Rogue Superheroes
Table of Contents
Rogue Superheroes
Rogue Superheroes | by Matt Cowper
Chapter One | Nightstriker
Chapter Two | Blaze
Chapter Three | Nightstriker
Chapter Four | Nightstriker
Chapter Five | Blaze
Chapter Six | Nightstriker
Chapter Seven | Blaze
Chapter Eight | Nightstriker
Chapter Nine | Blaze
Chapter Ten | Nightstriker
Chapter Eleven | Blaze
Chapter Twelve | Nightstriker
Chapter Thirteen | Nightstriker
Chapter Fourteen | Blaze
Chapter Fifteen | Nightstriker
Chapter Sixteen | Blaze
Chapter Seventeen | Nightstriker
Chapter Eighteen | Blaze
Chapter Nineteen | Nightstriker
Chapter Twenty | Blaze
Chapter Twenty-One | Nightstriker
Chapter Twenty-Two | Blaze
Chapter Twenty-Three | Nightstriker
Chapter Twenty-Four | Blaze
Chapter Twenty-Five | Nightstriker
Chapter Twenty-Six | Blaze
Chapter Twenty-Seven | Nightstriker
Chapter Twenty-Eight | Blaze
Chapter Twenty-Nine | Blaze
Chapter Thirty | Nightstriker
Chapter Thirty-One | Blaze
Chapter Thirty-Two | Nightstriker
Chapter Thirty-Three | Blaze
Chapter Thirty-Four | Nightstriker
Chapter Thirty-Five | Nightstriker
Chapter Thirty-Six | Blaze
A Brief Introduction
This novel takes place in the Z Universe, the shared universe for my superhero fiction. The Z refers to Z City, the most important metropolis in the stories.
(Plus, Z is a cool, easy-to-remember letter, ain't it?)
Much like the Marvel and DC comic book universes, characters, themes, and locations overlap between my various series.
While it's not necessary to read every one of my novels to understand what's going on (though I sure wish you would devour every word I write!), reading all of them will give you a deeper understanding of the universe, with its amazing characters, powerful factions, and epic confrontations.
For more information about the Z Universe, visit my website: mattcowper.com
Title Page
Rogue Superheroes
by Matt Cowper
Copyright © 2019 Matt Cowper.
All rights reserved.
Dedication
This novel is dedicated to the late, great Stan Lee. Excelsior!
Chapter One
Nightstriker
“I can't do it, Nightstriker!” Anna wailed.
“You can, Anna,” Nightstriker replied. “You're just letting your mind get in the way. Stop worrying about the specifics of the transformation, and––”
“My mind is fine! Or it was, until you started yelling at me!”
“I'm not yelling, I'm––”
Nightstriker stopped and rubbed his eyes. Anna was right: he was being too hard on her. She hadn't been slacking off; she'd been concentrating intensely, trying to transmute back into her human form.
But that was the problem: too much concentration, too much worry, and her mind would block her from transforming.
Nightstriker had no superpowers himself, but he'd trained and studied enough superhumans to know how nearly every possible power set worked.
Therefore, he knew Anna shouldn't have been having this much difficulty. Changing from her smoke form to her human form should've been equivalent to commanding her body to lift a heavy weight; it wasn't as easy as, say, walking, but neither did it require a massive mental exertion.
The brown smoke swirled in front of him, its tendrils lashing out like ghostly claws. Nightstriker knew Anna was angry; interacting with her these past few weeks had enabled him to study her smoke form. He could now read her mood as easily as if he was reading a normal human's facial expression.
Anna was potentially a Class S – the highest level of the superhuman classification system. Right now, she existed as a bank of smoke, about the size of a king-sized mattress. Already a useful ability: someone who could transform into something that was basically intangible could infiltrate nearly every facility on the planet, could follow someone easily, could escape from danger simply by drifting up into the air or seeping into the sewers.
But Anna's powers didn't stop there. She should've been able to alter her smoke form at will, to make herself a deadly gas or a harmless cloud, and she should've been able to expand her form to a massive size.
Anna, however, couldn't do any of this yet. She couldn't even turn back into her human form – something which understandably vexed her greatly.
“I'm sorry, Anna,” Nightstriker said. A few weeks ago, delivering a calm apology like this would've been out of the question. “Let's take a break. We're both getting testy.”
“No, I want to keep going,” Anna said. “I need to keep going. I need to get back to normal, and I need you to tell me how to do it!”
She drifted around the training room they were using. This room was one of the most advanced rooms on Earth: it had hard-light tech that could create enormous and perfectly realistic locales, from jungles to deserts to mountains.
The Elites could thus train in a variety of biomes, against a variety of enemies. The room would “expand” or “contract” based on innumerable criteria, and the lethality could be adjusted so that any fights that occurred within these walls were deadly serious.
Now, though, no special protocols were enacted. They were alone, within a room of sleek metal walls. Anna hadn't wanted onlookers – either real or created – nor had she wanted to train in some exotic location.
“I understand how much this means to you––”
“No, you don't!” Anna snapped. “You're you – normal flesh and blood! Look at me! I look like I should be hovering over a bonfire or a grill! I want to feel something – with fingers, I mean. I want to touch someone....”
The smoke twisted like a draft had whipped through it. They still hadn't figured out how exactly she could speak in her smoke form – and if she could speak, why couldn't she turn back human? It was inexplicable – and Nightstriker hated things that didn't make sense.
“Don't be embarrassed, Anna,” Nightstriker said. “It's understandable to long for human contact, for intimacy.”
“Yeah, well....”
“We need a break. The team meeting is in a few minutes anyway. We can start again just after that's over, if you wish.”
“But––”
“Anna. Stop. You know you won't be able to transform now, as worked up as you are.”
Slowly, the smoke drifted over to Nightstriker and formed a roughly human figure next to him. While Anna still hadn't unlocked her full potential, she was getting better at manipulating her smoke into various shapes. The figure next to him now looked spectral, but if you were glancing out of the corner of your eye, you might mistake it for a regular female form.
“You're right,” Anna said. “I do need to cool down.”
“Again, I know you're impatient, but I promised you I'd help you control your powers. I'll do whatever it takes, for as long as it takes. If these coaching sessions don't work, we'll try other methods.”
“Thank you, Nightstriker.” She put a smoky hand on his shoulder. “I know I say it often, but I really do mean it.”
“I know you do, and I'm glad to help. We all owe you, after the way you took out the Giftgiver and his followers. If you hadn't shown up when you did, that girl would've activated her nuclear-grade powers and obliterated Z City.”
“Y
eah, that was...I'm glad I....”
“What's wrong?”
“What you said just now – it made me think about the Giftgiver,” Anna said. “He gave me my powers, right? But he didn't know how exactly his own powers worked. Maybe I can't turn back into a person. Maybe this is how I'll be – forever.”
Nightstriker had considered this possibility, but he hadn't discussed it with Anna. That would just worry her even more. But she'd come up with it on her own, and was now probably more worried than if he'd told her himself.
The Giftgiver, the dangerous so-called reformer they'd recently defeated, could give anyone powers simply by touching them. However, the powers he bestowed were random, based on the other person's thoughts at the time.
Anna had a psychopathic ancestor named Miasma – or so her family had always told her – who had smoke-transformation abilities similar to the powers Anna had now. Miasma was an unapologetic white supremacist who existed centuries ago. He'd killed hundreds, perhaps thousands, of “subhumans” before he was defeated.
When the Giftgiver touched her, Miasma's foul legacy was at the forefront of her mind – and so she got a version of his powers.
A cruel irony, because Anna was kind and idealistic, totally unlike her racist forebear. Having the same powers as Miasma bothered her almost to the point of depression.
If she ever did return to human form, Nightstriker thought it highly possible she'd stay that way, never again accessing her potentially Class S smoke form.
As a dedicated superhero, that bothered him. Properly trained and motivated, Anna could do a great deal of good. It would be a shame to waste her potential because of the misdeeds of someone long dead.
But it wasn't his choice. He'd promised Anna he'd help her, and he would. Whatever she decided to do, he'd support her – so long as it was legal and ethical, of course.
The old Nightstriker might have tried to manipulate Anna into becoming a superhero – but the present-day Nightstriker liked to think he'd evolved beyond that.
Then again, this upcoming meeting would be a test....
“Nightstriker?” Anna asked, her smoky head tilting. “You OK?”
“Yes, I am. I was just...thinking.” He cleared his throat. “So – you were saying you may not be able to return to human form. I admit that's not impossible. But, I'd say it was improbable.”
“Why?”
“Because we've tried to catalog all the superhumans who received their powers from the Giftgiver. Some are still in hiding, so the data is incomplete. But out of the dozens of people in our database, no one has a shifting ability they can't control.”
“Well...that's good, I guess. But suppose I'm an anomaly?”
“Anna, please.” He tried to smile as confidently as he could. “The Giftgiver bestowed many strange powers on his followers, but none of them were given a 'bad' power. That is, a power that causes them extreme stress and pain.”
“I see.” A long silence. The smoke wavered. “So it's just me, isn't it? I'm blocking myself, like you've said the whole time.”
“That's the most likely scenario, yes. But enough talk for now. We were supposed to take a break, remember? The meeting is also fast approaching.”
“Yes, this big meeting of yours,” Anna said. “What's this about, anyway? There some new baddie we have to take down? You got a new training schedule for us?”
“No, I just need to...discuss some important issues with you all.”
Anna's “right hand” swirled until the smoke formed a distinctive question mark.
“You'll see at the meeting,” Nightstriker said. “Now, if you'll excuse me – I need to head to my quarters to...prepare some material.”
He hastily left the young superhuman. She would surely be confused by his uncharacteristic nervousness, but there was nothing to be done about it. An explanation now would only complicate things.
His teammates would learn soon enough why he was ashamed and evasive.
*****
Nightstriker's quarters matched the man's personality: spartan and clean, with a few dense tomes sitting on his nightstand and a dozen of his black spandex costumes hanging in the closet. His boots were shined, and his various gadgets were arranged on racks and hooks hanging from the wall.
The superhero sat on his bed and stared straight ahead, as if the empty wall held sacred mysteries.
Staring at the wall like some out-of-his-head junkie? Anna or his teammates would be even more confused if they saw him now....
He'd lied to Anna. He hadn't needed to prepare any materials for the upcoming meeting.
He did, however, need to prepare himself.
The current political situation was his fault. If he hadn't taken it upon himself to be a self-righteous crusader....
His hand moved towards the TV remote. Almost before he knew it, he'd turned on his small flatscreen and flicked the channel to one of those talking head political shows.
As expected, they were talking about Thomas Lancaster, the new President of the United States.
“...still bothers me that Lancaster is acting like he just won the election in a massive landslide,” an earnest young woman said. “He only became President because President Gordon resigned amidst these allegations that are––”
“President Lancaster did, technically, win a mandate in the last election,” a prissy man interrupted. “He was Gordon's running mate, remember? He was the Vice President? People are acting like they've forgotten how the succession process works.”
“If you'd let me finish,” the woman complained. “Yes, Lancaster is now President. No one is arguing with the legality of that. But he's come in and acted like a complete dictator! This is a sensitive moment. We've learned just how corrupt our political class is these last few weeks. We need our President to restore our faith in American democracy. Instead, he's enacted a scorched earth policy, accusing reporters of treason, his political opponents of criminality, and has even called the American people – and I quote – 'idiots obsessed with their smartphones.'”
“Regarding that last bit, do you deny people have an unhealthy preoccupation with their electronic devices?” the prissy man said. “I mean, people are even reading books on these ereader contraptions nowadays! But I digress – yes, President Lancaster has taken a tough stand against certain elements within our society, but he has to! Our country is unraveling! All these allegations, all these stolen documents that are being handed over to hacks in the press...no one trusts anyone anymore!”
He pointed a chubby finger at the camera. “Mark my words, whoever is behind this massive assault on our cherished institutions will pay dearly....”
Nightstriker turned off the television.
Then, with a growl, he crushed the remote control in his hand.
Bits of plastic and wire tinkled to the floor. He stared at the ruined device for a second, then tossed it into the trash bin.
Crushing the remote had cut his hand slightly. He dabbed the blood off with a paper towel and then marched out of the room.
He wondered how his teammates would react when he told them what he'd done.
He imagined it would be like that talking head political show, except with the volume three times as loud.
Chapter Two
Blaze
“Keep it coming, babe!” Metal Gal – or, as he was more frequently calling her, Siobhan – said, giving him a wink.
Sam smiled back, and kept shooting a stream of flame into the circular hole.
This brought to mind obvious sexual imagery, and they'd already joked about him using his fire powers to “fill her up” – “her” being Metal Gal's new power core.
Gal had named it the Zeta Core, and though Sam didn't understand one-tenth of his girlfriend's excited babbling, he knew the core was revolutionary. It could store something like the equivalent of one-millionth of the sun's energy – or was it one-billionth? It was hard to remember.
Which was why Sam had been shooting his flames into th
e core for ten minutes. As a superhuman who could generate and control fire, he was a walking energy source.
But still, while Sam didn't mind helping his girlfriend on her wild engineering projects, standing there holding out his arm for ten minutes got boring. He hoped Metal Gal would at least give him a break soon.
A break came, but not because Metal Gal stopped the energy-absorption process. A flashing red image appeared on the massive screen that was monitoring the core's functions. From experience, Sam knew that this was some sort of error message. Before Metal Gal could shout at him to stop, he'd tapered down his fire blast, and then shut it off completely.
The Zeta Core glowed softly and let off a soft hum, but it didn't look like it was going to blow up. Sam scrutinized it for a few seconds, then turned to Metal Gal.
“What's wrong?” he asked.
“Hmm,” Metal Gal said, pulling at her bottom lip. “It says there's a leak around section A29.”
“Uh...a leak? Is that bad?”
“Nope!” Metal Gal grinned and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Just needs a tiny patch, and we'll be good to go!”
“A patch?” Sam said. “Siobhan, this isn't a canoe that has a hole in its side. It's a––”
“I know what it is, babe. Just trust me, OK? Besides, if the Zeta Core blows, you can reabsorb all the energy, right?”
“That hasn't been fully tested––”
Metal Gal rolled her eyes. “Stop being such a worrywart. Nightstriker said your energy absorption abilities coincide with your fire-generating abilities, right?”
“No, he said my fire absorption abilities coincide with my fire generating abilities,” Sam said. “Fire and energy aren't exactly the same thing, you know.”
“Eh. Close enough.”
Metal Gal walked over to where the Zeta Core sat on a reinforced metal table. The core was roughly the size and shape of a car tire, and had a fist-sized hole in its center. The hole is what Sam had been blasting; it had an ultimatium cover that was put on when the energy transfer process was complete.