“I haven’t forgotten,” the guy with the tablet grumbled, making me raise an eyebrow. Apparently these guys – at least the one in front of me – actually had been on duty when I’d come through here before. (And he seemed to have an excellent memory.)
“He’s clear,” the fellow with the tablet said to his partner, not even bothering to check the VIP list that I knew was on his computer. He then turned to me. “I assume I don’t need to call a ride for you.”
“Ah, no,” I mumbled, thinking that this entire interaction seemed somewhat surreal. “I’m good.”
The two guards returned to the shack without another word. I watched them for a moment, then teleported.
*****
I had to pass two more similar checkpoints in the same fashion. In each instance, I appeared far enough away to give the guards on duty enough time to react to my presence. Oddly enough, on each occasion, I picked up on almost the exact same emotional sentiment as I had at the first shack: heightened suspicion accompanied by frank bewilderment. It was almost as if they weren’t expecting me, even though the exact opposite should have been true. Being on the VIP list in question meant that there had been confirmation that I would be present.
Despite being curious about the situation, I put all thoughts about the guards aside after passing the last checkpoint and focused on my ultimate destination: a fenced-in compound consisting of numerous interconnected, windowless buildings, all of which appeared to have armed security personnel stationed on the rooftops. In addition, there were a few guard towers placed strategically around the premises, and the top of the fence was covered with razor wire.
Frankly speaking, the place gave off a distinct “prison” vibe, which is exactly what it was. However, it wasn’t the kind of penal institution that you’d find on any map or falling under the jurisdiction of the Federal Bureau of Prisons. This was a black site – a place that didn’t officially exist – and the people kept here weren’t your run-of-the-mill criminals. They were supers, which meant that the normal rules of confinement went out the window.
Knowing where I was supposed to go, I headed to the side of a nearby building. When I was within a few feet of it, a seam appeared in the featureless expanse of wall. The seam grew in length, outlining the shape of a rectangle before swinging outward, revealing a doorway. I went inside and found myself in a long, narrow corridor.
On previous occasions, there had been an escort waiting for me just inside the entrance. This time there was no one, but I knew the drill well enough. As the door swung shut behind me, I began walking down the hallway, noting that it was warm enough inside for me to lower my body temperature.
Other than lights in the ceiling, the passageway appeared to be empty. However, I knew with certainty that there were hidden cameras watching my every move, as well as weapons packing significant firepower surreptitiously tucked away behind the walls.
As I drew close, a door at the end of the corridor opened, revealing what appeared to be a small lounge. It contained a sofa, a couple of easy chairs, a coffee table, and a flat-screen television attached to a wall. Sitting in one of the chairs, watching television, was the person I’d come here to see.
My brother, Paramount.
Chapter 12
Technically, he was my half-brother, by virtue of us having the same father. Roughly two years older than me, Paramount had practically grown up in the limelight as the son of the world’s greatest superhero. Moreover, he had spent most of his life being universally hailed as the brightest star in the next generation of superheroes, and with good reason. Not only had he inherited our father’s movie-star looks and Greek-god physique, but also an impressive power set that included super strength, nigh-invulnerability, and an incredibly destructive ability known as the Bolt Blast.
Until very recently, Paramount had been completely unaware of our relationship. I had never sought him out, and no one – not even his father – had ever told him I even existed. To be honest, however, only a handful of people on the planet actually knew of my parentage. (Kid Sensation might be world-famous, but his pedigree was mostly a mystery, and that’s the way I liked it.)
Even if he had known who I was, I don’t think Paramount and I would have been fast friends growing up. My half-brother had been a brat and a bully, and on those few occasions when our paths had crossed, neither of us had gotten the warm fuzzy. Needless to say, our relationship hadn’t improved by him going completely off the rails the previous year, including putting together a Gestapo of sinister teen supers, blowing up Alpha League HQ, and killing a bunch of people. (He had even tried to kill our father.)
Since then, he’d spent most of his time locked up in some place off the grid. I hadn’t initially known or cared where he was, as long as they kept a nullifier around him (to strip away his powers) and threw away the key. However, an odd event had resulted in us reconnecting: Paramount lost his mind. Literally.
Basically, an explosion had occurred while he was in a nullifier, and as a result, the bulk of my half-brother’s skull (and brain matter) had been blasted away. However, once out of the nullifier, his body began to heal – even going so far as to regrow his missing brain tissue. But the new Paramount seemed to be a different person; all vestiges of his old persona were gone, including his memories. He was now kind, thoughtful, and considerate – unquestionably an upgrade over the jerk he’d been before. More to the point, when recruited to help foil an alien plot that would have killed billions, Paramount 2.0 had not only saved the lives of Smokey and Electra, he had
