Chapter 9

HOME SWEET WORKSHOP

Alexander woke to the slight jolt of the hovercar touching down. The machine’s gentle hum faded into silence.

His neck ached. A fresh pain, late to the pity party. So did his shoulder, his ankle. Really, his whole body. The last couple of hours, going from chaos with a side of near-death, to Annie’s driving, and finally leaving wilderness for long, uninterrupted stretches of highway, had given him a chance to get some rest.

Not good rest, given the back seat was just as cramped as his old slab.

Ah, already feeling nostalgic about my captivity.

“We’re here!” Annie chirped, seeming proud of herself.

They were parked in an alleyway between two roads still buzzing with activity. Given the time of night, people were likely heading home.

“So…” Annie drawled, glancing at him in the mirror. “This is just ‘round the block from the address you gave me…” She almost seemed reluctant.

They had been through a lot, despite their short time together. He’d seen flickers of emotion in her eyes while they traded prison stories. He’d been trying very hard not to think about the bodies they left behind, himself. The rational part of his mind kept arguing they had been the ones to attack, that Annie had been defending him, and he had been defending Annie.

Another part of him argued it didn’t matter.

He swallowed hard, pushing the thought down.

“They’re going to be looking for us. The first few days will be the worst,” Alexander said slowly. “They’ll be looking for the two of us together, so if we split, we have better chances of hiding until things calm down.”

“Right!” Annie bounced back quickly. “And in a couple weeks, when they have, I’ll swing by Frank’s Fix-It Kits.”

“Frank’s Kits and Fix-its”, Alexander corrected automatically.

“I have a little sister!” Annie blurted out abruptly. “I… just wanted to… That’s why I have to go!” She flushed crimson.

“She turned sixteen while I was inside. We’re all each other has. I got caught breaking into this little grocery store using my powers. That's why I got five.”

Annie rested her forehead against the steering wheel, hands gripping it tightly, knuckles pale.

“She’s been alone for the last eight months. I have to find her and make sure she’s okay…” she said, trailing off.

Alexander watched her in silence. When she looked up at him in the mirror, he caught her eyes and smiled. “Sounds like you better get going before it gets any later, then.”

As he leaned forward to reach the door’s release hatch, a mischievous thought came to him.

“Annie…” he queried.

“Yeah?”

The door opened, and Alexander stepped out into the alleyway. Leaning down to look back inside, he asked, “Are you sure you’re the big sister?”

Annie stared at him in shock, her mind a moment too long to process the grave insult.

A beat passed.

She let out a garbled protest, but it was too late. Alexander had already disappeared.

Alexander paused around the corner from the alleyway, lingering in a secluded doorway, tucked beneath its awning. A jewelry store, but closed for the night.

His amusement with the situation warred with the practical certainty that carelessness might be fatal. Foot traffic around this block would be light at this time of the night. He knew that from experience, both his and… other-his. However, unlike in his world, there were still a fair number of passing vehicles.

He knew how he looked. Military-issue combat boots clashing with the ventilated blue of a medical gown. One torn, and bloody enough that anyone who saw him would likely assume he was homeless. Leaving a memory of himself with people passing by was not something he could afford.

And Alexander knew that there would be people looking for them both. He was just betting on being a low priority, what with that flying guy splitting open buildings and stealing villains.

He continued waiting beneath the awning of the jewelry store, watching light ripple up across the storefronts as more vehicles passed by. In this part of the city, there was a fairly even spread of hovercars and classics. Loud, rumbling things leaving fumes in their wake. He’d never understood the obsession with cars that could blow up at the first sign of a spark.

At least some of them sound cool, I guess.

He heard the hovercar in the alley hum away from him, indicating that Annie had taken off. He might have only known her a few short hours, but he had a feeling the petite ginger would be just fine. He didn’t think her positivity was fake, but he’d glimpsed a hardened will to survive at the core of her personality. He wasn’t planning to bet against her.

Alexander refocused as the road cleared. Timing was everything.

He adjusted his footing, triple-checked the street was clear, and… awkwardly limped as fast as he dared toward a familiar neon sign.

And that’s how he came to understand something important about himself.

It looked better when it said ‘Tits’.

Out the front of Frank’s, he tucked himself into the doorway and reached for the security console. He punched in his code.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Beeeeep. ‘Invalid code’ stated the console.

“What?” Alexander blurted. “Stupid junk.”

He entered the code again, this time taking care that each tap was correct.

Beeeeep. ‘Invalid code,’ insisted the console.

Alexander dragged his right hand down his face. The wound had stopped bleeding, but it still stung and left behind flakes of dried blood. He pressed his forehead against the console, weariness washing over him, and closed his eyes. As the quiet sounds of the city faded away, he sensed the machine behind the metal, pulsing regularly, connected to something he could only describe as a knot of signals and purpose.

He allowed his Technopathy to whisper intent into the mix: Let me in.

The console chirped. The door clicked.

Taking one last glance both ways, Alexander pulled the door open and stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind.

The store was something else. Years of familiarity clashed with the reality before him. Instead of older, sagging shelves bearing the weight of decades of history, he found shiny, expensive components.

Instead of stacks of old, discarded machines, he found protected and alarmed glass displays containing current-gen consumer cybernetics.

And yet, it still felt like coming home. The showroom looked different, sure, but it still had Frank’s madness woven into the layout. The photos on the wall behind the counter had subtle differences, but the love for his family was on full, unabashed display, as was Frank’s way. There were even photos of himself, his other self, mounted up there, capturing memories he couldn’t recall.

Alexander stepped around the counter and headed for the door leading into the workshop. His sanctuary. He swiped the key from under the counter, exactly where he expected to find it, and unlocked the door.

There was a tickle at the edge of his mind, but it was gone by the time he reached for it.

Crossing into the workshop, he smiled at the clear separation between Frank and Alexander’s side of the battlefield. Back here, things were far more familiar.

Tension drained from his shoulders as he finally allowed himself to relax.

At last. Sanctuary. And sugar.

He stumbled through the workshop to a mini-fridge stocked with their favorite drinks and snacks. He slumped to his knees and pulled it open. Reaching inside, Alexander grasped a chilled bottle of water and snagged an entire unopened pack of fruit cups before slamming the door shut and resting his back against it.

He’d need to clean himself up. Evaluate and tend to his injuries. Connect to the net and gather information.

And sleep. Real, uninterrupted sleep.

But for now, all he wanted was to feel normal for a bit.

Across the city, in a quiet apartment nestled above a community garden complex, Frank Vitale stood in the bathroom, electronic toothbrush in hand, foamy toothpaste gathering at the corner of his mouth.

Dressed in his boring gray pajamas, he was ready for a relatively early night. The past couple of months had been wearing him down. Alexander’s disappearance weighed on him, and he had spent considerable time outside of his usual work hours making calls, chasing down any contacts he could reach, but ultimately getting nowhere.

He was a good kid, and he’d just disappeared off the face of the Earth after taking leave to go chase his dream. Alex had been saving up for that injection for several years, even working overtime. The kid had always joked that he’d saved all his leave so that he’d still get paid while going through superhero training.

But he knew the kid should have been back already. He’d have wanted Frank to share in the moment, his victory, and show off whatever undoubtedly cool superpower he’d got for himself.

The tablet lying on the corner of the bathroom vanity pinged softly, its screen flashing with an alert in bold red text:

WORKSHOP ACCESS DOOR: OPENED 9:22PM

Frank froze.

He spat and rinsed, the hastily wiped his mouth with the towel.

“Helena!” he barked, loud enough to carry to the bedroom. “Someone’s in the store.”

“That’s nice, dear,” came his wife’s distracted response. She was already sitting in bed, pillows stacked behind, reading on her tablet.

He thudded into the room, heading for the large walk-in closet. “Where’d you put my gun, woman?”

Helena glanced at him, a flicker of concern crossing her face. “Top shelf, on the right. Why do you need that, dear?”

“I told you,” he grumbled, reaching for the electronic gun safe, exactly where she’d said it was. “Got an intruder at the shop.”

“So call the police, you big dumb oaf.”

“Can’t.” Frank keyed open the safe. His Volt Cannon rested inside, a compact two-handed weapon reminiscent of a sawn-off shotgun. Civilian model, legally registered. It could discharge arcs of high-voltage electricity with enough punch to drop a grown man at twenty-five meters, cybernetics or no. He checked that the battery packs had enough charge, and slammed one in before pocketing the other.

Helena’s brow furrowed, concern moving from a flicker to worry.

Frank’s features softened as he made his way to her side. “The main security system didn’t go off, so it’s probably nothing. But it could also be the kid. He’d know not to trip the alarm, though, so maybe he’s in trouble.”

Alexander had only been over for dinner a few times over the years, but she knew Frank saw the smart young man as family.

“Go on then. But if it looks bad, you call the police. Promise me, Franky.” Helena pouted up at her husband of over thirty years.

Frank leaned down and planted a kiss on her lips. “Promise.”

The hovercar settled with a low hum across the street from the store. Frank stepped out, Volt Cannon slung low in both hands, gray pajama pants tucked into mismatched work boots.

The storefront was quiet. The bright blue neon sign flashed above the store. No broken glass, no scorched metal, no sign of forced entry.

He approached the entrance and keyed in his code. The console chirped and the door unlocked with a soft click. Frank pulled the door open and stepped inside.

Dim light from the display cases showed his beloved store exactly as he’d left it, while the overhead lights remained off.

He carefully swept the weapon across the sales floor, eyes scanning shadows and displays alike. Everything looked exactly as it should: clean counters, stocked shelves. Nothing broken or stolen.

But then he noticed the door to the workshop was ajar.

His pulse raced. Hope flared in his chest. Whoever was here hadn’t come to rob the place.

Quietly, Frank padded forward, Volt cannon raised and ready.

He took a deep breath, heart pumping furiously.

Then he kicked the door wide and burst in like he knew what he was doing.

“Show yourself! I’m armed. And dangerous.”

The words echoed through the workshop. For a beat, there was only silence, then a sudden yelp and a crash as someone jerked upright from behind the mini-fridge, knocking over empty fruit cups and bottles.

Frank’s finger hovered on the trigger before his brain caught up to what his eyes were seeing.

Pale and bloody.

Alexander stared at him in disbelief. “Frank?” he rasped.

Frank blinked twice as the tension bled from his shoulders. “Kid?”

Alexander glanced down at the Volt Cannon in Frank’s hands. “Were you gonna shoot me?”

Frank chuckled. “Of course not. I was gonna threaten you. Possibly loudly,” he said. “Maybe blast the wall behind you. Something dramatic. And scary.”

Alexander gave a dry, wheezing laugh. “Glad to see you haven’t changed.”

Frank let out a long breath and lowered the cannon. “You look like shit, kid.”

“Thanks. You look like a pajama model for sad dads.”

Frank cracked a grin despite himself. “Still got a smart mouth, huh?”

Alexander smiled faintly, but the exhaustion behind it was impossible to miss.

Frank’s voice softened. “C’mon, kid. Let’s get you cleaned up.”