Chapter Two

             Steven sat in his chair in his morning class, a Beginning Graphic Design class.  He was currently working on one of the assignments his teacher, Ms. Graffito, had assigned them. The assignment was to design business cards, which seemed simple enough. But with so many possible combinations of colors, orientations and fonts, Ms. Graffito’s judgmental eye always seemed to find a combination that “didn’t work,” which was code for “she didn't like.”

            Steven stared at his computer screen, unsure of whether or not Ms. Graffito will reject his designs. He had a few that he liked. One design was dark black with stark white font, center aligned. Another had the font aligned on the left, with red background and black font. There were various others on his computer screen, but he wasn’t confident in their ability to impress his teacher. He decided to print a copy and show Ms. Graffito anyway to see if she had any advice on what would make them “better,” which was code for “look the way she wanted.”

            After the printer finished producing a copy of his designs, he brought the paper to his teacher.

            “Ms. Graffito?” he asked in order to gain her attention.

            “Oh, yes?”

            “I wanted to know what you thought about some design ideas I have.” Steven hands his teacher the paper for her to examine. 

            She looked it up and down, occasionally nodding and saying “hmm” in a thoughtful yet judicious tone. After a moment, she came to a decision.

            “I like this one,” she said as she pointed to the red card with black font. “But, I still feel that it needs a bit of a tweak before it’s perfect.” 

            As she said the word “tweak,” she did a twisting motion with her free hand, as if she were turning a dial.

            Steven went back to his seat, contemplating Ms. Graffito’s words. 

            A bit of a tweak…

            He remembered Ms. Graffito’s hand motion, the twist of the dial.

            That’s it! 

            Using Photoshop, he selected the font and rotated, aligning it with a guide line that connected two opposite corners.

            He quickly printed a copy of this new card and walked back over to his teacher’s desk.

            “Ah, now this is a creative design,” Ms. Graffito said as she gave Steven back his paper. “You see, Steven, it’s all about thinking outside the ‘box’ that is conventional thinking, and making use of the tools you have at your disposal. That is how you can create original and innovative designs.”

            As his morning class ended and Steven headed for his next class, English 2, Ms. Graffito’s words repeated several times in his mind.

            During lunch, Steven’s friends were gathered by a set of bleachers sitting in the shade of the science wing. They were all talking about yesterday’s fight between the mysterious super-teen and the team of “alien invaders.”

            “What was the alien leader’s name?” asked Steven’s friend Bryan.

            “Wasn’t it something like ‘Zorp’?” added Jacob, another friend.

            “No, it was ‘Sorb,’” corrected Alex, another of Steven’s friends, even though he was also wrong.  Steven had to say something or else his friends would keep getting the name wrong and soon the whole school will be calling the alien leader by whatever name they settle on, regardless of the fact that it may be incorrect.

            “Guys, it was ‘Zorb,’ not ‘Zorp’ or ‘Sorb.’”

            “How do you know?”

            “Yeah, weren’t you in the restroom?” Julian, another of Steven’s friends, recollected.

            “Yeah, at the start. I eventually came down to see what was going on.” 

            Steven felt comfortable saying this for it was he who stopped the alien thugs, just as The Spektrum. Therefore, it was a half truth and good enough for Steven. 

            “I could hear his speech through the window,” Steven continues with his partially true story. “I came down to see what happened only to arrive after the big yellow guy smacked those guards away like flies. I stood there watching as they went in as a group, then were forced back out by The Spektrum.”

            “Who?” asked Michelle, a female friend of Steven’s/his neighbor from around the corner/girlfriend to one of Steven’s male friends, but he couldn’t remember which. 

            She was just walking up to the group after buying some lunch, which was obvious since she was holding a Styrofoam tray with a small hamburger on it.

            “The Spektrum,” informed Alex. “You know, the guy who stopped Zorb yesterday.”

            “Oh, right. He’s pretty tough. And even though his face was too far away to see, he didn’t look half bad.”

            Steven perked up at the idea that he was good-looking. 

            “You think he has a girlfriend?” Michelle asked after swallowing a bite of her hamburger.

            “Hey!” Alex snapped, apparently hurt. 

            Steven remembered now that it was Alex who Michelle was dating.

            “What? I didn’t mean so that I could be his girlfriend. Maybe we could set him up with someone.”

            “Well, yeah, what girl wouldn’t want a superhero as a boyfriend,” Erin, a good friend of Michelle’s, concurred.

            “Hey!” snapped Mark, Erin’s boyfriend, also hurt.

            “I didn’t mean me, either,” Erin defended. “I just think the fact that The Spektrum is a superhero, and can fight five guys--especially guys like the five that just magically appeared on school grounds--and still survive is a good selling point.” 

            Michelle nodded in agreement, as did the others, supporting it with an affirmative “uh-huh.”

            Steven felt good knowing that his friends considered The Spektrum an impressive and all-around cool superhero, as well as possibly attractive to female fans.   

            “Now, how did he get the name ‘The Spektrum’?” Michelle inquired.

            “He gave an autograph to a couple of girls after the fight, and that was the name he gave.”  It was Nick, one more friend of Steven’s who had been quiet until then.

            “Lucky…”

            “‘After the fight’? You make it sound like he‘s a professional or something,” Bryan noted.  The group shared a quick laugh, some taking bites out of their various lunches.  Steven bit into his ham sandwich on white bread.  He tasted the mustard he had spread between the center slices and enjoyed it’s tangy flavor. 

            The mustard trigged his memory.

            Oh, yeah. The biggest of the aliens was yellow, like mustard.

            Steven chuckled, then mentioned this fact to the group.

            “Hey, yeah, he was,” Nick recalled. “What was his name?”

            “Nobody knows; he never said a word.”

            “And how was it that they could all speak perfect English?” Jacob questioned.

            “Well, they are aliens,” Nick pointed out. “They must’ve had some kind of device that could translate languages in real time.”

            “Speaking of stuff said,” Alex began.  “Someone said that Zorb promised to be back.”  

            “You don’t think that’ll happen, do you?” Erin asked, pretty worried.

            “If he really promised it, then he just might.”

            The group of friends continued eating lunch, and Steven could see slight looks of anxiety on their faces.

            “Hey, guys, come on,” Steven spoke up.  “If The Spektrum beat Zorb and his crew once, he can do it again.”

            Steven’s friends cheered up a bit at his confident statement, and Steven himself felt a bit confident that he--that is, The Spektrum--could indeed provide a repeat performance, assuming there was to be an encore.  They continued to eat their lunches, talking about other things. 

            “Hey, Steven, where’re your glasses?” Alex asked.

            “Oh, I, uh… got contacts,” he lied in response. 

            “You look good without glasses,” Michelle commented. 

            “Thanks.”

            The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch period, and the group of friends separated, heading for their next class.

            “Now, remembering the Pythagorean Theorem, ‘a² + b² = c²,’ you can find the measurements of a right triangle’s two legs and hypotenuse.”

            Mr. Neilson’s F.S.T. class, located in Portable Classroom 311, was about 45 minutes in when sleepiness fell over Steven, and most likely another third of the class. 

            That’s because statistically, a good portion of this class was probably like me over the summer: taking naps in the afternoon, Steven thought silently.         

            Mr. Neilson continued with his trigonometry lecture.

            “Additionally, remember that the two other angles in a right triangle add up to 90°, so that the entire triangle adds up to 180°. Angles that add up to 90° are called ‘Complimentary Angles,’ and angles that add up to 180° are ‘Supplementary Angles.”

            Steven suppressed a yawn; it wasn’t that Mr. Neilson was boring--Steven liked math better than he did sports--it was that he was tired.

            Suddenly, an oh-too-familiar tingling came over his right hand. 

            Oh, no. Not again…

            Steven knew that his hand hadn’t fallen asleep, because it was tingling like it was yesterday. The tingling returned because danger was near. The same danger as yesterday. 

            Zorb.

            Without waiting, Steven excused himself for a restroom break, and once out of his classmates’ sight, for the portables have large windows, he ran to the nearest Boys’ Bathroom, located in the Boys’ locker room. 

            As fortune would have it, it was completely empty; all the students that had Phys. Ed. during this period were all outside, so Steven wouldn’t have to worry about anyone walking in on him.

            Remembering the code word he discovered yesterday, Steven prepared to transform into The Spektrum. 

            “Toggle Appearance!” he commanded out loud.

            “Select a Code,” requested a voice. 

            Steven was confused and a bit frightened by it. He looked around to find no one in the restroom with him.

            Then who said that?

            “Select a Code,” the voice requested again. 

            Hearing it again, Steven could swear it sounded like his, but hollow and more computerized; and that he wasn’t really hearing it with his ears, but with his “mind’s ear,” the same way you can picture things with your “mind’s eye.” 

            It’s inside my head? Great, as if getting superpowers via electric shock and using them to fight off a gang of alien criminals wasn’t weird enough, now I’m hearing voices!

            “Select a Code,” the hollow voice insisted. 

            “Wait, what do you mean ‘a code’?” Steven questioned, even though it felt weird talking to a robotic voice in his head. “I thought there was only one form I could take.”

            “Incorrect,” the voice replied. “Since you are named ‘The Spektrum,’ this implies that you have multiple forms you can assume, as you had intended. The first form—meaning, the one you used yesterday—was ‘Code Silver.’”

            “Wait…” Steven tried to remember this ‘Code Silver.’ 

            His appearance was based upon the appearance of his first of five characters he created on his new, pro-wrestling video game, Pro-Slam Down.

            “So what you’re --or I’m?--saying is that I can become any one of those five characters I created the other day?”

            “Correct,” answered the strange voice. “Once you unlock them all.”

            “Unlock?”

     “Like a real video game, you must unlock the other Codes either through—”

            “I know the concept of ‘unlocking,’” Steven interrupted. “How many do I have now?”

            “Two.”

            “Only two? But I made five!” Steven couldn’t believe fighting off five enemies only got him one new form. “Well, whatever, give me the new one.”

            “Request granted. You have selected: Code Red.”

            In a quick flash, Steven’s hair turned a powerful and brilliant red. His jeans, shoes, and shirt took a similar hue, and sweatbands appeared on his wrists. He looked in a mirror to see that his dark brown eyes became a rich, emerald green.

            Instantly, Steven was filled with an immense amount energy and excitement.

            “Wow! This feels extremely different from Code Silver.”

            The strange, robotic voice explained.

     “The reason for this is in how the Codes are specifically designed.  Therefore, the reason for the tag, ‘Code,’ is because their abilities are ‘color coded.’ You yourself intended each one to have an area of expertise. Code Silver’s is Strength and Street-style Brawling. Code Red’s is—”

            “Yeah, yeah, I know. I did make these guys myself.” 

            Steven, as Spektrum Code Red, hurried outside to find the danger that had triggered his tingling to begin with.

            As he exited the bathroom and entered the hall that led outside, he could hear students and Phys. Ed. teachers yelling and screaming.

            “Who is that?!”

            “It’s not Zorb, but it is one of his men!”

            “It’s the big yellow guy!”

            “Where’s The Spektrum?!” someone shouted.

            Taking the cry as his cue, Spektrum Code Red jumped out from within the doorway and stood in a confident, heroic pose.

            “Right here!” he answered.  The students and staff turned to look, and immediately had looks of uncertainty.

            “Wasn’t he wearing blue-and-gold camo yesterday?”

            “Yeah, and his shirt and hair were silvery white.”

            Of course. I designed Red’s outfit differently from Silver’s. 

            “Trust me, I’m The Spektrum. Get it? In science, spectrums have to do with several colors, and so do I.”

            The crowds of skeptical students look at the newest form of The Spektrum, then at the others around them, then back at their hero.

            “Well, whatever, as long as you stop him!” a nearby student cried as he pointed at the source of the commotion.

            A large figure was approaching from across the grass field. He was massive and muscular, with yellow skin and wearing black-and-white hunting gear; vest, boots, pants, and a hat to shade his eyes. It was no doubt the same bus-like henchman that was with Zorb’s team yesterday.

            The Spektrum moved out into the middle of the basketball court as the students moved behind him and away from the big brute who was still unnamed.

            The behemoth obviously noticed this shifting of bodies, and came to a stop.

            “Where is the superhuman that defeated Zorb, my comrades, and I, Korak, greatest hunter the galaxy has ever known.” he shouted with a booming voice. Again, he was perfectly understood. 

            Perhaps Nick was right about the translating device, our hero thought.

            “Oh, yeah, hi, that’d be me!” Spektrum replied eagerly. “My name’s ‘The Spektrum.’”

            “What?” the colossal criminal boomed back. “But he had silver hair and a matching shirt! You’re all red!”

            “I know, weird right? Everybody here felt the same, don’t sweat it. Just know that the guy you saw yesterday and the one standing here are the same, and so will be the result.”

            A confident look came over The Spektrum’s face.

            “That’s what you think!” the yellow bus of a humanoid being yelled as he advanced toward the self-assured superhuman teen with aggression.

            The Spektrum Code Red rushed forward to help close the gap between the two combatants. The instant he was on the grass field, he moved to his left, positioning himself between Korak and the fence that separated the grass and asphalt. Korak then decided to accelerate from a stomping stride to a rampaging charge. 

            Just as I’d hoped he’d do. 

            Code Red took a steady stance as the yellow bull now known as Korak continued his charge. As the yellow juggernaut came within three feet, Code Red crisscrossed his feet, right over left. By untwisting his feet, he then spun himself forward like a top.  As Code Red and Korak came within 15 inches of one another, Code Red began to fall back. While falling, Code Red’s right leg sprung forward, kicking Korak behind his left knee. This move, known to pro-wrestling fans like The Spektrum as a modified drop toehold, caused Korak to trip and fall, and his head to hit the top bar of the metal fence.

            Korak’s skull smacked the bar with a “ping”, and bounced off like a soccer ball.  He let out a grunt of pain as he tumbled to the ground. Code Red heard the crowds of students cheer.

            That’s what I like to hear, The Spektrum thought to himself. Now, how do I keep them cheering?  

            The Spektrum looked at the fence. 

            I think it’s time for a little bit of originality.

            Moving fast, Code Red hopped the fence and stood behind Korak. He placed his hands on the bar a foot apart, crouched low, and launched himself off the ground, still holding on to the fence so that he swung over the top, his feet closely together. At the height of his swing, his hands switched places on the bar as expertly as a gymnast, and his body turned around 180°. 

            Momentum propelled Code Red’s body, thrusting his feet into Korak’s chest with force and knocking the air out of Korak’s lungs. After making the full swing and driving his feet into Korak’s body, Code Red rolled backwards and ended up back on his feet to greet another round of cheering. As Korak tried to breath, The Spektrum Code Red stood impressed by his athleticism once again. 

            In fact, I think Red is even more athletic than Silver. Actually, Red’s better described as acrobatic. Plus, I feel lighter on my feet, and my joints are less tense.  Well, that’s what I wanted him to be, wasn’t it? 

            As The Spektrum compared the two Codes’ abilities and the effect they had on his body, he almost didn’t notice Korak as he struggled to his feet. 

            Still breathing heavily, Korak supported himself on the fence with one arm.  Code Red merely saw this as another opportunity.

            Code Red sprang into action, running the few feet between him and Korak in a split second.  Red jumped into the air and grabbed Korak around his yellow brick of a head, and both feet landed nimbly on the fence. He jumped again, but to his left, and prepared to slam Korak’s head onto the ground through a move known as the “bulldog”.  Unfortunately, Korak counteracted by placing his right foot far enough forward so that it could act as a support beam, keeping his body from being pulled to the ground by Code Red’s weight.

            In an effort to get Code Red to let go of his head, Korak punches Code Red in the side with his coconut sized fist. Red’s grip loosened considerably, and Korak took hold of Code Red by the pants waist. Pulling him back towards the fence, Korak then lifted Code Red off the ground and flipped him over his shoulder. Code Red landed gut first onto the fence, which made a more dulled “ping” than Korak’s skull did. 

            Code Red hung there on the fence like laundry on a clothesline, and Korak grinned in arrogance.

            “Not so tough today, are you? You color-shifting cretin!” Korak taunted and insulted.

            Abruptly, Korak practically punted Code Red’s head from where it hung, knocking the superhuman teen off the fence and backwards onto the concrete basketball court. Code Red stumbled and fell to the ground a few yards away.

            Code Red lay on the ground, still dazed from the kick to the face. He struggled to sit upright. Still groggy, he could see Korak as he sauntered up to the fence and slowly lifted his right leg up to climb over; Korak may have been over 6 feet tall, but the fence was still too high for him to simply goose-step over.

            Yet another opportunity. 

            Code Red fought of the grogginess in his head, and moved his feet in a low sweep behind him.  Once again in a crouched position, Code Red waited for Korak’s right foot to touch the ground and his left leg to be in the air.

            Korak, as confident and stupid as he was, was not watching Code Red but the fence that he was climbing over. This inattentiveness on Korak’s part only added to the excellence of the opportunity granted to Code Red. As Korak’s right foot touched the concrete and the left foot left the grass, Code Red’s legs uncoiled with explosive speed.  At just the right moment, Code Red dropkick'd the side of Korak’s right knee. Korak toppled over like a tree that had been cut down, while Code Red simply fell down on his back unscathed.

            Code Red leapt to his feet as Korak held his knee in pain. Code Red knew he’d have to do something as impressive and damaging as the slam Silver delivered to Zorb yesterday in order to convince Korak to call it a day.

            But what? I don’t know about Silver, but I have a feeling Red can’t lift Korak over his head. 

            The Spektrum thought about the noticeable contrasts in Silver’s and Red’s fighting styles. 

            Maybe he won’t have to.

            The Spektrum quickly surveyed his surroundings. 

            They were on a basketball court, and there was a hoop close by. Code Red took a look at the backboard, firmly bolted to the curved pole. He looked at where Korak was on the ground, and back to the backboard.

            I think I can make it.

            To ensure that Korak stayed put, Code Red hopped over him and back onto the fence. Code Red launched himself in a back-flip off the fence, and landed stomach first on top of Korak’s gut. It was a perfect example of the lucha librè “moonsault”.

            Code Red then went to the hoop, jumped up, grabbed the hoop’s rim, swung his body onto the horizontal part of the poll, and perched there like a mountain lion. 

            Taking last-moment measurements, Code Red prepared his body and mind for the attack he was about to perform: “The Five-Star Frog Splash.” 

            No! he thought. Better: The Red Star Frog Splash!

            Keeping his eyes on his target, Code Red launched off the poll like a frog off a lily pad. In a fluid sequence, he spread his body out, tucked it back in, and spread it out again as he flew through the air. Like a red lead weight, body sprawled open, The Spektrum landed on top of Korak with so much force that he bounced back up a bit.

            As he covered Korak like a blanket, Code Red could hear the hollow voice counting.

            “One… Two… Three! Spektrum Code Red wins.”

            The Spektrum was confused.

            What?

            “When you pin an opponent for three counts, you win.”

            I know what happens when one wrestler pins the other, The Spektrum told the voice with a note irritation. As a sort of aside, he thought, If this voice is a part of me, then how come it tells me what I already know? 

            Addressing the voice again, he asked, What’s the point of counting? Zorb and his guys aren’t pro-wrestlers, and neither am I.

            “To officially record that you defeated Korak.”

            Code Red stood up to see Korak hacking and coughing, trying to breathe after having the air crushed out of him.

            Well, that much is understandable. But what’s the point of keeping track?

            “Because the more you win, the closer you’ll get to unlocking the other Codes.”

            A lightbulb went off in Steven’s head.

            Right, because winning equals experience points, and in most video games, experience points help unlock stuff. Got it.

            Suddenly, a ball of light appeared five feet in front of The Spektrum, temporarily blinding him. After the light dulled and his vision returned The Spektrum saw Korak’s boss standing where the light shone from. 

            “Zorb!” The Spektrum snarled as he prepared for another fight.

            The dark-silver-haired young man still wore black slacks and a very formal shirt, although the shirt was a royal violet this time, not the clean white he wore before. Plus, he wore this shirt unbuttoned, revealing a simple white undershirt.

            “Relax, human,” Zorb assured, “I’m not here to fight.  I’m here to pick up this pathetic excuse of a fighter.” 

            Zorb turned his sights on the conquered Korak, Zorb’s golden eyes filled with a look of both disappointment, and disgust. Korak’s only response was a look of misery and humiliation.

            “Why not?” Code Red queried. “We’re both here, aren’t we? So let’s go. Round Two.”

            Zorb brushed The Spektrum’s challenge aside with a laugh.

            “Please. The two of us fight? You’re not at 100%, and my back just stopped hurting. Fighting now would be a pathetic affair, really. Our rematch will have to wait.”           Zorb then talked into a wristband that was hidden under the sleeve of his shirt.

            “Zita, if you would be so kind.”

            Upon Zorb’s command, another blinding flash of light appeared around him and his humiliated henchman, and the two were gone in an instant.

            As The Spektrum returned to the restroom among congratulations and cheers, he thought about Zorb’s words. Once back in Portable 311 as everyday Steven Michaels, he had his response.

            If that’s how it’s gonna be Zorb, then I’ll wait as long as I have to.