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Chapter -7-

THE GAME IS AFOOT

December 7, 7:00pm Atlantic Standard Time LF Wade International, Bermuda ...

** Eric Loupe sat up with a start** , panting as though having just come from a nightmare. He looked from left to right at a white man in a suit and a slender black woman in a simple violet colored blouse. Eric brought his hands to his chest, checking himself over, but his eyes danced between the two. "Who the hell are you two?" The image of palm trees and the smell of salt water became immediately apparent. "Where the hell am I?"

The white man lowered to Eric's level and rested both his wrists across one knee. "What is your name?"

"Eric. Who are you and how'd I get ... where ever this is?"

"My name is Gregory Watson. I just landed from Africa and this is my layover." He waved with his left hand, gesturing to the woman. "This is Patience Ubysh. She's an academic; her field of study is on the history of people with abilities. When we landed, I received a phone call from a man named Aris Falcon. He told me the man responsible for killing his international investing group would be lying in an alley waiting for me to pick him up. That would be you. I think he expects me to arrest you because he can't seem to kill you. Should I arrest you, Eric?"

"I'd like to see you try. So where is this?"

"Bermuda, young man. And relax, Aris Falcon hasn't yet come to the realization that I'm not his friend. Now, first thing's first. We need to find a way to break whatever it is that Falcon's people have done to you. I don't need a Manchurian candidate working on the team I'm putting together."

"Who are you? She's an academic, so what are you?"

"I work for the Central Intelligence Agency. I'm escorting Patience to California then I'm heading home to Virginia."

Eric's eyes widened then narrowed. "The CIA is responsible for making me lose time. Whatever it is they do ... they're the ones behind me killing a bunch of people in South Africa recently. And if it was Falcon, then you're both involved."

Watson shook his head. "Highly doubtful the CIA could handle you. You know, I get this nonsense a lot. People always ask me about that old program, MK Ultra. It was an attempt at using LSD to input commands into the minds of people who were stoned and tripping. It didn't work. It was a failure. It was just the name of a file concerning a study of people high on drugs - the Government wanted to see if they were susceptible to suggestion. Nothing more."

"No, this is something called MK Ultimate. It was a classified program designed to try and program people with abilities to create a super assassin."

Watson scoffed. "Falcon did a number on you, young man. Get up."

Eric got to his feet and looked around the back alley. It was surprisingly neat, swept and clean. He brushed himself off and walked to the edge of the alley. The adjacent building on the left housed Leer jets. The hanger doors were wide open.

"Whoever did this to me just dumped me off right here and called you to come get me like a disposable toy?"

"Apparently they were done playing with you, and yes. I'm sorry to say it, but yes. What were you going to do before I found you?"

"I was looking for Karla Howard. I remember I was in California. I found this girl named Samantha Summers. We got into a ton of trouble; we were under attack. We started hunting for answers to questions we had about people - like Falcon - and then we were separated. I don't know what happened to Summers. She was an agent for some Paranormal research and investigation agency."

Watson's facial expression changed.

Eric was quick to take note and asked, "Did you know her?"

"No. You're rambling."

Patience placed her hand on Watson's forearm. "Agent, I heard shouting. Both of you, quiet."

Two men in all black gear came around the corner, guns drawn. They moved into a defensive formation, aiming down the barrel of their weapons. Both began moving in slowly.

Watson turned around and put his hands outward. "Slow down, guys. I'm CIA. I don't care who you think you are, I'll have you both thrown in Guantanamo Bay if you pull those triggers."

One of the men withdrew a radio from his belt. Eric waved his hands as though doing a reverse breaststroke. The shadow cast by one of the buildings reached inwardly and flattened both men, pinning them to the ground. Eric clenched his left, then his right hand. The radio came free of the man's hand, struck the ground and bounced. Next, the guns ripped clean from their hands and slid across the ground.

Both weapons scooted up the alleyway and came to stop beneath Eric's foot. "They were going to call for backup. Pardon the mess. I'm still learning."

Patience looked at the men down the alley, pinned to the ground, then back at Eric. "That was ... I have no words. I did not know shadows could have mass."

"I don't really understand it myself. Maybe it's, like ... anti-mass or something. But yeah, my uncle could pick up a pen and write a letter with shadow. Did anyone else follow you?"

"Perhaps they were after you," Watson said. "Falcon called me. He knew you were here. He most likely wanted you eliminated whether from me or by them."

"So now what?" Eric rolled up his sleeves, ready to go again if necessary.

"Now I recruit you, Mr. Loupe. You go to California and work with the Esoteric Community that has survived the attacks. There aren't many. But we're also going to have to do an investigation to find out why you're out here."

Eric pinched his lips together, offering Watson an untrusting glare. "You know I was forced to kill all those people and you're asking for my help?"

"What are you going to do now that you're awake and apparently yourself again?"

"I ... I just want to find Karla. I shouldn't have left her group in the first place. As soon as I did, I found more trouble than I could handle alone. I have no idea if that agent lady is dead. Everything is messed up and I can't remember much of anything. What's the date?"

"December 7th. What's the last date you remember?"

Eric paused then frowned. "It's been a whole week. I vaguely remember looking for my uncle on a lead. I remember worrying about Agent Summers. I wish I knew if she was okay."

Watson sighed. "So you're heading to see the succubus? I'm working with a friend of hers. I can have her meet you in Florida if you'd like."

"Fine. Where do we go from here?"

"I would like for you to escort Patience to Florida, then head west. She'll be safe with Karla Howard's group."

Ubysh turned to Watson and asked, "Why, where are you going?"

"I need to check in back in Washington. Patience, this man can control shadows. He'll need you to keep him out of trouble, and in return he can protect you. He's free to make any phonecall he wants, but don't let him receive one or talk to anyone you don't trust. I don't know how he's being programmed, but if it's by sound or voice command ... well then don't let that happen."

"So if he uses the phone, make sure he's the one dialing out, and it's to someone he knows."

"Exactly. You're a sharp girl." Watson turned back to Eric. "Karla vouches for you. Falcon even trusted you to do his dirty work. You must be good. Don't fuck this up. Get her to Karla. From there, she needs to meet Lance Paterson. I will call him and tell him that you need Karla to meet you in Florida. If things get dangerous, you can leave her in Florida because she said she has a college friend there. But you will come back for her if you do that. Also, it's possible your plane may be diverted. There's a storm system building near Cuba and headed towards Miami."

"What kind of storm?"

"A hurricane."

Eric blinked. "I'm not from the east coast but that doesn't sound right. Is that normal this time of year?"

"No. It's not unheard of, but it's certainly not normal. But it's not very large, either. Just stay safe." He turned back to Patience and said, "Come up with an Americanized version of your name and head to Florida. I would go with you but the fact that Falcon arranged to have Mr. Loupe planted here in an alley in time for an attack ... well ... to me, that means Aris is more dangerous than I gave the man credit for. I need to get back to Washington and start looking into this more from home base, so to speak."

"Now you're the one rambling," Eric said. He reached for Patience's hand. "I'm Eric Loupe. It's a pleasure, miss. I'll take you to meet some of my friends. Karla is eccentric but she's trustworthy."

"Patience Ubysh. The pleasure is mine. And I've met your friend, Karla. She came to my home in Africa a few months ago. Her abilities are most impressive."

"Alright. Let's call you Patty for now. That's Americanized enough," he cut his gaze to Watson, "Isn't it?" Then he folded his arms. "So now what? I don't exactly trust the American Government. The CIA is at the top of my list, tied with Falcon's people."

"I'm wounded." Gregory reached into his blazer pocket, withdrew an envelope and handed it to Eric. "Money and a voucher for a plane ticket. Do you have your passport on you?"

Eric patted himself down then withdrew a passport book. He opened it then nodded. "Wait. I'm supposed to be wanted by Interpol for that misunderstanding in South Africa."

"It's disconcerting that your passport allowed you to leave Africa in the first place. It should have been flagged. The way I see it, someone wanted you to return to America. Someone with considerable clout and sway."

Eric grimaced. "Like the CIA."

"Give it a rest."

"Okay so then what's your take on this?"

"Falcon is more dangerous than I realized. Now, listen to me, Mr. Loupe. I'm trusting you to keep Patience safe. I mean it."

"I'll be fine," she said.

Watson nodded and gave them both a firm pat on the shoulder. "Alright, stay out of trouble you two. Patty, this will be a good fit for you. Sorry to leave you on such short notice. But if they left Eric in my path because they knew where I am then I'm not exactly the safest chaperone for you. Nobody would expect me to send you with Eric." He turned to Loupe and said, "Do not let anything happen to her. Else the CIA will give you a good reason to hate them. She's not officially here with the agency. Falcon wanted her, we don't know why, and we want to keep her away from Falcon. The fact Falcon called me on the Leer jet means he knew where I was. That is a problem, do you understand? I can't endanger her. She's important to Falcon, so we have to keep her away from him."

Eric nodded. "I see now. Since Falcon is done with me, you're sending her with me to throw Falcon off the trail. And by the time he figures out your play, I'll have delivered Patty to Karla and her friends, where she'll be safe."

"You catch on quick. You're both sharp. So stay out of trouble."

Patty nodded to Eric. "I won't be any trouble. Let's head back towards the terminal and find airfare."

Eric nodded slowly. "There's something about you, Ms. Ubysh. I feel like I can trust you. The sooner we lose this shlub, the better I'll feel."

"You wound me," Watson said with a roll of his eyes. He nodded to Patience. They exchange a brief hug then he walked away, leaving Patience and Eric alone.

Eric turned to her. "So, Ms. Ubysh..."

"Just Patty. And the terminal is back this way. Follow me."

X

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X

December 7 7:10 pm PST Wilfred Greg's basement apartment ...

** Reno Nevada ran his fingers over** a bald head, pushing his fingertips into the smooth flesh. Water ran down over his face from the shower head above him. The small standing-room-only shower was nearly one third of the size of the rest of the bathroom. The tiny bathroom reflected the tiny kitchenette hallway.

The basement apartment was beneath the house belonging to Wilfred Greg from the police department.

Reno's thoughts turned to the gunfight from the other night. His Monte Carlo was totaled. There was nothing salvageable from its remains.

He loved that car. Reno quickly changed his thoughts away from the firefight, and from his frustrations involving Samantha Summers. He willed himself to calm down and breathe deeply.

He stepped from the shower, dried off and stopped in front of the mirror. "I miss my hair." He didn't want to be Moby. He didn't want to be Billy Corgan. He didn't want to be Mister Clean. He was beginning to resent Abby Chase a little more every day.

He closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. 'I should have died from electrocution but now I'm a bald headed, mutated freak. I'm a few years from thirty and my hair isn't growing back. Freaking Abby. She gives me this weird mojo, then I get zapped, and now this? It has to be her fault. It has to be.'

Nevada lifted his hands, glancing down at them. His hands were neat and flawless. The creases in his palms were natural and realistic and smooth. There were no calluses. But what was really weird was the fact that there were no bullet holes in his palm. There was no glass cut marks in his palm.

Everything from his past was erased. Every distinguishing flaw had been removed. The light mark on his elbow that he'd gotten at the age of twelve, when falling off of a skateboard - gone.

Nevada stared into the mirror with a sigh. "God damn. Spend two hours on a treadmill only for Emmett freaking Brown, upstairs, to confirm I'm a freak." He tightened the knot in his towel.

"Reno?"

Nevada grimaced. "That'll teach me to bitch out loud." He raised his voice aloud and called out, "Wilfred, I'm coming out the shower. Anything new?"

Wilfred Greg walked through the small hallway between the kitchenette and bathroom, pacing. "Yeah, Happy Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day. And Hanukkah starts tonight at sundown."

"What?"

"You heard me, Reno. Have some culture, buddy. So what's new with you?"

"I'm not growing hair on my face or head. Not since being electrocuted."

"Huh. Electrolysis via lightning bolt. That's a new one."

"Yeah, so, what have you found out?"

"So ... okay we already know you don't perspire much. Your muscular definition changes when you're exerting yourself. You can call on an adrenaline spike at will; God only knows how that will affect your adrenal glands down the road ... Oh, and we know that whenever you surge your blood with adrenaline, you have that glowing eye side effect. But the blood test results are in; I thought you'd want to hear what I learned."

"Gee, let's see, Wilf. My eyes glow with electricity - God only knows how that works or why I can't see it happening in my eyes while everyone else can. Hmm ... Sure, I guess I might as well learn more about myself."

"You're so sarcastic." He cleared his throat then said, "Get out here so I can talk to you face to face."

Reno emerged from the bathroom, brushed by the forensic scientist, and muttered, "Nerd," in passing. He disappeared into the bedroom at the end of the hall, next to the kitchenette, and started rifling through some of his belongings. A moment later, he opened the bedroom door in jeans and a t-shirt. "Okay, what's the deal with my blood?"

"You're never going to believe this but I found out that you have a kryptonite. Like, seriously, there is a drawback that will put you flat on your ass."

"Seriously?"

Wilfred nodded firmly. "It causes your cells to go from a hyper-excited state to something akin to hibernation. The effect lasts about two minutes."

"Okay, what?"

"Ever heard of an electromagnetic pulse?"

Nevada shrugged. "Of course. I'm an action movie junkie. I was all about comics as a kid. Of course I know what a freakin' EMP is. Is that my so-called weakness?"

"Naturally, yes. But I think there's a way to reduce the effects dramatically."

"Seriously? How?"

"I've developed a liquid that retains electrochemical balances, shielding you from the effects to some degree. In other words, it won't be nearly as debilitating. A while back, I was trying to make this liquid into something that I could keep in a container and dip wires and electronics into it... and shield them from EMPs. It's a hobby of mine ... you know, tinkering and making 'nerdy stuff'. Anyhow, I couldn't ever get the liquid to create a proper coating. It won't solidify. So now I'm going to change it into something you can drink. Your body will soak it up. It'll stay in your system for a while, like a sports drink. You'll metabolize it after a few hours, then you'll need more to stay protected. I need to work with a guy I knew back in college. He'll be able to help me make it edible. Uhm, we should find some lab rats to feed it to, so we can make sure it wouldn't kill you."

"Christ. PETA would stomp your guts out if they got wind of that."

Wilfred folded his arms. "Well, I'm trying to make sure you don't die by accident."

"I need to borrow your wheels so I can head upstate."

"Hell no, I don't want you blowing up my car if you get upset at some jackass for cutting you off."

"Look, Wilf, I'll keep my temper in check, I promise."

"Look, Reno, I know you're Inspector Touch 'n Go, now ... I get it. But when you get cranky, you become Inspector Electro-Death. You'll notice I don't have a TV down here. No radios. No telephones. The only electronics down here are light bulbs and the fridge. And only because you deserve a cold beer."

"Yeah. Amen to cold beer. Wilf, I need to get upstate, man. And before I can go there, I need to check out a lead, I need to run some errands. Just, please?"

Greg rubbed his face with a sigh. "How about I spring for you to take a cab and you pay me back later?"

"I..." Reno frowned, but knew his options were limited. "Yeah, I guess that'll do. Actually, I don't want to be a burden. How about bus fare?"

"Just make sure you come back by and see me soon. I'm really jazzed about the fact you're electrically charged. Think of all the things you could do for San Francisco once you master it."

Reno scoffed. "Yeah, right. Don't worry. You haven't seen the last of me, man. I just need to get a few things sorted."

"Here." Wilfred handed him a ten-dollar bill.

"Thanks, I really appreciate it. Okay, can you gimmie a few while I get at myself?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll see you upstairs." Wilfred headed back up the steps and left.

One thing was certain: Reno had no plans to drop his personal vendetta or withdraw from finding out the real story. It wasn't because of his sense of justice or honor; he was wronged and he wanted to be the one wielding the fist at the other end of the Karma Circle.

If anything, this new power was a means to extract his revenge. While on the treadmill earlier, he recalled having a brief conversation on the cell with Abby - practice to see if he could talk to someone without frying the phone.

She warned against fighting for the path of truth and good for the wrong reasons. She warned that revenge wouldn't help him against future enemies and it would be difficult for him to protect the seed fragments.

The thing is, Reno didn't want to be some sort of 'guardian' or whatever. His focus was on Aris Falcon, Nichole and Vincent, and revenge. His focus was on Falcon's tacky little lackey, Krys Monroe. He wanted to find that douchebag, George Zukis. He wanted to know more about his suspension. He wanted justice without due process.

But first thing first, he needed reliable transportation. A rusty ten-speed and a few bus tokens weren't going to cut it. His thoughts turned to his father's old Chevy Chevelle at his parents' old house. Ultimately, he decided it would need a lot of restoration work.

Reno's thoughts turned to Trajen down at the old BPI Complex, a nightclub turned speakeasy. The club was _still_closed due to renovations after some fake fire company calling themselves "Volunteer 606" tried to burn the place down.

Nevada knew that Trajen was one of the most connected scumbags in San Francisco. He also knew that Trajen owed a certain Homicide Inspector a huge favor. After all, it was Reno Nevada who did his job without any sort of bias.

The ex-Inspector stepped in front of his dryer and took out a shirt that was put in for twenty minutes to free it of wrinkles. He set out one of his nicer hand-tailored suits. Shiny shoes and a tie. The cufflinks were a nice touch, too.

Dressed for success, he felt more in his element. He snapped his fingers and smiled. "I know who I can call for a ride."

Reno left the house and walked down the road. He fished out his personal cell and made a call. While holding the phone in his hand, the screen showed that the battery was being charged. "Hey, Karla? I'm in need of a ride. Could you pick me up in an hour or so? I'll be coming out of this seedy joint called the BPI Complex. I'll text you the address."

X

---

X

December 7, 9pm EST Miami, Florida ...

** Johann gave Evan a slap on the back.**"Relax, man. Strongman and I got this. All you have to do is make a clear glass dingy, we outfit it with an outboard and an electric motor. You get Sinopa and Rufus in close to that mystery ship and drop them off, then you see what you can see, and report back to us. Then you let them do their thing. We all follow the cargo ship from a safe distance. Simple."

"Alright, I can do this," Evan said with a firm nod. "I drop them off and they stay until the ship is locked down from the incoming storm, right? You said I have a second job to do. What is it?"

Johann passed the binoculars to Evan and pointed out across the way to the Port of Miami. "The storm is going to be here some time in the middle of the night. It's possible that Rufus and Sinopa will wind up having to stay in the cargo container until it passes. I'm going to call for reinforcements if things get dicey. But I need you to lay low incase things go wrong."

"Wait, what do you mean if things go wrong?"

"Let's face it, Evan. You're the hero, man. Collobulous is awesome and I'm really getting comfortable with my powers but you're a legit hero. I need to know that you're undercover somewhere that can watch both teams' backs. Some sort of vantage point, you know? You have to be the sleeper cell guy. Just lay low, watch some Netflix on your phone or something, and wait for a distress call."

"Yeah." Evan nodded firmly. "Okay. Yeah, I can do that. So no contact with either team just incase something happens?"

"Exactly. If one of us are caught, you may have to be the one who is in the position to save the day. If we've underestimated Aris Falcon, then both teams will be attacked by teams who are trained to handle what we can do. You have to be the guy they don't know about. You can stop weapons and bullets and make them useless. Collobulous can't do that. Rufus can't do that. And they're already assigned to each of the two teams. So you have to be the splinter cell guy."

Evan scoffed through his nose. "Yeah, right. I'm no Sam Fisher."

"And this isn't a Tom Clancy novel, man. You can do this. You don't need fifty weapons. You don't have to know how to break necks and you don't need night vision. You just need to be the guy that fits into a crowd and can turn everything and anything into glass. And you definitely need a legit name."

"Yeah. We all do. Alright. Stay safe. Like you said, we might have to lie low for a while from this incoming storm. Radio silence then, right?"

"You got it. I'll change the molecules in the sky and create some sort of unique flash if we get into something we can't handle. Keep your eyes on the ship first and foremost, got it?"

"Good peptalk." The boys gave each other a quick, simple 'bro hug' and Evan left the hotel room. He walked down to the pier and nodded to Sinopa and Rufus. "Hey gang."

"Evan-san. You are feeling ready for this, hai?"

"Yes, ma'am, madame kitsune."

Sinopa laughed softly. "Please, you have my respect. We are friends now. I need no title."

"I just wanted to show you that I respect you."

Sinopa shook her head with a smile. Her lengthy strawberry tresses framed her face, allowing for her ears to peak up over her head. "You are a good man. An honorable man. And I am honored to have your assistance in taking us out to Mr. Falcon's alleged cargo ship. We are ready when you are, my friend."

Evan glanced at Rufus. "Ready, sir?"

Rufus grinned. "Just Rue'll do, son. We're ready. We secured the outboard, the battery, 'n a five gallon gas can. We also got this here electric motor off a bass boat. What's the play, hoss?"

"We make a boat we can hide without a trace." Evan knelt down on the end of the pier and said, "Make sure nobody is watching." He laid down on his stomach over the edge and waved his hands over the water. Sand bubbled up from the bottom and a keel formed, followed by a hull. Evan paused to glance at a diagram of a boat on the screen of his cellphone watch then he continued to wave his hands, crafting a small dingy.

Once finished, he created two glass mooring lines to the pier and stood up. "Okay, let's get the gas, motors and battery onboard. I'll hop in, you hand them to me, then we'll get moving."

Rufus lifted the battery in one hand and held both outboard motors by their shafts under his other arm. Once Evan was in the boat, he passed the battery forward.

Evan struggled with its weight and carefully settled it down into the clear boat. He reached for the gasoline powered outboard next and grimaced. "Who knew ten horses would weight so much," he murmured, as though trying to make a joke. He eased it onto the back and clamped it down to a reinforced glass plate then reached for the electric motor. "Oh, this one is much, much lighter."

Evan placed it on the clear deck then reached back up for the five gallon gasoline canister. He opened his stance, careful not to topple, and placed it down adjacent to the aft plate with the Evinrude motor. "Okay, all aboard. Ladies first, of course." He reached a hand up for Sinopa.

She took the boy's hand, stepped down into the boat and settled on a glass seat near the front. Rufus leapt down with grace and dropped to a crouch. He stood up then moved to a bench on the side. "Ready to rock, bud."

"Okay, great. I, uh. Do you know how to drive one of these?"

Rufus grinned and shifted over to the other side, across from Evan. "I'll walk you through it. You need to learn and it's easier than you think. The hardest part is remembering the rules when you're in the channel. A'ite. So feed that tube, there, into the gas tank, and prime the little do-hickey over there. Then you wanna give that ripcord a yank. And remember, steering is the opposite. You point the throttle handle to the left and you'll go right. Just ease into the throttle bar until you get a feel for it."

"Okay. Sounds simple." Evan followed directions and, in no time, had the motor started. "Wow. That was easier than starting a lawn mower."

"Ayup. This motor's brand spankin' new. Jules paid for it. He's bein' a good sport by stayin' clear of all this mess. I know if I didn't have my claws, I'd still wanna dive into the mess to feel useful."

Sinopa turned towards them. "He was in the military. He has learned discipline and patience."

"Fair enough, belle." Rufus clamped the electric motor to the gunwale and ran the leads to the battery. "This here is a deep cycle. Once we're close, we'll use this one because it's quiet. It's slower but it won't attract attention at night. This battery will have enough charge to get us in, and get you out. Then you go on and do what'cha gotta do next and we'll hunker down and lay low."

"Got it." Evan eased into the throttle and the boat shifted. "Okay. Got it. Let's get started, then." He waved his free hand at the two glass mooring lines. They disintegrated and the clear boat moved forward.

X

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X

Forty minutes later...

** "Evan-san, are you sure??"**

"I'm sure! Just find a place to hide while I draw them away from you."

"Reckon it's creating a distraction, tuits."

"A diversion," Evan corrected. "You two get moving or they'll see you." Balmoral closed the container door, leaving Rufus and Sinopa inside. He ran back down the deck of the Panamax cargo ship. "Yo! You morons can't catch me!" He guided the group of guards in the other direction.

Evan waved his hand, creating glass blocks a few inches tall on the deck. He hurried to the far end and glanced over his shoulder in time to see some of the men trip on the small objects. He cut his gaze back to the gunwale up ahead. "That's right, almost back to the boat!"

He sprinted past an aisle between cargo containers. An assault rifle came out of the intersection, clotheslining him to the deck. Evan slid on his back and, from adrenaline, got back to his feet. He put a hand on his ribs, favoring his side.

He considered engaging but continued to head for the end of the ship. Evan felt a wave of fear, panic and excitement wash over him at the thought of diving overboard. He tensed his body and dove over the side.

Sudden mind numbing pain clobbered him in the face. Confusion came next. He hung precariously over the side of the ship, face against the hull. He cursed himself and the first thought to mind was that he'd somehow snagged his shoe on something like a klutz.

"Nice try, kid." The booming voice caused Evan to cringe moreso than the injury to his face, ribs or pride. He canted his neck and looked up, along his body, to the sight of a hand on his ankle. A face peered over the side. "I almost thought you were going to make it, kid. Can't let you go until we know what you were doing up here and what you might have seen or stolen."

Evan looked back towards the water, beneath him. His glass boat was directly below. Had he successfully jumped, he might have cleared it. But if this guy dropped him, he knew he'd undoubtedly land on the glass boat. He cleared his throat and put on a front. "Go ahead, drop me. I'll die and you'll have one less report to write." He knew he could turn the boat back into sand if he just focused on his ability and not the drop. But ... he didn't fall.

Instead, the guard began to pull him up. He felt another hand on the waist of his pants. He found himself dropped onto the deck of the cargo ship, sweating from the adrenaline rush. "I don't think so, kid. You might be one of those people."

Evan blinked, feigning ignorance. "One of what people?"

"Don't lie to me kid. You won't like it. I'll punch you in the gut and lock you up if you lie to me."

"Whoa, wait, hold on. You don't need to be violent, man."

The guard picked Evan up by his bicep and jerked him up to his feet. Evan winced and reached for his arm with a frown. "God, slow down. Why are you being so hostile? Just call the cops and have me arrested."

"No, we handle our own here, kid. And now you're our prisoner."

"Prisoner? Me? C'mon, man. Don't be like that. Look, my friends dared me to come up here, make a fuss, then run off the side. It was stupid, I know. He's back in Miami right now. His name is Jules, we can vouch for me and -"

Again, pain. Evan sank to his knees, both hands on his gut. He was face down on the deck before his mind came to the realization that he'd been punched hard. It happened much faster than in the movies. He opened his eyes but saw stars. Evan opened his mouth, gasping for air but couldn't catch his breath.

The stars didn't have any pattern to them. They floated randomly around his eyes. As they began to clear, he saw a name stenciled on the sole of the boot. J. Cunningham.

The man picked Evan up by the scruff of his neck and said, "You gonna give me any more trouble kid? We know you're a freak. So behave unless you want another fist to the gut. The next one will go right through your scrawny ass, though. So don't test me."

Evan nodded somewhat drunkenly then looked down. The deck began to slide underneath him, being dragged by the collar of his shirt. He finally felt air reach his lungs and took a deep breath, panting softly. He wanted to turn this man to glass but he couldn't kill someone in cold blood either. Instead, he felt a wave of embarrassment come over him.

Being a hero was harder than he realized.

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Next chapter: https://www.sofurry.com/view/639018