Chapter Three

            “Pathetic! Simply, pathetic!”

            Zorb slammed his fist on the arm rest of his chair, his team wincing at his display of anger. They were gathered in the main room of their spaceship, which was both the bridge and the den, with Zita by his side and his four henchmen in front of him. Zorb’s golden eyes, filled with rage, turned on Korak, the big yellow brute standing indignantly in the corner. 

            “I don’t think I need to remind you, Korak, that you were just defeated by the human known as ‘The Spektrum,’ a human who is still only an adolescent and less than a third of your weight.” 

            Now, Zorb himself was relatively young, as was his lovely partner, Zita, but the two were still older than the annoying human hero. And of course, no one else present was as big as Korak.

            “You, Korak, a prime example of the muscular Grekorian race,” Zorb paused to let his small compliment sink in, “and a member of my organization,” Zorb continued, still furious.  “How could you lose?!”

            “You saw him!” Korak protested. “He was different! H-His hair was red, and so were his clothes!”

            “Of course I saw that, Korak, I have eyes.”

            “But the way he fought was different! He was far more acrobatic. He moved faster, and with more agility. It was as if he was a different person!”

            Zorb contemplated Korak’s firsthand account, and what little the ship’s monitors could pick up from where they were in Earth’s orbit. He then compared it to what everyone had seen during their first encounter with the heroic human male.

            “When he wore silver and blue, his style was headstrong, physical, and somewhat unrefined,” Zorb stated as he remembered The Spektrum tackling him to the ground, swinging wild right hands at his head, and finally picking him up and throwing him onto the ground. “But when he wore red--”

            “--he was swinging and jumping like he was a Primate Animisian,” Korak interjected. The other members of Zorb’s team couldn’t help but picture a red monkey-humanoid pounding on his chest and swinging on branches.

            “Zorb,” Zita began, “do you think he’ll have another new form the next time we see him?”

            “We can never make assumptions about an enemy,” Zorb advised his delicious deputy as he held her hand in his.  “The only way to find out is to lure him out and see. But who will be the lure?”

            Zorb looked at his four henchmen, contemplating which one would face their human enemy next. 

            Korak lost, leaving him with only three to choose from: the Lion Animisian, Graw, the Panther Animisian, Gnarl, and the neon haired, self-proclaimed “heart-throb,” Josta “Smooth” Kens. All those in this group were still comparatively young, the equivalents of a 22, 20, 21, and another 20 year old human, respectively.  Zorb and Zita, though the two people in charge, were the youngest, about 19 and 18 in Earth years, again respectively.

            Factoring in what they knew about “The Spektrum,” he had to think about his choice carefully.

            There’s a 50% chance of him using either the Silver of Red form.  We know the silver one is very rough in his attacks while the red one seems to prefer flashier moves.  However, they’re both unpredictable in what they’ll do next.  In other words, it really doesn’t matter. Therefore…

            “Josta! You’re up!” Zorb pointed to his selection as he announced his decision.

            “YES!!” Josta exclaimed. 

            There he goes again, so gung-ho about fighting it’s like it’s a sport to him, Zorb thought to himself, not surprised at all at his “employee’s” enthusiasm.  Meanwhile, Zita wondered why anyone would be excited to go into a situation that would most likely have an outcome of him, Josta, getting pummeled again.

            “Don’t worry, Zorb,” Josta began with a cocky grin and matching spark in his eyes, “I’ll succeed where you failed!”

            Zorb held back his irritation and anger as Josta swaggered off the bridge and headed to his room to properly prepare for his upcoming fight.  Zita did her best to calm her lover and leader, placing a hand on his shoulder as she sat on his lap.

            Steven let out a big yawn as he reclined on his bed, watching what little was on television on a Saturday afternoon. The yawn wasn’t because he was tired, but because he was bored, which usually did make him a bit sleepy. However, Steven wasn’t bored by his homework, he had breezed through his math homework and his English homework, and his other classes never actually assigned homework.

            At San Leandro High School, the current schedule format was the block format: four classes a day every day, two before lunch and two after. His first semester schedule included Ms. Graffito’s Beginning Graphic Design, 10^th Grade English taught by Mr. Wever, Mr. Neilson’s F.S.T. (Functions, Statistics and Trigonometry) class, and Mr. Styner’s Intro to Computer Science class, in that order. Plus, he had a “Zero Block,” a class taught before regular school hours. He was in the High School “Wind Ensemble,” which was just a fancy name for “Band Class.” Luckily it wasn’t a marching band, thank God. 

            But that aside, the reason he was bored was that now he had nothing else to do.  He had read all of this month’s manga releases of all his favorite series, since it was the afternoon, he had already watched the Saturday morning cartoons, and he didn‘t feel like listening to music at the moment. So he decided to recline back and think about this new phase in his life, if it was only a phase.

            So, he thought to himself, “I guess I’m a super-hero. Who’d’ve thunk it.  Although I guess I do fit the archetypal teenage super-hero: not incredibly popular, but not a total outcast; no real athletic ability before getting these powers (though I probably shouldn’t use them to show up jocks or anything; it’d feel like cheating); I don’t have a girlfriend, so I won’t have to worry about it interfering…”

            Steven’s thoughts trailed off at that last observation, and he rolled over onto his side since his back was getting sore.

            Actually, most realistic super-heroes have a hard time holding on to relationships because they always get called away at such random times. They can never truly connect with the person they love because of their secret life as a hero could hurt that person. In other words, the life of a super-hero is a lonely one, taking its toll on the hero. Which means, would me trying to even start a relationship be futile because it would crumble apart do to something I have no way of controlling or even predicting? 

            Steven had to sit up at his realization, it hitting him at the deepest part of his heart like a knife being plunged into his chest.

            How can I hope to be with a girl if she can never be allowed to know everything?  Does this mean my ‘love life’ is dead before it even begins?

            Steven gritted his teeth behind his lips and wrapped his hands into fists.

            No, it can’t be, I’m just over-thinking this, like before, right? Even Spider-Man made it work somehow.

            Steven considered all the facts he had just ran through in his head.  These things were true for many fictional super-heroes, but would it be true for him, a real-life one? He gave up on going any further with his internal debate.

            Besides, even though the news reports a few days ago only mentioned things like toasters shooting bread like rockets and lightbulbs blowing up like firecrackers doesn’t necessarily mean there weren’t others who were electrocuted like me, and possibly turned into “super-humans”; they might be keeping it secret just like I am.              Of course, the absence of such news doesn’t automatically mean there were, that I could, in fact, be the only one.

            Steven shook his head, desperate to get rid of his negativity. 

            Still unsure of what to think, Steven lay back down and decided to take a nap to help pass the time, ignoring the tingling itch that came over his right arm.     

            Monday afternoon at San Leandro High was the same as any, with all the students sorted into their separate circles of friends, talking, eating. As usual, Steven and his friends met by the metal bleachers near the Science wing. Steven took a bite of his ham sandwich when his friends brought up Friday’s debut of Spektrum Red. 

            “Why was he wearing red that time?” Michelle questioned the group.

            “Maybe his silver shirt was still dirty from the day before,” Bryan joked.

            “Right, maybe,” Nathan went along half-heartedly. “Don’t super-heroes only have one costume anyway?”

            “Or at least a lot of the same costume,” Nick added.

            “Plus, those who were there to see this red Spektrum say he moved a bit differently,” Samantha--or “Sam”--added as well.

            “So does that mean there’s two Spektrums?” Michelle wondered.

            “Maybe, but the guys who were there also said that the red Spektrum said he was the same guy,” countered Jacob.

            “Jacob with a good point,” Julian interjected, high-five-ing his friend.

            “But what if that’s what he, or they, want us to believe?” Sam countered back.

            The group let out a collective, long “oh…” at this possibility.

            Steven had finished half his sandwich by now, and thought about how to assure his friends the two heroes were the same person without raising suspicion towards himself.

            “Well, I think it’s the same guy.”

            The group looks at Steven, who hadn’t said much as of yet; he was eating his sandwich, after all.

            “Really?” asked Alex, who had also been a bit quiet.  “How so?”

            “Well, it’d be unlikely that more than one person here in San Leandro, let alone more than one person here at San Leandro High, would have super powers.  And those witness reports say that the two did look alike, even with different hair and clothes.”

            Everyone else thought about it, and eventually, they all agreed that the odds of “The Spektrum” being more than one person were very high.

            Michelle asked on last question.

            “Well, then do you think The Spektrum will be a new color the next time he shows up?”

            “I think only he himself can answer that.”

            “Hey, all you adolescent Earth ding-a-lings!” bellowed an unfamiliar voice.  Everyone outside, not just Steven’s circle of friends, looked around for the source.  On top of the metal awning connecting the gymnasium and Main building’s third hall stood the humanoid alien with the neon hair, decked out in shining purple long shorts, sneakers, socks, rather gaudy sunglasses, and a black tank-top.  “Prepare to be dazed, phased, and amazed by me, Josta Kens!”

            “Well, I guess The Spektrum will have to now,” quipped Alex.

            Josta jumped off the awning and onto the ground below, landing on his feet as if it were just a single step in a staircase.

            “But for you ladies, you can just call me ‘Smooth,’ ‘cause that’s what I am.”

            At this cleverly ridiculous line, Smooth gave a thumbs up, and grinned as he gave the nearest group of girls a wink. Their response: the girls cringed at how obnoxiously absurd this weirdo with the neon orange was acting.

            “Now, where’s that human, The Spektrum?”

            Steven took advantage of everyone’s state of distraction to sneak away so The Spektrum could appear.

            Luckily, the Science Wing’s staircase, surrounded on all sides by brick walls, made a convenient locale for him to make the transformation. Steven slipped through the doorway, trying his best not to make a sound. 

            “Okay, voice in my head,” Steven said once the door was closed and he knew no one else was around. “Toggle appearance!”

            “Select a Code,” it responded in its computerized form of Steven’s own voice.

            “Give me whichever Code is newest.”

            “Code Yellow has been unlocked as of Friday’s battle. Now selecting and activating: Code Yellow.”

            With light flowing up and down his body like a Xerox scanner, Steven’s sneakers, blue jeans and long sleeve T-shirt were transformed into a canary yellow sleeveless tee, black leather boots, and yellow-and-black cowboy pants.

            “Wait,” Steven, or rather, Spektrum Code Yellow yelled as he examined his wardrobe, “I don’t remember giving Yellow these. These are practically cowboy chaps!”

            Yellow looked at the questionable item of clothing’s front and back. Fringe, leather fabric, the legs were yellow but the rest was black. These were chaps! At least, they’re made to look that way. With a grunt, and no response from the voice, Steven put his embarrassment aside and prepared himself for a third fight.

            “Hey, I asked, ‘Where is The Spektrum?!’”

            By this point, Josta, aka “Smooth,” was getting tired of waiting for his target to appear.

            “Calm down, I’m right here.”

            The Spektrum had exited the enclosed stairway and went around the other way, so that now he was out in the open and away from where his friends were sitting.

            “About time,” Smooth let out with a tone of irritation. “I thought you had backed out like a coward.” 

            Smooth got a good look at The Spektrum’s newest look.

            “And I what’s with all the yellow?”

            Now that Smooth had made it known, everyone around was aware of this third costume.

            “Whoa, so bright!”

            “Good thing that ‘Smooth’ guy brought shades.”

            “Well,” Smooth started again, still very cocky, “I guess one way or another, you were gonna be yellow today.” 

            Smooth chuckled at his own word play, and The Spektrum was surprised at how well Smooth used what was thought to be only an Earth euphemism. 

            “I’m all for jokes and word play,” The Spektrum admitted. “But the time for jokes and play is over. Let’s get to the reason you’re here, alright?”

            “Was waiting for you to say something like that!”

            Smooth made the first move by rushing at The Spektrum, even though they were several yards apart. However, with the above-human level of athleticism Smooth possessed, he covered the distance, about 50 feet, very quickly.

            But The Spektrum’s reaction time was still well enough that he instinctively knew what Smooth would most likely do, and what he should do to counter it.

            As predicted, Smooth went at The Spektrum with a right handed punch, his momentum adding to its force. 

            Easily evaded by moving to the side of the arm used, The Spektrum thought to himself rather matter-of-factly. Quickly as he had seen it pop into his head, The Spektrum initiated his counter action. With right arm behind Smooth and left arm in front, Code Yellow opened with the Gut Wrench Suplex. 

            Connecting his arms and wrapping them around Smooth’s waist, Spektrum Code Yellow used his opponent’s momentum to aide him in the workings of the Gut Wrench Suplex. By popping his hips, lifting with his legs, and turning his entire body around 180 degrees, Code Yellow effectively flipped Smooth upside down and dropped him on his back with a thud, all this happening within the time it takes to sneeze.

            Smooth let out a grunt of pain while the audience of students let out several cheers and applause. But Code Yellow did not openly indulge in them like Red did, though he did enjoy the attention. Yellow felt like dazzling the crowds much like Red did, but through out-smarting his opponent rather than out-maneuvering him.

            Although I suppose out-smarting is the first step in out-maneuvering, the young hero thought momentarily, a moment that was long enough for Smooth to retaliate from where he lay. 

            Smooth reached up and grabbed Yellow’s head, then gave him a headbutt. Yellow stumbled back, giving Smooth room to get back to his feet. The somewhat embarrassed humanoid alien struck Yellow in the side of the head with his heel, causing him to stumble further back, in the general direction of the parking lot.

            Yellow had just made it to the fence that separated the parking lot from the rest of the campus when Smooth thumped him on his shoulders with a forearm. Yellow retaliated with a move that was a fusion of a back handed slap and a karate chop.  Yellow’s hand swiftly and sharply struck Smooth in the chest with a loud thwack.  Smooth recoiled, and Yellow grabbed him by his neon orange hair. Yellow yanked on Smooth’s hair, and pulled him into a short poll, the grounded obstacle slamming into Smooth‘s chest, gut and groin. 

            These planted polls were used to segment the openings in the fence so people couldn’t run through them, but in this case, the poll practically split Smooth into two equal halves.

            “What’s wrong, Josta? Things not going so smooth?” Yellow taunted, playing with his enemy’s name.

            “Shut up, you little…” Smooth growled as he swung at The Spektrum. 

            Smooth’s swing, full of frustration and void of focus, missed it’s target by several inches, and his error left him open to another back hand chop.

            Yellow’s attack hit its mark, causing Smooth to recoil again, and the crowd to let out an audible “Oh, that hurt.”

            Smooth leaned on the fence to catch his breath, but Yellow was still good to go.  Yellow lifted Smooth by the waist of his long shorts, as if he were going for a Back Suplex, meaning that he’d be dropping Smooth on the concrete ground shoulders first.  But by shifting his weight forward at the moment Smooth was as high as Yellow could lift him, Yellow dropped Smooth on the top of the metal fence groin first. And judging from Smooth’s incredibly pained reaction, his species wasn’t that different from humans after all.

            To add to Smooth’s discomfort, Yellow aimed and fired another Back-hand Chop, rocking Smooth back, the obnoxious alien nearly falling off his painful perch. 

            “‘Nearly,’” Yellow yelled, “isn’t nearly good enough!”

            Code Yellow delivered a strong, right handed punch, striking Smooth in the jaw and knocking down off the top of the fence. As Smooth tumbled into the parking lot, the crowd of students cheered their hero on.

            “Alright, Spektrum!”

            “Kick his ass!”

            Yellow moved to the other side of fence and joined Smooth in the parking lot.  Yellow yanked Smooth to his feet and led him deeper into the lot.  By this time, the campus security was doing its job and several guards kept students from getting any closer to the action than they already were.

            After taking a few steps, Yellow forcefully pulled Smooth by the arm and swung him into a car trunk.  As Smooth leaned on the vehicle in pain, Yellow hit him with another Back-hand Chop.

            “Agh.  Would you stop--”

            Smooth’s protest was interrupted by yet another chop.  Frustrated by taking damage without returning the favor, Smooth gritted his teeth and elbowed Yellow in the jaw.  Continuing his counterattack, Smooth kicked Yellow in the stomach and slammed his head into the same car trunk Smooth collided with.

            As Yellow’s head bounced off the trunk and he collapsed to the ground, the crowd let out more “Oh”s and some boos. The boos got Smooth’s attention, and he turned to face the audience of students with confusion and annoyance.

            “What d’you mean, ‘boo’?  What is this, some kinda prize fight? Like we’re fighting for your entertainment?!”

            In response to Smooth’s aggravation, the crowd booed even more, and a few girls called Smooth names because he “hurt our hero.”

            “Well, looks like we have something in common, you human trash!” Smooth snarled before stomping the slumped Spektrum. “We’re both popular with the ladies.”

            “What the hell are you talking about?” Yellow snapped at his enemy, even while on the ground in pain. “I’ve got fans ‘cause I’m the hero, and you don’t ‘cause you’re an ass.”

            “What was that?!” Smooth growled, angered by Yellow’s insolent remark.

            Smooth dragged Yellow up by his shirt collar, and put a lot of force behind a right hand punch. 

            “Sucker.”

            Yellow ducked out of the way and slipped around and behind Smooth. Grabbing Smooth around the waist again, Yellow popped his hips and fell back, lifting Smooth up and backwards. Yellow rotated as he fell so that he wouldn’t be squashed underneath.  This, in turn, added a bit more momentum to Smooth’s fall, which was translated into pain as the back of Smooth’s head fell onto the concrete ground of the parking lot with a thump.

            Yellow then decided that it was the perfect time to finish the fight.  Instinctively, Code Yellow knew how to set his “finishing move” up. He leaned on the car trunk, and pumped his foot, as if it were on a pedal. Yellow could feel an almost electric energy building up and coursing through his body. In fact, students could swear they saw a few sparks shoot from his foot and course around his leg.

            Smooth barely made it back to his feet, his head spinning, his vision impaired by his unsettled equilibrium. He wobbled and swayed as he turned around in search of his opponent.

            “Flash Kick!”

            The Spektrum’s declaration got Smooth’s attention. Smooth turned around just in time to have Code Yellow’s foot collide with his chin. 

            Yellow’s Flash Kick powered by a side-step and a twisting thrust of his kicking leg. Yellow had to stoop low for his foot to reach its target, and he swung back up to standing position as Smooth fell down like a chopped tree. And for the heck of it, Code Yellow pinned Smooth.

            “One… Two… Three! Spektrum Code Yellow wins!”

            The robotic voice counted the pins and made the victory as official as a strange voice can. But this time, it seemed that it was louder, more substantial and real.

            “Hey, did you guys hear that?” one of the gathered students asked his friends.

            The students stopped cheering to find the source.

            “Who said that?”

            “Where’d it come from?”

       “Go.”

            What?

            Steven didn’t understand what was going on, either.

            “While everyone is distracted, you can get a head start on your departure.” 

            This helped him understand.

            Code Yellow got up and ran to the other side of the lot, ducking behind the music wing. Simultaneously, but without notice, Smooth was retrieved via teleportation beam.

            “Toggle Appearance!”

            In another scan of light, Spektrum Code Yellow returned to Steven Michaels. A small group of students, apparently Spektrum’s personal flock of fan-girls, had somehow made it past the guards and followed the path their hero had taken.  They spotted Steven and rushed up to him, still in formation, excitement that bordered on fervent fanaticism burning in their eyes.

            “Which way did he go?” the evident leader demanded.

            “I think he went towards the P.E. fields,” Steven lied in self-defense.  He liked the idea of having fans, but he was worried what they’d do to him in there panicked search for him.

            The frantic flock of fangirls took off in the general direction of the field, and he took off back to where his friends were.

            The crowd was finally breaking up and circles of friends were headed back to their hangout spots. Steven weaved his way between the moving groups, hoping nobody took his backpack or lunch while he was gone fighting Smooth.

            “Hey, Steven!” Bryan called out. “How’d you end up over there?” 

            Apparently, his friends had become aware of the fact that he had disappeared somewhere during the commotion, so Steven had to think up an excuse as to how and why.

            “Well, embarrassingly enough, I had to use the restroom, and now I’ve missed the end of the fight.” 

            His friends laughed at his “bad timing.” 

            “Yeah, and when I came out, this group of girls were running towards the P.E. fields. I think they were chasing after The Spektrum.”

            “Well, the one thing that beats out money and cars when it comes to getting girls is being a superhero,” Alex observed, to which the other guys, and some of the girls, agreed.

            As the calm returned to the school, and students finished lunch, Steven thought about the idea of fans.  He remembered the girls he signed autographs for that first day he debuted as The Spektrum.  And he remembered that frantic formation of fan girls, who by now were very disappointed by the disappearance of their hero.

            “You know, maybe having female fans is the loop hole to the whole ‘ruined love life’ issue…”

            “What?” Steven’s friends were looking at him with curious expressions.  Evidently, Steven was mumbling his thoughts out loud. Loud enough that his friends had heard him mumble something.

            “Oh, nothing. I was just talking to myself,” Steven assured his friends. Think it, don’t say it, moron!

            After Steven reprimanded himself, the bell rang, and lunch period was over.