I woke with a start, shaking the nightmares out of my eyes. My chest and stomach curled as I bent over my legs. I panted and tried not to let out an exacerbated scream. I was growing tired of the dreams. I was growing tired of everything.
I checked my cell and saw multiple missed calls from Raymond. He had begun calling at six in the morning and had not stopped until now, nine. I returned the calls, listening to the dial tone alongside a loud buzzing in my ears. He answered with a rude and sarcastic tone.
“I’ve grown too impatient to tell you this over the phone, how difficult would it be for you to come down here?” He blurted before even saying hello.
“Good morning to you too,” My voice was scraggly and deeper than usual.
“James, this is serious. It’s about your powers, the blood sample came back,”
I widened my eyes and jumped to the closet, grabbing a clean pair of blue jeans.
“What did it say?” I asked whilst jumping into my pants.
“Get over here and find out,” He hung up. I pulled the edges of the pants to my waist and then grabbed a t-shirt from a hanger. The plastic hanger teetered then fell to the floor, making a loud thwoom as it hit. I left it and pulled the shirt over my shoulders. I grabbed the hoodie I usually wore, then ran out into the living room.
Ben sat on the sofa bent over tying his boots. I rushed in and made my way to the pantry for some toast. I grabbed the loaf of bread quickly and popped two slices into the toaster. Ben turned and raised an eyebrow at me.
“Going somewhere so quick?”
“Friend’s, we’ve been trying to beat a video game and he thinks he finally found a way,” I lied. I had thought of that answer last night, trying to think of ways to hide what I was doing from Ben. He smiled and nodded.
“That’s probably what I would be doing if I had school off for a week,” Ben chided. “Take it easy,”
“I will,” I said as I pulled the toast from the receptacle, lathered peanut butter on top, and raced to the door.
“I mean it,” He called as I gave him a wave goodbye and chomped on my toast.
I arrived at Ray’s house. Before I could knock, he opened the door and rushed back inside. I walked in and shut the door behind me.
“What’s the news?” I asked. “How do my powers work,”
He paced with his hands in front of him, one at his chin and the other waving around as he thought. He glanced at me and scrunched his forehead.
“Oh, right,” Raymond shook his head. “Your blood from the other day had large traces of adrenaline in it,”
“Well I was in a fight,” I offered. Raymond shook his head.
“Have you heard of people having bursts of adrenaline when someone they love is in trouble? A mother lifting a car for their child, a father breaking down a door in a house fire,”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Situations where they weren’t able to feel the pain their muscles were going through,” Raymond explained. “Something that you also experience,”
I nodded my head slowly and began putting the pieces together. What Raymond was saying was I could control the amount of adrenaline that went through my body. Every single time that I had thought my pain away, I was really just shooting adrenaline through my body.
“So that’s how I can do everything,” I said. “I’m hopped up on adrenaline all the time,”
“No doubt,” Raymond admitted, still pacing back and forth. I studied him for a second, then decided that my powers weren’t the only thing on his mind.
“What else?” I asked earnestly.
Raymond looked at me and smirked slightly.
“I have arranged a meeting with Homer Oswald,”
“I’m listening,” I replied, a devilish grin on my face.
“You are going to head to Oswald Industries, talk to Homer about the Darkest. I made up some sob story that you were saved by the vigilante and wanted to ask a few questions on his opinion of the Darkest,”
“How did you manage this meeting?” I said. “The guy is a billionaire,”
“Apparently he has a lot of time on his hands,” Ray joked. “Now go, what you have on is fine, you are just a normal eighteen year old boy,”
“I’m fifteen,”
“Just deepen your voice, you’re tall enough,” Ray argued. “Go,”
I left through the front door, heading towards downtown Lyndontown. I watched my breath materialize into fog as I made my way into the city. The place was bustling with life today, I suppose people were tired of sitting inside waiting for the cold to go away. Cars roared past me and trailed exhaust behind them. People walked up and down the sidewalks. I weaved in and out of others walking and eventually made it to one of the tallest buildings in the city. Oswald Industries.
The building was a pentagonal shape, and stood at least a hundred stories tall. The glass walls reflected the grey sky. A large Times New Roman O was hung from the top of the building, and extended at least ten floors. I walked towards the doors and fingered at my earpiece.
“Who am I?” I asked Raymond quizzically.
“Crawley Porter,” Raymond suggested. “You are a journalist in training,”
“What the hell?” I joked.
“Gotta have a reason to meet with the most powerful man in Lyndontown,”
I shook my head and went inside. The lady at the front desk greeted me with a forced smile and extremely white teeth. Her eyes seemed to judge me instantly, probably just the clothes I was wearing. She called me basic with her body language, then spoke.
“How can I help you?” She asked.
“I have an appointment with Homer Oswald,” I said, trying to sound as peppy as possible.
“Ah, Mr. Porter,” She looked me up and down. “Here is your temporary keycard, top floor,”
“Thanks,” I nodded and accepted the plastic rectangle. I walked over to the elevator and entered. I inserted the keycard and pressed the highest number I could find on the panel. The thing shot up faster than any elevator I had ever been in, and smoother than the one in my apartment building.
Once I had reached the top, after stopping a few times and freaking out a few guys in suits, I walked forward into a wonderful corner office. The glass walls showed a few people hard at work to my right, a receptionist in front of me, and a large one person office to my left. I approached the receptionist, but she was engulfed in whatever she was working on. She pointed to the door and peered at me for a second.
“He is ready for you,” She smiled briefly, then went stone faced and continued working. I shook my head and proceeded through the swinging glass door and into Homer's office.
I took a look around and noticed the fine details of the room. The windows all gave a fine view of the city, showing the industrial district far across the tops of the shorter less extravagant buildings. A table on the right side of the room had bottles of vintage alcohol on it, I could smell all of it from where I stood and didn’t appreciate the mixture of his pallet. I shook the scent away and peered around the rest of the place. On the left side of the room was a chair that one might see in a therapist’s office. I would know, I’ve been to one. It looked soft, and the cushions were used well. Homer’s behind was printed into one of them. Finally, in the center of the room was Homer. He sat behind a grand wooden desk, a laptop and monitor on my left, a desk-mat in the center, and pencils and other writing utensils next to a neat stack of papers on the right. I approached and took notice of a small wooden chair with measly cushions facing his desk. I sat in it and smiled at Homer. I tried not to look pissed, but I could tell he didn’t care.
He smiled at me, a two-faced expression. His brown hair was swept back with peppers of grey flecked across it like paint splatters. His eyes were brown as well, and had a wild look to them. He seemed like he was always staring intensely at what he was paying attention to, which unnerved me. He wore a slate suit and a white dress shirt.
“Hartley,” He mused. “I heard you wanted to do a piece on the Darkest,”
“I did,” I said. “About all he has done for the city,”
Oswald’s smile diminished a little, but he chuckled and nodded.
“You mean spread terror in the hearts of innocent people?” He argued.
“I think you pronounced the word criminal wrong,” I fought back.
“How do you know so much about the Darkest?” He asked. “What makes you an expert on this?”
“I’ve done my research,” I smiled, trying to stay calm, already feeling the shaking of my hands.
“Then you know what happened at the jewelry store near the Slabs?”
“You mean the robbery he stopped,”
“The media of this city are spoon feeding you lies, Mr. Porter,” He explained. “I have it under good authority that this vigilante is a fraud, a sham. He sets up all of these crimes and portrays himself as a hero,”
“Where did you find this information,” I replied.
“I have not the authority to say, but a known enemy of his has been in contact with us frequently, what with the reward for the villain’s capture,”
Polarity was working with this guy. I clenched my fists and he looked down at them. His smile was gone.
“Where are you going to school for journalism, Hartley?” He asked, switching his gaze back at my face.
I released my fists and my heart began clambering in my chest.
“Here at Lyndontown University of the Arts,” I lied.
Homer nodded slowly and then looked behind me, his eyes widening more. Someone behind me cleared their throat and I twisted around.
A man stood there, black hair and a fine dark stubble. His eyes were brown, and he wore a leather jacket, black shirt, and black jeans. His eyes seemed tired, but his expression showed more anger than I’d ever seen.
“Hey, Homer,” His voice was deep and serious.
“T-,” He glanced at me and then back at the stranger. “I didn’t see you on my schedule,”
“I thought I would come by anyways,” The leather-clad man said.
“Hartley, would you mind leaving the room for just a minute, I need to have a word with my friend here.
My mouth didn’t open. I looked the man in the room up and down and stood. I walked past him and out the door as he turned his head back to me. His face muscles contorted into a look of confusion, which passed as the door closed. I stopped into a chair in the hallway and listened through the solid glass. The conversation between the two was already heated.
“You think you can just enter my office, my office unannounced?” Homer yelled.
“We need to talk,” The stranger said calmly. “Who’s the kid?”
“Some undergrad student who doesn’t know how the world works,”
At that particular moment, I would’ve loved to show Oswald how the world works.
“What do you want anyways,” Oswald complained.
“You think that giving me positive media coverage is going to fix this problem?” He asked, now angry himself.
“I thought this is what you wanted, to be revered as a god to the good people of this city,”
“I wanted your boss to know that,” The man argued. “I don’t care how the public sees me,”
“We had an agreement,” Homer snapped. “I think it's best we stick to that,”
“You haven’t given me a viable location of Anto-”
“Don’t say his name,” Homer blurted.
I realized there was only one person that the stranger could be. Tom Morrison, Polarity himself. I clenched my fists again, my nails digging into the skin.
“I need a location that will actually help me find him,” Tom said.
“He doesn’t stay in one place too long, he is a busy man,”
“Where does he sleep?” Tom asked. “I’ll kill him there,”
“I don’t know that, you know I don’t,”
“Then we are gonna have some problems Homer,”
Homer reached under his desk and pressed a button. I could hear the patter of footsteps from the room full of workers. Four large security guards marched into the office of Homer Oswald.
“You don’t want to do this,” Tom sneered as two of the guards took him by the arms.
“Take him downstairs, and bring the kid. He knows more than he lets on,”
I panicked and reached into my pocket, pulling out the keycard. I slipped it into my sock and under my foot. The plastic felt cold on my skin.
The guards grabbed at my arms and I struggled as they wrenched me from the chairs. I tried not to struggle too much, so I wouldn’t give away my identity. I had a feeling Homer was powerful enough to find out who I really was. They dragged me into the elevator, and turned a key on the controllers before pressing a button that was labeled B for “Basement”
“You grab his phone?” The guard that was holding Tom asked.
“Won’t need to, they got no signal down here,”
“If I hear about it from the boss later it’s on you,” He shook his head.
The men were silent the rest of the way down. Once the elevator dinged, the doors opened to a dungeon of concrete and pipes. The place had a huge cell for prisoners at the far end of it, making me question the legitimacy of Oswald Industries.
The beefcakes threw us into the cell and locked the door behind us. I ran back towards the bars and gripped them. My muscles tensed, but even with all the adrenaline I could produce they remained stationary. I turned around to face Tom, who was sitting on the floor with a defeated look on his face.
