Thursday, June 16, 2022

Chapter 28

              Simon and his dad sit in silence. Simon, having changed back to himself, just finished explaining everything about being The Spektrum since “Surge Day”. He explained the first day with Zorb’s original gang, all the other fights, meeting Darklite and Anonymous Inc. but also meeting the other Power Surge teens, the good and the bad. Tiger was really the only bad, but it’s not like Simon got to know the others outside of Catgirl and her cousins, Fox and Lightning.

            “So, that’s why you’ve been tired?” his dad asks.

            “Yes,” Simon nods.

            “And been going out late?” his dad asks. “It was this ‘Anonymous Inc’, not your friends?”

            “Well, I like to think I’m friends with Cat and her cousins,” he says.

            “But, I just heard that The Spektrum, that you, died,” his dad says. “You were shot, and an ambulance came, and—”

            “I can’t explain it myself,” Simon says. “I just know I was shot, I died, but then I was alive again.”

            Simon suddenly thought of something.

            “Wait I need to get back,” he says, standing up. “I’m not dead. I mean, Spektrum died, but Simon didn’t, so Simon needs to be back at school.”

            “Wait!” his dad says as Simon goes for the door. “What am I supposed to do about this? Do I tell your mother?”

            “No!” Simon says. “We can’t let her know yet. She’ll be just as confused, and like ten times more scared that I’m going out there doing this stuff.”

            “But she deserves to know!”

            “And she will, after things calm down. We’ll just ask like I didn’t tell you this. I gotta go.”

            “But, Simon!”

            “Sorry Dad, but I gotta go! See you when school’s out.”

            Simon opens the door and hurries out, pulling it shut behind him. He thinks about going Code Red, but chooses not to. He doesn’t know what the scene is like at school, so he’ll just jog back normally. He might even try returning to school through one of the back ways just so he can sneak in unseen.

 

            “Oh… Oh God…”

            Zoey felt sick. A cold sweat came over her, and there was something going on in her stomach.

            “Zoey,” Chloe says. “Are you okay?”

            “You’re so pale,” Marina says.

            Zoey starts dry heaving, and all her friends panic.

            “Trash can!” Karina shouts.

            Zoey’s friends guide her towards the trash can at the hallway entrance. Zoey leans over into the can and lets out a blast of vomit into it. Other students can be heard reacting to it from a nearby bench.

            “Get her some water,” Karina says.

            Marina nods and hurries to find a vending machine. Chloe pats Zoey’s back as she spits out some more stuff.

            “Here,” Marina says as she returns.

            “Dasani?” Karina says. “Really?”

            “You said get some water, not what brand,” Marina says.

            “Right, sorry,” Karina nods as she twists the cap off. “Zoey, here.”

            Zoey takes the bottle and uses it to wash out her mouth, which she spits into the trash. Then she takes big swigs of water to soothe her throat.

            “Thanks,” she says between coughs.

            “Why’d you react like that?” Chloe asks. “Was it the blood?”

            “No,” Zoey shakes her head. “It’s just…”

            “Zoey,” Shaun says as he walks over, Johnny right behind. “Are you okay? Someone told me you threw up?”

            “I’m fine now,” she says. “I think.”

            “Did you guys see the video?” Karina asks, holding up her phone. “The Spektrum died.”

            “What?” Johnny says. “Did that Zorb guy beat him in a fight or something?”

            “No, someone shot him,” Karina says. “The video didn’t see who, though.”

            “Holy crap,” Johnny says.

            Zoey sniffles, and feels tears rolling down her cheek.

            “Zoey, what’s wrong?” Shaun asks. “Why’re you crying?”

            “Because, Shaun,” she says. “Someone died. A hero died. I can cry over that, can’t I?”

            “You’re right, I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve just never seen you this upset before.”

            “I just,” Zoey says wiping her tears. “I just need a minute.”

            Zoey heads inside, and her friends follow. Zoey leads them into the women’s restroom, and she goes to the counter, the tears pouring out. Then the tears give way to sobs as Zoey almost falls against the counter.

            “Zoey,” Chloe says, stepping closer. “Shaun’s right, I’ve never seen you like this.”

            “Because I got to know him!” Zoey says through her crying. “It wasn’t for very long, but I met him. We talked and learned stuff about each other. We fought street thugs and a Man-Tiger together! He… He saved me from… From that sexual predator piece of filth Tiger.”

            “Wait, what?” Chloe says. “Sexual predator? Tiger? Since when did that happen?”

            “It was in Vegas,” Zoey says. “We were on a mission, and Tiger forced himself on me, and—”

            “Tiger? Who is that?”

            “Tyler Garrett,” she says. “I don’t even know who that is.”

            “Why didn’t you say anything?” Karina asks.

            “Because it didn’t matter,” Zoey says. “Spektrum and I beat him up. It was over. But now he’s dead! The Spektrum saved me, and now he’s dead! He was a hero, he was a good person! Why did this happen to him!?”

            The tears start pouring down again, and Zoey sobs uncontrollably. Chloe helps Zoey stay standing, and she lets her long-time friend cry into her shoulder for as long as she needs.

 

            A perimeter has formed around San Leandro High. Agents of Anonymous Inc, now calling itself Reciprocity Inc, had arrived just after the ambulance left. They now stood at all the entrances on the main street side of campus.

            Fast-Pace and a tall burly man with tattoos and a mullet stood where The Spektrum was shot. They find blood on the ground.

            “Where’s the girl in the video?” the tall man asks.

            “Probably in the bathroom, washing her hands,” Fast-Pace says.

            “We need to talk to her,” the tall man says.

            “No we don’t,” Fast-Pace says. “She’s probably been through enough. Plus, you’d just scare her.”

            “I’d scare her? How would I scare her?”

            “When was the last time you looked in a mirror?” Face-Pace says as he swabs some blood. “You’re scary.”

            There’s a ruckus at the side gate, and the generic Reciprocity guards are outnumbered 10 to 1.

            “Go take care of that,” Fast-Pace says. “Being scary will work better there than with a teenage girl.”

            The tall man sighs and walks over to the gathering crowd.

            “Can you tell us what happened here?” one of many reports asks.

            “Do you know who shot and killed The Spektrum?” another asks.

            “Who are all of you?” a third asks. “You don’t look like the police, or even military.”

            “He definitely isn’t!” an actual police officer says. “What’s going on here?”

            “We represent Reciprocity Incorporated,” the tall man says. “We’re the mutli-facted organization working with The Spektrum. Mr. Darklite said as much in his live video stream online. For now, just accept that we’re claiming jurisdiction on this.”

            “Do you have the authority to do that?” the officer asks.

            “We will,” the tall man says as he walks away.

 

            “Sir,” an aide says as she opens the door to the Oval Office. “He’s here.”

            The President of the United States, Levi Csuja, closes his laptop, having just watched Darklite’s declaration to the world.

            “Bring him in,” he says.

            The aide nods, then ducks back out. She returns, with Darklite and two others, a man and a woman. They both wear suits, the woman in cream white while the man is in stone gray. The man clearly has no decorum for the President, as he immediately lounges on one of the couches. The woman smacks him, and he sits up.

            “Greetings, Mr. President,” Darklite says. “I’m honored to meet with you so quickly.”

            “A heroic young man was just murdered for all the world to see thanks to the internet, and you’re the first person to claim a connection to him through a video that’s on every possible social media platform,” President Csuja replies. “I couldn’t just ignore it. I’m more surprised that you were ready to see me so quickly.”

            “Yes, I must confess I was on my way the moment my video finished airing,” Darklite says. “Because I anticipated that, after seeing my video, you would want to see me. But it doesn’t really matter who meant to see who first, the point is, we’re meeting.”

            “Yes, I suppose that’s true,” President Csuja says. “Please, have a seat.”

            “Thank you.”

            Darklite sits beside the man in grey while the woman in cream white stands nearby. From what the President can tell, the man and woman are meant to be Mr. Darklite’s bodyguards, but only the woman seems to take this job seriously.

            “This organization of yours,” President Csuja begins as he takes a seat across from them. “How long has it been operating? How is it that no one has ever heard of you?”

            “Oh for quite some time, Mr. President, for quite some time,” Darklite says. “Without going into too much detail, I was compelled to create my network after losing so much to war. I wanted to do something about it, without being bound by all the unnecessary waiting for clearance.

            “War?” President Csuja asks. “Which war?”

            “Every war,” Darklite says. “There’s just too much, Mr. President, and I know you know this. But that is another thing I must confess. I had never planned on making my group public. I was satisfied working from the shadows doing the things that needed to be done to keep war and violence from breaking out. However, recent events forced my hand.”

            “Yes, the apparent space aliens and superpowered individuals,” President Csuja says.

            “Oh it’s not ‘apparent’, Mr. President, I assure you,” Darklite says. “I spoke the truth in my video, The Spektrum worked with us. He didn’t just keep the young criminal, Zorb, and his band of miscreants at bay, he helped my people take care of things not even you were aware of.”

            “Is that so?”

            Darklite looks to the woman in white and nods. She presents a tablet device from inside her suit jacket and swipes through some things. Then she shows it to President Csuja.

            “What am I looking at, exactly?” he asks Darklite.

            “This is the apprehension of a dangerous street gang in New York, known as the Sons of Brooklyn,” Darklite explains.

            The woman swipes through images, of The Spektrum, the Alameda Catgirl, and a handful of other young men combating various gang members, who would all be arrested by NYPD. Then the next image is in a jungle.

            “This is the infiltration of a dangerous cartel down in Colombia,” Darklite explains. “The cartel was manufacturing a massive amount of methamphetamine and other narcotics, ready for shipment into the United States through various ports of entry. My team succeeded in destroying their entire stockpile.”

            “And these?” President Csuja asks as the next slide came in.

            “These are missions that had nothing to do with The Spektrum of the Alameda Catgirl,” Darklite says. “Metal-Head, the young man who transforms into an autonomous robot, did quite a number on a band of Somalian militants before they could raid another village.”

            “My God…” Csuja says as the slides show piles of bodies, whole and in pieces. “And you created such young people?”

            Darklite raises his eyebrows while building into laughter.

            “No, Mr. President, no,” he says through his laughter. “If I could’ve made these amazing young men and women myself, I would’ve said so years ago. No, I merely took it upon myself to gather and guide these young people from across our great nation. Otherwise, they might abuse their powers and cause quite the panic.

            “Now, Mr. President, I really need to get to the real point of why I’m here. I need you to allow my organization to maintain the level of freedom we’ve had behind your back.”

            “Why would I do that?” Csuja says. “You just showed me evidence that this ‘Metal-Head’ as you called him, could shred dozens of humans like they were paper!”

            “Dozens of lawless and violent people,” Darklite counters, getting heated. “These same militants would’ve done the same and more to innocent men, women and children, and you wouldn’t have been able to do a thing. Yet my people stopped it. My people intercepted it, and got rid of those who would do nothing but harm. So I am asking you allow my people to do their work, and the world to continue to go on as it has.”

            “And in return?” Csuja asks. “I do happen to know what reciprocity means.”

            “Well,” Darklite says with a smirk. “That’s where I was hoping to take this conversation.”

 

            “Now this is something I can get behind,” Craig says as he and his friends see the Reciprocity soldiers all over the place.

            Craig looks at the heavy gear, from boots to vests to helmets, and of course to the obvious firearms they each get to carry.

            “These guys were here before, right?” his friend, Joey, asks. “When those weird guys with the masks showed up and were really close to beating The Spektrum.”

            “Yeah, and these guys scared them off,” Craig says with a smug smile.

            Craig walks over to the guards at the front gate of the parking lot.

            “Hey!” he says as he waves to them. “Hey!”

            The two guards look over at him and flip their helmet visors up to look at him.

            “What do you want, kid?” the slightly taller guard asks.

            “What does it take to sign up with you guys?” Craig asks.

            Simon finally makes it back to the campus, but he sees a line up of police cars and news vans. He looks and sees they still left the teacher’s parking lot unblocked, so he slips in through there. He hurries past the cafeteria and those portable classrooms to come around the back of the main building.

            Simon’s friends still sit by their bleacher seats, Cyndi and her friends with them. Cyndi’s friends comfort her while Simon’s friends sit with each other. They’re apparently stuck here because the Reciprocity guards won’t let them go home just yet.

            Simon himself takes notice of the guards, and feels the need to hide. But then he realizes they don’t know him from anyone, so he just casually walks around. However, he does spot Fast-Pace in the blue. Fast-Pace talks with a really tall guy that Simon doesn’t recognize. He spots his friends at the bleachers, as well as Cyndi and her friends.

            If only I had my phone, he thinks. But I left it in my bag. If I had it, I could just text one of my friends to have them meet me around the other side of the building.

            Simon looks around, but there aren’t that many people just standing out in the quad. The quad itself is just open space with Fast-Pace and the tall guy being able to see so much. Simon can’t just walk across, because he’ll be noticed right away.

            Fast-Pace looks at his smartphone. He uses a video someone took from the ground level to judge where the bullet that hit The Spektrum came from. From what he could tell, it was from the east. Fast-Pace looks that way to see the tall building that is apparently both gymnasium and auditorium. There are also trees between there and the spot Spektrum was shot.

            The shot itself clearly had to be from a rifle, and while the distance wasn’t too difficult to cover, the obstructions and the fact Spektrum was moving around fighting Zorb, the shooter had to be experienced. Experience meant practice and training, and that meant this shooter was either military or a hunter. But nothing about that makes sense as to why they’d shoot The Spektrum. An obvious suspect would be someone from Zorb’s group, but Fast-Pace certainly doesn’t know who out of those people would be an experienced shot like that.

            Their escape route would’ve been pretty easy, though. From the maps, the blacktop basketball courts and grass fields for football and all that are back there. They might’ve been spotted, but they wouldn’t have been stopped by much as they escaped.

            “Have a team go up there,” Fast-Pace says to the tall man. “We’ll see if the shooter police’d their brass like a pro. And at the least, they might have left tracks that we can identify them by.”

            “Yes, sir,” the Reciprocity soldier salutes.

            This soldier and two others walk to the gymnasium-auditorium while Fast-Pace and the very tall man check their phones.

            “Looks like Darklite’s meeting with the President went well,” the tall man says.

            Simon hears that, and starts to worry. What is Darklite doing meeting the President? Isn’t Anonymous Inc. supposed to be secret?

            The trio of soldiers reaches the roof of the gymnasium-auditorium building. They look along the edge, but find no bullet shells. However, as they look along the entire rooftop, they find scratch marks on the northeast end. These soldiers immediately know what these marks mean.

            “Sir,” one of them reports to Fast-Pace through his ear piece. “The shooter used a grappling hook to drop down.”

            “What about footprints?” Fast-Pace asks back.

            The soldiers look closely at the dirt and dust on the roof.

            “No, sir,” the same soldier says. “I think they anticipated coming this way.”

            Fast-Pace sighs.

            “Everyone, move out,” he says. “We have our clearance, so let’s focus on a search.”

            The soldiers all regroup and return to their convoy of military trucks. Meanwhile, Fast-Pace and the tall man go back to their blue Lamborghini and red Ford F-150. They lead the way as they exit the area to the south.

            Several minutes pass before a voice comes over the PA system.

            “Attention, students,” a woman says. “Attention students. This is Principal Kepler speaking. Given recent events, I have decided that school shall be let out early. Everyone is allowed to go home, or start on extracurricular activities. Teachers, please, if you have any pending projects or assignments, please extend any deadlines. Additionally, please meet with me in the faculty room in 20 minutes so that we may discuss any adjustments needed.”

            The students would be more excited about this news if it weren’t for the tragedy that caused it. Of course, Craig Foster is neutral to it, though he keeps that to himself this time. He and his friends take their leave, and he tucks the solid black card the Reciprocity soldier gave him into his back pocket.

 

            Cyndi’s friends say bye and head home. She stays behind with Simon’s friends as they try to figure out what to do with his backpack.

            “Well, we should bring it home, right?” Alex asks. “So that his parents can have it.”

            “We’ll have to figure out how to explain who he was to them,” Bryan points out.

            “Do you guys even know where he lives?” Michelle asks.

            “Yeah,” Julian says. “We were there for his birthday.”

            “I wasn’t,” Alex says. “Aw man, I missed his last birthday.”

            “Don’t start feeling bad about stuff like that now,” Bryan says. “We should get going.”

            “Can I give it to his parents?” Cyndi asks as she picks up the backpack. “I know I haven’t even met them yet, but I’d like to be there when we talk to them.”

            “Or you could just give it back to me,” Simon says.

            The backpack suddenly drops as Cyndi lets go. Everyone turns around to see Simon as he walks up. Simon’s friends want to shout with joy, but he hushes them.

            “We can’t bring attention to me,” he says.

            Cyndi suddenly runs at him. She clamps her arms around him, tears pouring from her wide-open eyes. She then starts patting his chest, looking for the bullet hole.

            “Cyndi, careful,” he says as she reaches around for an exit wound. “I’m a little ticklish.”

            “But,” Cyndi says. “But, but… How?! How are you alive?!”

            “I can’t explain it,” he shrugs. “It could be anything, like Code Black’s secret ability or something.”

            “This is crazy,” Bryan says. “We were just working out how to tell your parents.”

            “How did you get out of the ambulance?” Julian asks.

            “They let me out,” Simon says. “They were kinda scared and just pulled over for me. And don’t worry about talking to my parents, I already talked to my dad. He was home so I told him everything.”

            Simon’s friends feel a weight lifted off them. They were really dreading having to explain all this when there’s so much they themselves didn’t know.

            “I’m more concerned about the circus that pulled up,” he says. “When did those Anonymous Inc. guys show up?”

            “Anonymous?” Alex says. “No, they’re called Reciprocity Inc.”

            “What? Since when?”

            “Their leader broadcasted a speech all over the internet. A lot of people saw it on their phones, and then those guys said it as they entered the school.”

            “Well I guess they’d have to change their name,” Simon says. “They can’t necessarily be anonymous if they’re known to the world.”

            “Is it true?” Cyndi asks. “Were you working for those guys?”

            “Yeah, were you some sort of secret agent super hero?” Julian asks.

            “I wouldn’t say ‘secret agent’,” Simon says. “And it was more like I was working with those guys. And a big emphasis on ‘was’, I wanted to cut ties with them after our last mission. But, that’s not important either. I can tell you guys that on the way home or something. Let’s just get going, okay?”

            Everyone nods, and start walking off campus together. Cyndi doesn’t let Simon’s arm go the entire time he tells them many of the same things he told his dad.

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