dragonette asks.

We walk down three blocks to the address listed for Progenitor Labs.

“Hold the fucking phone,” Jason says.

As it turns out, Progenitor Labs is a chain of nightclubs. We stand and stare at the squat black pyramid which shimmers under the surrounding neon signs. People are streaming in and out of the front doors. There’s a bouncer.

“Shit, I didn’t bring an ID,” Mach says.

“None of us did. I didn’t think it’d be a damn nightclub,” Ingot says, “well Gemini, or whatever your name is, you’re getting your wish.”

“Des, can’t you just make him think we’re 21 or something?”

Here’s where telepathic domination gets tricky. Jason’s idea really is a good one, but it isn’t as simple as he makes it out to be.

“Well, when I change someone’s memory I have to take out the thought and replace it with an altered copy. But I have to hang onto the original. It’s kind of like the matter cannot be created nor destroyed principle.”

“So where do you put the thoughts?” Dragonette asks.

“Uh, I kind of have to keep them. It’s actually really creepy because my memories start to branch out and integrate them into existing thoughts. I don’t do it often.”

“But you’ll have this memory anyway,” Jason says.

We walk up to the bouncer and he asks for our IDs. I cross into his thoughts with ease. Each new idea vibrates to the front of his head like an electronic bassline. I take his thought that we’re clearly underage and not allowed inside and replace it with the opposite. The original is tucked into the back of my mind.

“Welcome to Pro Labs,” he says.

Next Chapter.

Season 1:3 ‘Birthday Wish’

I open the envelope.  Letterhead from the National Bureau of Genetic Profiling peeks out of the rip.  My heart is racing and it feels like I’m not really living this moment; like I’m watching a video of myself.  I draw the paper out of the envelope.

The first few lines are full of congratulatory nonsense.  I’m match number two hundred and forty-six thousand this year.  There’s a sentence about how this match does not “limit me to any specific situation but guarantees the highest level of compatibility”.

“So, what’s his name?” mom asks.

“Jacob Scott Baxter from Chicago, Illinois,” I answer.

Saying his name feels weird.  I might repeat that name for the rest of my life.  Baxter could be my new last name.  I could fall in love with saying his name over and over.  He lives kind of far from here; we’re in a suburb outside Columbus.

“What do I do now?” I ask.

“Go look him up, get in contact with him.  Use the internet,” my mom says.  She sounds excited for me.  I can tell it’s bringing back memories of how she and dad met.

Astro follows me up the steps to my room.  I start out by entering his name in a search engine.  It doesn’t help much.  The letter lists his home address.  I grab a legal pad and my favorite pen to write him a message.

Finding the words to say to your soulmate for the first time is difficult.  I kind of want to tell him everything, to pour my heart out onto a page of yellow lined paper.  But I also don’t want to say too much.  Just because we were seemingly made for each other doesn’t mean we should settle.

My thoughts are driving me crazy.  I’m worrying about things I’ve never thought about before.  Crossing out words, ripping off pages, and tapping my pen against my temple.  What if he doesn’t write back?  What if he thinks I’m writing too much?

After three solid hours of freaking out and scribbling down words, I fold my final paper in half and seal it in an envelope.  It will sit in the mailbox on the corner until Monday.

Now I understand the whirlwind of emotions everyone describes in their stories online.  Being told one specific person is perfect for you though you’ve never met.  The inability to find any information about them.  Sending a letter out into the strange abyss of the rest of the world, hoping it will bring you one in return.

Felix calls me after I drop the letter off in the box.

“Happy birthday,” he says.

“Thanks,” I reply.  My mind is only half paying attention to our conversation.

“So, how’s the day going?”

“Fine.”

“Did you open your letter yet?”

“Yeah,” I say.  The weather is nicer than it was yesterday.  Spring is transitioning into summer.  A few birds dip and flutter overhead before disappearing behind the roof.

“And?  Did you find anything about him?  Where does he live?”

“His name’s Jake Baxter, from Chicago,” I pause to look at the sky, “and I didn’t find anything else.”

“Bummer.  I guess you’ll just have to wait then.”

“Right.  How’s your Saturday?”

“Fine.  Just doing some homework then going out for dinner with my parents,” he says.

“Sounds good.”

“Well Liv, I’ve got to finish up here, just calling to see how it went.”

“See you Monday,” I say and hang up.

I walk out past my house towards the athletic fields.  The sun beats down on my neck and I’ll probably get a sunburn.  It just feels like the day isn’t really happening.  Tomorrow I’ll wake up and someone will tell me there’s no such person as Jacob Scott Baxter.

“Hey, you’re Livia, right?”

I hadn’t noticed, but someone had been jogging towards me on the sidewalk.  It’s not uncommon for runners to use our block as a path for exercise.

“Yeah, do I know you from school?”

Our school is pretty big, and I’m not one of the most social people in the neighborhood.

“Well, not exactly.  I mean, we’ve never met.  I’m Glen.”

He must be on one of the sports team at school based on his clothes and fitness.  Still, this is the first time I’ve noticed him.  We stare at each other and he gives a little laugh.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.  I guess this is weird for you.”

“A little.”

“I’ll go then,” he says and jogs off.  When he’s a few feet away he turns back and shouts, “Oh, and happy birthday.”

Next Chapter.

Season 1:2 ‘Welcome to The Hive’

(Start here.)

 

 We were all kind of forced into this situation.  Maybe some of the other metakids are eager to take up the mantle of their parents.

“Team Sassitude Gives Reporter an Ear-Full” reads the morning paper’s headline.  Jason’s was the only outburst, but it was enough to make the front page.  Mom and dad weren’t too happy afterwards.  They never yell at us.

We don’t need a global crisis during our first week on the job.  Everyone should take us seriously.  Jason and I sit up in our room, waiting for dad to get home before we’re taken to our base of operations.  The Guardians Society has their own headquarters, somewhere.  All of the metas take extensive precautions to protect their identities and locations since there are so few of us.  None of the known ninety-nine have died.

You should’ve kept quiet.

“Can’t we just talk, like normal people?” Jason is sprawled out on his bed, legs dangling off the edge.  At this point we should probably have our own rooms and bigger beds.  But we’ve never wanted either.

“What if mom hears us?”

“Doesn’t matter, they’ll be gone tomorrow anyway.”

Jason.  There’s a little more emotion packed in there than I intended to send across.  Jason almost sobs.

“Dude, why’re you so upset over this?”

“How can you not be upset?  Our parents are leaving for who knows how long.  They could die out there and we’d never know.”

“I mean, why aren’t you angry about this?  They’re dumping all this crap on us without so much as a crash course.  We’ve played game tutorials more thorough than this,” Jason says.  He gets up from his bed and leans forward on the window sill.

I’m failing to think of a reply.  I could reach into his head and find what he wants me to say.  He’d know if I did it.  So I just sigh and stare at the ceiling.

“Everyone else is going to the beach this summer, and then college.  None of their parents asked them to guard the world while they go make peace with E.T.,” he says.

There’s a crunch in his direction.  Jason had grasped the sill and crushed the bottom of the window frame in frustration.  He lets the splinters fall onto our carpet.  I hate to admit it, but he has a point.  We were all kind of forced into this situation.  Maybe some of the other metakids are eager to take up the mantle of their parents.  Ingot and Mach seem old enough to hold jobs.

“I guess, we don’t have much of a choice,” I say.  It’s an awful response, but it’s the only one I can muster.

“We should always have a choice,” he says, “but you might be right.”

Super strength probably lends itself to an increased temper, add an Irish heritage on top of it and Jason’s short fuse is brought into focus.  We both look the part, but I suspect mom contributed some Italian blood.

I hate it too, but who else will protect them?  I sent across images of the press conference, whatever I’d seen on the news that morning, and what I remember about an attack on our high school a few years ago.  I’m not sure how sending images across works.  Jason says it’s like dreaming: nothing can really be explained, but it all makes sense in your head.

We’ll try.  It’s not often he sends something back.

I fall back onto my bed.  Jason walks around and then leaves to go downstairs.  Sometimes I’ll stay in his head just to keep up on what happens in the rest of the house.  Right now I’ll leave him alone.  He says he doesn’t always feel me in there, but I think he’s lying.  Often times I know he’s lying.

Every thought pattern is unique. Jason’s thoughts flow smoothly which makes for easy manipulation. His memories serve as clear mirrors reflecting the past. When he’s angry things can get intense. Calming him down reminds me of the time I had to make a race car in shop class from a cube of balsa wood. Sanding down the rough edges until it all reached a desired smoothness. In this scenario there’s a chance something bad will happen if I fail to sand everything over fast enough.

We’re supposed to visit our base of operations today. Dad says it’s in the city, and we might have even been in the building before. I imagine this is what it feels like to someone on their first day at work. Excitement, apprehension, a twinge of fear, reluctance. An aversion to change.

Dad comes home a little while later.

“Desmond, let’s get going,” he calls.

“Do we need to suit up for this?” I call down to him.

“Only if you want.”

My clothes are fine for now.  Jay is sitting on the couch watching a basketball game on TV, mom is at her desk.  She’s always been the one to take care of family matters while dad goes out on missions.  The Guardians Society only calls her when they really require her skills.  Jason shuts the TV and we head out.

The rest of our group is already at the meeting spot.  I was expecting something a little more grand.  We’re standing outside of a fifteen story tall office building.  It’s not all chrome and glass like some of the newer buildings.  This is a concrete slab with black metal forming honeycomb frames around the windows.

“Welcome, to The Hive,” says the Mauve Avenger.  I think he’s Mach’s father.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” says Dragonette.

“Our headquarters is an office building with an awful name?” Mach asks.

“Keep quiet.  The whole building isn’t your headquarters,” Mauve Avenger says.

Floor twelve seems innocuous.  Mauve Avenger punches in a code on the keypad for the door in the elevator lobby.

“This glass can withstand a megaton of force,” dad says, “all of the glass in the building can.”

“And all the glass on this floor is equipped with adaptive camouflage.  Anyone looking inside will just see an ordinary office, complete with worker drones.”

Ratchet really outdid himself with the glass.  Sleek hexagonal tiles coat the floor and walls, and the ceiling is covered in clusters of similarly shaped lights.  There are few furnishings on the floor: a control panel and monitor, elevated sparring platform, complete kitchen, and a couch.

“Armory and sleeping barracks are at the end of the hall, though we’ve cleaned out most of the gadgets,” dad says.

I walk over to one of the windows and stare out at the city.  The others chatter behind me about some of the unseen details of The Hive.  There are no vehicles or gun turrets, and the armory has next to nothing inside.

“Nice view,” I look over and see Dragonette.

“Yeah, I’ve never seen the city from up this high,” I say.

“I guess when you can fly, this seems normal.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Right, I forgot.  So your brother seems pretty cool,” she says.

I can’t help but laugh, like an outburst, “Oh man, just you wait and see.”

 

 

Next Chapter