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The Unchronicled Misadventures of

the Disorganization for the Half-Insane

Part One: Origins

Prologue

Travis Fern crept through the labyrinth of pipes and support beams on the top of the warehouse-like building. Every motion was slow, deliberate, and cautious, and most importantly, noiseless.

Inside his soundproof helmet, Travis heard the click of the com. "Commander, we're almost in position, over."

"Acknowledged."

He stared down at the thousands of shelves and crates. The very center of the warehouse - directly below him - was what interested him most, however. A huge empty space, with opened boxes, wires, circuit boards, metal plates, and more appeared to be undergoing a slow methodical assembly. A dozen figures sifted through parts and papers while conversing softly.

"Nes, how long until the listeners are up, over?"

"Sorry, I'm having some trouble; the warehouse is interfering with the signal. Athena's walking me through it, over."

"Feed it to me as soon as it's live."

He carefully shifted his weight so that he was braced against a crossbeam with his hands free. He slid his computerized binoculars from his belt and raised them to his eyes. They automatically focused in on what he was looking at - a piece of paper being animatedly discussed by two of the workers below. He tapped the binoculars to begin recording, but continued to stare through them at the paper. It looked like blueprints of some kind... "Athena, I'm sending you a vid file from my binoculars. Can you enhance the image and tell me what it's of?"

"One minute. Your file is incoming."

He shifted his focus to scan the rest of the people. Nothing particularly noteworthy. His brow furrowed beneath his helmet. What was Villains Incorporated planning?

Noise flooded into his helmet. "You're live," Nesraal's voice whispered.

Travis immediately focused back on the two discussing the paper. His helmet automatically softened all the noises except the ones coming from where he was looking. Every noise was being recorded, but it only passed on the ones he was interested in at that moment.

"-- but I'm not sure if this'll work properly," the taller of the two growled. "They're not even telling us what the rest of the machine does, or how we're supposed to make it hook up to whatever the rest is."

"I guess we'll just follow the plans. I think you're right, though, and it won't work. Maybe if we follow the plans exactly, we won't get in trouble for it not working."

"Right. Like Villains has ever worked that way."

"Pff. It's not right. We aren't given enough information to do our job right, then we get in trouble for it not working. Ah, well. We're almost done with this stupid project."

The two workers parted ways.

"That's probably all I'm going to get from them," Travis told Athena.

"Your shot of the blueprint was useful, though. Here's what ANON was able to do with it."

A picture appeared in the corner of his visor. "Enlarge," he ordered the helmet. It filled his entire view. The schematics made no sense to him, but one part caught his attention: the title. VIM-S2BU-XTV513

He closed the image and slowly began crawling out. "At least we have a lead, now. We've got a name."

"Melanda's got more than that. Nesraal will clean up the listening bugs; get back to Hideout and we'll debrief."

Chapter 1

It started out like any other day. Jon woke, stretched, showered,agonized over which of his one hundred and twenty four different Superman shirts to wear, decided after an agonizing choice, dressed, and glanced at himself in the mirror. "This looks like a job for Superman!" he told himself, then strode out of his room to eat breakfast.

Just as he began pouring a bowl of his favorite cereal --- Cap'n Crunch, -- his cell phone rang. If he had known how that call would change his life, he never would have answered it. Especially since he then could have listened to the Superman theme song for that much longer.

As it is, he let the phone ring for several bars of music, then finally looked at the caller. Paul. He hit answer. "Hey there!"

"Hi Jon. We've got a job offer."

"Really?" Half-Insane Productions, the small film company they and two other friends had founded, hadn't had a job for some time. "Where?"

There was hesitance in Paul's voice. "That's the catch. It's for Villains, Inc. They want us to film a series of ads for them."

"Oh." Jon thought about that for a moment. He debated the morals and ethics and justifications behind it. What would Superman do? he wondered. Then again, Clark Kent had worked in journalism, an unethical field of work if ever there was one. He'd probably take the job in a heartbeat - have to pay the bills somehow. "What did Bobby say?" he asked, stalling for time. "Or Sam?"

"Sam wasn't answering his phone. Bobby was cool with it. He actually thought it would be great fun. He pointed out that they're a registered company that the government has never actually convicted of illegality."

"True." Jon tried to think of right versus wrong. "Um, are there any Bible verses about this?"

He could hear the gears clicking in Paul's brain. "Well... Uh... 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.' I suppose if we were a company, we wouldn't want people refusing to do ads for us just because of our reputation."

"Brilliant!" Jon beamed. It was all right then. "Call Villains, Inc, back and tell them we'll take the job."

"Alright. Call the others -- I think we'll need Allison, and maybe even Dustin, as well, -- and tell them that this'll be a two day project. Villains will make arrangements for us to stay overnight."

Half-Insane Productions was nothing if not good at improvising on short notice. In under five hours, the four friends had gathered, brainstormed several ads, called two friends the project would need -- Allison and Dustin, -- gathered all the equipment they would need, threw the gear into Allison's suburban, and headed out for Villains, Inc.

"Well," Jon rubbed his hands together gleefully, "this should be an adventure!"

Bobby, Jon, Dustin, and Allison all acted for the projects. Paul had long ago made it clear that he would be shot by a gun for target practice before getting shot by a video camera for a film project. Sam served wherever needed, as long as he got to insert his special effects in post-production. The two-hour road trip was, in Jon's opinion, most enjoyable, despite almost choking on oreos multiple times. That much half-insanity in one vehicle was hardous to their healths.

"There it is," Paul, in the front passenger seat, finally announced.

Villains, Inc, was an imposing structure, built to resemble a gothic citadel. Spires spiked into the The six friends gazed at it in stunned silence.

"They need to hire a new public relations manager," Bobby remarked cheerfully after a long awkward pause.

"No kidding?" Sam closed the laptop he had been working on for the past three hours.

"Oh, come on, guys. This'll just be a stretch of our vaunted abillities to make any company or idea appear cheery and pleasant."

"Let's rewrite the script. Something along the lines of 'Don't judge a book by its cover; don't judge a corporation by its creepy-looking citadel'," Allison suggested.

"Sure!" Dustin cheerfully agreed. "Sounds good!"

Allison drove on, toward the looming metal gates. Once they passed the outer wall, however, their impressions rapidly transformed. Inside, everything appeared like a normal corporation's headquarters -- several office buildings and a dozen or so warehouses scattered around the grounds.

An employee, dressed immaculately in a spotless and perfectly buttoned black suit, approached the vehicle. He paused, ran a comb through his seemingly perfectly combed and gelled hair, and then strode to Allison's window. "Please state your name and business at Villains, Inc."

Paul leaned forward. "We're Half-Insane Productions -- we were contacted by Fred Johnson, who hired us to come do an ad shoot. He said he would -- "

"Ah, Half-Insane Productions," the man cut in. "Of course. I'm Fred Johnson. I'm a junior staff member on the public relations staff for Villains."

"I like the citadel," Dustin commented from the back seat.

Fred beamed. "Why, thank you! I came up with it myself. It really does add to the atmosphere, doesn't it? Now, if you'll park your car right over there, I'll fetch you a parking permit and we can proceed with the shoot."

"-- and the scientists were always complaining that there wasn't enough atmosphere to work on villainous projects. The problem trickled its way down to my department, and I realized that if we built them their very own castle to put their labs in, then they would be surrounded by villainous inspiration all the time. So we built the --"

Jon tried to tune out Fred's reminiscing as he, Paul, and Dustin looked over the script one last time. "So, Dustin, you'll walk up to the camera in your superhero outfit and say, 'You know, I've been studying on how to be a good superhero. And I've learned something: All good superheroes have something in common."

Paul nodded. "Right, and then I'll pan over to Bobby, who will be in another superhero costume. He'll walk over to Dustin, and they'll look at each other funny."

"Like, 'what on earth do we have in common?'" Dustin filled in.

"Exactly!" Jon flipped to the next page of concept art. "Then we'll have an ominous shot of the citadel--"

"--Just a super brief snapshot, mind,--" Paul interjected.

"-- Then a shot of some looming clouds if the weather cooperates. If not, maybe Sam will CG it. But then we'll cut to me in my supervillain costume, and then to Allison in a supervillain costume."

"And Dustin will say, 'A good supervillain!'"

"A beat, then I'll say, 'But what do I do when there aren't any good supervillains around?'"

"Right." Jon glanced at a handwritten note. "So Allison will try to do something dorkily villainous, like stealing a kid's candy."

"Problem," Paul tapped the spot on the page. "We don't have any kids around."

"Then she'll... hmm. We'll have Bobby change back into street clothes, and Allison will swipe his coffee."

"That works," Paul nodded. "Then you, Dustin, and Bobby will all stare at her with a 'That's not very villainous' look."

"Sam could overlay something in post, like a 'Fail' label."

"Sounds good, Dusty." Paul glanced back toward the rest of their crew."Bobby! Don't let Allison touch the cameras! She's way too talented at breaking them!"

"You got it! Should I keep Sam from trying to modify the sound equipment as well?"

"Yes!" Paul sighed.

"Ah, the life of a filmmaker," Jon chuckled, then turned back to Dustin. "Then you continue, 'What do I do? I call Villains, Inc.'"

"Then we get some speech from Fred about the services that Villains offers."

"-- but you know," Fred continued droning, oblivious to the fact that his audience was ignoring him, "the one problem with this place is that the buildings aren't laid out symmetrically. It's maddening! They're off-centered! Whoever planned this place did a lousy job. And the one spire on the citadel, -- the one on the left, -- have you noticed that it's tipped one point three five degrees to the northwest? It's just horribly off-balance. Then there's--"

Jon turned, intending to figure out the politest way to shut their employer up. But that was when the earthquake started.

Chapter 2

"This seems a little... far-fetched. Beyond the scope of what Villains, Inc, has ever even tried before." Travis took a gulp of scalding coffee, his eyes never leaving the screen at the front of the debrief room.

"What if they've been trying to trick us all along?" Melanda, suggested. "Sure, it's mostly been petty theft or coordinating supervillains outside their corporation, but that could have been all bluff."

"I think your sister's right," Nesraal said. He didn't look up from the gun he was dissembling and cleaning. "By seeming so harmless, they made us unprepared to stop a serious threat from them."

"But is this even possible?" Travis demanded. "Could they actually design a machine to steal our superpowers?"

Athena - her code name was the only name she had ever given anyone - shook her head in amusement. "Travis. You're asking about possibilities of anything related to our superpowers? Superpowers are, by all known scientific reasoning, utterly impossible."

"Yet we have them," Melanda agreed.

"Exactly. Yet we have them... unless Villains has come up with a way to steal them."

Travis leaned forward, trying to make sense of the fragmented snapshots of the various blueprints. "What about once Villains has our superpowers? Once we've lost them, what can they do with them? Or are the powers just gone forever?"

"The conversation Melanda overheard indicates that the leaders of Villains - those who already have superpowers -- will distribute our powers amongst themselves, to add to the powers they each already have."

"So Nightstalker, in addition to walking through walls and nightvision, would now have Melanda's invisi--"

"Don't," Travis half scowled, half sighed, cutting Nesraal off. "Don't even suggest it. That would be too much of a headache to even consider."

"And then someone else would get Athena's technopathy, another your flight, and another my tekenesis."

"We've got to stop this."

Athena glanced at the laptop in front of her, then up toward the front of the room. "ANON."

"Yes, Lady Athena?" an electronic voice asked from the room's speakers. A small owl icon appeared in the corner of the room's main screen. "I am currently analyzing the blueprints. Regrettably, some of the intracacies escape me."

"Don't worry. I don't need to know everything about how this works; just enough to do some sabotage."

"I will endeavor to assist to the best of my capabilities which you have given me."

Athena turned back to the rest of the Sentinels. "This is our chance to actually catch Nightstalker and his gang. If we can get in there and damage enough equipment to break the machine, they'll have to actually try to stop us."

"And then we can stop them. Sounds good."

"Actually," Melanda interjected with a mischievous smile, "I've go a better idea than that, even. So, if ANON can help us, here's my idea..."

Several hours later, Travis dropped onto the roof next to the utmost spire of Villains, Inc's citadel/laboratory. "I'm in position," he told Athena over the com."

"Stand by - Nesraal's helping me in; we and Melanda will take a bit longer than you."

Travis crouched low next to the spire, trying to blend in as he waited.

"We're in," Athena's voice came over the com. "My scanner's picking up four supervillains - Nightstalker, Deluge, Circutbreaker, and .. I can't ID the fourth, but the scanner thinks he's a ground-shaker."

"Four on four? Sounds fair to me," Nesraal's voice quipped.

"Melanda, you're the first move. On your mark."

"Right." A pause. "I'm moving... now."

Travis dove forward, slid toward the edge of the roof, and dropped off. He hovered in mid-air, right outside the window, picked the lock and let himself in. His helmet's map led him spiraling down the stairs. A thought occured to him. "Athena, does your scanner know where exactly those four are?"

"The citadel's main hall. Hopefully Melanda can sneak in and out without being noticed."

"I doubt it," Travis remarked grimly. He found the room he was looking for. The uninhabited room was filled with a device resembling a huge generator. "I'm in. Now remind me - what exactly do I do?"

"There should be a command interface somewhere on the generator. Plug the device I gave you into any open port. It'll handle the rest."

Travis glanced around. He didn't see an interface. Now, he thought, if I were a mad scientist who didn't want just anyone tampering with my device, where would I stick the interface? Somewhere that requires a ladder.

Travis hovered into the air, and began circling the generator until he spotted a walkway on top that had the interface. He landed, plugged the device in, and dropped back to the floor. "Athena? I'm headed down to the main room. Melanda's not going to be able to sneak in and out without a distraction."

"Did you get the device planted?"

"I did."

"Nesraal finished his part, so as soon as Melanda finishes her sabatoge, the fun should start."

"Guess I should be getting down to the main hall anyways, in that case."

The winding staircases spiraled down until he was one floor below ground. The staircase opened into a huge cavernous room. Without pausing to look, Travis rushed in. "Nightstalker!" he thundered.

The villain who stepped into his path had roughly the muscle mass of Schwartzenneger and a face which Travis had never seen before. He gestured toward the floor, and the ground rocked, throwing Travis to the floor.

Travis grunted, rolled to his feet, and jumped to hover a foot above the ground. "Athena, I can confirm the existence of that ground-shaker."

"Got it!" Melanda's triumphant cry rang over the com. A rumbling - not fron the muscular villain's powers - filled the air.

On the far side of the room, Nesraal and Athena burst down the stairs into sight. Deluge, who looked as if he could have been in the navy, and Circutbreaker, very unmuscular but armed with gadgets, stepped into sight from hiding places behind the machines filling the room.

"We only need one more for the party to be complete," Travis said. "Where's Nightstalker?"

He ducked in midair as a bolt of lighning hissed through the air at him. "Nice try, 'breaker."

Melanda suddely flickered into view.

"Melanda!" Travis snapped into the com. "Get out of sight!"

"I didn't --" she glanced down at herself and stopped mid-sentence. A heartbeat later, she flickered back out of sight.

Nesraal telekinetically picked up a rock and sent it hissing toward Deluge, but it wavered mid-flight, skipped across the ground, and skidded to a halt.

"What is going--" Travis thudded to the ground, temporarily unable to fly. "Athena! Something didn't work right!" He picked himself up and rushed at Grounder. The man delivered a hefty punch at Travis. Still disoriented from his fall, Travis failed to dodge. The blow impacted, and while his helmet absorbed most of the blow, he still went skidding across the floor like Nesraal's pebble.

Stubbornly, he stood again, when a heavy force dropped onto his shoulders, driving him to the ground.

"Crushed, like a plant underfoot," a voice hissed. "Hello, Fern."

"Nightstalker," Travis grunted. "Nice of you to... drop in." He rolled out from under his opponent and grabbed at him, but Nightstalker disappeared through the floor.

Circutbreaker and Deluge stalked toward Nesraal and Athena. Nesraal lunged forward and tackled Deluge, knowing better than to even touch Circutbreaker.

As they brawled, 'Breaker continued his steady approach. He paused and threw a lightning bolt. Athena dodged.

"Now, now," she scolded. "You should know better than to use a lightning bolt in a room of sensitive electronics."

"Whatever." He threw another. She again dodged.

He readied a third, when he was grabbed from behind and tripped to the floor. A kick to the head stunned him. "Go!" Melanda snapped. She flickered in and out of visibility as she continued to slowly lose control of her power.

Athena rushed past the two villains toward the machine.

Travis fought to keep both Nightstalker and the new villain from stopping her, using his spurts of flight to keep him between them and her.

An electronic voice spoke calmly into the room. "Superpowers transfer begins in... ten. Nine. Eight."

Athena rushed over, her mind racing. How could she stop it? Who knew what might happen if she just stopped it. But if she...

"Seven. Six. Five."

Travis coughed, pinned in a headlock by the ground-shaker. "Just do something!" he rasped. He elbowed backward into the man's stomach. His grip slacked enough for Travis to slip free... into a blow from Nightstalker.

"Four. Three."

Athena activated her technopathy, not exactly sure what she was doing, but hoping it would work. Wires sparked, the control panel warped shape, and two new switches appeared: targeted spectrum and destination source. She slapped the first switch to 'maximum', unsure of how else to set it, but hesitated at the second.

"Two. One."

She slapped it away from its current setting. For now, that would have to suffice.

"Activating."

Circutbreaker hurled a lightning bolt toward Melanda, but it vanished in mid-air. Deluge had just readied a wave of water to send at Nesraal, when he lost control. It flooded toward the machine. The ground ceased quaking at the ground-shaker's command, instead shaking of its own accord. Travis pitched to the floor, flight once more stripped from him.

Then a blinding flash blinded everyone in the room, and all collapsed to the floor.

Chapter 3

The ground began to shake underneath their feet. Sam ceased modifying the sound board and glanced around to find some cover.

The quake intensified. Paul dashed for his precious camera, and grabbed it. Jon snatched his cup of coffee from the ground before it tipped over. Dustin glanced around interestedly. Allison tripped and went sprawling.

The quake hit a grand finale. Everyone outside - the four members of the film crew still standing, Fred Johnson, and a custodian randomly passing by, - were thrown to the concrete of the parking lot. A tree tipped over, smashing into a building.

As suddenly as it had started, the earthquake ceased.

Fred Johnson leapt to his feet. He stared in distress at his dirt-covered suit and began brushing himself off, straightening his tie, and trying to regain his dignity. "You know," he remarked, "I hate to do this after you drove all the way here, but we might need to reschedule. I'm not sure that tree will make the advertisement appear very attractive."

"You might be right," Paul agreed. He slowly stood, clutching the camera to his chest.

"I'm most terribly sorry."

The film crew packed up, and made the long drive home.

When Sam woke the next morning, the world around seemed blurred and unclear. I must have hit my head harder than I thought in that parking lot, he thought at first. Then he realised he had just neglected to put on his glasses. Ah, he thought, much better.

After grabbing a quick breakfast, he went back to his project he had left off yesterday for the film project - fixing his computer. The electronic parts lay strewn across the floor of his bedroom. He slowly began assembling them. He soon ad everything in its general location, and was ready to screw the parts in securely. He frowned. Where did I put that Philip's screwdriver? He leaned back in his chair, fidgeting with a pencil in his fingers, and closed his eyes. He tried to picture where he had left it last.

The pencil slipped from between his fingers.

Ouch!" Sam glanced down. A hammer lay on his foot. "What?"

He leaned down and picked up the hammer. He didn't recognize it at all. Where had it come from, anyways?

Sam set that mystery - and the hammer - aside, and tried to regain his train of thought. My screwdriver, he finally remembered.

Then another thought hit him: Where did my pencil go? He remembered it falling from his fingers, right before...

He glanced suspiciously at the hammer. No. He was imagining things. He glanced down to where the pencil should have been, then back at the hammer. Weird. Well, guess I'd better go find that screwdriver.

"Dum duh duh da! Dum duh da!" Bobby cocked his brown fedora as he examined his appearance in the mirror. Dr. Jones would be proud, he thought to himself. His outfit resembled his fictional hero's garb in nearly every detail - from fedora to satchel to bullwhip to partially-unbuttoned shirt to the essential leather jacket. Perfect.

As the young man turned away from the mirror, a movement outside the window caught his attention. "Hey! Where's my car going?"

He bolted out of his room, and out the front door, tripping on his way out. He jumped up and ran after his car. "Thief!"

No way I'll catch up with them, but I've got to try. He forced all the speed he could muster into his legs,... and tripped again. Once more he quickly recovered, and sprinted after. The wind rushed painfully against his face.

And his car... It was.... still the same distance ahead of me? Somehow... somehow he was keeping up.He forced a little more speed into his legs, and slowly... slowly, he gained. Almost out of the neighborhood now, he put on a final burst of speed and caught onto the handle of the passenger-side door.

The thief glanced over in surprise, then swerved over to the side of the road, shoved his door open without waiting for the car to stop, leapt out, and bolted. Bobby almost tripped, but kept his grip on the handle. He watched the thief run off, but let him go. With surprise, he realized that he wasn't the least bit winded. He slid into the front seat, put his keys in the igition, and drove his car back home. This time, he made sure to lock the doors.

Once inside, -- having retrieved his fedora from where he had dropped it just outside the door, -- he looked himself over in the mirror. It's not fair, he thought. Why does Indiana Jones never tear his jacket?

Paul groggily awoke and glanced at the clock. 9:45. Ugh. Must have shut off my alarm without fully waking up... again.

He forced himself out of bed. Something seemed... off. Like something in the room was missing, or out-of-place. Not quite right. Trying, but failing, to ignore the feeling, he grabbed his clothes and headed to shower. The mirror behind his door caught his attention.

He stared at it for a full minute before he realized what was wrong. Where am I? He wondered. He glanced at himself. Nope, he was still visible. Just his reflection was missing. This makes no sense.

Even fifteen minutes later, fully awake, his situation remained the same. No reflection.

Ugh. How am I supposed to comb my hair when I can't see myself? He did his best, but had an idea that his hair had seen better mornings.

An idea began brewing in his mind. That earthquake yesterday, at a corporation called Villains, Inc, and then today I find that my reflection has been stolen. Coincidence? Nah.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Bobby's number. "Hey, Bobby. This is Paul. ... Yah. Have strange things been happening to you today, by any chance?"

Chapter 4

The four of them assembled at Jon's house: Half Insane Productions; Jon, Bobby, Paul, and Sam. Each with their own strange story. And Jon, constantly wondering what the Man of Steelwould have done, tried to sort things out.

"So you think you turned a pencil into a hammer?"

Sam shrugged and held up the hammer in question. "Well, I've never seen this hammer before, and my pencil's gone, so..."

"Huh. And you managed to keep up with a speeding car."

"That's right." Bobby glanced down at the scrapes on his hands. "Even with tripping several times."

"Your face has seen better days," Jon agreed.

"Not that that's saying much," Paul couldn't resist quipping.

"By the way," Jon turned to Paul, "you do realize your shadow is missing as well, right?"

Paul glanced down at where his shadow should have been, made a full circle, then sighed. "Guess my reflection and my shadow both went on strike."

"What about you, Jon?" Sam asked. "Has anything odd happened to you?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Jon confessed.

"Well, let's start with Sam," Paul proposed. "He's got the most ... testable, for lack of a better word, occurance. Bobby's is fairly obvious - he somehow gained superspeed. Me, I don't have the foggiest notion where to start. Same for Jon. So that leaves Sam."

Sam frowned. "Well, all right."

Sam stared at the paperclip. "What should I try to turn it into?"

"Something small." Jon thought for a moment. "What about a screw?"

"Sure." Sam focused on the paperclip, trying to picture it turning into a screw.

Nothing.

He gritted his teeth, glared at it, and focused even harder.

Nothing.

"Try... cupping your hands around it," Bobby suggested.

Sam did.

Nothing.

Focused on the problem, Jon barely noticed Paul swipe his iPhone from his pocket. "Maybe if you physically touch it, or hold it in your hands?"

"I wasn't holding the pencil when it turned into a hammer. I had dropped it before then."

"Just try it anyways."

Nothing.

Sam sighed, and closed his eyes, trying to remember what exactly he had been thinking and doing when the transformation had happened. "What I really need," he said, half-jokingly, an amusing mental image filling his mind, "is a 'Using Your Superpower for Dummies' book." Then he went back to picturing a screw.

Light flashed from the paperclip. Sam's eyes snapped open again, and he looked down at where the paperclip had been.

Sitting in its place was a book, looking distinctly like a 'For Dummies' book.

Jon picked it up. "Chinese? Not terribly useful."

Paul looked up from Jon's iPhone. "Actually, that looks more like Korean to me." He used the iPhone to scan the symbols. After a moment, he announced, "According to Google Translate, it's Vietnamese for 'Sumo-Wrestling for Dummies.' Anyone interested?"

"Ooh, pick me!" Bobby quipped. Apart from maybe Jon, he was indisputably the lightest and least muscular person in the room. But, as Paul would have said, that wasn't saying very much.

"Not exactly a screw," Jon observed wryly.

"Nor 'Superpowers for Dummies,' which is closer to this than a screw is," Sam said, looking at the book. He let it drop to the table. "Ugh. When I want a screwdriver, I get a hammer. When I want 'Superpowers for Dummies' in English, I get 'Sumo-Wrestling for Dummies' in Vietnamese. It's like I don't have control over what the object..."

His voice trailed off as realisation clicked. "...over what the object turns into," he and Bobby finished simultaneously.

"Now, here's another question," Jon said half an hour later, after further tests had mostly verified their theory on Sam's power. "How would you classify this power?"

"It's like a what-cha-call-it... where the person can assemble electronics with a thought..."

"Technopathy," Paul supplied, not looking up from Jon's iPhone.

"Right, that one. Except I can't control what it turns into, and it's not just electronics."

"Odd," Bobby agreed.

"'hem. Speaking of technopaths," Paul glanced up from the iPhone, "do you guys know who the Sentinels are?"

"That superhero group, right?" Jon asked. "That former soldier -- Trevor or something like that -- and his friends."

Paul handed the iPhone to Jon. "Travis. Yah. Apparently they're missing. It's top news."

Bobby glanced from Paul to Jon. "What does that have to do with a technopath?"

"Athena, their strategist, was a technopath," Paul shrugged.

"Technopath, one had invisibility, a telekinetic-slash-superspeedy. And Travis could fly."

"I'm jealous," Jon remarked. He glanced sharply at the iPhone again. "Just when did you steal this?" he demanded, glaring at Paul.

"A bit before Sam created a copy of 'Sumo-wrestling for Dummies.' You just noticed?"

"Hey, Paul," Sam said quietly. "Your shadow's back."

Paul looked down. There it was.

Jon stopped glaring at Paul and looked. The shadow vanished.

"Curious," Paul mused. "It's almost like your glaring made my shadow reappear."

"Worth a shot, I guess." Jon once more glared at Paul. In his peripheral vision, he could see the shadow rematerialize. "That's odd."

"Hmm." A mischeivous look crossed Sam's face. "Hey, Bobby. Let's go for a run."

Two hours and many bruises on Bobby later, the four returned to Jon's house. "Well, we've confirmed it. Bobby has superspeed."

"Yah," Bobby eyed his bruised arms ruefully. "Now if only I had reflexes to match."

"We also confirmed that Jon can cancel our powers," Sam continued.

Paul rolled his eyes. "Except I don't even know what my superpower is. Whoohoo -- I don't have a shadow or reflection! I'm going to save the world with that trait!"

The next suggestion was typical Sam. "Well. In the meantime -- who's up for a rubber band war?"

Paul crouched behind the corner, lurking in wait for his prey to appear. The rubber band in his hands was stretched tight, ready to hit the unsuspecting victim. Then he heard it - Bobby approaching. He willed himself to not be spotted, hoping to achieve a perfect ambush. Bobby appeared, seemingly oblivious to Paul's presence under the table. Paul fired. A bullseye - right in the chest. Bobby whirled, but seemed unable to find Paul.

Paul pulled another rubber band from his pocket and fired. Another perfect hit!

"Arg, where are you?" Bobby demanded.

Paul frowned. His hiding spot wasn't that good. "Right here," he said.

Bobby turned and glanced around. "Where?"

Paul let the rubber band drop to the floor. "Under the table-- here:" he stood up, "I'm right here."

"Whe--" Bobby jumped. "Is that you?"

"... Of course it's me."

"I see a shadow, but where are you?"

Paul glanced down, and jumped in shock. After recovering, he stared blankly at Bobby. Bobby stared blankly at where he thought Paul's head might be.

Paul broke the silence. "The Ring syndrome."

Bobby blinked. "What?"

"The Hobbit. J. R. R. Tolkien. When Bilbo wears the ring."

Recognition dawned on Bobby's face. "Oh! Invisible, but still has a shadow. Got it!"

"Right. Except in my case--"

Paul flinched as Sam appeared around a corner and fired three rubber bands in succession at point-blank into Bobby. "Ouch," he remarked sympathetically to Bobby.

Sam jumped, eyes darting around to spot Paul.

Paul fired two rubber bands of his own into Sam, then somehow managed to make himself return to the visible spectrum. "-- in my case," he finished his earlier sentence, "I only have a shadow or reflection when I'm invisible."

Sam picked up his glasses from the floor where he had dropped them upon Paul's unexpected appearance right next to him. "I've got a theory. Actually, I take that back; it's only a hypothesis for now."

"Oh?" Paul asked, then turned and called, "Jon, game's over; you can stop trying to sneak up on us."

"Darn." Jon stood up from where he had been crawling forward. "I almost had you guys."

"So," Paul turned back to Sam. "What's your hypothesis?"

"You mentioned the Sentinels. One of them was a technopath."

"Correct."

"One of them had invisibility."

"... Yes."

"And one of them had superspeed."

"Oh. Got it."

"It's not a perfect match, though," Jon pointed out. "None of them had power-cancellation... that we know of."

"If one of us had flight, though, it would be almost perfect."

"Wait, wait, wait," Bobby protested. "You're trying to say that we somehow became the Sentinels?"

"Or," Paul offered, "that however the Sentinels originally gained their powers, we just had the same thing happen to us as happened to them."

"Exactly," Sam agreed. "If we were to try to match this, that would mean Bobby also had telekinesis, and Jon had ... flight, most likely."

"Well, how am I supposed to figure that out?" Jon said. "Jump up and down and flap my arms like a bird? Or just go, 'Superman to the rescue!'?"

"Or we could shove you off a cliff," Bobby quipped.

"And hope that, if he doesn't have flight, that you do have telekinesis?" Paul crossed his arms.

"I doubt he does," Sam said thoughtfully. "He would have used it to get his car back, it seems."

"True."

"That leaves Jon and flight, again."

"As I said, how are we supposed to figure that out?" Jon edged away from Bobby nervously.

Paul shrugged and smiled innocently. "I thought your first idea sounded good, personally."

"What," Jon scoffed, "jump up and down and flap my arms like a bird?" He did the motion mockingly.

Sam, Bobby, and Paul all exchanged significant glances.

"Seems to work just fine to me," Bobby nodded toward Jon's feet, now hovering several inches off the ground.

Jon glanced down, stopping his flapping motions unintentionally, and dropped back to the ground. "Oh." Then the cold, hard reality of the situation sunk in. I can fly?!!!!"

Jon sprinted out the back door, into the yard, and began flapping his arms crazily. "Wheeeeeee!"

He soared -- if such a graceful word could be applied to him -- erratically through the air. "I'm SUPERMAN!!!!" he screamed for the whole world to hear.

"Only if Superman had to flap his arms like a dying duck," Paul remarked under his breath. Bobby and Sam burst out laughing, nodding in agreement.

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