Hero Stalker

Part Twenty-Nine

Changing into costume in the back seat of a jet was easier than it looked. The seatbelts retracted back into the chairs, so I didn't have to worry about getting my arms and legs tangled, and the glass dome over the top created a nice patch of headroom. In under a minute, I had my costume on. Amanda waited until we landed to change. As the elevator catapulted us up towards the top floor, a single desperate hope caught in my chest. I don't want to lose this. I want to be part of this.

"There's the record breaker!" Slasher crowed as I stepped off the elevator. He sat at the table, carving a naked woman from a block of wood. "Check out the Wall of Fame!"

He pointed at the wall of memorabilia. Someone had written $1,500,000 on the glass right in front of a bottle of shifting red goo. My stomach dropped. "Is that . . ."

"Grocery bill! A million and a half dollars in damage for five minutes of combat. That's a new house every minute."

Oh, God. I pressed my hands over my mouth. So much money!

"In the grand scheme of things, it's not that expensive!" Cypher shouted from his computer chair. With his cape spread out over the back of his chair, he resembled a giant yellow bat. My legs took over. A heartbeat later, I spun around his swivel chair and glared at him.

"That's more money than I'll ever make in my life!"

He rolled his dark blue eyes. "Really? Maybe you should switch careers. Look, Shadowcat, if you play bumper cars with meticulously restored antiques, you're going to rack up the bills."

"I . . .I . . ." I sunk to my knees. "Oh, my God. My life is over."

Wind whistled behind me. Slasher slapped me on the back. "The city insurance covers the bills, sweetheart. Relax."

My breath caught in my throat. I stood, trembling a little. "That wasn't nice."

"If you want to hang out with the nice guys, find yourself some Mormon missionaries. If you want to be a Centurion, shut up and listen." He bent over the long shelf stretching around Cypher's tower of equipment. "Show her your schematics."

"Gladly." Cypher's fingers flew across the pitch-black keyboard. It was backlit in yellow. Centurions took their color palettes seriously.

One of his screens extended itself on a robotic arm. A yellow-on-black line drawing of the machine we'd recovered from Harpy flashed across it. "See the bottom section?" Cypher said. The drawing zoomed in. "Modified car engine. It spins the nozzle on top, spraying out the chemicals—"

"What kind of chemicals?" Slasher asked. "What's capable of melting people that's also capable of getting my DNA into her?"

"I'm not a biologist. Maybe the chemical machine requires psi-positive DNA to function. God knows your DNA is easy to get hold of. Half the criminals in Bayton know your secret identity."

"Really?" I shot a worried look in Slasher's direction. He appeared unfazed.

"What I'm worried about is that plutonium-shielded core," said Cypher. "The one Harpy used in his first machine was fairly low quality. If he plans on replicating this design, he must have another source of nuclear materials. Cores aren't easy to find."

"Have you asked Peregrine to help?" I suggested. "Doesn't she know biology?" Did everyone know her secret identity, or only me?

"If I ask Peregrine for help, she'll take over the whole operation."

I glared at him. "She's a good Centurion with years of experience. Does it really matter who gets the credit?" According to The Worldley Fewe, Cypher had never captured a supervillain single-handedly, though he'd been credited in dozens. Some posters argued that made him one of the Bayton team's weakest members, a notion I thoroughly disagreed with. The Centurions were supposed to work together.

Come to think of it, Cypher and Peregrine had never gotten credit for the same capture once.

"It's not about credit." Cypher folded his arms over his chest. Lines of code typed themselves out on another screen. Did he even need that keyboard? "She'll get on my case and insist on doing everything her way. We'll waste more time than we save." The schematic of Harpy's weapon morphed into a taller, sleeker version of the machine. "This models what he could make with the stolen engine. It'll have enough power to spray the liquefying chemicals in a thousand-foot radius."

"So this is what you do in your spare time?" I asked "Design better versions of superweapons?"

"Worse," Cypher said. "I have fun."

"Be glad he spends so much time at his desk, Shadowcat," Slasher said. "He's a great fighter. I'd pick him as our new combat operative over you any day. Pity he's not classed for it." He slapped me on the back. It hurt. "Time you got out in the field."

He turned and sprinted over to the elevator. A second later, I stood next to him. "Can't wait," I said, strapping on the same fake smile I used when the older ladies at church asked if there was a man in my life. "We taking your jet? I don't think you bought new boats since taking down Cracken, and the pneumatic tubes must be flooded, since you blew them up while fighting Youngblood." I watched his eyes, looking for a spark of surprise. Yeah, I know this stuff.

"Damn jet's too flashy." Slasher shook his head. "We're running."

wmu