Legacy (The Vs. Reality Series Book 3) Read online

  “Great idea...I’ll just start taking Brodie’s skeezy homemade drugs. Then I can go from a world-ranked athlete to a junkie, and flush my entire career down the toilet. Maybe I can start smoking crystal meth while I’m at it.” She bounces the ball on the court several times and tosses it into the air. “I just want to manifest my powers, and I want to do it now!” Her racket slams into the ball, and it explodes across the court so quickly that Jens doesn’t have time to swing.

  He looks down at his racket, puzzled by the perfectly round hole burnt through the cross-strings. The edges of the opening are singed, filling his nostrils with the acrid smell of burnt plastic. “Holy shit, girl.” He says with a grin. “Now that was a serve.”

  Allison tosses her racket aside and jumps up and down while she claps her hands, squealing with delight. She rushes over to Jens, vaulting the net on the way. “Did you see that?” she shouts. “I did it! I’m finally like Cole: a full-time, real life superhero! No Muse, and no Plan B required – all I need to do is to get really pissed off, and I can start launching fireballs at people whenever I want!”

  “That’s...great news?” Jens can tell she wants to be congratulated on her achievement, but can’t quite find the words.

  “Ha!” she shouts, triumphantly placing her fists on her hips. “I can’t wait to get back on the pro circuit and sign up for my rematch with Chelsea Beckford. That bitch is going down. The look on her face when my ball goes right through her pink designer tennis racket...”

  “Wait,” Jens interrupts, holding up his hand. “You want to use your superpowers to win tennis games? What about stopping The General and saving the world and all that?”

  “Jeff, you have so much to learn.” Jens doesn’t bother to correct her. She’s been calling him by the wrong name for six months, so chances are she’s not going to stop now. “Think about it for a minute: I’m not just a regular professional athlete. I’m an icon. Some would say that I’m on my way to becoming the voice of my generation. What will my legions of fans think if I go out and sandbag it?”

  Jens raises and eyebrow. “Sandbag it?”

  “If I hold back and don’t use my gifts. What kind of a role model would I be if I didn’t give a hundred percent every time out? I need to set an example for my younger fans, and give them someone to look up to. It’s just like that famous quote from Martin Luther King: ‘Winning isn’t everything. It’s the only thing’.”

  Allison’s speech is interrupted by the sight of the Aithon descending from the sky on the far side of the compound. The landing gear lowers and the feet touch down in the orange dirt, barely making a sound. “Let’s go tell everyone the great news,” she shouts. Before Jens can respond she’s already in a full sprint, making her way towards the makeshift landing pad.

  Paige makes her way down the ramp first, looking worse for wear. The dried blood has been cleaned from her ears and neck, but her face is bruised and scratched badly on one cheek; when Goto collided with her in the jungle some bark scraped her on the way down, taking several layers of skin with it. She’s still jittery from being electrocuted, shaking periodically as she walks.

  “Wow,” Allison says, scanning her from head to toe. “You look like hammered shit.”

  “And a good afternoon to you too, young lady,” Paige replies dryly. “As always, your brutal honesty is an asset to the team.”

  Goto steps down behind her, looking equally battered. He sustained the brunt of the electrical shock during the attack, and his equilibrium is still off-kilter. He’s moving slowly with a slight limp, lacking the confident stride he’s usually known for.

  Cole follows, looking exactly the same as when he left. No one would have any idea that just a couple of hours ago he’d been completely engulfed in flames. His skin is unblemished, and his hair, eyebrows and eyelashes have grown back; his healing factor is working faster and more efficiently than ever.

  “What’s up with the jet?” Jens asks. “The back wing looks a little messed up.”

  “We got hit with a pair of missiles,” Cole replies. “And now the thing won’t cloak, either. It was crazy, man. These two fighters were tailing us, and when the blast hit...”

  “Cole!” Allison interrupts, shoving Jens aside. “I did it! I manifested without using any drugs, just like you. How awesome is that?”

  He smiles patiently, despite the interruption, patting her on the shoulder. “That’s great news, Allison. I wish we had some great news of our own, but we need to sit down and talk.”

  Her excitement quickly fades. “Okay, Goto’s Jeep was totally broken before I took it out.”

  “It’s not about that,” Cole says. “Get Brodie and gather in the living room...things in Brazil are a lot worse than we thought.”

  As everyone walks back towards the compound Goto maintains his own, slower, unsteady gait behind them. “Allison!” he calls, with a hint of discomfort in his voice. “We are going to talk about the Jeep.”

  ***

  Sitting around the living room, Paige explains the situation in detail. The General was always going to finish his Collider, and protect it at all costs, but his new defense system provides a completely new set of problems. With an army of super powered beings outfitted in Federation armor from 3016, his defences could be nearly impenetrable.

  “So how many super soldiers do you figure he has?” Brodie asks.

  “It’s hard to say, exactly,” Goto explains. “We saw two by the construction site, and three more attacked us at the drop point. But I would be surprised if that was the extent of his team.”

  Paige nods. “He could have fifty, a hundred...who knows. If we have any chance at winning, we need an army of our own.” She doesn’t want to concern the rest of the group, but recruiting people who can manifest superpowers isn’t exactly a simple task. It took her and Dia eight months to make contact with Brodie, and he was the only person they successfully aligned themselves with for many years afterwards – until their chance encounter with Cole. Those who have manifested powers are understandably on edge, and very rarely agree to make contact face-to-face due to rumors of government abductions and detainment.

  Since 2006 Paige had been in touch with numerous contacts who claim to have had superpowers, but early last year her sources started drying up. By the end of the summer she wasn’t able to contact anyone, with all her Emails and text messages going unanswered. She suspected the worst. Now the reason for her lack of correspondence seems clear: her online friends have been preoccupied with a new employer...or possibly eliminated if they had turned down the job offer.

  Looking for fresh recruits to assemble their own small army isn’t going to be easy. If they’re able to detect suspicious activity on the Internet they can go to a location and investigate, and use Goto’s heat signature readers to track recruits. It worked in Spain when they found Allison. But Dia’s ability to tear open a portal and instantly jump anywhere in the world was the only real advantage they had over The General.

  Having access to those powers, coupled with the unlimited resources of the New World Council, the General will be able to identify potentials and reach them faster than ever before. The Argus satellite tracking system can pinpoint potential SPB activity across the U.S., and they’ve no doubt been using that technology to scour the rest of the globe in search of new soldiers.

  “There has to be someone totally awesome out there,” Jens says with a confident smile. “Some dude with bad-ass powers that can help us defeat The General and get Dia back. You just need to have a little faith.”

  Chapter Twelve – Frisson

  Las Vegas, Nevada| January 22, 2012 | 9:07 pm, Pacific Standard Time

  I am not a prostitute.

  I am not a hooker.

  I am an escort.

  A high-priced, professional escort – and I am in control.

  Whitney applies her lipstick for the fourth time in as many minutes, nervously flicking her eyes to the ticking clock on the wall. Standing in front of a full-le
ngth mirror she straightens her dress, adjusts her bra and exhales.

  The first time is the hardest. After that it just starts to feel like a business transaction...at least that’s what Madame Roberge from the Agency said. With the money she’ll be making, Whitney figures that she can pay off her psychology degree inside of eight months, and have enough cash left over for a down payment on a condo. Then she’ll be out of this hellhole once and for all, and she can return home to Portland where she belongs.

  Whitney is exactly what the client had requested: a petite redhead with green eyes and flowing red hair. He asked for a teenager, but at twenty-two she’s close enough. With her soft features and porcelain skin she can easily pass for eighteen. Clients tend to get very specific when placing an order at the Agency, and for upwards of five thousand dollars, they’re purchasing their ultimate fantasy for an evening; no request is unreasonable, and virtually nothing is too exotic. If they’re willing to pay an additional fee, the Agency will cheerfully accommodate even the most bizarre fetish. Of course the new girls are never tasked with servicing the more demanding clients, so this evening Whitney is being eased into the business with a relatively mundane list of requests.

  “This is fine,” Whitney whispers, staring at herself in the mirror. “No big deal. I can totally do this.”

  Three short knocks startle her, and she blinks several times, awakening from her daydream.

  She scurries to the entrance, taking a beat to straighten her posture and adjust her hair before pulling open the door.

  There must be a mistake.

  A scrawny kid with an oversized knapsack flung over one shoulder stares back at her. The Agency assured Whitney that she’d be servicing lawyers, politicians, and possibly even a few celebrities. This boy can’t be more than a year out of high school, and his loose-fitting black t-shirt, ripped jeans and worn sneakers don’t reflect the type of person who could afford this type of luxury service.

  He saunters past her without saying a word and sits on the edge of the bed, bouncing a few times to test the springs. As he tosses his bag on the floor Whitney studies him. She’s struck by his pallor. His skin looks sickly – almost translucent. He seems to be in perfect health aside from his complexion, but his short black hair and dark eyes give his tone an even starker contrast, and the effect is eerie.

  “I’m Amber,” Whitney says, flashing a bright smile as she extends her hand.

  “Trent,” he replies, taking her firmly by the wrist before pulling her a step closer. He trails his eyes down the length of her slender frame.

  “So, Trent...what do you do for a living?” She hopes some light conversation will alleviate her tension. This is already more awkward than she had feared, and the business transaction hasn’t even started. The customer was barely in the front door.

  “The same thing as you,” he replies with a mischievous grin. “I push the limits. I look for the next challenge.”

  “Okay...” she says after a short pause, confusion written across her face.

  “I live outside the boundaries set by society. I jump out of planes, surf thirty foot waves – I do things that normal people only dream of.” He pats the bed next to him, inviting Whitney to take a seat.

  All right, so maybe he’s just an adrenaline junkie with a superiority complex. I can work with this. She accepts his invitation, taking care to keep her virtually non-existent black skirt from revealing too much thigh, as if he would be offended at this point.

  “Last week I crashed a Porsche into a bus at over a hundred miles an hour,” Trent continues, “just so I’d know what it would feel like. The flames and twisted metal wrapping around my body was amazing. Next time I’m going to try it with a plane.”

  “Uh huh...so you’re like a stuntman?”

  “I think of myself as an artist. The world is my canvas, and my art is letting people know that there aren’t any limits. Not anymore.” He flashes a smug grin, as if he’s aware of something private.

  “So aren’t you afraid that you’re going to die doing all this daredevil stuff?”

  “I’m way beyond death, Amber. I crossed that bridge long ago and never looked back, which is actually why I chose you. I knew you’d understand.”

  “I’m not sure that I do,” she replies softly. Full blown narcissist. At least he seems harmless.

  “Let me ask you a questions: why do you do this?” Trent leans in closer. His smile grows wider and his eyes spark with a trace of manic excitement. “You could do anything with your life, but you sleep with strange men for a living. It gives you a charge, doesn’t it? The danger? The feeling that anything could happen at any time? The only time you feel alive is when you let go of control and leave everything to fate.”

  Whitney considers taking off her clothes just to make this guy shut the hell up. “Sure, I guess. I like taking a chance now and then.”

  “So let’s do something fun together.”

  “Isn’t that what you’re paying me for?”

  He lets out a wild laugh. “No, no. That can wait. I’m talking about something that will bond us together.”

  Whitney leans away. “I don’t know what Madame Roberge told you, but if you’re into any kinky shit you’ll have to call the Agency back and reschedule with a different girl.”

  “No, you’re perfect. And I know exactly what we’re going to do tonight. We’re going to rob a casino.” He rummages through his knapsack, tossing one weapon after the other on to the bed; an assortment of knives, a club, brass knuckles and a can of mace. “I picked up a few handguns on the black market this morning. I know they’re in here somewhere...”

  He continues to dig through the contents of his bag and, Whitney begins to panic. Instinctively she scoops the largest knife she can find off the duvet and waves it in his direction. “Get out of here you freak!” she screams. “I don’t know what you want with me, but you need to pack up your shit and go...or else.”

  He throws his head back and laughs again, nearly in hysterics at the sight of an escort brandishing a knife, making idle threats while she trembles with fear. “Excellent! Why don’t you stab me first, and then I can do you? This is going to be hot.” He points to his midsection with both fingers and stares at her expectantly.

  To her own surprise she lunges forward, driving the blade deep into his stomach, until the hilt prevents her from pushing any further. She extracts the knife and not a single drop of blood trickles from the steel.

  Trent stands perfectly still, arms spread wide. He doesn’t even blink.

  There is a perfectly rational explanation for this. I’m having some sort of a psychotic break.

  He grabs her wrist and repositions the knife over his chest. “If you were aiming for this, you missed.” He pulls the blade forward until it pierces his heart, wrapping his fingers firmly around hers so she can feel the pressure of the weapon slicing effortlessly through muscle and cartilage.

  Whitney’s eyes widen, welling with tears, and the words escape her throat in a barely audible whisper. “Are you going to kill me?”

  “Don’t worry, babe.” He lifts his shirt and exposes a disturbing roadmap of grotesque scars, jagged and raw. “It only hurts the first time.”

  Chapter Thirteen – Quidnunc

  Western Australia | January 27, 2012 | 4:05 pm, Western Standard Time

  “Do we really need to wrestle in our pyjamas?”

  Cole can’t help but laugh. “Yes Paige, we do. And we’re not wearing pyjamas; this is called a ‘gi’.” He touches the lapel of his loose-fitting white jacket, which is folded over his waist and tied with a thick black belt. The white pants and bare feet do give the vague impression of wearing pyjamas, but he’s sure that his new student will adjust. “And we’re not going to be wrestling, by the way. We’re doing a form of submission grappling called Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.”

  Paige agreed to meet Cole in the compound’s basement gym for some one-on-one training, but she didn’t realize that being in a proper uniform would b
e part of the process. She frowns and points at the white piece of material tied loosely around her midsection. “Fine...but as soon as we’re done I want to win a different color belt.”

  “You don’t ‘win’ a belt, you earn it. And besides, belts are meaningless. The only real use they have is holding up your pants.”

  “All right,” Paige says with a smirk. “Then switch with me. I want the black one.”

  Cole laughs again. “Well if slacking off was a martial art, I guarantee you’d be the female equivalent of Bruce Lee.”

  “I’ve seen you guys fighting in mixed martial arts,” Paige says as she pulls her black and purple hair into a short ponytail, “and you’re usually in your underwear. Why are we practicing in these big bulky outfits?”

  “You can feel free to strip down your bra and panties if you want, but it won’t really simulate a fight. Pretty much every time you square off against someone you’re both going to be wearing clothes, so it’s important to train that way.”

  “Ah, I see.” She kneels down on the crisp blue mats and rests her hands on her knees. “Well let’s get Jiu-Jitsu-ing...what are you going to teach me first, Sensei Cole?”

  He joins her on the mat and stretches his legs out, reaching forward to grab his left foot. “We’re starting with something basic. Everyone wants to jump into the fancy stuff, like triangle chokes and flying arm bars, but the most important thing to do in any fight is gain a dominant position.” He invites her to crawl forward with a small wave. “What I’m about to show you is called a ‘sweep’, and one day it might save your life.”

  Slightly confused, she crawls towards him on the mat as he lays flat on his back. Cole pulls her close to his body until their chests are pressing together. From underneath he wraps his legs around Paige’s waist, crossing his ankles over each other so she’s unable to move.

  “If someone lands on top of you, it’s important not to panic. Try to control their posture. It’ll prevent them from punching you from the top, and then you can execute your sweep.”