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Description:

James figured that becoming a superhero would change his life... he just thought it would change for the better.

But then again, James wasn’t your typical superhero.

They kidnapped him, drugged him, took away his name and his past, and then controlled when he could soar into action.

He didn’t know that being a superhero meant never seeing the woman he loved again. He never realized he would feel powerless as super-powered psychotics trashed the city, always one step ahead of him. He never imagined that he would spend many a sleepless night mourning all of those poor souls they wouldn’t let him save.

He could lift buildings, withstand a hailstorm of bullets and soar into the deepest recesses of space, all without suffering a scratch.

Why then did he feel so powerless?

Excerpt:

The reaction was immediate.

Screams. Lots of them. It was always the same reaction when the Addict showed up.

And victims—two of them before James could even tear his eyes from Cheryl.

Then, perhaps worst of all, the Addict himself, seven tentacles trailing behind his scarecrow body, was on the stage, flinging dignitaries into the crowd, tossing everybody except the mayor.

Imation yelled in James' ears. "Run away! Now is the time for Hero!"

James hated to do it, hated to pull away from Cheryl's gaze, from her black jeans and her sweet smell. But he had to, and without an explanation. But Cheryl was already running, too, moving through the crowd and toward the stage, drawing her gun as she went.

The Addict laughed, its high shrill voice cutting through the screaming and shouting. James looked over his shoulder to see a slimy tentacle ripping the mayor's golden shovel out of his hands and cracking it in two. The mayor ran, just like everybody else.

James huffed to the end of the crowd, felt his sides aching he was running so fast. But when he got far enough away he heard Imation's voice. "Now."

And James, at last, turned back into Hero.

The screams stopped when Hero burst through the sky, a red, white and blue flame heading straight for the Addict. And when Hero did land that first blow, sending the Addict off the stage and into a resting bulldozer, the crowd started cheering. Hero gave them a wave and a wink, his perfect white teeth glittering.

But that all stopped when the Addict simply stood up and laughed.

That laugh made James shiver.

A crowd of cops—including Cheryl—had surrounded the stage. They held their fire until the Addict whipped out a tentacle, wrapped it around a sergeant's head and effortlessly snapped the cop's neck.

That's when the cops lost their cool. A few ran. The rest fired a blaze of bullets into the air.

Some hit Hero. But they didn't hurt; they just bounced off his super-thick skin. A few even hit their target, passing through the Addict's cardboard body, popping thick clumps of black blood in their wake.

The Addict, though, didn't seem to mind. He kept laughing, even as dark blood soaked his shirt and his torn pants. He jumped, soaring over the shooting cops and landing in the middle of the crowd.

"No!" Hero shouted, flying after him.

But James wasn't fast enough. Before he could reach the monster, before he could push his fist into its head again, the Addict had ripped a tentacle through the belly of a young woman. The poor girl didn't even get the chance to scream.

James wasn't going to let that happen again. He cut through the crowd until he stood in front of the Addict. The creature grinned at him and puckered its lips into a kiss. James swung again, this time hitting the Addict hard enough to lift him into the air. The crowd screamed and parted, letting the Addict smack down hard onto the ground. James heard something snap.

The creature, though, kept cackling as it scrambled to its feet. It spit out a tooth and looked at its right arm. It was bent backwards, flopping like the broken stick-limbs of a scarecrow. The Addict screeched and swung his shoulder forward, spinning the broken arm in a wide circle.

The monster laughed again, louder than before.

James' stomach clenched.

"That hurts," the Addict said. "But not as much as everything else."

And then the creature was on him, leaping at him, tentacles splayed out behind him, and wrapping themselves around Hero's muscular body. They flipped him in the air, smashed him into the ground and threw him across the parking lot.

The crowd screamed again, people pushing and stomping at each other to get away. The cops ran, too, most of them.

James shook his head and staggered to his feet. He could smell the monster behind him. It smelled like rust. Like blood.

Without looking, he swung his arm back, felt his fist smack into the thinnest of rib cages. He spun around in time to see the Addict rolling on the ground, a dozen or more tentacles waving in the air behind him.

James flew at him again, cocking his fist for an even harder strike. But the Addict was fast. James swung, and missed, the monster leaping above him. James' momentum pulled him forward, into an empty dump truck. He hit hard enough to send the truck spinning in circles.

Now the people were getting in the way, too, running in front of him, pushing past him, toppling over each other. He went to charge at the Addict, but instead sent a skinny boy flying.

This wasn't how it happened in the comic books.

A heavy woman smacked into his side. He wanted to smack her back, send her hurtling through the air, but he held back. And when the three teens, still connected to their iPods, charged into him, he wanted to tear off their heads.

But he didn't.

The Addict was enjoying everything, even with blood streaming down his face, even with his arm hanging like a loose shingle. His laughter sounded like grunting now, like he was some kind of animal.

That stopped, though, when the bullet ripped through his back and tore through his stomach.

The shooter, of course, was Cheryl.

Her aim, as usual, was perfect.

But the Addict didn't go down. He stumbled, he stopped laughing, and he leaned against the side of a dump truck.

But he didn't fall. Blood poured from his stomach, but he didn't fall.

And his tentacles were still hungry.

James screamed as three of them whipped around Cheryl, knocking her gun to the ground, wrapping around her neck, twining around her ribs. A fourth came, then a fifth, and a sixth.

She didn't scream. She was too tough for that.

James, though, kept screaming as he flew through the air and hit the Addict as hard as he ever hit anything. The monster screamed, too, and dropped Cheryl. He crumpled to the ground, a bloody, misshapen heap. His tentacles flopped behind him.

James hit the monster again. And again. Over and over, until his rock-hard knuckles began to hurt. He stopped, then, his breath ragged and raw, and looked down at his hands. They were covered in thick black blood.

Cheryl was already on her feet. Tough. She was already staring into Hero's ice-blue eyes. Smart.

"James?" she said. "Those green eyes again."

Imation was shouting at him. But James didn't care. No more being a pawn. Let Imation shut him off, let the doctor kill him. He leaned forward anyway and kissed her, hard.

He didn't notice the swarm of tentacles, more than twenty of them, rising up behind him. He didn't hear the low, wheezing chuckle.

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