Thrusts of Justice (Chooseomatic Books), page 19
You cringe. All the years you’ve idolized these people — this was their purpose all along? To run interference for alien Armageddon? “Okay,” you say. “What do we do now?”
Tachyon’s voice lowers. “I can travel through time, but only to give warning. I can’t affect anything directly, and I’m not the one who makes this decision. That’s something I learned long ago. I have to admit, I always thought it would be Nancy with me at the end of all things. But here I am, and here you are.” He pauses, looking deeply into your eyes.
“So tell me, how do I save the world?”
Gulp. What should you say? To go all the way back to the 1960s and stop the alien probe before any of this begins? How much history would change as a result? You’d be living in a world without superheroes, for starters. What else? Would your father still wind up meeting your mother? Is that even important in the grand scheme of things? Maybe you should keep it simple, and tell him to warn you personally, far enough back that you can still make a difference.
▶ If you tell Tachyon to undo the planet’s history for the past 40 years, click here for page 34.
▶ If you tell him that with enough warning you can save the world yourself, click here for page 309.
221
You’ve never had an intimate relationship that lasted more than five months — permanently merging your consciousness with an alien intelligence isn’t something you’re entering into lightly, to say the least. Besides, the Cosmic Guardian was one of the Earth’s greatest heroes. With all his power at your disposal, you should be able to handle a few measly supervillains, right?
Well, not so much. You rush to D.C. and find yourself facing Doctor Diabolus, the Turtle, and Lightning Queen. Diabolus doesn’t represent much of a problem — he can control weak-minded people with his thoughts, but your mind is at least medium-strong, so he’s mostly harmless to you. And the Turtle is really just a poor man’s version of the Ox — only dumber, weaker, and incredibly slow-moving, as his name would imply.
Lightning Queen, however, is another story. In fact, of all the Earth’s villains, only Übermind and Lightning Queen ever gave your predecessor much trouble, and she was by far the more dangerous of the two. If you had access to all the records stored in your armor’s memory, you’d know that. Just saying.
She immediately hits you with a bolt of electricity, and your armor seizes up. Her next two strikes finish you off completely. In fact, the mysterious puppetmasters behind the attack on D.C. are so impressed with her performance that later in the day they give her a Cosmic Guardian battlesuit of her very own. Hers doesn’t have the same qualms about things like mental health or basic human decency, though.
They’re very happy together.
THE END
222
“Take my hand,” Lightning Queen says. “Without the glove, sweetheart — I need to complete the circuit.” You peel back the goo from your forearm, and the moment you place your hand in hers she calls a bolt of lightning out of the clear night sky that completely envelops both of you.
The pain is excruciating. When you can bear to wrench open your eyes, you find yourself in what appears to be an empty prison yard. The first thing you realize is that you’re no longer covered in your protective shell. Was it left behind in New York? You attempt to summon more goo from your pores, but your whole body is crackling with electricity and it’s impossible to concentrate.
“¿Dónde está el Verminator?” Lightning Queen screeches. You’re beginning to understand why she acts so erratically — traveling by lightning bolt messes you up inside. Moments later a pair of swarthy guards — clearly putting their own best interests ahead of their internee’s — drag a short, middle-aged man out into the yard.
Lightning Queen grabs him by the throat, and the guards flee. “You’re the one who sent those space robots after me!”
Wow. This woman is bonkers. That’s not at all what you were implying when you mentioned him earlier, but you’re currently defenseless and not about to raise the issue. Verminator shudders, terrified. “What? I don’t know any space robots, I swear!”
“Your meteor buddies! Tell me about the meteor!”
“What meteor?” A little mouse pops out of his shirt pocket, then scurries back in.
“You little bastard, your rodent friends can’t help you now! The meteor that gave you superpowers!”
Verminator starts bawling. “I made it all up! I don’t know how I got my powers. I just woke up hung over in an alley one day and I could talk to vermin. There was never any meteor!”
“You lied to me!”
“Not to you, specifically — I don’t know, I just thought it sounded cool.”
Lightning Queen screams like a banshee, and another bolt of electricity explodes from the heavens. At first you hope she’s just teleported Verminator elsewhere, but the charred remains in her grasp tell you otherwise. She turns to you, her eyes glowing white-hot.
“You! I suppose you lied about the meteor, too!”
You desperately try to call up your goo, but it’s useless. “No! I really did get my powers from a meteor!”
“That’s even worse!”
What? “How is that worse?”
“I don’t know, but it’s the same!”
She’s not making any sense, but you’re learning that it’s impossible to argue with a crazy person. Or pointless, at any rate. The next bolt has your name on it.
THE END
224
You have a distraction to create, and you figure this is as good a place to start as any. “Cut the crap, Moretti,” you say. “I know who you really are.”
His brow furrows. “Really? And what gave me away — was it my recent cover story in Forbes magazine? That whole black helicopter ruse was a simple test to find out what kind of moron we had to work with.”
“Uh, the kind that’s about to kick your ass,” you say.
With a soft ding, the elevator behind Moretti opens and something in Guardian armor emerges, shaped like a human being but a good three feet taller than you and at least twice as wide. It opens its visor to reveal the now-familiar mug of the Ox. Oh, crap. This is the same villain who beat you to a pulp without the benefit of cosmic battle armor. And now he looks all veiny and jittery, as if his experience bonding with the armor hasn’t been anywhere near as pleasant as yours was.
Well, you might as well put on a good show. “I’m not afraid of you,” you lie. “I’ve learned a few tricks since last we met.”
“Yeah, me, too,” the Ox says with a cackle, firing a heavy disk from his chest plate that clamps onto your armor, connecting the two of you with a thick metal cable and sending an electric shock all through your body. “They showed me the training video.”
Apparently, one of the helpful tips in that video was how to short out your opponent’s armor, force open his or her helmet, and crush the enclosed head like a ripe tomato. If they graded for effort, the Ox would get an ‘A’ for execution.
THE END
225
If there’s one thing you’d like to avoid, it’s having your brain eaten by the half-living remains of a canine-mechanical hybrid. That much you’re sure of. Also, the fact that the Cosmic Guardian was not what he seemed. You need some time to fit the pieces of this puzzle together, so you leave the apartment the way you came in and find a nearby coffee shop where you can sit and work things through.
Sadly, time to think isn’t something you actually have. While you consider this new information, the space dog is alerting the Cosmic Guard of a breach in security. It takes them less than half an hour to find you, and before you even have a chance to finish your bagel, the entire café is obliterated by the force of several hundred Guardians firing upon you at once from high orbit.
At least you don’t suffer.
THE END
226
You loom as large as you can in the shadows and whisper a single word:
“Run.”
That’s all the encouragement he needs. Rockjockey turns tail and breaks into a sprint, bits of rubble dislodging from his body as he goes. Man, you could get used to this striking fear into the hearts of villains business. You duck into a corner and shut down your equipment. You’re not sure who sent you that message, but if it was the Nightwatchman, and giant, rock-encrusted supervillains are that terrified of him, you definitely want to stay on his good side.
The computer screen goes blank, and your gloves and boots decompress, losing their custom fit. Somehow even your cloak feels heavier and more awkward, and the infrared in your goggles switches off, leaving you in darkness. Well, that sucks.
“Psst! Over here!” As your eyes adjust, you see a dark figure peeking around a corner down the alley, waving its arms at you. After a moment’s consideration, you decide to follow it. Worst case scenario, you can always turn your costume back on and kick its ass, right? The mysterious stranger leads you a few blocks to a parked car and gets in, opening the passenger door for you. You peek inside, and in the car’s interior light recognize a very familiar face.
“Nancy North? What are you doing here?”
“Waiting on an old acquaintance,” she says, looking you up and down. “Although I somehow suspect he isn’t coming. Who are you and what the hell are you doing in that outfit?”
“Um, I’m the new Nightwatchman? Sort of?” It’s Nancy North! You try to maintain your cool, but the truth is you’re geeking out a little. “Hey, did you just send me a text message?”
You get in the car with her and explain the incident with Rockjockey. Nancy says she didn’t send the message, but she does have a theory. “Nightwatchman upgraded all his equipment in the ’90s, using technology he borrowed from the Cosmic Guardian. The invisibility, the telepathic control — it’s all alien tech. So the Cosmic Guard might be able to track the suit. If it was the Nightwatchman who sent that message, he may have just saved your life.”
“But the Cosmic Guardians are the good guys. Aren’t they?”
“The one we had on Earth was, but nobody knows anything about the organization that sent him. And if they’re dealing with Reginald Thorpe, all bets are off.”
You compare notes with Nancy — she’s perturbed to hear about the murder of Brain Stem, but says she’s uncovered something even more troubling. “I’ve found evidence that Crexidyne is working on a massive orbiting weapon built into a communications satellite. For lack of a better term, it appears to be some kind of doomsday device.” She pauses. “Say, how would you like to assist me with a little corporate espionage?”
You’re not sure if you should break off your search for the real Nightwatchman — if he’s communicating with you now, surely you’re close. Your first lead seems to have come to a dead end, but perhaps the safehouse in Philadelphia will hold some answers. Then again, working with Nancy would be a dream come true — you may have grown up dreaming of superpowers, but she’s pretty much your journalism idol.
▶ If you join forces with Nancy, click here for page 296.
▶ If you turn down her offer and continue your search in the City of Brotherly Love, click here for page 184.
228
Moretti put you in charge, and your first command decision is that you’d just as soon avoid another ass-beating. “We bring him in,” you say.
“Fine, but open your helmet once we get close so I can get out. If I go ahead and get inside his brain, at least we’ll have a plan B.”
You swoop down next to the van, carefully matching its velocity. The station wagon in the lane beside it wisely slows down to give you room (the look on the driver’s face is priceless), and you tap on the Ox’s passenger side window and wave. He does a double-take, then cocks his head for a moment, apparently considering his next move. Eventually he pulls the van over to to the highway’s shoulder.
“Really?” the Ox says, getting out of the van and slamming the door behind him. “I do you the favor of not quite punching you to death, and this is how you repay me?”
“I’m not here to fight!” you say. You open and close your visor just a smidge, and your partner shrinks down further and slips out. “I’m here because I need your help.”
He cracks his knuckles. “Well, too bad for you I don’t run a charity for superheroes who suck at their job.”
“Just hear me out!” Okay, time to turn on the charm. “The truth is, I’m new to all this. You were my first fight, and you know what? Being a hero sucks. I’d rather do what you do.”
“So go rob a bank. I ain’t stoppin’ ya.”
“Maybe you’re not. But after I got the suit, some guy showed up in a black helicopter and started giving me orders.”
The Ox nods. “Big mountain base out in the middle of nowhere? Yeah, I hate those guys.”
“Well, they have something in there that can shut my armor down by remote control if I don’t do what they tell me to,” you lie. “So I’m asking you to help me break in and bust up the place.”
“Yeah? And what’s in it for me?”
That’s a good question. You’re thinking on your feet, here. “Revenge?” you try. “Wanton destruction? All the miscellaneous, fancy, high-tech equipment you can carry?”
He taps his chin with his finger a few times, then points at you, smiling. “I like the way you think. Okay, I’m in. But if you double-cross me, I’m gonna kick your ass again.” Since that’s your backup plan, anyway, you can hardly argue with his terms.
“Besides,” he continues, “I was just going to some boring supervillain thing tonight anyway.”
Wait a minute. “What supervillain thing?”
“Just this big dumb meeting. I can totally bail on it, though.”
Moretti said there was a supervillain conspiracy brewing. If you can talk the Ox into taking you along, this could be your chance to find out more. Or is walking into a hive of scum and villainy just plain stupid? Maybe you should just bring him back to the base and let the professionals interrogate him.
▶ If you stick to the plan and keep luring the Ox back to HQ, click here for page 83.
▶ If you switch gears and try to infiltrate the supervillain meeting instead, click here for page 260.
230
Octavia pinpoints a small tenement building across town. Magnifica flies you over there — less rapidly this time, although somehow being carried with an arm around your chest and your legs dangling wildly is even less comfortable — and drops you through an open window on the third floor. You bang your knee on the carpet with a yelp as Octavia is dumped right on top of you. So much for the element of surprise.
“Who’s there?” a voice calls out from the other room. “Are you from the veterinarian’s office?”
A little old man pokes his head into the room. “Yes, Mr. Patel,” Octavia says, probing his mind while she picks herself off the floor. “You called us… Wow, you’ve called us every day for the past six years. We’re here to take a look at Barkley.”
She shakes her head at you as the man dodders into the other room. Apparently Mr. Patel is not the criminal mastermind here. “Barkley hasn’t been feeling well,” he says. “I’m very worried.”
The thing you find on a pet bed next to a heaping bowl of organic kibble is not a dog. Or at least, it hasn’t been for a long time. It’s the barely living shell of a German shepherd, grafted to some kind of pulsating mechanical mass. The circuitry patterns almost remind you of…
“Holy balls,” Magnifica says. “Is that Cosmo the Space Dog?” Back in the ’80s and ’90s, the Cosmic Guardian traveled with a canine companion. This could very well be that dog, if its little cybernetic mask and harness had swollen over the decades like a giant robotic tumor.
“Look at the wall.” Octavia gestures toward a row of photographs featuring Mr. Patel and his beloved pet in a variety of matching holiday outfits. They were clearly taken over a span of decades, as Patel ages quite distinctly. The dog, however, appears just as it is now in every frame. This is not a recent development.
“I always figured the Guardian took the pooch with him when he split in ’96,” Magnifica says.
“There’s no dog left in there,” Octavia says, half in a trance. “But something’s keeping it in kind of a wretched half-alive state. Something with a rudimentary consciousness. I think it’s the machine.”
“Is it serious?” Mr. Patel asks anxiously.
“It’s been sending messages to Thorpe for years,” she continues. “Not with direct mind control, but much more subtly — through dreams, maybe? There’s a record of the messages, but there are far too many to sift through. Thousands.”
“Obviously, those dreams drove Thorpe mad,” you say. “Are you getting anything on the supervillain attacks? Can you see a larger purpose?”
“Hold on — here come the psychic defenses.” She pauses, and smiles. “Nicy try, buddy. Just a lot of hostage-taking and destruction of major landmarks. I can’t see any rhyme or reason to… oh, no. No, no, no. It’s the Cosmic Guard. An entire army of them. This has been planned since… oh, my God. All that supervillain stuff is just a decoy. They’re colonizing.”
Your stomach drops. “They’re here already?”
“The ship should be in orbit by now, but they can’t breathe our air. They’re erecting these vast machines at the North and South poles… they’re terraforming. They’re going to mutate the entire planet into something that will support them. Everyone will be dead in days.”
“We have to move out,” you say. “I’ll call the Justice Squadron and the Phenomenal Three. That Canadian team, whatever they’re called. We’ll gather every hero on the planet… ”
“Stop.”
