The Superhero's Son Omnibus Volume 1

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Waiting until Saturday was pure torture. I was never any good at patience, but this was worse than usual, because how many kids get to be trained as superheroes? It was like waiting to go to an awesome concert you've been looking forward to all year or for Christmas, except ten times worse.

I tried to focus on school, but it was hard. Returning to school the next day, I found out that Dad was right: No one remembered what I had done. No one looked at me and ran (though the popular girls, as usual, ignored me). No one seemed afraid that I would punch them through the cafeteria wall if they annoyed me. I was treated like the new kid, like nothing strange or out of the ordinary had happened on my first day at school.

But that didn't mean there weren't any clues about what happened on my first day. The most obvious was the Robert Candle-shaped wall in the cafeteria, which had been covered with a tarp until the school could hire someone to repair it. Some of the wiser kids outlined Robert's hole and drew stupid-looking faces on the tarp, which I guess meant that Robert hadn't been exactly popular.

The biggest clue, in my opinion, however, was Robert's complete absence from school. Malcolm—who had basically become my best friend—told me that Robert suffered some pretty critical injuries from the 'air bomb' that had gone off and was going to be in the hospital for the next few weeks. That meant that I would probably not see him for a while, which was fine by me, because I didn't want to see Robert ever again. It wasn't that I was afraid of him, necessarily, because I knew I could beat him in a fight if he came after me again. It was just that I knew that Master Chaos would probably get even angrier at me if I beat his son again and I was in no mood to give him another reason to kill me.

Speaking of Master Chaos, I eagerly watched the news and kept tabs on any updates about him. So far, no one knew where he was. The NHA had members all over the country looking for him, while the government-sponsored superhero team known as the G-Men were working with them to find him. I saw a lot of the talking heads speculating endlessly about what Master Chaos's message meant and where he was going, which I guess meant that the government had not told anyone about Robert. Or maybe even the government didn't know about Chaos's son.

In any event, I kept expecting to see Master Chaos walk into my classroom any day now and attack me. I knew what he looked like, because I had searched for pictures of him on the Internet. Unfortunately, it turned out that there had been no new pictures of Master Chaos since he was thrown into Ultimate Max, so I had to rely on 16-year-old pictures that showed a man in his late thirties with wild, crazy gray hair and a mismatched outfit that made even my lame style look like the height of fashion. I figured Chaos had to look older now, though, but the news hadn't shown any new pictures of him, although I figured he'd still be recognizable if I saw him in real life.

But Master Chaos never showed up, which made it easier for me to focus on my school. Over the week, I spent every lunch period with Malcolm and Tara, who basically became my only friends at school. Neither of them mentioned me punching Robert through the cafeteria wall, which meant that they had been affected by Dad's memory altering tech as well.

Malcolm, however, couldn't stop talking about the news of Master Chaos's escape. He kept talking about how various neoheroes compared against Chaos and which one was likely to recapture him. It was from Malcolm that I learned that there was an entire subculture of teenage guys like him who spent endless time, both online and off, debating the strengths and weaknesses of different heroes and villains.

It was actually really cool. They had this tiered system called the Neo Ranks, with 10 being the strongest and 1 the weakest. The strongest heroes—such as Omega Man—were given Neo Ranks of 10, while the weakest were given Neo Ranks of 1, though there was a lot of debate and disagreement about which hero had which Rank. The villains were rated with the same system and there was an entire website, called neoranks.com, that showed where each hero and villain ranked in comparison to others.

But as fun as it was to talk about with Malcolm, I found it kind of hard to talk about because Master Chaos was apparently ranked an 8, which put him in the top 10% of all supervillains. It might have just been an arbitrary number, but the fact is that most people on Neo Ranks often had to have good reasons for assigning a neohero or villain a ranking and there were entire essays under Master Chaos's page that explained, in detail, about why he deserved to be an 8. It was actually kind of disturbing how many people gave this so much thought, like they had some sort of weird obsession with Chaos and other villains.

As for Tara, we didn't hang out or talk all that much. Sure, she still sat with Malcolm and me during lunch, but only because she was never welcomed anywhere else. She didn't seem to mind all our talk about superheroes, but I learned very quickly that you shouldn't ask her about them, because she was always very dismissive and generally had a sarcastic comment about them. I once asked Malcolm why Tara seemed so hostile toward superheroes, but he just shrugged and said she had been that way for as long as he had known her.

In any case, this was no good. Despite Tara's cold attitude, I still liked her and still wanted to ask her out, but I had to stop and think about what she would do if she found out that I had powers. That seemed incredibly unlikely to happen, because I was keeping my powers a secret from everyone, but it always felt weird whenever Tara made some snide comment about how superheroes always cause more trouble than they're worth. I just avoided the topic with her whenever we hung out together.

Dad was mysterious during the week. Every day before breakfast and every day after I got home from school, I'd ask him if the thing he ordered for me had arrived yet. He always told me no, and then I'd ask him what it was, but he'd always just say, “You'll see.” Typical Dad talk, in other words.

Dad didn't seem very distressed about Master Chaos, despite how worried he had been when the news first broke. I think this was probably because Dad didn't worry very easily, but he said that he was keeping in constant contact with the NHA, who fed him all the latest details about the search for Chaos. I asked Dad if there were any updates about Chaos's location that weren't reported by the news, but Dad never gave me a straight answer about that. He'd just tell me not to worry about it and just to focus on school until Saturday.

As for Mom, she never talked about Chaos or even mentioned him. She just spent most of her time either doing housework or going out into our new community to make friends and meet people. Mom never said that she was worried or afraid, but every time I saw her whenever she thought no one was looking, there was always a mixture of fear and anger on her face. Especially whenever she looked at Dad; I could tell that she still didn't agree with his decision to train me, but she was not going to challenge his decision, at least in front of me.

I still wondered why Mom seemed so worried. Sure, I'm her son, and yes, I know moms always worry about their sons, and of course it was understandable that Mom was worried that her one and only son was the target of one of the most infamous supervillains ever, but didn't she understand that, if I learned how to use my powers, that I would be able to defend myself? It was almost like she thought that me learning how to use my powers was the real problem, not the fact that a psychotic supervillain who has killed hundreds of people is after me.

After what seem liked forever, Saturday finally arrived. I woke up earlier than usual because I was so excited to begin my training. I still had no idea what my training would consist of, exactly, because Dad had been sketchy on the details. Still, I was ready to do whatever Dad had in mind. It was probably going to be more fun than playing video games or sitting alone in my room browsing the Internet, anyway, because I didn't have any other plans for the weekend (although that was intentional on my part, because I didn't want to have a conflicting schedule).

The night before, Dad told me to meet him in the basement in the morning. So when I got up, I showered, went to the kitchen, grabbed a bagel and some coffee, said good morning to Mom, had a quick breakfast, and then went down to the basement, eager to begin my training.

I had never been down in the basement before. Well, okay, I did go down there once when we first got here, but only to move some of our boxes full of things we didn't really need to unpack just yet, like the Christmas decorations. I didn't spend much time down there, though, because I hate being underground, plus it's dark and smelly, like a rat had died down there or something.

But when I went down there today, the basement had been radically transformed. In the center of the room was a fancy-looking chair that was hooked up to a dozen different monitors of varying sizes and shapes, which showed numbers and graphs that I didn't even come close to understanding. The various boxes containing our unpacked things had been pushed up against the walls, although the smell of a dead rat was still present if much weaker than before.

Staring at the monitors was Dad, who was wearing his Genius costume, complete with helmet. Thus, I couldn't see his face, but I could see the monitors reflecting off his helmet's surface. He was typing furiously on a wireless keyboard, but I wasn't sure what he was typing. On a small table next to him was a fancy-looking suitcase that looked like the kind you stored tools in, but it had a lightning bolt-shaped logo on it, which I recognized as the logo of the Neohero Alliance.

Before I could ask why Dad had a suitcase that was from the NHA, Dad looked over the monitors at me. “Ah, Kevin. You're early. Did Mom drag you out of bed?”

“I set the alarm to get up early,” I said. “I wanted to start my training as soon as possible.”

Dad nodded. “Good. Please sit in the chair.”

Dad gestured at the technological chair I noticed before. When I looked at it more closely, however, I noticed that it had straps on the arms and legs, which made me think of an electric chair.

“Uh, Dad?” I said, looking at Dad, who had returned to typing. “Why does that chair have straps?”

“To keep you in, of course,” said Dad, which wasn't a very helpful answer.

“No, I mean, why do I need to be kept in?” I said. “What is the chair even for anyway? Where did it come from?”

“I call it the Detector,” said Dad, without looking at me. “It's an invention of mine I built in the early 90s. It is supposed to be able to detect what kind of powers a neohero has. You sit in the chair, strap yourself in, and the chair scans your brain and tells you what your powers are.”

“Really?” I said. “It's that accurate?”

“Well, it isn't totally accurate, of course, due to how little we know about how neoheroes' biology works,” said Dad. “It has a thirty percent accuracy rate.”

“Thirty percent?” I said in alarm. “That doesn't seem very accurate to me.”

“It used to be ten percent when I made the first version about twenty-five years ago,” said Dad without missing a beat. “The reason it is so low is because scientists still haven't completely figured out what, exactly, causes powers to form in people. I have to keep updating it whenever any new discoveries in the field of neohero biology are made and I am very proud of the progress I've made with it.”

I frowned. Thirty percent might have been higher than ten percent, but it still didn't seem all that impressive to me. I was worried that it might say that I have flight powers and then Dad would push me off the top of a skyscraper as part of my 'training,' only for it to turn out that I didn't actually have the power of flight. That made me a little hesitant to sit in the Detector.

Still, I walked over to the Detector and sat in it. It was pretty comfy, despite its metallic surface, but then Dad started strapping me in before I could know what was happening. Dad tightened the straps so hard that I couldn't even feel the blood flowing through my limbs.

“Why do you need to strap me in?” I said, looking at the straps. “It's not like I'm going to get up and go anywhere.”

“True, but the Detection process can be … uncomfortable at times, to put it mildly,” said Dad as he put his hands on his waist, tilting his head like he was looking me over to make sure that I was strapped in well.

“Uncomfortable?” I said. “Do you mean painful?”

“No,” said Dad, shaking his head. “It's just has to do with how the process works.”

Dad walked over to the side of the Detector and pulled out about a large, metal bowl with blinking lights and wires attached to it.

“This is the Detection helmet,” said Dad. “When you wear it, it will 'sync' with your brainwaves and feed the information it receives into my computer, which will then match up your brain waves with the brain waves of known superheroes and tell you your powers based on that.”

I frowned. “I thought that neoheroes got their powers from the neogene.”

“That's just a theory,” said Dad dismissively. “And an old one at that, nearly discredited, since scientists have been studying neoheroes for thirty years now and still haven't been able to locate the so-called 'neogene.' Recent scientific research shows that there is something different about the brains of neoheroes and villains than normal peoples' brains, so I've based the latest incarnation of the Detector off that theory.”

“Okay,” I said. I looked at the Detection helmet warily. “Will the Detection helmet hurt?”

“No,” said Dad. “But the Detection helmet has been known to cause disorientation after syncing with the brain. It's nothing permanent, of course, and you shouldn't worry about it, but I just thought you should be aware so you can mentally prepare yourself for it.”

I bit my lower lip. “How do you know it won't, like, erase my memories or turn my brain into mush or something like that?”

“Because it hasn't done that to anyone else before,” said Dad, “although I suppose there is always a first time for everything.”

Before I could tell Dad that he really wasn't being a very reassuring father right now, he slammed the Detection helmet on my head and tied the strap around my chin. The Detection helmet was surprisingly light, feeling more like foam than metal, and it fit my head very well, but the wires constricted my movement.

I watched as Dad walked back over to the monitors and start typing again, no doubt getting the Detector ready to scan my brain.

“Uh, Dad?” I said as more strange numbers and graphs appeared on the monitors. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Certainly, Kevin,” said Dad without looking at me. “What is it? Do you need to use the bathroom before we begin?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I was just wondering why we had to use this machine to figure out my powers. Can't we just, like, go out into an abandoned field somewhere and practice my powers there? I mean, we already know that I have super strength. Can't I learn my other powers through practice?”

“We learned you had super strength when you punched the son of my archenemy through the cafeteria wall and inspired said archenemy to escape from the most secure prison in the world as a result,” said Dad, still without looking at me. “I don't want us doing any practical exercises yet, if only because I do not want you accidentally blowing up the house of some old man who happens to be the grandfather of some other supervillain I might have put behind bars a while ago.”

“Hey, it wasn't my fault,” I protested. “I just didn't know my own strength and who Robert's dad was.”

“Regardless, the Detector will give us an idea of what your power range is,” said Dad. “I've already told it that you have super strength, which will increase its accuracy rate by five percent.”

“So it's really thirty-five percent accurate, then,” I said. “That's really accurate.”

I don't know if Dad sensed my sarcasm or not, because he said, “All right. I am about to start the Detection process. Are you ready?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Let's do it.”

Dad nodded, but then hesitated before saying, “Kevin, I just want to let you know that I am here to help you if anything goes wrong. I doubt anything will—at least as long as I am here watching your vitals—but I just want you to know that in case you are afraid.”

I wasn't very afraid. Just worried that the Detection helmet might somehow fry my brains or maybe turn me into some kind of a zombie, although it was just a minor worry.

So I said, “It's fine, Dad. I know. Just start it. These straps are getting uncomfortable.”

Dad nodded again and then turned and pressed a button on the keyboard.

Immediately, I felt the Detection helmet tighten around my head. It didn't hurt, but it was uncomfortable. It felt like there was a giant plunger on my head and it was getting tighter and tighter. I would have reached up to take it off if my arms hadn't been strapped down.

But it really wasn't all that bad at the moment. I thought all of Dad's warnings were ridiculous. I was still conscious and didn't feel even slightly disoriented.

Then, without warning, my world started spinning around me. I closed my eyes, but it didn't help, because now I felt sick to my stomach. My entire body shook and shuddered, like the earth was shaking. I felt something scanning the top of my head, the top of my brain even. It almost felt like a giant hand was rubbing its fingers on my brain, which made me gasp.

“Kevin, are you all right?” said Dad, who I couldn't see due to the fact that I had closed my eyes. “Kevin, can you hear me?”

“I can,” I said, but my voice was shaky. “Is it done yet?”

“Not yet,” said Dad. “Just a couple more minutes and the scan of your brain waves should be complete.”

A few more minutes? I didn't think I could tolerate even a few more seconds. I tried to say that to Dad, but my jaw started aching. It felt like a giant hand had wrapped around my head and was slowly crushing it between its humongous fingers.

“Just hold on a little while longer …” said Dad. “Almost done … almost …”

A sharp spike of pain was the last straw. I pulled hard at the straps holding me down and ripped them off with my super strength. Then I ripped the straps off my helmet and threw it at the other wall with a yell.

The helmet flew through the air and crashed into the wall, but it was the only thing I saw before I put my face in my hands. My head was still dizzy and I still felt sick to my stomach. My brain didn't hurt as much anymore—in fact, the pain went away as soon as I removed the helmet—but I didn't trust myself to get up and walk just yet.

Then I heard Dad run up to me and I looked up to see Dad standing above me. I couldn't see his facial expression due to his helmet, but I guessed he didn't look happy.

“Kevin, why did you throw that helmet at the wall?” said Dad. His tone was as level as always, but I knew that if I said the wrong thing, I'd regret it.

But I was also annoyed, because he seemed to be treating that helmet better than me, so I said, without caring about my sharp tone, “I threw it at the wall because it was getting me dizzy and it hurt. I felt like I was going to throw up.”

Dad's hands shook, but he just shook his head and said, “You should have told me how you felt. I could have then turned off the machine and let you rest until you felt better. The process doesn't need to be done in one sitting. It can be spread out over a period of time, although its accuracy decreases by two percent due to the change in brave waves from day to day.”

“I couldn't speak,” I said. I rubbed my jaw, which didn't hurt anymore, but which didn't feel good, either. “You should have been paying better attention.”

“I didn't know you couldn't speak,” said Dad. “That's unusual. It must have interacted with your body in a unique way.”

“Do I look like I care?” I said in annoyance. “I thought I was going to die.”

“You were never in any real danger,” said Dad. “I've used this same machine on many people in the past without any negative consequences.” He glanced at the helmet, which lay on the other side of the basement. “That will cost a lot of money to fix.”

“That's what you care about?” I said. “What about my health?”

“Do you feel like you need to go to the doctor?” said Dad, looking at me again.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “But—”

“Then I see nothing to be worried about,” said Dad, interrupting me before I could finish speaking. “But if you want, you can go back to your room and rest while I analyze what data I managed to get from your brain before you broke the Detector.”

Dad's tone didn't change at all as he spoke. He almost sounded like a robot, especially with the voice distortion created by his helmet. I always knew Dad rarely showed emotion or got upset about anything, but now it annoyed me a lot.

“All right,” I said. I stood up from the chair, but almost fell before catching myself, still slightly dizzy from the effects of the helmet. “Ow.”

“Can you make it to your room without help?” said Dad.

I nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

Dad nodded as well and then turned and walked over to the helmet, while I made my way to the stairs. I was looking forward to taking a nap, but that didn't stop me from feeling angry at Dad for acting like my pain was no big deal.