They weren’t gunshots — they were the sounds of Powerhouse and the bear trading blows. The enemy’s longer arms landed twice as many hits as Powerhouse, but the big man appeared to have the edge in strength and invulnerability.
Finally, as Steve used the wall to help him stand, Powerhouse dove inside the bear’s reach and jabbed repeatedly into its gut. The bear, too winded to roar anymore, fell to its hairy knees. Once Powerhouse could reach its head well enough to land a solid punch, the fight was over. The creature collapsed to one side, and slowly began drawing in on itself, its face reshaping and fur withdrawing, until the man it had originally been came into view.
"That felt good, didn’t it?" Steve observed.
Powerhouse was panting far more than the encounter justified. He turned to Steve and said, "You have no idea ..."
"Voooorrtteeexxx!" they suddenly heard from the other end of the storage complex. "Poooowwwwerhhooooouse! We could use a little heeeelp heeeeerre!"
Pushing away from the wall, Steve forced himself into a run as he followed Powerhouse from the room ...
PCA
When Michael and Shockwave reached their end of the complex, they did not encounter anything so dynamic as an oversized bear. What they found was a dark-complected man, sitting lotus-style on the floor, his eyes closed, his hands resting casually upon his thighs.
Michael’s emotions were still a violent tempest from discovering Christine’s duplicity — had she been placed at the little coffee shop to find him specifically, or just any P C Agent? — and his patience was running quite thin. He raised his tazer without preamble and leveled it at the man’s chest.
"Get your hands up," he ordered, "right now. I won’t tell you twice. I’d just as soon shoot you as look at you."
"Ditto," Mark pitched in.
The man took a deep breath and opened his faintly-Asian eyes — he wasn’t Japanese, Michael could tell that much, but there was definitely some Eastern blood in there. The man regarded them absently before proclaiming, "I am Isaiah Khalkha. Surrender now, or I will kill you both."
"Whatever," Michael muttered, and fired his tazer.
But by the time the twin paddles reached their target, their target was no longer there. He was a blur, moving around the outside of the room. Michael tried to turn and lead him for another shot, but he was too damned fast. He slammed into the ensign, knocking him from his feet and sending him crashing into his partner. They went down in a pile of arms and legs, Michael’s firearm clattering from his still fingers.
When it came to Michael’s safety, Mark was perfectly willing to swallow his pride. He took advantage of their close proximity and threw a kinetic shield up around both of them as he’d done at their headquarters that morning, then called out at the top of his lungs, "Voooorrtteeexxx! Poooowwwwerhhooooouse! We could use a little heeeelp heeeeerre!"
"Too late, my friend." The voice started on Mark’s left, but ended up on his right. He suddenly felt a crushing grip on his throat. His shield was still up, but somehow the man was squeezing his windpipe anyway — not enough to collapse it, but close. Powerhouse had warned them that the bastard had multiple paranormal abilities, but unfortunately, he hadn’t known exactly what all of them were.
Great
, Mark fumed as he struggled unsuccessfully to breathe,
Mike’s not moving, I’m his only protection, and the guy’s taking
me
out Darth Vader-style!
He tried to extend his shield, use it offensively as well as defensively — hey, it’d worked against the fire woman — but Khalkha seemed to be everywhere at once, and nowhere. Black spots began floating through his vision, and he cursed Powerhouse and the vigilante for not getting here faster!
As if that were their cue, the masked men burst through the open door, Powerhouse leading the way. He spotted Mark and his partner, but to the naked eye it was unclear what exactly was happening. Mark tried to warn the big man, but at the moment, speech was not in the cards.
Khalkha appeared right beside Lincoln and drove a double-fisted blow into his solar plexus. Lincoln’s eyes bulged as the air left his body — the dark man was even stronger than the bear. He tried to grab his attacker, but the rogue leader danced away in his inhumanly quick dash, and Lincoln slipped to one knee.
"Enough," Steve said. He stood in the doorway, following the rogue’s streaked movements with his eyes, which was all that was necessary for Vortex. All three of his allies were lying or kneeling now, and Steve intended to use that to his advantage. He targeted the side of the room where Khalkha appeared to be, then widened the angle to ensure a successful lock.
The vortex wave seized the rogue leader. Khalkha twisted and turned, and when he realized that he could not escape, he released his telekinetic hold on Shockwave’s throat and turned it upon Vortex’s instead — if the man had known that the specific source of the assault was the vigilante’s eyes, he might have used his ability to force Vortex’s eyelids shut. Fortunately, his knowledge of the costumed hero was not that intimate.
That didn’t make the counterattack any less deadly. Steve had been breathing out when his throat closed, and the vortex wave was already drawing energy from his body. Absently, Steve realized the similarity between this situation and when he’d stood off against Powerhouse in the training center. This time, however, there would be no bolts of lightning to skew the results.
Him or me.
Lincoln rose to his feet, but the vortex wave was so strong it kept even him at bay.
Mark rose to his hands and knees, but he was more concerned with his unconscious partner.
Khalkha’s face set in determination, and he increased the pressure on Vortex’s throat.
Steve’s neck strained against the telekinetic grip, and he augmented the force of the vortex wave.
Finally, both men collapsed ...
PCA
The narrow panel opened, and Steve limped into the secret room. The limp was not caused by any physical injury — he was simply too exhausted to walk steadily.
The room was set up like an office — the resemblance to Joseph Davison’s own office was not lost on Steve. This private work space — which had been hidden beyond the "last" storage area Shockwave and Takayasu had found so that even Lincoln had not known about it — was the only location that qualified as a truly original addition to the existing storage complex. Khalkha had been McLane’s last line of defense, but they still might have missed this clandestine nook in their hurry to finish off the last of the rogues. The scar-faced man, however, had proven insightful when Mark threatened to ram two kinetic bolts right up his nose.
Now, out in the storage area where they’d found Khalkha, Mark was standing vigil over the still-stunned Takayasu, as well as keeping a watchful eye on their collected prisoners — the blonde woman, the scar-faced man, and the acid rogue, Edmond. Lincoln had his own assignment while they waited for further reinforcements — he was kneeling behind the unconscious super-rogue, his hands pressed firmly against either side of Khalkha’s head. They had placed a psi-jammer on him, but they were still taking no chances — on Shockwave’s authority, if the rogue leader stirred before their backup arrived, Lincoln had orders to crush the man’s skull. No questions asked.
So Steve entered this final room alone. He suspected that if Takayasu were fully aware of what was happening, there would have been some argument against this particular arrangement. But the ensign was still down for the count, and Shockwave was far more liberal in his definition of justice. Even Lincoln had allowed Vortex to carry the torch of his own Hatred — killing Graham had tamed his passion for personal revenge.
The only light came from the desk lamp, but Steve would have been able to see either way. McLane sat there, completely rigid, his features lost in the shadows. His trembling hands were clasped together in a vice grip that would take considerable effort to release.
"Hello, McLane," Steve said, his voice low but surprisingly steady. "I’ve been wanting to meet you again."
McLane held his silence, his breath tight and shallow. Sweat glistened on his high forehead.
Steve stepped forward. Common sense suggested that he remain wary of possible counterattack, but he somehow knew that Khalkha had served that purpose. And it had almost worked — he’d defeated the two P C Agents and the "traitorous" rogue. They were only alive thanks to the unexpected X-factor that was Vortex.
Standing before McLane’s desk, Steve reached up and removed his mask. His hair was damp and in disarray, and his psi-band was starting to irritate his skin. All in all, it was not quite the dramatic, movie-style demasking that he would have preferred, but it would have to do.
"You killed my parents, my brother, my relatives. Hell, you’ve killed a lot of people. But I wanted you to know that you’ve been beaten because you got sloppy. You didn’t kill
me
." He paused to draw a deep breath, then said, "I’ve thought about this long and hard, McLane, and I’ve decided. I’ve decided that I’m going to be the death of you."
McLane shuddered with tension, but said nothing.
"That’s it, huh? No begging for mercy from Richard McLane? That’s fine by me — it wouldn’t have done you any good, anyway." Pulling his mask back on and into place, Steve leaned forward until his hands were resting on the desk. "The last thing you’re going to see, McLane, is the lasers from my eyes, my mechanical eyes, the replacements for the flesh and blood ones that you took from me. You’ll never take anything from anyone ever again."
Finally, McLane’s lips parted. Steve could see his face more clearly now, and he took pleasure in how pasty and lost the bastard looked. He hesitated only long enough to hear what the son of a bitch had to say for himself.
But it was not words that came from McLane’s quivering mouth. It was a soft, low moan, oddly strangled and gurgling. Trails of blood oozed from the corners of the open mouth.
Steve grabbed the edges of the desk and shoved it out of the way. Closing the space between them in a single stride, he seized McLane by the lapels. McLane’s head fell back, but stiffly, like his neck did not want to move. His mouth fell open further, freeing more blood ... and something else.
Steve gave the object a closer look: It was part of McLane’s tongue, a gnawed flap that the man had apparently bitten through.
Startled, Steve released him and stepped back. McLane’s eyes did not follow. Steve then snapped his fingers as loudly as his gloves would allow. McLane did not react.
Nothing. Lights out. Nobody was home.
And yet, the man’s muscles were like corded steel, the shoulders bunched, the thighs trembling, the neck now twitching just slightly, back and forth ...
Steve emerged from the secret office in a daze. He glanced at Powerhouse and Shockwave, but he did not know what to tell them.
"You already killed him."
The three heroes turned toward the scar-faced man. The young woman, Christine, was huddled next to him, and she was nodding in agreement.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Mark demanded.
"He’s dead, right?" the man asked Vortex.
Steve shrugged, then nodded, then shrugged again. "I don’t know
what
he is. He’s breathing, and he’s stiff as a board, but ... he’s catatonic, or something. This doesn’t make sense ..."
" ‘Brain dead’ is more like it, then," the man said sadly. "You see, Richard was a paranormal."
"Bullshit," Mark spat. "Since when?"
"Since the Night of the White Flash," he insisted. "It was always a source of great frustration for him. You see, his paranormal ability was to bequeath paranormal abilities to
others
, if the conditions were right."
"What does that mean—?"
"Khalkha," Lincoln suddenly injected with understanding. He looked down at the face between his waiting hands. "I remember. When Khalkha entered the room, McLane went all lazy-eyed."
"That is correct."
"But why? I mean, Khalkha didn’t
do
anything that night. Why would he need any power if—?"
"Once the bond was forged, the link required only proximity. And Khalkha took a
lot
out of him." He sighed. "It was different with me. My own abilities were small, took less effort. Like Khalkha, I don’t have them unless Richard
gives
them to me. Maybe I was supposed to go paranormal after the White Flash — maybe the Paranormal Effect will still reach me someday. In the meantime, I only have ...
had
power at Richard’s blessing."