Dark Skies

The elevator slid open, and I stepped into the lobby. My legs were longer than Angela's, so she had to hustle to keep pace as I moved for the doors.

"Boss, I just think we should take some time first," she was saying. "Your family is bad news. We all know that. You really wanna go straight to a site afterward? At least have a drink."

A Mercedes was waiting outside, along with a Hunter APC containing six Death Droids commissioned as our escort party. Lucas' engineering division devised them a few months earlier, but I trusted my man. Regardless of what Blacklight may or may not think, he did good work.

And Pink's Droids rarely disappointed.

"If a bad meeting was all it took to throw me," I told Angela, "then I'd already be out of the chair."

"Take a second, Mr. Skies. You haven't seen them, in what, nine years?"

"There are bigger things at stake than my feelings, Angela. Do you have the kit?"

"No, but–"

"Angela."

She sighed. "You're not going to listen to me, are you?"

"It's Black Dwarf. Director Moon would've done the same."

"Calvin isn't a perfect role model," she retorted. "Copying his every move will cost you a limb, then eventually a life."

"Then let's hope it belongs to a Rogue. I'll see you in the car."

I strode past the receptionist, a small Cantonese woman named Cindy. I remember her name because, like me, she was handpicked out of college for an internship. And, like me, she had the pluck to see it through.

"Boss," she greeted with a nod.

I offered her a grin. "I'm guessing you cleared out the coffee machine? Seven thirty AM has to be a new record."

"Well, I'm seeing four of you, if that helps."

I snorted and waved her goodbye. A few seconds later, my suit jacket hit the leather of the car's backseat. I took the opportunity while waiting for Angela to reflect on my morning.

I'd always been planning to assign Elise Plague, though without the vitriol. The villain worked best against large crowds of blanks. Direct confrontation often resulted in his capture. Against her, that was practically a certainty. Considering what she could do, the hardest part would've been finding him. Her ionikinesis was likely the strongest energy-based power on the planet.

But of course, they'd had to make it about them. Because nothing could ever be otherwise.

As for Jason, that was emotion. Something that could not be repeated. Not if I was to do Director Moon justice. Three years of grooming. Work, sweat and laser focus. I knew the requirements.

Outbursts, in my shoes, would lead to catastrophe. And catastrophe meant death.

Angela finally slid in beside me and dropped a suitcase between us. "You look pensive."

"I am pensive."

"We can always head back..."

I shot her a look.

"Fine," she grumbled. "Be stubborn."

It took our driver five minutes to leave The Sheath's bridge and get our wheels back on mainland soil, then another thirty to reach Newark. The whole ride, I stared out the window. Angela's occasional concerned glances indicated how badly I was off my game. I just sat and wordlessly watched buildings shoot by.

When he turned off into the Target parking lot, I'd managed to reset. Reorienting took time, but I was all business when my shoes hit asphalt.

"Thanks, Gary," I told our driver. "Keep her warm."

He nodded as I walked around the vehicle and inspected my watch. Double tapping the glass turned it from a fashionable timepiece to a hologram projector, which I used to activate the Droids and outline their orders.

The APC's rear snapped open, and out marched six titanium robots, all of whom either moved for the perimeter or activated their rocket boots to take to the sky.

Myself and Angela, on the other hand, headed inside. Police cars, firetrucks, an ambulance and numerous emergency service personnel manned the lot, either chatting, hurrying about or doing what they could to keep cameras away from the scene.

The Target, on the other hand, had seen better days. A massive hole was torn in its side, which I could tell was partly from force and partly from heat.

Interesting, I thought, stepping through the entrance and scanning the interior. As store staff had long since been cleared out, law enforcement were the only people present.

Save one, that is. The one I was looking for.

We walked over.

I didn't have long to think, so I quickly filed through potential greetings. My mental filters eventually landed on respect.

"Mr. Church," I sighed, extending my hand. "It's an honour, sir. Bernard Skies."

Terry Church, still in his mechanic jacket, faced me with red-rimmed eyes. They stood in stark contrast to his dark Ethiopian complexion. At five-four, he wasn't the most imposing, though the look on his face would make anyone step back.

If that person also knew his Alpha ranking, that step would turn into a fully-fledged run.

He cased me with a quick vertical sweep. "Calvin's boy?"

"Yes sir." I observed the wrecked store with a solemn look. "We came the instant we heard."

Angela added, "Our sincerest condolences."

Church swallowed shakily. "You know the last thing he said to me? 'I'll earn it, Dad'. Some stupid racing game is coming out in a few months, but he'd been training all summer for the license exam. Had no money to spare, but he didn't give a shit." He laughed mirthlessly. "Nothing was impossible for that kid."

Church took two steps to see over the paramedics attending to his son's corpse, wrapped in a black body bag. Four others lay beside it, detectives already having deduced they suffered massive blunt-force trauma. Autopsy reports would provide further insight.

Andre, though, was different. His skin's East African chocolate was now charcoal black. His body was unnaturally emaciated and brittle, almost like someone sucked the life out of it. Parts of his clothes had been seared to the bone, though how, I could only guess. His thick, styled braids had fallen from his scalp and lay scattered across the floor, along with scores of rubble.

I recalled breezing over his file some weeks back. As not only one of the more promising young talents set to join SWORD, but also the son of a legendary Hero, his resume was gold on a platter. I'd even had Board members theorizing where he'd serve best.

And now all that potential was gone.

"We will find who did this," I promised. "Our analysts are already turning the data inside out."

"Then why are you here?" asked Church.

I glanced over at the paramedic pulling the flap over Andre's contorted, agonized face.

He died in incredible pain.

"I wanted to ensure nothing was missed. Personally. He deserved that much."

"He always thought the superhero road led up—fame, money, fulfillment. I told him it went the other way. Straight to hell." Church's voice cracked. "He never even got the chance to find out. He wasn't even registered!"

I had nothing to say. There was nothing I could say.

Angela, true to her namesake, swooped in like an angel with a cup of water. I didn't even know where she'd found it.

"Here," she offered.

Church drained it, then faced me. "Forensics were never my thing. What do you see?"

I exhaled, then slowly canvassed the scene. It took five minutes to scan everywhere, then I returned to Church.

"A few things. Firstly, we're dealing with two aggressors. One was a multiplier, one was a brute. The brute is several orders larger, though he sat most of it out. One of them either brought some kind of heat weapon or has thermal powers." I grimaced, not excited to relay the rest. "And they knew what they were coming here for. This wasn't random. They wanted Andre."

Church trembled. "Go on."

"There are two pairs of footsteps leading in from that side door," I explained. "They face inward, so that's our point of entry. However, notice the speculated combat theatre starts to randomly produce tracks of identical dimension and design. You can really tell in the corner there, where there's dust. The poly." I flicked my finger up from the ground. "There are also heat streaks along those far walls. Thermal."

I then crouched back to the ground, squinting. "And finally, the brute's tracks are linear. He enters the store, waits for the poly to scatter obstacle civilians, then steps in for the finale. We know that from the pasted ribcages in Andre's coworkers, as well as his broken arm."

"How do you know they wanted him?"

I stood and motioned to the store around us. "Damage to this degree means one of four things. A hit, scuffle, terrorist attack or Ignition. We can write Ignition off immediately and cross out scuffle, as random fights don't deactivate every CCTV camera in the subdivision. Terrorist attacks also can go. They'd have struck at the highest concentration of customers, so around four to seven. Opening shift gets you much less screentime than rush hour."

"But why him?" demanded Church. "He's not a licensed Hero! What does torching him accomplish?"

"They didn't burn him," I said with a troubled look. "This is... different. Fire hot enough to make a human body look like that would've charred the floor. The store would've caught fire. Honestly, unless our Rogues are Pyros, there are only a handful of tough ones out there that could survive something like this. Don't get me wrong, a thermal device or ability is at play, but that's not what killed him."

Church's eyes narrowed. "How did my son die?"

I shook my head regretfully. "I don't know. But we'll find out." I turned to regard him. "Go home, Mr. Church. We'll let you know when we get them."

Gravity momentarily weakened as Church's concentration slipped. "I'm not sitting this shit out. I want in."

"No." My response was immediate. After the fiasco in my office, I'd be making no more decisions from places of emotion. "You quit this life for a reason, Mr. Church. Coming back, after something like this, wouldn't be right for yourself or the organization."

"My reasons are dead, Skies. Maurader killed the first, and the second is in a bodybag, about to be peeled apart by a coroner. I happily manned the bench when Alaya died because my son needed me. He needed his father." Church pointed to the bodies. "The last image I will ever have of my child is his face charred to a crisp, being lugged away like fucking garbage . Garbage, Skies. My son is..."

He choked off, working his jaw to recentre himself. I, on the other hand, felt terrible.

"Terry, listen to me. You're in shock after something no man should ever experience. You need time. If I brought you in now, you'd be a danger to yourself and others. I can't let that happen."

"I've been here before," Church insisted. "I'm not asking to be thrown into the field, but I will not spectate. Not again. I promised Alaya I'd watch him. I owe them this much."

He cocked his head, likely realizing my rationale was of pragmatic origin. "I'm a Queen-Class Alpha, Skies. At a minimum, these Rogues either are or have access to Bishop-level swag. Aside from Blacklight and maybe the Committee, who've you got for a head-to-head? Sidelining me will cost you."

I narrowed my eyes. "And if you implode, that Queen-Class depth flips on us."

"I won't implode."

"You don't know that."

"No? What did I do immediately after witnessing my wife get stabbed through the stomach?"

I paused to recall. "Caught debris before it could crush civilians, then lifted them to safety."

"And then?"

"Manoeuvred the fight to a locale where casualties were minimized."

Church crossed his arms. "But I can't handle myself, he says."

I sighed. "You deserve time to heal, Mr. Church. You know the work is a whirlpool. One foot is all it takes to get sucked back in. Then it's only a matter of time before you drown."

"Yet you're here," he pointed out.

"I'm a blank. The whirlpool doesn't give a shit about me."

He snorted. "You actually believe that. Cute."

"Fine," I sighed. "But if you crack, and I mean even for a second, you're benched. You know the playbook, sir. I cannot put lives at stake, no matter your right to nail these guys."

Church nodded, then let out a tired sigh. "Calvin chose well."

"Agree to disagree." I glanced back as my Droids landed near the APC, done with their investigations. "Now you need to get home. This place isn't healthy for you. I'll get you a driver."

"I have my own car," he replied curtly, turning and striding for the door. He nodded appreciatively to Angela, parting with a courteous, "Ma'am."

She returned it, then turned on me once he was out of earshot.

"You have no spine," she growled as he stalked towards his small Civic. "How could you fold?"

"That wasn't about spine. Blacklight and the Committee are currently my only high-level assets. I could theoretically pull Fer and Cryo from assignment, but considering how little we know and how important their tasks are, that's a faux pas. And you know there's no way the Novas will be of any help right now. Church might be distraught, but he's far from stupid. That body is abnormal in the worst of ways. We need a heavyweight."

"So you call up the widower who just watched his son get carted off to the morgue? How do you think that's going to help his mental state?!?"

"It won't. But at this point, I doubt anything I do or say will change what that poor man is going through."

I glanced down at readings on my watch's display, frowning as I studied the data. Angela noticed and went from fuming to confused.

"What?"

I blew up the image and twisted to let her see.

Her eyes narrowed. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but that's a van sitting on a fence. Upside down."

"Down the street, in the alley the Droids figured the two ran off to. That's not even the most confusing part. There are no points of contact."

"Then how the hell did it get there?" she asked. "The poly is a telekinetic, too? Or maybe the brute?"

"No. Magnetic signatures associated with gravity types are everywhere. Someone reversed the truck's weight to get it off the manhole cover they needed to get away. Understandable, too, considering the brute wears size seventeen."

"Wait, but Andre would've been dead by then."

"It wasn't Andre."

Angela's face darkened. "You can't possibly be–"

"I'm not. And the Committee has alibis for this morning. We've got new blood."

Angela hissed. "Fuck. Getaway driver?"

"No additional tracks. Besides, why have a Bishop-Class gravity Alpha standing guard over a manhole cover? Complete waste of resources. Especially on a hit against a kid like Church's."

"This is deeper than either of us thought," Angela realized worriedly. "I don't like it."

I swept through a final read of the data. "We'll know more back at base. D-6 found a phone. The frame was warped from heat, but Lucas' magic could squeeze something out."

"Good. I'm about ready for this nightmare to end."

"Andre Church is dead. They killed him in broad daylight. Damn." I sighed tiredly, twisting to make for our car. "The smoke is already rising. We'll need to move fast."

"Let's hope it's a small fire," Angela said optimistically.

I regarded her with an upturned brow. "'Small fires' don't pull the Black Dwarf out of retirement."

"How?!?" shrieked Matthius, hurling his chair across the room to crash through a wall. "How?!?"

Elise regarded him neutrally, though she was close to cracking herself. Her fingers tapped rapidly against her thigh. Their living room chandelier flickered, the TV fizzed and the stove light repeatedly reset under the influence of her anger.

Jason stepped into the room, neck veins swelling as he crushed the smartphone in his glove.

"What did he say?" demanded Elise.

"He said..." Jason had to stop and take a long, steadying breath, "that there's nothing he can do. His hands, and I quote, are tied. Even he can't directly contradict a Director's orders."

"Shit!" barked Matthius. "No, no, no! I am not going to Norway! There's nothing there!"

Elise rounded on him. "Quiet! Your whining isn't helping anything!"

"My whining? You're the ones who pissed him off! And now I'm paying for it!"

"Matty, shut up ." Elise took a breath and faced her husband. "What is our next move?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "While Bernard may be weak, powerless and an eyesore, he doesn't appear to be stupid, or, shockingly, incompetent. No one wants to move behind his back, either out of respect or fear. He's bunkered. Extensively."

"He's a blank," Elise scoffed. "Which is just fancy for nothing. All we need to do is show that, and either he'll bend like a wet noodle or his allies will."

Jason cocked his head. "What does that mean?"

"It means we find a chink in his armour and press. What was the secretary's name? He seems to like her."

Matthius spun. "Anita, I think. The blonde, right?"

"Hold on," Jason growled. "You can't really be suggesting we move on an employed assistant to SWORD's Director, Elise."

Elise glared. "And why wouldn't I?"

"Because we work for the goddamn company!" Jason spat frustratedly. "Look, I hate this just as much as you, but that's insanity. Aside from the fact that you're supposed to be a superhero, targeting allies is grounds for expulsion, and that's if you're lucky. When's the last time you visited The Chasm?"

"Where is your pride?" Elise snarled. "Your brat just led us around on a leash, then dismissed us like a... like a goddamn janitor! How long did we work just to have it shoo us away?"

Jason narrowed his eyes. "I am not attacking an innocent woman. Where is your pride, Elise? What if you get caught? You think Bernard waving his fancy little promotion over your head will hurt? How about the chill of sitting under a hundred feet of concrete, with bulb sponges sucking every iota of plasma from your body? How will that feel?"

"We are better than him," she sneered. "In every imaginable way. We have saved more people than he can possibly conceive. We afforded him the honour of sitting at our table, living under our roof and basking in fame when he contributed nothing but inferiority. He was handed the genetic lottery and came out empty . And you want to yield?"

"I want to do my job properly," retorted Jason. "Whether it's Bernard or a complete stranger involved. I will not debase myself in civilian blood for vanity."

"Oh, but you'll dismember Grimlock no problem, right?"

Jason's soles left the plush, cream Austrian carpet to hover a foot in the air. Six and a half feet of musculature completely eclipsed his wife, who stumbled a cautionary step back.

"I took Grimlock's arm because he tried to burn a hole through your chest. You were the one who retaliated by burning off his other one. For what reason, again? Ah, yes. 'Children got their hands on black snow'. It was imperative the police seize custody, though burning the stashhouse to cinders is an interesting recovery plan. However, if that's your preference, I'll let the next one cut you in half."

"I'm sorry," she backpedalled, raising placating palms. "I didn't mean it like that. You know that. I was frustrated, Jason. Please."

Jason hesitated, then deflated as he sank back to the carpet and slumped into the similarly coloured sofa. "This is a shitshow."

"Too true," agreed Elise, lowering herself to the couch to caress his shoulders. "And it's not fair. How many Rogues did you cage last quarter alone, dear? Fifteen? Twenty-one?"

"Nine," sighed Jason.

"And he's done nothing but seduce Moon for his chair. How is it fair? You know you deserve better."

"We can't break the law, Elise. We're already on thin ice with Grimlock, Banshee and Leap Freak. This could spell disaster. We've no choice but to move prudently."

Matthius, from his corner of the room, finally perked up. "So what? We let him steamroll us until karma sets things right?"

"He blindsided us," Jason admitted. "But to change our circumstance before takeoff would require breaking the law and turning on SWORD, neither of which I will do. Not even for him."

Elise yanked her hands off his arm. "So that's it? You fold?"

"Until we're played a better hand," he sighed. "Look, we knew something like this might happen. We just didn't know it'd come from inside. We–"

"That boy ," seethed Elise, "is not from inside . He is not one of us and will never be."

"You know what I mean. We have no moves. So let's wait for him to overextend, then we can punish. But only when risk is minimal. I won't lose my license. Neither will any of you."

Matthius clamped his hands over his head, screaming obscenities as he lifted off the carpet and shot up the stairs. Elise watched him with a pained expression, then rounded on her husband.

"You better know what you're doing. If you let him get away with doing that to our son, I will never forgive you."

Jason narrowed his eyes. "He won't. But we have to do this right. For our own sake." After momentary hesitation, he reached forward to grasp her hands. "I don't want to lose you, Elise. Don't give them a reason."

She glanced down, then reached up to cup his face for a kiss.

"Never," she promised, pulling back with a radiant smile.

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