Hey guys! For those of you who read the prologue and are reading this now, thanks for reviewing, following, and fav'ing! This is the first official chapter, and I hope it's enough to grab your interest. Enjoy!
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Chapter 1, Part 1: Welcome to Brockton Bay
Click. Bang!
The starter gun sounds, and I'm off like a shot, racing down the track, wind rushing through my hair, adrenaline pulsing in my veins. My cleats pound on the track, propelling me along as I race with my teammates. The sun is beating down and sweat is starting to run into my eyes, but this is still and always the best part of my day.
We're on the track at Winslow High, Brockton Bay. The track and field team of all the poor kids in the city, but still able to outdo those rich brats at Arcadia any day of the week. Even after being on the team for months, that sweet feeling of watching the Arcadia fans' faces fall as we beat them every single time still gets me pumped.
But we're not racing right now, not competing. Just practicing. Short sprints, push-ups, calisthenics, all that slow-going stuff. And it's killing me, not being able to compete, to go at full speed and break limits. My body is raging against going this slowly, but I fight it down. It's a struggle, but I fight it down. And all the time, along that sprint on the track, my body is screaming, begging to go faster, to quit this slow crap.
Is that confusing for you? Maybe a little. I'll try to explain a little better.
Here in Brockton Bay, and just about everywhere else, nowadays, we have capes. Parahumans, if you want to be politically correct, but most people just call them capes. They're a long story that I've never really paid attention to, but, in short, they have powers. Superpowers. Flight, super-strength, space warping, force fields, laser beams, all that good stuff from your average 50's cartoon. They're our protectors and champions- and also the things that go bump in the night.
I'm a cape, too. Ever since I almost got hit by a bus a year ago, I've had the power to move. Really, really fast. And my body adapted so I can take the strain. I need to do maybe one push-up a week to have a full set of abs, and I can take a paintball to the face and not even get bruised. My friends at school think I'm gifted, some kind of perfect gene cocktail of physical traits. They'd only have to take one look at my parents to see otherwise, but I like to keep up the illusion that I'm some kind of Superman. It makes me feel cool.
Speaking of Supermans, the main cape scene here in Brockton is the Protectorate, a nation-wide coalition of all the best-meaning heroes. They have a program for minors called the Wards, which runs out of the Parahuman Response Team- the PRT- Building in the ritziest part of town. I've always had the option to join, and it would be easy, too.
But… I've never felt the conviction. It's a well-known fact that the PR heads over at the Protectorate make it so that the Wards have to blunt their powers and abilities to keep their spots on the team- avoid any lethal applications, and stay away from dangerous weaponry if they have access to any. Hold themselves back, don't go full tilt. And I'm not about to join a team that would keep me from my full potential.
But none of that is on my mind right now. I shake my head side to side a little, clearing it from all those thoughts of capes and powers. Just get back to the race.
Aron Cassidy flies past me, shooting his classic pretty-boy smile as he does. No way am I going to let him get away with that. Even though we're teammates, in no way are we friends. "Rivals" or maybe "frenemies" would be better words to describe our rather complicated relationship. And Aron's a transfer from Arcadia, no less- got sent here after spray-painting something all over the walls of one of their gymnasiums. (I did say 'one of'- there's more than one, of course.) Little cocky rich boy thinks he can come down here and walk all over us- well, everyone gets what they're due, right?
"See you later, Tilmitt." He calls back to me, racing ahead. Yeah, right. As if he thinks it would be that easy. I pour on the speed, rocketing after him. And all this time, I'm thinking. It would be so easy to just let out a little of my power, so easy to just let go and be free. Be me. Race past that rich brat, race around him again, and again…
I stop myself before I can think about it anymore. I made a pact not to let people know that I have powers except under the most straining of circumstances. And even showing a little bit of my power could reveal way too much- I tend to make sonic booms when I'm really going.
But even when I'm not using my power, I can still clear a block before Aron even crosses that first paving stone. I pass him effortlessly, streaming down the track and crossing the finish line first, with all the appropriate bluster and pizzazz.
Aron crosses the line a few moments later, his face red with exertion, panting. I don't say anything, just flash him an exaggeratedly cocky smile, remind him that little Winslow me can beat Arcadia him without breaking a sweat. He frowns, but doesn't say anything either- this suck-up over there isn't about to bad-mouth me in front of the coach.
"Tilmitt, Cassidy! Good job out there. You two are looking to be serious competition for the rest of these slowpokes when we move on to championships."
Speak of the devil.
Coach Craven comes up next to us, holding a clipboard in one hand off to the side. Aron and I are pretty tall, but Craven still towers over us. Unlike me, he's legitimately one of those perfect-gene-cocktail people. I bet he could bench press a truck if he put his mind to it- maybe he even has.
"Thanks, coach." Says Aron in most annoying teachers-pet voice. He can anyone to like him and he knows it- everyone except me. Unfortunately, Coach Craven is not quite as immune to his charms as I am. "Though I bet Tilmitt here probably needs to run a few more laps; he's going to need it if he wants to get us through the qualifiers." An insult and a compliment at the same time- this guy really knew how to get under my skin.
Craven smiled and laughed, while I fought down the urge to roll my eyes, throw up, or both. It was so incredibly irritating, how those two got on like old friends. The fact that Craven was never particularly nice or supportive to me didn't do much to soften the blow. "Maybe next time, Cassidy. Both of you hit the showers and get changed- we have a big day coming up on Friday and I want everyone well rested."
I don't say anything, just nod and start walking towards the school. The other guys have reached the end of the track by now, talking or stopping to catch their breath. Aron stays behind to talk with the coach. He says something I can't hear, and Craven laughs again. It makes my blood boil. I've always been better than Aron, yet the coach has always seemed to like him better. Ability over appearance, I always say. Not that either of them seem to care.
I shower fast- no offense to anyone who likes it, but being in an enclosed space with a bunch of wet, naked guys isn't exactly my idea of a party- and pull on my clothes quickly, putting away my track outfit in my locker. I don't know why, but having a locker all to myself, and just for the track team, makes me feel more official, more grounded. I make a deep and satisfied sigh as I twist the lock closed.
"Hey, Matt!" Someone calls from behind me. I spin and see Jeremy. He's the shortest member of the team, clocking in at only five foot three, but he works harder than anyone to make up for it. Right now, he's wearing a towel wrapped around his waist and nothing else, slicking up his hair with a comb, his hand wet with hair gel. It makes me more than a little uncomfortable, but I decide to ignore it for the moment.
"What's up?" I say. Jeremy's a nice guy, but he and I don't have many common interests other than track, so we don't talk much. As a result, I'm interested in what he has to say.
"There's some girl by the locker room doors, says she's here for you." Jeremy points with his eyes towards the way out of the locker room. "Not sure why anyone would want to see you, dude. You're all kinds of ugly!" He laughs, a loud snort you could hear from halfway across the country. I just smile and roll my eyes.
"There's a girl by the door, and you went to see her in just a towel?"
Jeremy chuckles again. "Dude, if a girl's here to check out the track team, you go to see her, towel or no towel." I raise an eyebrow, and his face reddens as he realizes what he just said. "Ha ha. Very funny, you know I didn't mean it like that. I'm gonna go get dressed." He saunters off, slicking back his hair with his comb as he goes.
That Jeremy, I think to myself, what a charmer. But what he said definitely piqued my curiosity. There's a girl here to see me? Is it something related to the track team? Or, the doubt crosses my mind for just a second; does she know I have powers? But I push it out of my mind, because that thought is too terrifying to contemplate. Being outed as a cape will open up a big can of worms that me- and my family- are not prepared to deal with. Groups on both sides of the law will want a piece of me.
With that thought in the back of my mind, I start walking towards the exit.
As Jeremy promised, there is indeed a girl waiting for me outside in the hallway. She's leaning on a locker on the opposite end of the hall, twiddling something between her fingers. She's tall and pretty, with delicate features, a long nose, short-cut light brown hair and hazel eyes, and a curvy figure. Her age is hard to put down, she could be anywhere from in her late teens to her early thirties.
I barely make a sound stepping out into the hallway, but her head immediately perks up, noticing me. "Matthew Tilmitt?" She says, like she's known me her whole life. Her voice is nice too, an even, smooth tone with the slightest edges of fun to it. "Or should I call you Matt?"
"Matt is fine." I say, walking over to her, backpack slung over my shoulder, hands in my pockets. She's a pretty girl, but something about her puts me on edge. "You send Jeremy looking for me?"
"The boy in the towel?" The girl says, scrunching up her nose and giggling. "Yeah, that was me. Silly kid, thinking he could impress me or something."
"That would be him." I say, trying to keep my voice even. "I hope you asked him to get dressed."
The girl giggles again. I fight to keep my nerves from jumping every time she moves or makes a noise. "I had a hard time tracking you down, believe me." She says absentmindedly.
At this point, I've had enough. Enough with this witty banter, let's cut to the chase as to why giggle-girl came to see me. "So what do you want with me?" I ask.
The girl's face immediately loses any traces of humor, and she stands straight up, looking straight at me. There's a creepy fluidness to her movements that I can't quite put down. "A lot of things, Matt, but mainly to give you this." With a flick of her fingers, she sends a small white object flying through the air. I catch it before I know what I'm doing. What if it's a bomb or something?
Still, curiosity gets the better of me. I look down at it and realize it's a card, like the ones you'd find advertising businesses in stores and doctor's offices. There's only writing on one side, and not a whole lot of it, but hand-written with a dark blue pen.
"I believe it's time we showed the world what you can really do, Matthew. Don't you agree? If so, I've arranged a meeting in the alleyway in the Docks. You know the one."
-Coil."
My blood runs cold. Because that alleyway in the Docks is where I trained with my powers when I was still struggling to use them. The Docks are mainly slums, full of small-time street gangs and back-alley doctors. Ironically, it's a stone's throw from the Boardwalk, the touristy section of town.
That alleyway was the perfect place for a cape-in-training. On either side were abandoned apartments, and in the middle was a big courtyard for running. It was quiet, and secretive.
Or so I'd thought.
The fact that someone had been watching me, had seen me, sends a shiver down my spine. And who is this Coil guy? What's with his name? Is it a cape name? And yet… the offer was tempting. If the guy wanted to help me work with my powers, without any PRT supervision, it could be the chance to break free that I'd been waiting for. Of course, it could just be a trap to get me to join one of those parahuman gangs that are always running around Brockton's underbelly.
My mind swimming with questions, I looked up. The girl was gone. Not even a trace, not even a sound left in her wake. Just gone. Spooky.
By then, I'd made up my mind, though. I was going to have to meet this guy whether or not his offer was genuine. If it was, it could be a great opportunity. And if not, and someone knew my identity, I had to do something about it.
After I'd gotten my powers, I'd taken a few self-defense classes just in case something like this ever happened. So if this Coil guy was planning on blackmailing me, I would be ready to show him what I can really do.
…
I cruise through the front door of my house, throwing down my bag as I go. I'd made my decision to face this Coil guy, so I had to move fast before I lost my nerve. Had to get to my room and get my stuff if I wanted to be ready.
"Hey, little bro! Back so soon from track?" A voice called from the living room.
Crap. My resolve melted away as I moved into the living room to see my sister. More specifically, my older sister- Like, goes-to-college-and-can-drink-and-drive older- Michaela. She was sitting on the couch, scratching our family cat, Carly, behind the ears. Carly's a nice cat, but she's always been skittish about me touching her. It might have been related to the fact that I had a habit of pulling her tail when I was younger.
Regardless, she still meowed as she saw me. Michaela looked up at me, smiling. She looks a lot like I do, which is saying we both look like our dad- tall, light brown hair, green eyes, pale skin, and freckles. I'm not a huge fan of the way I like, but I don't really care enough to do anything about it.
Michaela attends college outside the city, far enough away that she has to stay in a dorm, but managed to work her schedule so that she's home two days out of the week.
"Have a nice day running?" She asks. Michaela's the best kind of older sibling: She'll ask you how you're doing without prying into every little nook and cranny like a parent or younger sibling would.
"Fine." I say simply, noticing the TV's on. They're apparently still covering the scandal that's been going on for a few days now.
A few days ago, the Wards took on the Merchants- one of the city's lower-threat powered gangs. It was going smoothly until one of the Wards, a tall black girl called Shadow Stalker, lost her mask when a stray attack caught her face at the right angle. And the Merchants' inventor, Squealer, happened to have a camera going that was recording the whole incident and transmitting it to live news.
Apparently, Shadow Stalker is a girl named Sophia Hess, who attends Winslow High right alongside me. I remember vaguely having a study hall with her a few years ago, but not enough so really remember anything about her other than what she looked like. She's been keeping her head down since the incident, but lots of rumors have been flying around school and the whole city since.
And there you have it, a Ward unmasked. This is yet another reason that I'm not big on joining them anytime soon.
"I have to go back out." I say quickly, running towards the stairs that head up to my room.
"Pick up some milk for Carly while you're out! Be careful, bro!" Michaela calls out after me. Always a great big sister.
Dashing into my room, I throw open my closet, finding what I came for: My cape costume. Just because I'm not in the hero business doesn't mean I can't have a costume for special circumstances.
My costume's simple, but fitting: It's a full-length bodysuit like the ones people wear when they're parachuting, to be able to hold up against the strain of my speed. On top is a fighter pilot helmet, both to conceal my identity and to protect my face from high winds- I may be at least somewhat super-durable, but wind rushing in your face at over a hundred miles an hour still hurts. I'd spray painted the suit grey-black, with orange bands going down the shoulders and sleeves. There were pockets for my phone and any other small objects I might need.
It had taken a good deal of allowance money and a few suspicious glances from my parents, but I'd finished it. It also served as a decent backup Halloween costume.
I throw off my clothes and get dressed- just about the only downside of the costume is it's skintight, so the only thing that fits under it is my underwear and a tank top. As always when I put it on, I stand in front of the mirror for a few seconds. But only a few. "Ability over appearance," I repeat to myself.
Alright. No more stalling, it's time to go. Moving to my window, I undo the latch and slip outside. Our roof is pretty steep, but there are lots of handholds to climb on, and I make it up easily.
Standing on the top of my roof, I take a moment to drink in the sights. Our house in on the South side of town, which is mostly small apartments and houses like ours. But I can still see the skyline from my house. The sun is setting, and buildings are starting to light up. It's all really pretty to see.
I smile. And then I jump off the roof.
I might have forgotten to mention that my power also lets me fly just as fast as I run. As I plummet towards the ground, I scream happily as I finally break free.
Without me imposing any limits, my power surges through my body, and my adrenaline pulses as gravity suddenly starts to ignore me. It's not easy, flying, it's harder than running. I have to strain for every inch, but my body is up to the task, and within moments I'm hovering in midair, a few meters off the ground of my backyard.
Flying was a bit harder to train than running, since it's a bit easier to see a flying teenager than one running in an alleyway. But over the months I was able to find ways around the city's cape surveillance systems and patrols that still let me fly freely. I'd taken the path many times back when I had just gotten my powers.
Rising up into the air, I kick off towards downtown. There's a big construction site between my house and the shopping district, which is how I cover most of the distance between home and the water. On the building site, the lights are dim and the workers too busy to look up anyway, so it's an easy flyover.
I'm coming up to the Boardwalk now. This is the fanciest area of town, sprawling with overpriced cafés and boutiques that my family couldn't afford a weekend's spending in. I don't dawdle long, shooting out onto the water. It's a bit out of my way, but I haven't flown in weeks and my body is screaming to get some exercise done.
I cruise along at a low altitude, avoiding the occasional fishing boat or cruise liner in the bay. Then comes the fun part.
Swinging back around, I launch at full speed back towards the boardwalk, a sonic boom exploding in my wake. I laugh loudly, my voice and all the noise around me completely obscured by the burst of sound. I'm not worried about being heard- there's a storm incoming, and the tourists on the Boardwalk will probably assume it's distant thunder, if the sound of the waves on the shore don't block it out completely.
It feels like paradise, finally letting all my concerns and limitations go after weeks of keeping it in and not showing my full potential.
Flying at full speed, I'm like a human bullet as I race across the surf. Gaining altitude to make it over the boardwalk, I rocket over the strip of shops in a matter of seconds.
The change from the Boardwalk to the Docks is immediately noticeable. Ritzy hotels and restaurants give way to dirty tenements and shady nightclubs. Fortunately, it's not a far flight. Within moments, I reach my destination.
The alleyway with the courtyard in the center stretches out beneath me, ready to be received. No one seems to be there, but for all I know they could be hiding in one of the abandoned houses on either side. Dropping into a hover, I breathe out deeply, my body descending to the ground below as my power leaves me. I feel exhilarated and exhausted at the same time- flying is hard work, even after months of training.
As I land on one end of the alley, I start to have second thoughts. What if this "Coil" guy isn't on the level? What if we have to fight and he has a gun? I'm pretty fast, but I might not be fast enough. And, finally, what if someone else entirely is waiting for me here?
But I've already made my decision, and I'm not going back on it now. Hands balling into fists, I walk into the center courtyard. It's exactly as I remember it, dirty and unclean, with two unused dumpsters in one corner. Memories flood through my mind of training in this yard for weeks on end, only stopping when my body simply refused to go anymore. The good old days, I think to myself.
"Hello?" I call out tentatively, feeling stupid immediately afterwards. What kind of genius walks into a dark alley alone and then calls out to see if anyone's there? I pivot slowly, seeing if there's anyone around that I'm missing. Nobody. I'm completely alone.
The tenements come back to mind. Hovering with only the smallest amounts of my flight power, I glide past the windows of the alleyway's apartments, trying to see if there's anyone inside. As when I first found the place, they're all empty and abandoned.
Frustration growing, I fly to a nearby rooftop overlooking the courtyard, on the opposite side from the dumpsters. "Anybody here?" I yell, a little louder than before. I'm annoyed enough with the situation to not particularly care about my safety anymore.
That's when I notice it. It's the only spot of anything that's not covered with grime. An immaculate piece of paper is pinned to one of the dumpsters. Something's written on it in the same blue color from Coil's note, but I can't read it from where I'm standing.
Swooping down to retrieve it, I pluck the paper off its holding pin and fly back to the spot I'd just been in. Up close, I can confirm that it's once again in Coil's blue writing. But instead of a note, it's a series of names.
Samuel Vasil.
Angela McMillar.
Emily Vasquez. That name vaguely rings a bell in my head, but I can't quite put it down.
Taylor Hebert.
Jason Verner. Again, vague memories, but nothing substantial.
And at the bottom is my name. Matthew Tilmitt. Once again, the fact that someone has seemingly been watching me sends a chill down my spine. And these other names. Who are they? Are they Coil's operatives? Other chosen kids like me? Or something else entirely?
As I'm mulling over the note's implications in my head, a spider crawls across the paper. I flick it away, sending it flying to some remote corner of the roof. Then I notice another bug on the paper, then another. I wave the note, sending them both flying. What is with these bugs?
My nerves are more than a little on edge at this point. I find another bug, a beetle, crawling on my shin, kick it away. Then there's a stick bug on my arm. I'm not a big fan of insects, and this is creeping me out more than I'd like. What kind of plan have I gotten myself into? I think.
And that's when I hear the slightest of rustling sounds behind me. I whirl, and what I see is definitely not what I was expecting tonight.
...
Wow... a lot of things I want to say, and so little brain capacity left to articulate them with.
Meet the first of our protagonists, Matt Tilmitt. He'll be narrating the first chapter of Underdogs, after which I'll be flip-flopping between the various protagonists. You should recognize two of our six "Chosen ones" now, and some might even have suspicions on a third. I'd like to see ideas on codenames and powers in the reviews section, so be sure to leave a comment!
Underdogs will, probably, be updating at least once on a weekly basis, the gaps between chapters increasing or decreasing depending on how much real life gets in the way. I'll try to stick to a weekly schedule, but, again, no promises.
The next two sections are set to get a little more action-y. Hope you stick around long enough to enjoy it!
See ya!
-Imageination