Fernandez, the cameraman, cleared his throat. “I just wanna remind everybody that the crew’s on shift for another twenty minutes. After that, we go to time and a half.”
Everyone turned to Night Thrasher.
“Okay, listen up everyone.” Thrasher held out a tablet computer, displaying profiles of the four villains. “Nitro and Cobalt Man are the real threats here. Coldheart’s a hand-to-hand expert; we should take her out from a distance if possible. I don’t know the current state of Cobalt’s armor, but…”
“’Ball,” Microbe said again, leaning over to whisper in Speedball’s ear. “’Ball ’ball ’ball ’ball ’ballllll.”
Speedball pulled out his iPhone, thumbed on some Honey Claws. Electronic riffs and a pumping bass line. Mercifully, it drowned out both Microbe’s taunts and Thrasher’s boring tactical briefing.
Speedball was tired and cranky. They all were, he realized. It had been Thrasher’s idea to turn the New Warriors into a reality show, and at the beginning it seemed exciting. Times were tough for teenage heroes, and this was a chance to transform their frankly third-rate team into pop stars. The show enjoyed a brief spurt of attention, and Speedball became addicted to the public acclaim, the guest appearances on The Colbert Report and Charlie Rose.
But then Nova had quit, and the less said about his replacement—“Debrii”—the better. She’d washed out after two episodes. As the season wore on, the strain of travel and constant reshoots had worn on all of their nerves. And the ratings took a sharp dive, straight into the toilet. A second season looked really, really unlikely.
It’s too bad, he thought. When this started, we were all friends.
Nita elbowed him roughly in the ribs, and he yanked off the earbuds. “What?”
“We’ve been marked.”
Speedball looked over at the house, just as Coldheart turned to stare right at them. Then she ran inside, yelling, “Everybody in costume. It’s a raid!”
The Warriors were on their feet. Fernandez hefted his camera, preparing to follow them.
“Standard attack pattern,” Thrasher called out. “Form on me—”
Speedball just grinned and leapt, kinetic-energy bubbles blasting out from him in all directions. “GO!” he yelled.
He could almost feel Thrasher’s exhausted sigh.
As Speedball arced in for a landing, halfway across the lawn, he thumbed his iPhone to another track. The show wasn’t broadcast live, but somehow, the stentorian theme music in his ears always got him pumped. And Speedball lived to get pumped.
“SPEEDBALL!” the announcer’s voice called in his ear. “NIGHT THRASHER! MICROBE! THE SULTRY NAMORITA! AND…THE MAN CALLED NOVA!”
He hated that part.
“IN A WORLD OF GRAYS…THERE IS STILL GOOD AND EVIL! THERE ARE STILL…”
“…THE NEW WARRIORS!” Speedball shouted the words along with the announcer—just as he crashed into the front door, splintering it to toothpicks.
The other Warriors ran up behind him, surveying the scene. The living room was stripped bare, like a crack den. A long-haired man whirled to greet them, half clad in a metal exoskeleton.
“Speedfreek,” Thrasher said.
“Holy crap.” Speedfreek reached for a silvery, red-visored helmet.
Grinning again, Speedball body slammed him, sending the helmet flying. They crashed together through the far wall, into the backyard. ’Freek stumbled back over an old stump, surrounded by overgrown grass and weeds.
“I’d heard that clothes make the man, Speedfreek.” Speedball punched him hard, a solid left cross. “And in your case, it’s totally true!”
“Ungh!” Speedfreek flew back, fell to the lawn.
Fernandez, the cameraman, tapped on Speedball’s shoulder. “Sound cut out for a minute there, bud. Any chance of that last part again?”
Speedball grimaced, motioned to Namorita. She rolled her eyes and stalked over to the dazed Speedfreek. She lifted him easily up into the air, tossed his limp form toward the cameraman.
Speedball crouched down and leapt up high, swooping back down with a flying kick. As his foot made contact with Speedfreek’s jaw, he called out clearly: “In your case, Chuckles, it’s totally true!”
Fernandez lowered the camera, gave a bored thumbs-up.
Speedball looked around. Night Thrasher and Microbe had Coldheart and Cobalt Man cornered against the far fence. Cobalt was struggling to fasten his high-tech suit over his big frame, while Coldheart slashed her energy swords through the air, keeping the Warriors at bay.
Microbe turned lazily to glance at Speedball. Probably hoping I get my head kicked in, Speedball thought.
“Wait a minute.” Coldheart paused, holding up her energy swords in a defensive posture. “I know you guys. You’re those idiots from that reality show.”
“That’s right,” Thrash replied. “And this is reality.”
Speedball shook his head. Lame catchphrase, boss.
“No,” Coldheart continued. “No way. I’m not gettin’ taken down by Goldfish Girl and the Bondage Queen.” She sliced a crackling sword-arc through the air.
But Namorita was already inside Coldheart’s defenses. Nita slammed a blue fist, hardened to withstand the ocean’s depths, straight across the villainess’ jaw. “Beg to differ, sweetheart.”
Night Thrasher followed up with an acrobatic kick to Coldheart’s stomach. “Can we edit out the part where she called me the Bondage Queen?”
“Yeah.” Nita smirked. “Because Night Thrasher sounds so much straighter.”
Coldheart was down—but where had Cobalt Man gone? And what the hell was Microbe doing, just standing there in the corner of the lawn, his back to them?
Speedball leapt over to Microbe. Surprisingly, the manchild stood over a writhing, subdued villain in an overcoat. Beneath the coat, an armored exoskeleton seemed to be dissolving away before their eyes.
“I got Cobalt Man!” Microbe said. “My bacterial powers are rusting his suit away. Guess I’m not such a loser after all, huh?”
“Learn to count, loser.” Speedball looked around. “Where’s the fourth bad guy?”
Nita leapt high up, the small wings on her feet fluttering madly. She stopped, hovering in midair, and pointed out over the house toward the road beyond. “I’m on it.” She turned to soar up and over the roof.
Thrasher and Microbe whirled back toward the house. They marched through the hole in the wall, heading after Namorita.
Speedball started to follow, then turned back at a sound. On the ground, Speedfreek grunted, trying to rise. Speedball kicked him hard, then turned toward the house. Fernandez followed, shouldering his camera.
Halfway through the living room, Speedball stopped in his tracks. Fernandez shot him a look, and Speedball motioned him ahead. The cameraman trotted on toward the front door.
Speedball took a long, careful look around the room. Beer cans were everywhere. On a folding table, pizza dripped and rotted, the one remaining slice soaking through a greasy box. A meth pipe still glowed, discarded on a pile of Xbox disks. Ancient paint cracked and peeled from the walls; stuffing leaked from the old sofa.
This house, he realized. It’s where you end up. When it all goes wrong, when things don’t turn out the way you expect. When you make all the wrong decisions, and end up running for your life.
Speedball had peaked early during the fight; now his adrenaline levels were crashing. He felt suddenly tired, useless, futile. He was glad the others weren’t around—he’d expended a lot of energy, no pun intended, keeping his bipolar condition a secret from them. He felt very unreal, as though he were watching his own actions from a distance. Like some bored, faceless audience member, just getting ready to click away to another channel.
“Speedball!” Ashley’s voice lanced into his ear. “Kid, where are you? You want to miss the climax?”
No, he realized. No, I don’t want to miss it.
Speedball bounded out through the shattered front door in a burst of kineti
c energy. He pivoted on the front step, posing briefly in case one of the cameras was recording him, then bounced out into the street.
Across the road, a crowd of elementary school kids had gathered at the edge of a playground. Some of them held books, computers; one kid carried a baseball bat. Night Thrasher and Microbe held them back, motioning firmly, while Namorita swooped down through the air toward a parked school bus.
A small figure dashed across the street, toward the school bus: purple-and-blue costume, long silver hair. Cruel eyes that looked like they’d seen—and done—terrible things.
Nita crashed down onto him from above, slamming him into the bus, caving in its side. Shattered window glass hailed down, covering both figures.
The man made no sound.
“On your feet, Nitro.” Namorita stood in full battle stance, arms upraised, legs planted firmly for the camera. “And don’t try any of your stupid explosions, because that’s only going to make me hit you harder.”
Speedball moved in to back her up.
Nitro knelt crouched on the pavement, leaning up against the dented bus. When he looked up, his eyes blazed with hate…and deadly fire.
“Namorita, right?”
Fernandez moved in, swinging the camera back and forth from Nitro to Nita.
Nitro smiled, and his eyes glowed brighter. “I’m afraid I’m not one of those bargain-basement losers you’re used to, baby.”
Nitro’s whole body was glowing now. Nita took a step back. Night Thrasher watched, tense and unsure. Microbe just stared, his mouth slack, eyes wide.
The kids had moved out into the street, also staring. One of them dribbled a basketball absently, nervously.
Thrasher strode forward, sudden alarm in his eyes. “Speedball…Robbie. Help me get these kids out of here!”
Ashley was chattering too, in his ear.
Speedball didn’t move, didn’t even nod. Once again, he felt like he was watching events, images, moving in a prerecorded pattern on some high-def screen. Does any of this matter? he wondered. If it all goes wrong, if it doesn’t follow the right script, can we just do another take?
Or is this the last, the only take?
Nitro was a ball of fire now. Only his glaring eyes were visible, searing into Namorita’s.
“You’re playing with the big boys now,” Nitro said.
The energy flared out from him, consuming Namorita first. She arched in pain, let out a silent scream, then dissolved into skeletal ash. The shockwave continued to spread outward, engulfing camera, cameraman, school bus. Night Thrasher, then Microbe. The house, and the three villains sprawled in its backyard.
The children.
Eight hundred fifty-nine residents of Stamford, Connecticut died that day. But Robbie Baldwin, the young hero called Speedball, never knew that. As Robbie’s body boiled into vapor, as the kinetic energy inside him burst forth for the last time into the void, his final thought was:
At least I won’t have to get old.
Continued in
CIVIL WAR
Hardcover available now
Trade Paperback available April 2013
CIVIL WAR prose novel
Written by STUART MOORE
Adapted from the graphic novel by MARK MILLAR
The Marvel Universe is changing. In the wake of a tragedy, Capitol Hill proposes the Super Hero Registration Act, requiring all costumed heroes to unmask themselves before the government. Divided, the nation’s greatest champions must each decide how to react — a decision that will alter the course of their lives forever! Experience Marvel’s blockbuster event like never before in this new adaptation!
HC ISBN: 978-0-7851-6035-9
TPB ISBN: 978-0-7851-6036-6 (April 2013)
ASTONISHING X-MEN: GIFTED prose novel
Written by PETER DAVID
Adapted from the graphic novel by JOSS WHEDON
The X-Men: outcast heroes, banded together to defend the rights of mutants everywhere. But what if no one had to be a mutant anymore? Would that be a curse, or a blessing? And what price would mutantkind pay for this “cure”? The X-Men go head-to-head with the enigmatic Ord, with an unexpected ally — and some unexpected adversaries — tipping the scales in this full-length novel based on the acclaimed comics series by the writer/director of Marvel’s The Avengers!
HC ISBN: 978-0-7851-6514-9
NEW AVENGERS: BREAKOUT prose novel
Written by ALISA KWITNEY
Adapted from the graphic novel by BRIAN MICHAEL BENDIS
Fantasy/romance/comics author Alisa Kwitney (A Flight of Angels, Moonburn) reveals the secret history of Avengers couple Hawkeye and the Black Widow. Under secret orders to assassinate the Widow, the rough-edged marksman finds himself caught up in a violent prison break that releases some of the world’s most vicious and powerful criminals. Defying his superiors, Hawkeye joins forces with the sultry Russian spy — and with a mismatched group of personalities that includes Spider-Man, Spider-Woman, Luke Cage, Captain America and Iron Man, in a dramatically different take on Brian Michael Bendis’ Avengers comics debut. Learn the sizzling backstory of your favorite big-screen heroes in this adaptation, inspired by the best of page and screen!
HC ISBN: 978-0-7851-6516-3
IRON MAN: EXTREMIS prose novel
Written by MARIE JAVINS
Adapted from the graphic novel by WARREN ELLIS
Iron Man was forged out of advanced technology, but now that same future tech threatens to doom Tony Stark. A dangerous terrorist has ingested a techno-organic virus called Extremis, transforming him into a superhuman killing machine. Now immensely powerful, but driven mad by the virus’ effects, the Extremis creature seems unstoppable. To halt this madman’s psychotic rampage, Iron Man must face the Extremis virus head-on — in a life-or-death battle that will drive Tony Stark closer than ever to the thin line between man and machine. Experience Warren Ellis’s blockbuster reimagining of the armored Avenger like never before in this new adaptation!
HC ISBN: 978-0-7851-6518-7 (April 2013)
Alisa Kwitney, New Avengers: Breakout Prose Novel
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