This is my novel, or at least it will be once I hammer down the first draft. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I won't just stroke off again and finally finish the story I've been trying to tell for years.
I call it "The Super Novas" but that's more of a working title. The story focuses around the titular team that soon forms as the world around them falls apart both literally and metaphorically. As they always say "write what you know" I did just that and based some of this off of a few friends and acquaintances of mine. From the original idea of a few people gaining abilities in a freak accident the current story has evolved into something a bit more substantial. At the heart of it it's a story about a fractured relationship and how the two people involved try their best to keep it together while on the other hand a new relationship is beginning to bloom even though hardships and roadblocks begin to make themselves known.
I've spent months trying to work on interweaving this sort of dramatic tale with the action and adventure that come with superheroics and though I'm not there just yet I know that I'm close to my final goal. Hopefully I'll be able to get it published by the time the world ends and hopefully people will enjoy it and buy millions.
But for now I present to you my baby: The Super Novas. Below you'll find a short synopsis. Enjoy and please comment!!
This is how the world ends. Not with a whimper but with a Super Nova. When her world is shattered by supernatural attacks it's up to disgraced superhero Nicki Bronz to break back into her old life and take charge of a new, more volatile, team. But will she succeed when she has to face a rival super-group out for fame, fairy tales and myths brought to life, and enemies from within her own team or even herself?
Super Novas 1.Always Jinxed
As I read his thoughts amidst the chaos around us I knew this would be the last time I saw his face. Under his titanium helmet, opened for just the briefest second, he flashed me that same timid smile he gave me the first day we met; so fragile yet so hopeful all the same; but there’s no hope today as we stand shoulder to shoulder, staring into the great black eye of the abyss. Alex and I are the only ones left. Gene’s already gone, swallowed by the shadows I forced into him.
No. This isn't right.
I want to protest for him to stay with me till it’s over, for us to try and run away from all this, but he’s gone before the thought ever really leaves my mouth, blasting off in to the breach with what little protective armor he has left after having his battlesuit torn to shreds by the ravages of battle. I want to be strong for him -- for them -- but I can’t find the courage. This is all my fault. They wouldn’t say it around me, would barely think it, but I know the truth. I destroyed New York City.
None of this is right.
I watch as his armor's light burns bright just before flickering out. I clench my eyes tight, stifling a sob, as the darkness continues to expand. The shadows consumes me and I know all at once that none of this is real.
My eyes shoot open with a start and I whimper slightly as I stare into the dark ceiling of my shared bedroom, kicking the bed in protest before brushing the debris off of me and bolting off it.
Just a dream. Always just my dreams.
I keep telling myself over and over to break out of the shock. It was just a dream. The same dream I've been having for a month now.
Sliding off the bed, I run my fingers through my hair, before heading slowly to the window. I try to put the dream behind me, repress it -- something I've grown good at while living here.
”Damn sleeping pills. Note to self, Nicki: no more store brand medicine.”, I mutter to myself before pulling back the curtain. At this point I'm sure it's their fault I'm dreaming like this.
The sun light breaks through the artificially created darkness in my room and I let out a sigh almost reflexively at the sight of it all.
Always a dream. Never what I want.
Looking out the window I see the big city unfold itself before me. New York, New York. The city of lights, in more ways than one for me. I close my eyes and take it all in, minds buzzing like fireflies all across the cityscape that send all too familiar chills down my spine. Telepathic exercises, I've been doing them since I was a teen-aged girl, now they're nothing more than habit.
They would have called us gods in another life and nowadays they wouldn't be that far off. Now, we're just one of many, a breed of people science fiction has dubbed superhuman.
You can go as far back as 60 years and you'd still find our kind lurking in plain sight, even further back and our efforts seem a lot more hidden. But the further forward you slide the closer you get to the spandex-clad, leather wearing, ridiculously costumed people who roam the city in search of danger. You hear about them, running around with names like Sparky or Glittersnap, shooting fire from their eyeballs or tasering bad guys with their nipples. We used to be those people.
A million minds light up, shining bright like an upside down constellation, but as always one light shines brightest out of them all.
He sleeps behind me and I don't need to look to know it's Alex's thoughts that threaten to blind me. Alex Vega, he lives up to his name, as bright as a star amongst the dimness of society.
A cursory glance let's me know my invasion didn't disturb him before I leave the room with a scoff, trying to ignore the fact he’s found a way into our bed after I told him to sleep on the couch last night.
In the bathroom I stare into my reflection, the weariness of my condition beginning to show. Insomnia. I wear my name on my face, Nicki Bronz, as hard and brittle as the metal my family name takes after. I try to shake my fatigue but a constant look of apathy lingers, carving itself into my features. I brush back the dark tresses of my black hair, rubbing the bags under my eyes that darken my naturally mocha skin into a deeper shade of brown. A splash of cold water on my face does little to rouse me from my mood. It’s early morning Monday and already I have the weekly doldrums.
I know I should be excited today but I just can’t muster the emotion while I’m still in this apartment.
From the bathroom I watch Alex toss and turn in whatever drug induced nightmare he’s going through. For a few seconds I find myself lost, watching him fussing with the bed sheets.
He has the same look of indecision stuck on his face as always but there’s something else there just beneath it. Sadness. I watch as scrap metal encircles the bed, floating in the air above him like a security blanket. This little act of protection is the tie that binds us.
Though we might look like you're average couple neither of us are conventionally human.
He’s what science has dubbed as an Alter, a human with altered genetics. No one knows what causes Alteration. Maybe pollution, maybe evolution, or it may even be through forced scientific means that the government is playing clueless about. Whatever the cause people like Alex have been springing up in society for decades, donning costumes to rob banks or to stop bank robberies. Alex is neither of these types however. He’d never attempt anything like it, at least not on his own. He’s got a knack for technology and invention to the point where he can assemble machinery with a thought.
Me on the other hand...my story’s just a little bit more complicated. I’m not from around these parts chronologically speaking. I was conceived in the year 3013 P.C. in a world where humanity is nothing more than a minority in our galaxy.
Our world will be ravaged by nuclear war and famine but we’ll survive, grow even. You know how people say we only use 10% of our brain power? Well, when I’m from that’s a thing of the past. Humanity has grown to use their full brain capacity and now many of us possess potent Psychic gift, mine being high level telepathy.
I watch him and bite my lip, unsure of what to do. I want to go into his mind, to his world of fears, but dream-walking makes me sick and gives me nightmares worse than anything I’ve ever seen, two things I'd rather avoid before work. So instead I just watch him till his thrashing stops as I get ready, taking a chance in between kicking to kiss his forehead before I leave.
I feel slightly sick as I make my way to the car heavy with guilt about what happened last night. My insomnia’s not the only reason I’m tired today.
He saw me last night. He saw me last night even though I’d promised him I’d stop.
I gnaw on my finger nails as last night's events replay in my head. I was in the dark of the kitchen with the lights off, sweating profusely, when I heard the click of the light switch, my luck rearing it’s ugly head. I had been panting so hard, of course he heard me, but I had little choice in what sounds escaped me as I sat with one leg hoisted up on the table.
“What the hell are you doing?” His voice trembled with a simmering rage as I jerked my head up in his direction, letting out another slight squeal as I gripped the piece of glass jutting out of my leg and tugged again. Damn. He’d caught me. I was shutting off pain receptors left and right, telepathically tricking myself into thinking I wasn’t hurt that bad. I didn’t need his presence there distracting me.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I asked back in a sarcastic tone. I was sweating bullets underneath my costume-store-bought domino mask, blood staining my ragged costume of nothing more than a corset and a dancer’s leotard along with my favorite pair of heeled boots. Not too high though. I'm no flier.
He looked at me in astonishment and outright shock before he regained his senses enough to rush over to me.
“Have you lost your damn mind? What the hell has gotten into you?”
His question actually took me away from my wound for a few seconds. I didn’t know what had gotten into me really. I still don't know. I guess I just got bored of doing nothing. I couldn’t stand the screaming anymore. Every night I hear it. They scream in their minds first, the first and sometimes the only sound to reach me. All over the city there is crime and we with the power to do something about it do nothing. I remember the day I wouldn't hesitate to throw on my costume. It seems like a distant memory now.
“I’m tired of it Alex. I’m tired of everything that goes on in this bullshit city while people like us turn a blind eye because there’s no PR profit in it.”
“Jesus, Nicki. Don’t start with this again.” He said as he focused on my leg. He gripped the underside of my thigh, more forceful than needed, as he raised his hand over the glass. It melted like water at his summons, dripping upward into his hand in the shape of a golf ball. “What have you been doing? Do you know you could have died if this had cut any deeper?!”
He’s trying to contain his anger and the for the first time ever I’m truly afraid of what he might do. I feel like a child facing punishment as I star into his dark eyes. He doesn’t understand and I don’t know how to make him. I’m silent as he proceeds to patch my wound up. It wasn’t as gruesome as it looked but despite this knowledge I can see him growing more and more queasy.
“Please, Nicki. Please stop this. You're not Justine anymore. You're not a hero. We moved here to live a normal life and here you are trying to sabotage that with this nonsense. We're normal now. I just...I just can’t.” He said this as he slid into the chair opposite my own and just stared into my eyes passionately, a fire burned into each word.
It cuts deep like he intended. I’m not Justine anymore, we both know this, and I’ll never be her again after what happened. The shock registers on my face. I can feel my skin getting heated as I stare back at him. Moments like this is when I need him the most but he just shuts down on me, makes me feel so small in the face of the world.
I promised him since we first me that I would never pry into his private thoughts but it’s moments like this that make me want to know what goes through his head. This same timid inactive boy who I’ve grown to shelter has a fierce side to him that threatens to overtake me.
I can’t bring myself to look at him as I leave the room. I want him to understand, to help me but I don’t think he ever will.
”You don't get to decide that you're normal the same way the victims out there don't get to decide to be safe. I figured you of all people would remember that since you were one of those victims once. Now, I don't know what you are.” I called out to him from the hall one last time before slamming and locking our bedroom door.
My mind’s a million miles away as I make the drive to work. A million miles in Alex’s direction as I drive further and further away. The pain in my thigh wasn’t the only scar left from last night’s event. His reaction hurt me just as much. Even without being psychic I know his fears, dreams, and hopes. He’s afraid of losing me but somehow he seems to forget that I’m not the fragile one here. Sometimes I think it would just be easier for both of us if I just reached into his head and changed his mind for him.
That’s not what we taught you to use your powers for, now was it?
“Jesus!” I scream, reflexively slamming on the breaks as a familiar voice enters my head, “What the hell are you doing?! Trying to make me crash?!”
I recognize these thought patterns from anyone. Childhood pictures of me; amalgamated images of what a child between Alex and I would look like; grocery lists containing several types of wine.
Don’t be so jumpy, Nicolette. I shouldn’t have to do this every couple of weeks but you never give your dear, loving, caring mother a call.
I roll my eyes and exhale, leaving my body on cruise control as I go to meet my mother swimming through my private thoughts. I can tell she’s been nosing around for a while, per the usual when she skims my thoughts. We’re in my Psy-scape. It’s a world decked out as a futuristic metropolis, what I envision the future to look like. My work clothes have been replaced by imaginary light-up skin tight catsuits and glowing stilettos held up by heels made of solid light; what I thought my mother’s world looked like.
“You do know that stuff like this is why I moved out at sixteen, right?”
She doesn’t respond but I see her in my mind as clear as day, staring with a grim look out into the space between my thoughts that look like hover vehicles. She’s got that same timeless look as always. Since I was ten I grew to believe she was nothing more than a mental projection, forever unchanged. Her creamy chocolate complexion has been pockmarked by age and the grey strands of hair among the black, pulled taut in a bun, bounce a light that seems to be drawn right back into the darkness of her raven hair. Evelyn Bronz. They called her the Widowmaker when we’re from.
“That’s funny Nicolette because I seem to recall your leaving home and moving was because of some childish dream about saving the world. A dream it seems you’ll never give up on.”
She nods her head towards the windows of my thoughts, indicating the imagery of me as Justine that plays on the billboards of my mind just outside the window. I stick my tongue out at the use of my full name before following her gaze.
Justine, the life before this life. At this point I’m just so tired of being reminded of my former life.
”Mother, please. I've heard enough of this already.” I say to her curtly. It's hard to forget when your have an eidetic memory. The day replays itself frighteningly clearly.
It only took one mistake, one fatal mistake that I made back in Washington, D.C. Just a year ago I was Justine, sidekick to the hero known as Justice. We were heroes, Alex and I, fighting alongside the Justice Force as they protected the nation’s capital from all manner of attack. All manner except me as we soon found out.
”Why can't you just settle down with that exotic boy? He's a good kid in spite of his genetics.”, she asks naturally. I roll my eyes at the notion. I can tell she thinks this is a joke but nothing was a joke on that day in March.
If you asked anyone where they were last year on March 14th they’d all tell you the same thing; looking up at the sky as the sun went white above the clouds, drawn to earth by a Doomsday device powered by the Justice Force’s Base. All courtesy of yours truly.
They had nicknamed me Jinx among the group because I caused my own bad luck, a joke that become less funny on that day.
I used my powers on Alex, forcing him into a frenzy that caused not the destruction of the Doomsday device but instead accelerated it’s effect, strengthening it tenfold. Where the villain sought to hold the moon hostage I instead pulled the sun out of it’s orbit and nearly destroyed us all.
I was done after that. Finished by their standards and damaged by what the media said.
”Mom, I don't want your life, okay? Thanks for everything, seriously, but I don't want any of that.” I say, unconvinced of myself before she sighs and looks away. Who am I lying to? Her or me? Do I really want her life?
She's silent for a while but her form still lingers in my mind. I know what's coming but I let her say it anyway. She doesn't look at me as she speaks. I don't think she can in what I'm wearing.
”Do you know I was ten when I killed my first target? Twelve when I killed my first human. There were no heroes in capes and sparkly rights in the future, Nicki.”
I feel bad for her as she looks out the window into the world I envision. Emotions are much purer in your mindscape and I can feel the pain the simple image of me in costume is causing her. When i was little she told me everything. She told me about the world she grew up in. About how we were in the last stages of human evolution, brought on by the rapid decline of Earth and the subsequent exodus of humanity to more inhabitable places. She told me about how she was separated from her family by war, only to learn of their deaths on Earth.
She grew up as the Widowmaker, thought-assassin for hire. She didn’t want any of that for me. Neither did my father and so they somehow found themselves escaping to the past before I was born. Since then she has always stressed for me to have a normal, humdrum life but how can you have a normal life as the daughter of the Widowmaker and the Aegis? That was the question I asked myself when I first suited up. It's the question I still ask myself when I put on that cheap domino mask.
“Mom, please, I don’t have time for this. Why does every conversation with you in my head always turn into a psychic battle? I’m really not up for discussing this with you.”
“Nicolette, this game your playing, this dream you can’t give up; this is the sort of thing that leads you down a one way road. You already got out of the life. Why are you trying to get back in? Are you really ready to give up your life for nothing?”
I can’t tell if it’s my own unease or her's spilling into my thoughts but for whatever reason I falter in my resolve for a few seconds. Am I really ready for this? Do I really want this to be my life?
“Mom....” I pause, looking at her I see a broken woman who’s been fighting all her life; a woman who's fought so her daughter didn't have to, but I can’t give up hope just yet. “I’ve gotta get to work.”
“That’s fine.” She says with a weighted sigh before coming over to hug me and whisper in my ear. ”Do call sometime. Oh and please dress more appropriate for work. I’ve just been controlling your body to make you look a bit more modest. Less blush next time dear and don’t forget to button your blouse all the way to the top. I raised a lady, not a harlot.”
I shut her out with those last words. I shut her out so fast and so violently that I find myself slamming on the breaks just outside my office, screaming as I come back to my senses. It's almost too much for me when I look in the mirror. I look like a librarian now. She’s stripped me of all but the barest of essentials when it comes to make up and on top of that she put my glasses on me and tied my hair back into her trademarked bun. This is my problem with talking to her. Mommy dearest, my first and greatest teacher in the art of telepathic subterfuge and manipulation.
She’s never wanted this life for me but I chose it anyway for one reason and one reason only: her. I'll never let her future happen.
As I enter the building I take the time on the elevator to try and fix my makeup. I'm thankful to work on the thirteenth floor of this mini skyscraper, the time afforded by the elevator ride giving me enough time to fix my face and let down my hair.
As the doors ding open I’m taken aback by how much work these slackers have done in such a short time. The Scribe is alive with the sounds of chaos unlike our normal playful atmosphere. We're one of the city's lead periodicals but it's not everyday we get such takes about guests. People are all over the place today as everyone gets ready to greet the stars of our city, stars whom I’ll soon be graced with meeting.
For reasons unknown New York city has become the hub of superhuman congregation, a fact I never understood when I ran with the Justice Force in Washington, D.C. - where The White House actually is. You can’t go five blocks in this city without hearing an explosion from a bank robbery or seeing a colorful figure streak across the sky in pursuit of a stolen helicopter. Today however is the day we meet the self-proclaimed ‘Protectors of the World’, The Fantastic Faction.
I’m speechless as I slowly creep into the bustling room. I can see them lingering in a group across the room, unphased by any of what's happening. At this distance they seem so innocuous, nothing more than mint condition action figures some kid he's carelessly taken out of their boxes to play with. I can overhear them making small talk as they lounge around in our staging area, decked out in full regalia even though we all know the secret identities of more than half of them.
I check the hastily scribbled notes on my hand about them. I want to go over, introduce myself, let them know I'll be interviewing them. Deep down I really want to let them know I'll be tearing them apart today.
”Nyx, are those the new steel-toed Balenciaga's? I've been trying to get them for months.” says the winged woman amongst the group as she nonchalantly spies the Nyx's shoes.
”Of course they are, Wyvern. Note sure how I'd be their new spokeswoman if I didn't wear their shoes.” Says the Nyx. Shadows radiate off her body, giving off the same cold air as she looks away from Wyvern who flaps her dragon wings in mild irritance.
”I was supposed to get that spot, Nyx, you old hag. What'd you do to get it? Or rather, who did you do?” Says Wyvern accusingly.
”Hmph, no one, dear. They just probably didn't want to make shoes for those giant dragon hooves of yours.”
The two women stare each other down intensely while the rest of the group sigh collectively and roll their eyes. The Hornet flaps his insect wings before turning to face them with a smug look.
”Ladies can we please save the bitch fit for later? Preferably when I'm away from you, meeting with my agent or at let heavily intoxicated?”
The women both roll their eyes at each other and I can feel my face contorting in disgust. It's no secret they're nothing more than a product put together by the city to fight crime and sell cereal but up close it's glaring. The only one of them I can truly appreciate stands away from the group. Hyper-Mind stares of into space, reading the city for danger and paying little attention to his team. They bicker insanely and I sneer more and more.
It's no wonder there's scandal that festers beneath the surface of this team. I watch one member more attentively than the others, Blitzkrieg, the lightning man, he's the main focus of my article. I can't help but glare at him and the cover up his team is staging.
“You know, you'd be a bit more approachable if you took that sneer off your face.”
A familiar voice snaps me back to focus and I jump slightly before touching my face to check for the accidental scowl.
Glasses. They're always the first thing I see when Gene shows his face at The Scribe. Like some foppish Cheshire cat, the rest of him appears as I turn to face him. As always the look on his face is more of a mixed look of curiosity and anger. He has all the affectation of a proper british gentlemen who cage fights on the weekend. Characteristically, he's dressed in an unnecessary suit, carrying behind him a giant canvas bag.
”My God, what drag queen did you bump into on the way in here?” He says, commenting on my quick makeup job.
“My mother actually. They let you in through the front door today? Shocker. You must be moving up through the ranks.”
We both cross the floor together, ducking away to our own private corner where we can watch everyone at a safe distance.
”You should know by now the back is just my preference.”
He grins perversely and I roll my eyes at his crassness as I stifle a small laugh. He's crouching down to pick up his canvas bag when I let out my stifled giggle.
“You're a class act, you know? A regular Prince of Wales. What's in the bag?”
I met Gene several months ago under the same pretenses. He worked for a local graphic design company, freelancing work from places like us. I thought he was a complete dick when I met him, all snark and snappy comebacks. Lately though I've found that he's only a dick ninety percent of the time.
I crouch down as he opens the bag up to show me a large digital painting of an unknown girl dressed in a superhero costume on the cover of a future issue of our magazine.
“I'm nothing if not classy. Now just stuff it and look. It's the proof for your magazine's next cover. We went ahead and made a composite of this dame so we didn't defer any free advertising to anyone. What do you think? I snatched the pose off the internet. Some relative unknown.”
It's my pose. The first time I ever posed for a photo-op with the Justice Force. We had just taken down my first group of goons and I delivered the most dramatic and imposing stance I could muster. For months the others joked about how I was really the leader of the team from that one image. I'd almost forgotten about that.
“It looks...good.”
“Good?”, he reiterates as if I spoke french for a few seconds there, “Just good? This is brilliant. Just look at the detail in her costume. The line work alone is amazing.”
I'm mesmerized by the image, stuck starring at the me on the surface of the image. What are the odds I'd luck out and be the focus of our next cover?
I'm giddy till I realize that it isn't me in that painting. It's Justine. What's happened to me? One mistake and now I'm stuck here, with Alex.
Alex. I feel my phone go off as if the device heard my thoughts. His picture flashes across my screen beeping and Gene issues the same snarl I had earlier. I catch it just before he looks away at the costumed crime fighters. It's an understatement when I say Alex and Gene dislike each other.
I ignore the call with little attention to it, slipping it in my pocket as it insists on continually ringing, something Gene picks up on instantly. Even without psychic powers he's good at reading me.
“Trouble in paradise with your glorified cabin boy?”
He doesn't understand how the two of us operate. He's no idea of the past we share, the numerous times we've saved each others lives. It's not exactly something you tell a normal person.
I wave away the issue at hand, getting him to instead focus his attention on the attention whores.
“Look at them. They've no idea the dirt I have on them. You know the scandal? It's all true. I've got the info right here in the palm of my hand.”
“Oh don't start with them. They are just people, Nicki. They make mistakes just as we do. Deep down, even us with godlike power still can't do anything to trump our own human urges. I'm not saying he was right for what he did but just remember. They are good people to do what they do. Not all of us can be that good. Some of become monsters.”
There he goes with the sage advice. I watch him as he traces a finger across the canvas absentmindedly before slipping it back into it's carrier. When he gets like this he sometimes makes me forget just how young he really is. I often wonder what goes on behind those glasses but not enough to invade his privacy.
“I've gotta run Nicki. I've got seven other deliveries after this one and I still have to visit the 'The Rotunda” about the cover.”
'The Rotunda.' I snort with laughter at his newest moniker for my shrew of a boss.
“Seven more? You don't even drive. Why is your load always so big?”
“It's because I'm the fastest. Talk later.”
He pats the top of my head before running off and I watch him leave before my focus falls back on the group of costumes. A ticking clock and droning chatter seem to be the only sounds I pick up as I stare at them. I check my palm notes again and I feel like I'm about to crack the watergate scandal with this expose. It's only ten minutes till my interview and instead of going over to introduce myself, I'm tackled in the opposite direction by one of the head editors, Dominic Ford.
“Nicki, there you are. Look, the big women's been looking for you everywhere. She says she... has a few things to go over....with your article.”
Dominic Ford has always seemed more of a character than an actual person to me. College grad stoner turned businessman with the look of a hippy still on. He's what most people my age wish for in a boss: stress-free, nonjudgmental; minibar, video games, and a couch for sleeping all in his office.
He rarely has bad news to bring me but today I can see it in the look in his kind eyes. It only takes the briefest second for me to delve deeper into his mind where I see the conversation that took place between them. His memory plays out like a cliched primetime drama. I see them in get office, the air tense
She sat across from him, glaring for no other reason than she liked looking menacing.
“She thinks she's better than the other interns, doesn't she Dominic? I can see it in that cocky little smirk she gets when she cracks a story quicker than the others.”
Harriette Stein was sipping gin before staring out the window of her office like a bad Bond villain. It was only this morning when she called him into address the issue at hand, me. He was nervous for me, still is even. I can feel the nervous energy coming off him. He sat quietly, trying his best not to make eye contact with the bull.
“I don't think that's exactly it, Ma'am.”
He spoke sheepishly to the desk before looking up and away from her. Despite his tenure here he knew she wouldn't hesitate to fire him if his ideas strayed too far from her own. Harriette The Bull was a self appointed nickname that she liked to remind us of when she started firing people for the smallest offenses. She turned to him sharply after he tried to speak his mind. Narrowing a gaze at him that he felt in spite of his attention being directed at her lovely cat shaped wall sconces.
“Well I do. And you know what I do to troublesome things don't you?”
She crossed the room to sit on the edge of her sturdily built desk, craning her head down to finally make full eye contact with him. The wood creeks from the pressure.
“I don't just fire them. I crush them. Tell her, her article is canned. It's been cut for aesthetic reasons. My aesthetics.”
“Oh no.” I say quickly as I feel my stomach lurch forward slightly of it's own volition when the memory stops playing before grim determination shows on my face as I say, ”Oh hell no.”
“Nicki, wait. Don't go in there like this. She's been drinking and you know how she gets when her aunt visits.”
“Go have a drink Dom. I'm going to visit Harry.”
I telepathically compel him to go before I check myself in the mirror. Enough is enough. Hell, a little is enough of Harriette Stein to last you for weeks. If I'm going to war with her I at least want to look good doing it.
Gene's walking out as I walk in, flashing me a look of shared contempt directed at Harriette. I watch her, from the doorway, downing Gin like water.
I don't know what I expected to find when I touched her mind but I reached out anyway. I hoped for any sign of her humanity. Maybe a hurt family member or even a broken heart but I don't see any of that. I see a young chubby girl using her stature to crush little boys on the playground and take their candy. I see a preteen wearing a retainer, lying to he guidance counselor that a boy who just turned her down for a date touched her inappropriately. I see her in college, accusing a student and professor of sleeping together just because they got a better grade than her. As she looks up from her glass, narrowing her eyes at me I know for sure: she's a bitch through and through.
“Ah Miss Bronz. I thought that was you. I could tell from the uneven click of your knock off manolo blaniks and that dreadful air freshener you wear. Please, take a seat.”
She cuts a look at me that would make most interns here burst into tears but I stay resolute, returning her insults with a curt smile as I sit across from her.
“Thanks for the invite to the big girls office. Sorry about the perfume. They didn't have bacon scented.”
I smile again, narrowing my own gaze at her as she downs yet another glass before looking at me plainly.
“What do you want, you tart? Didn't Dominic already tell you your article was put down? No verifiable source sweety and no, the nail salon doesn't count.”
”It's not about the article. It's everything Harry - I'm sorry, Mrs. Stein--Ms. Stein.” Our eyes meet and I feel my face go hot as the words I've been holding back start to rush out like a torrent.
“Ever since I got here I've felt like I have a target painted on my back. Let's just put it all out there. You don't like me and I don't like you. Simple enough right? Well guess what, you don't have to like me at all but you do have to respect me. Intern or not I've brought in good quality stories that not even your vets could manage in their prime. You need me to keep this dump afloat.”
I stare at her boldly, defiant. I can feel the paint of her fine oaken desk scraping under my nails as I realize at some point I slammed my hand down for dramatic effect.
She doesn't say anything. For a while she looks at me blankly, thinks blankly, and then suddenly I hear the words formulating in her head like a chemistry set ready to explode.
“You ungrateful little wench. You walk around here like you're the hen in this rooster house and you think you deserve a pat on the head for doing what hens do best?! Do you not understand how low on the rung you rank when it comes to me? I'd sooner let the pizza delivery man wipe my ass than I would trust you to do a competent job of it! I've had enough of this superiority complex. You're nothing special and just to prove you wrong, you're fired!”
If I was on fire just now she's a blazing inferno as she lays into me, a few of her barbs actually sticking and hurting me more than I would let on. She thinks I'm not special? Well I'll show her just how special I am. My mind opens like a kaleidoscope and I feel her pulse quicken instinctively.
“No, you great cow. I'm not fired. In fact you'll never fire me. You've been thinking of having a young protege take over once you retire and after I brought you the idea for my expose you put me in the front running.”
My voice echos in her head. Psy-jacking, my greatest talent. Most telepaths have a speciality and this is mine. It’s almost second nature for me to rearrange a mind on a whim, willing it to do as I command. I delve into her thoughts, rearranging anger and intent; memories and experiences. She loves me, of course she does. I remind her a young her with better looks. We shop together, paint each others nails, she even lets me use her summer home. It's all too easy to break her will and remold her to my liking. I'm almost done when a beeping sound pulls me out of the Psy-scape.
“So since I said you couldn't play hero you decided to play a villain instead?”
Alex's voice rings out of the intercom box on her desk, mechanically and gritty, almost imitating the sound of his voice in his old battle armor. I'm startled and I step back as I look around for him.
“What the hell, Alex? We're way past the stage in our relationship where stalking is cute.”
“You can stop looking. I'm watching from the security cameras. I'm actually in the alley. You wouldn't answer your phone. I had little choice but to--”
“But to what? Spy on me?! Play Jimmeny effing Cricket when I'm trying to prevent us from being homeless?!”
I'm fuming but trying to keep myself calm, muttering to the intercom like a madwoman.
“Spare me the hyperbole, Nicki. You know what you're doing isn't right or have you forgotten all you're saccharine words on the use of our powers to better the world before ourselves?”
I open my mouth to say something smart but stop short as his point hits me. Honestly I don't care if I'm in the wrong but right now I want to show that I'm better then her. I undo it all with a snip of the threads I'd formed in her mind.
It's as If no time has passed for her as she glares at me again.
“I might need an escort.”
I say through gritted teeth as I clench my fists and try to avoid her gaze.
I can feel them all staring as I clean out my cubicle. There's still hustling and bustling going on but it's a lot more reserved now. They try to whisper around me but whispering does nothing for someone who can read minds.
They don't look at me as the security guard escorts me to the elevator. The air's thick as I walk past the Fantastic Faction, the cause for my firing. They watch me, curiosity drifting off of them. I zero in on Blitzkrieg. Confusion registers on his face and it only helps to anger me.
“How do you live with yourself?”
My words drip with disgust and his face soon registers my meaning, going through several stages of recognition before I hear his surface thoughts.
I don't...
I see it in his eyes, the scandal painted in red. It takes very little digging to find his memories of his sidekick, Tesla , now imprisoned for snapping and attacking innocents after his mentor got a little you hands on.
He runs off with a few of the others following behind. Hyper-mind and Nyx remain behind and they both stare at me, for different reasons it seems as I feel Hyper-mind trying to read me. I stare back at him, daring him as Nyx scowls at me
“You little twat. He's getting help for that. Thanks for your input.”
I don't even get my smart response in as my escorts push me to the elevator and boots me out of the building. I nearly drop my box of desk crap, out of frustration. Today has started to give me a headache. I telepathically ping Alex to let him know where I'm at as I go to throw my stuff in the car.
“You okay, Nicki?”
He asks plainly as he approaches me, trying to mimic some semblance of human grieving protocols.
“Yes Alex, of course I'm fine. I've only just been fired and called a twat in front of numerous reporters by a super heroine. I'm peachy-effing-keen.” I can't even look at him. My head's pounding and this is partly his fault for pissing me off in the first place. “Just get in the car.”
I lazily point to the door when I hear a voice calling to me from the doorway. It's Dominic but by now I can barely focus enough to look at him. I'm feeling like crap, the same sort of feeling I get just before a fight with some inhuman mind. The same feeling I get when they're close.
Oh no.
“Dominic!!! Get back into the building!!!”
I realize it too late. Just another knot in my string of bad luck for the day. I'm running to the door as fast I can in these ankle killing shoes to make it to the building, trying to psychically compel him to get back inside but I don't get a chance to do either of those things.
Instead a monstrous roar fills the air of the entire city block and a wave of pressure sweeps through my body, knocking me back off my feet and through the air. I crash into Alex as he focuses his powers to repel the shower of glass shards that rain down all around us from The Scribe, gripping me tightly.
What's left of the roof explodes as I make out the flyers of the Fantastic Faction repelling this new threat.
My stomach knots itself into a ball as I see the wrecked mass of concrete that was The Scribe and I almost wretch as I see his hand sticking out of the rubble before me. It's Dominic and the scariest part of it all is that he's still alive.
I feel myself shaking free of Alex's grasp and bolting to Dominic's side before I even fully understand what's happening. Alex calls out to me but I don't hear him as the glass rains down as Alex forms a a protective sphere around me.
I didn't know Dominic that well and now I'm regretting it. I'm in his head as his life ebbs away. His life flashes before our shared eyes as I each out to comfort him.
It's okay. You're going to be fine You're safe now.
I spread lies through his psyche, dampening his pain as he bleeds out. He was a father, a husband, now he's just a casualty. He's gone from my head, his thoughts replaced by a fury that directs me to my car.
“Nicki, are your hurt? Are you okay? Nicki, speak to me!”
Alex is displacing a ceiling of glass as I open my trunk and open the spare tire compartment to reveal my old costume.
“No. Not Nicki. Not now. Call me Justine and suit up. We can't sit out of this. Not today. We're going after them.”
I grab my costume, reclaiming myself in the process. I'll be Justine again, if only for today but I'll always be Jinxed.
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