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Heroes Beneath Us

"Where Kansas City Used to be!" -Spokesman Review, March 14, 2020

"Super weapon gone wrong? Kansas City disappears in a flash of light." -The New York Times, March 14, 2020

"Where did Helios go?" -Washington Post, March 15, 2020

"The secret at Kansas City." -The Boston Globe, March 15, 2020

"Are the supers to blame?" -USA Today, March 16, 2020

"President calls for Helios to make an appearance." -Washington Post, March 17, 2020

"Warrant out for the arrest of all supers." -The Seattle Times, March 19, 2020

"Supers Resist! 14 DEAD!" -Denver Post, March 21, 2020

"Fight leaves another super dead and 12 others wounded." -Atlanta News, March 22, 2020

"Military gets involved." -USA Today, April 2, 2020

"Supers go away. We don't want you." -The Advocate, April 15, 2020

"Congress meeting to vote on new Super Registration Act as more die in fights with Supers. Expected to pass." -Charleston News, April 23, 2020

"Captain Nile gunned down after four day manhunt. 3 others dead, 2 missing." -The Forum, May 2, 2020

"Super Registration Act passes in first fully unanimous vote by both the Senate and House. President expected to sign in hours." -Houston Chronicle, June 3, 2020

"Some come, others disappear. The danger that could be your neighbor." -The Boston Globe, June 24, 2020

"The God who betrayed us, Helios. Where did he go?" -The Plain Dealer, July 19, 2020

Chapter 1 Spring Valley, California September 30, 2020

Charles Holbrook, or Charlie as he preferred to be called was in his kitchen making a sandwich. He hummed an old Johnny Cash tune to himself as he spread mayonnaise over the two slices of rye bread. The day was like any other, he would be leaving for work in a little over an hour. He enjoyed his job at his father's car dealership. He worked as one of the mechanics and had a knack for fixing things, especially since he had spent most of his childhood at the shop, watching and learning from the other employees who he thought of as family.

His phone on the counter began to vibrate and the screen came to light showing that he was getting a call from an unknown number.

Charlie's brow furrowed as he left his sandwich half finished on the counter and went over to the phone. The call was coming from Washington DC.

"That's strange." Charlie mumbled. He didn't know anyone who lived in DC and he had just stopped getting calls from people who knew the previous owner of his phone number and most of those came from Wisconsin.

Charlie, with a butter knife still in his hands, pressed the answer button. He was raised to never just hang up on someone until he had a reason to, though he often did send random calls to voice message, he had time. He placed the phone up to his ear and answered with an enthusiastic, "Hello?"

The was some static on the line, the kind that came up on television sometimes when the cord wasn't fully seated into the jack.

"Hello?" Charlie said again, thinking that maybe there was a bad signal.

"Is this Charles Holbrook of 314N Lamar Street?" A grainy voice asked through the phone.

Not thinking about how strange this was, to have someone just call out of the blue and ask for him, not only by name, but by address, he replied. "Yeah, this is Charles. Who is this?"

There was a click as the phone hung up and Charlie pulled the phone away in disappointment. He thought about who that could have been. For a prank call, it was pretty terrible. He thought about how he and his friends used to call an elderly man who didn't have the best of memory and would get him going on and on about random subjects while pretending to be a distant family member. Then again, that wasn't truly a prank, they just loved listening to the old man rant.

Charlie placed the phone back down on the counter and went back to his sandwich, already forgetting about the call. He dipped the knife into the mayonnaise and deposited it on the bread, spreading it thick, but evenly. He then grabbed for several slices of ham which he threw onto the bread with no real coordination. He added some lettuce, tomatoes and a single slice of American cheese. He had made this same sandwich everyday for the past two years and it was always going to be his favorite.

The sandwich was deposited on a cheap paper plate and the remaining mayonnaise, meat, vegetables and cheese were put away in their respective spots in the fridge.

Charlie looked around the fridge to see if there was anything to drink. There was a single bottle of unopened beer sitting on the top shelf. Beer would be good, but he had to go to work in a bit and his father hated it when employees came in drunk or even with the slightest smell of alcohol on them. He remembered how a senior employee, who had been working for them for over five years, was fired after coming in drunk. He was kicked out right then and there even though it was his first offense. His father was very adamant about his beliefs and protected them fiercely.

"No thank you." Charlie looked down at the lower shelves where he usually stored cans of soda, but there were none. "Damn." he sighed and closed the fridge. "Guess I'll have to get a warm one."

He shuffled over to the cabinet next to the fridge where he stored the extra cans of soda. He grabbed the first one he saw, a coke. It was lukewarm in his hands, having been in a warm cabinet for several days.

The thought of drinking it warm was almost enough to get him to simply put it away right there. Almost.

Charles tightened his grip on the can a bit and watched with a smile as it began to accumulate a layer of frost on its surface. It was nearly eighty degrees, even with the crappy A/C going, but the frost continued to spread across the aluminum surface of the can until it was entirely coated.

"Perfect." Charlie giggled at the sight of his powers at work. He was sweating a little since he had to pull the heat out of the can and its contents into himself. A small can made him feel a little warm, nothing uncomfortable and easy to fix in this situation.

Charlie looked over at the sandwich on the table. It looked like it would be better toasted.

---

"We have confirmation, the target is still inside." Special Agent Roman set down his phone that was issued to him just for this job. After it was over, it would be wiped and then reprogrammed with another number for the next operation. He was cramped in the back of a van along with six others, all of them were in gear that resembled San Diego SWAT gear, but they were hardly SWAT.

Roman looked down at his watch that was nestled neatly into the fur of his wrist. It was hard to read because he was shaking. Roman steadied his wrist by holding onto it. It was still another two minutes before they moved in.

He hated the waiting. It was the waiting that tore him down, the doubts that crossed his mind. How everything could go wrong. He had done this over a dozen time, half of those with known murderers. In the thick of it, in the action, everything was clear as the rush took him and got him moving. He was a man who was best in action when he could rely on his instincts and the rest of his pack to get him through the next day. He knew he had nothing to worry about, the dossier made that clear.

Charles Holbrook. Human. Male. Age 24. Known Super. Power: Manipulation of Molecular Vibrations. Class 4 Threat, minimal. Connections: Minimal. Viable for harvest.

Charles looked at the file that was leaning up against him. There was other information on it. Everything there was worth knowing about Charles was in there and it wasn't much. To anyone else, he was just another average Joe who worked, paid taxes and went on with life. He was another face in the crowd, but not today.

The Super Registration Act was very adamant about the need for all supers to register themselves and Charles hadn't for whatever reason. Maybe he forgot or was away when the deadline passed, but it didn't matter, he was now considered an illegal and was about to face the full consequences of his actions.

There were four vans, each with seven agent, all in SWAT gear. To the local authorities, this was a minor drug bust that would be handled quickly without causing too much of a ruckus and Roman hoped that was going to be true.

Roman shifted on his seat. It was hard, made of a single piece of steel. The others were standing silently, their faces, a mix of humans and canines, covered by face masks, only showing their eyes. He stood up to join them since it was almost time.

Roman looked at his watch again, his hand a little more steady, but still shaking. Just a few more seconds as he watched the second finger get ever so closer to the 12.

--

Charlie belched after finishing the last of his soda that was ice cold along with the rest of his now toasted sandwich. It went down smoothly as he liked a bit of melted cheese off of his face.

He was sitting in his comfy recliner with his feet thrown up, his blue skate shoes dangling over the edge of the foot rest. He could fall asleep there and he almost did when the sound of screeching tires got his up.

"What the..." He groaned and set aside the paper plate and crushed can onto the floor. He stretched his arms over his head as he walked over to the window. He pushed aside the blinds and peered out, expecting to see some gangster wannabees that seemed to dominate the local schools. They loved to do donuts in random streets from time to time. Other than making a racket, they were no real trouble and the threat of calling the cops would often drive them away.

Four black vans roared from both sides of the small residential street and screeched to a halt.

Charlie blinked as the doors were thrown open and SWAT began to pour out with machine guns and a battering ram.

He wasn't sure what to make of it. There were some druggies in the area. The area that Charlie lived in wasn't the cleanest of areas, but there was never anything that required a response like this.

Charlie was about to go grab his phone that he had left in the kitchen when he noticed that they weren't going to a neighbor's house, they were charging right for his house.

The SWAT team assembled onto his lawn and one of them looked up and met eyes with Charlie. It was a Canis with a big bushy red tail that contrasted with his otherwise black attire. He pointed up at the window and then raised his gun that had a suppressor attached to it.

"Holy!" Charlie dived backwards just as several short bursts came shattering through his window right where he had just been.

They tried to kill him! When he didn't even do anything threatening. They couldn't have been cops, cops only shot when there was a danger right? Maybe they were at the wrong house, a house that was filled with dangerous gang members who murdered people. That must of been it.

There was a crash against the door in the other room. They were trying to bust down his door with that battering ram.

"Stop!" He screamed, still on the ground where he had fallen. "Stop, I surrender." He pushed himself onto his feet and ran in the opposite direction, looking for a place to hide.

Another peppering of bullets came through the thin walls of the living room. The television was instantly destroyed in a spectacular show of sparks and flames.

Charlie couldn't even hear the gunshots as he protectively sheltered his head under his arms and ran for the bedroom where he planned to go out through the window. If they didn't find him, maybe they would give up and then realize that they had the wrong house. He would get a lawyer and come back with his father, everything would be sorted out.

There was a crash behind him as the door was finally broken open. Charlie ran faster, running into his room and slamming the door behind him.

As soon as the door cracked closed, he cursed at himself, they would know exactly where he was now. He turned the small lock on the knob, hoping that it would give him a few extra seconds. He then bolted around his small twin sized bed that hadn't been made yet and went to the window.

There was a bang at the door. They were already there.

Charlie began to cry, tears welled up in fear and streaked down his face as he pulled at the window that slid up. He smiled and pushed the flimsy screen off with a pop and began to crawl through as his bedroom door flew open.

"Halt!" The first man in SWAT gear yelled out to him as he pulled up his gun to sight him in.

Charlie raised a hand out to him . "Please." He half sobbed. "You have the wrong house." He was halfway out of the window with his crotch seated on the sill.

The SWAT member didn't shoot, instead he ran up to him and grabbed him by his outstretched arm and harshly yanked him into the room. Charlie couldn't help but grab onto the man's chest for support and in his frightened state of mind...

The SWAT member screamed as he was lit on fire instantly. His body erupted into flames and he let go of Charlie to begin flailing. It had been the most extreme use of Charlie's skill yet. He had lit logs on fire before when he went camping up north, but never on anything living, he wasn't a murderer.

The screaming quickly drew the attention of the rest of the SWAT team who came barging into the room at the sight of one of their members falling to the ground unconscious.

The first one in, a Canis, though Charlie didn't bother looking at the color of his tail, was still for a moment as he processed what was happening. It was long enough for Charlie, who at this point accepted that he was beyond the point of no return, ran at him.

He was so cold. Sending so much heat energy into the one man had dropped Charlie's core temperature dangerously low and he needed a viable source of body heat to warm himself up.

The gun was half raised when Charlie grabbed the second man.

This one didn't scream as all the heat in his body was drawn out of him though his chest, into the hands of Charlie who had just killed his second person.

Charlie felt sick, morbidly sick as he knew fully well of what he just did. He let go of the man who was as stiff as a board and vomited off to the side. It was brown with chunks of bread and meat in it. Charlie vomited some more and he wiped off his face just as a single, 9mm, hollow-point round entered his right eye where it proceeded to ricochet inside his skull. He was dead before he began to fall.

---

Roman lowered his gun slowly. He looked at the three bodies. One was smoldering, almost ash. The second was an icicle statue, frozen in his state of fear with his head rolled back at the beginning of a yell, his hands holding onto his weapon, raised up either to aim for flinch. Then there was Charles Holbrook lying in his own puddle of vomit.

Three dead in what was supposed to be a simple operation to eliminate or capture an unregistered illegal. It should have been a cakewalk, but now three people were dead. What a waste.

He would, of course, report the operation as a success with some acceptable casualties as a result of an engagement with an extremely dangerous Super who fought back, brutally murdering two of San Diego's finest. The news would eat this up and Roman would keep on working his job, making sure that these monsters were put down before another Kansas City happened.

"Don't touch anything until command sends in the clean up crew." Roman turned around and walked past the rest of the squad was. They would have their chance to see what happened when Supers tried to go above the law.

He hated them to their guts, how they thought they were above everyone else with their "gifts." They weren't above anything, not anymore. They had once been called heroes, saviors who protected the innocent from the wicked. Now those heroes were criminals, beneath them in every way. He would make sure of that, he would make sure that his sister was avenged.