James Knight: Teenage Superhuman - Book Two

Thirty-Five

"What's with the sweats?" Andrew asked, leaning out of the window.

"It allows for easier movement," I explained, sliding them on and stepping out of the car.

I adjusted my thick boots, and black matte super-suit with a breathable hoodie. A silver accent adorned my chest, providing additional protection. I secured my black mask, leaving only my eyes visible, and tested the built-in microphone.

"Testing." I tapped the headset, uncertain of its functionality.

"We can hear you," Noah reassured. Henry gave me a thumbs-up before driving away, leaving us under the swaying palm trees of California's morning air. In Los Angeles, California, I finally embraced my role as a city superhero, independent of my family's legacy. It felt empowering to reclaim the title of Alpha.

Hours later, it became apparent that Noah, Mark, Bryce, and I had underestimated the challenge ahead. Mark positioned himself in a dark corner, ready to strike, while I confronted a group of armed thugs.

"Hey, Alpha, you okay?" Henry's voice crackled through my headset. Dexter, Henry, Sam, and my dad were on patrol duty, but they checked in periodically since it was our first day.

"I've got this," I replied, following Mark's sign of a sniper to my right, aimed at my chest.

"All bark, no bite," Noah said via the headset. I glanced at Mark, who and Bryce were laughing like a pair of fools. Even in a tense situation, Noah's sarcasm never amazes me. I rolled my eyes, focusing on taking down another thug with my fist.

Mark leaped from a warehouse shelf, gracefully descending to the ground. "Ouch," his voice crackled into the headset as he punched another assailant's face. "How are we supposed to defeat these guys?"

"Spell 'socks,'" Noah instructed through the headset.

"Why?" I asked, knocking another opponent off balance and sending him crashing onto the cold concrete.

"Just do it," Noah insisted.

"S-O-C-K-S?" I muttered aloud, spinning around as I heard a gun click. Derek, Mark, Bryce, and Noah burst into laughter, and I rolled my eyes.

"It is what it is, mate," Noah chuckled. My attention shifted to a lone thug trembling in a corner, holding a gun. I extended my hands, releasing a fireball that collided with the man's chest. Flames erupted from his shirt as he dropped the weapon, writhing on the floor.

"Am I supposed to understand what that meant?" I growled.

"Thankfully, they're not triplets," my father's voice sarcastically remarked through the earpiece. Samual agreed with a scoff.

"Max is our twin... sort of," Noah said, joining me in the center of the warehouse. Bryce followed suit, wrapping his arms around Mark.

"Makes sense." Mark quipped, raising an eyebrow at Bryce.

Derek rushed over, almost crashing into a stack of pallets before steadying himself. "Are you guys ready to go? I think we've taken care of everyone," Derek reported.

"Yeah, mate," Noah affirmed. Derek pulled a rifle from the floor and effortlessly tore it in half. He then opened the chamber at the back of the gun, allowing the bullets to fall into his hand, which he stashed in his super-suit pocket.

We ventured away from the center of the warehouse and found the man I had set on fire sitting in a puddle, his flesh marked by severe burns. He trembled in fear upon seeing us.

"Should we help him?" Mark asked, observing the terrified man.

"I'll check on him," I offered, walking over and kneeling beside him, my boots clicking against the pavement.

"Help! HELP!" he cried out. He was just a boy, no older than me, barely fifteen. He screamed and wriggled as I gently touched his arm, which was covered in smoldering burns.

"It's okay. We're here to help," I reassured the boy. "Who do you work for?"

"AYUDA!" he screamed, his panicked voice filling the air. Noah, Mark, and Bryce stood behind me, watching the frightened boy. I applied pressure to his wound, causing him to flinch. "AYUDA!" he screamed again.

"Para quién trabajas," Noah asked the boy in Spanish, kneeling next to the boy.

"El señor de los tigres tiene un hijo peor que su padre," he said. "El hace cosas horribles. Él nos hizo hacer esto."

"What is he saying?" Mark asked, staring at the boy in front of us in shock.

"The Lord of the Tigers has a son, and according to this boy, he's worse than his father," I translated. The boy struggled to breathe, his fear evident in his eyes.

"Si," the boy said. "Está buscando a los superhumans que asesinaron a su padre. Trabaja con un hombre llamado Alexander y busca venganza. Todos ustedes están en Peligro."

"Son of a bloody bitch," Noah cursed. The boy panicked, gasping for breath one final time before slumping to the floor. "He's working with Alexander, and he's coming after us. We're in trouble," Noah declared, gazing at the unconscious boy. I quickly lifted him, carrying him over my shoulder, and then my teammates stared at me.

"We have to help him," I insisted. They all averted their eyes, silently acknowledging their disapproval.

"Once a hero, always a bloody hero," Noah remarked, patting my biceps. "Let's get him to safety." Together, we hurried out of the warehouse, ensuring the boy's well-being before concluding our activities for the night.