1
st
October 2034
They call me Precog. It's not a great name, but it fits the bill. Ever since I hit puberty, I've had the ability to look into the future through my dreams. Each time I fall asleep, I'm given a glimpse of my own perspective from some point in the days to come. Usually the next day, but it depends. If I fall asleep after harming my brain with a heavy night of drinking, or while suffering from a malicious fever, the visions stretch forward in time to later, random points in my future. But that only happens from time to time.
Without a tried and tested method of controlling my dreams, my power is a touch hit or miss compared to the other heroes taking residence in this city. It's inconsistent. Limited. I can't change the future, only predict it. And dreams being dreams, I don't catch everything. I forget plenty of what I saw before I can put that information to use.
It's also not a flashy power. My precognition is not the dynamic flight of heroes like Orbiter, the pyrotechnics of Cinder or even the charismatic smile of the Generalissimo. Still, once the Accord of Heroes learned about my powers, they were kind enough to let me into their ranks. They gave me a name, and they tossed me a cape striped in the Accord's sky-blue and sunflower yellow. I am one of them. Even if, more often than not, my powers mean I stay at home in the Accord Estate, right in the heart of the Capital, while the others zoom to the frontlines to tackle the villains and stop the kidnappings or whatever. My contribution to the daily briefings is to share my dreams with the heroes those dreams relate to. And it's good work. I've stopped seven fires in the city so far, foiled two bank robberies before they could begin. Generalissimo gave me a solid pat on the back that time I stopped the mayor's assassination.
I mean,
I
didn't stop that assassination. The Generalissimo did. I just helped...
But today, that changes. I've just about recovered from a nasty flu, a product of the evil Plague Doctor's intoxication of the city's rainclouds. And during my time resting in bed, I dreamed. I dreamed the same dream, over and over, night after night. In the dream, my hands are shaking. I'm holding my phone up so that I can read the words on the news clearly.
"1
st
October 2034. Young hero Precog foils art heist in solo defence of priceless collection."
The first day of October, the year 2034. That's today. Today, I save the day. And I do it alone. It's my destiny.
I don't take much with me as I set out for the Capital Arts building on the day of my reported heroism. I can't fly and I don't have a cool jet or anything, so I'm taking the bus. And I make sure to tuck my cape under my jacket where it can't be spotted until I arrive on the scene. I'm hopeful I can solve this cleanly, after all, without causing a fuss. And people don't recognise my face, so I don't need a mask. The little plastic disc that is my Accord emergency communicator is about all I stuff into my pocket.
But I do bring a weapon. It's a laser gun that I invented through a vision of the future after the night of booze that was my induction into the Accord. It's made of materials that are readily available in this day and age, but the military will invent the technology formally in about twenty years. My hands are shaking with fright and excitement as I tuck the gun into the back of my trousers and hide it with the hem of my jacket.
A flash of my hidden cape is all I need to be let into the warehouse storing the priceless collection at the Capital Arts building, all boxed up in preparation for exhibition over the weekend. After all, everyone trusts the Accord of Heroes. The young man in the building's security uniform is kind enough to ask for a picture with me before leaving me alone in the warehouse containing the artwork. He'll be watching me carefully over the cameras the whole time, he tells me. He'll probably record what he sees for social media, I imagine. He closes the door behind me, and I settle in. My premonition didn't give me a time for when the unknown villain strikes, so I've decided to arrive early in the day. It's midday now.
The warehouse room is a tall, dusty chamber floored in simple concrete, and I take a seat behind a big, wooden crate with 'Porter Shipping' stamped on one side. It takes my weight easily, so it must contain something pretty hefty. Maybe a sculpture or something. Around me, other crates are pushed up against the walls of the warehouse and between metal racks containing the flatter shapes of packaged paintings. The roof above is pointed and lined with wooden rafters, since the Arts building is a repurposed industrial workhouse. Its interior is a holdover of an older architectural style.
And then I toss my jacket to one side, spread out my cape, and I wait. I'm good at waiting. It might be because my role in the Accord of Heroes is accomplished while I sleep, and my days are spent doing little more than watching my premonitions come about. Or maybe doing a bit of dry, monotonous paperwork with the admin team. I've gotten very good at entertaining myself. As such, I spend some time in the silent solitude of the arts warehouse, thinking about what a cooler costume for the hero Precog might look like. Not just today's casual clothes and mismatched cape. Something futuristic would be on brand. I imagine myself in a gunmetal grey one-piece suit, my eyes hidden by a tight cap with a set of thick goggles. Cyborg bits and pieces dot my slim body, which is toned by a fitness regime that I'll get into because I'm cool now that I've saved the day. Yes! That would be a good look with which to feature on the front page of a news site!
It turns out that I don't have to wait all that long, in the end. I'm startled out of my daydreaming by a hissing sound from overhead. Peeking out from behind the crate, I look up towards the slanted ceiling. Twin sparks are making a wide, fiery, circular dance on the inside of the tiling. A moment later, a rough circle of fused ceramic is lifted free and placed on the roof to one side. Then, one end of a long, segmented metal rope is dropped into the warehouse.
Licking my lips anxiously, I glance up at the closest of the mounted security cameras in the upper corner of the warehouse. But before I can assess whether my new friend in the security office has seen this villainous intrusion, something lunges down from the dark of the rafters above the camera and loops its way tightly around it. A cybernetic snake. Most of its round head is taken up by a big, yellow eye, which it now stares into the camera's black lens. There's a little flash of debilitating light, and the camera goes dead. I dart my eyes around the room, and I see flashes of steel as other snakes handle the remaining cameras. What does that mean? Will security know that something is wrong, or not?
But there's one thing that I do know. I know which villain this is. I swallow a lump in my throat as I prepare my attack.
She descends gracefully down the line dropped from the roof. She is dressed in a slimming, silken gown of racing green that hugs her hips and reveals the length of her shapely legs through a tall, flirtatious slit in the side of the skirt. She wears a black bolero jacket and fingerless black gloves, both made of pristine leather. Her hair is a thick, jet-black bob around her shoulders that she has accented with subtle, metallic green colouring. She faces away from me as she lands gently on tall, heeled black boots and enters a digital command into the thick belt around her slim waist with a tap of her fingers. I can just about hear her satisfied sigh though the perilous thudding of my own heartbeat.
My hands are shaking as I force myself to be brave.
I win this
, I remind myself.
I'm the hero today! Even if I have to face one of the Dark Odyssey Movement, I'm destined to be the victor! I have nothing to fear!
So, breathing deeply, I leap up to my feet and jump out into the open warehouse floor, levelling my gun at the villain with one hand. The weapon hums with life in my shuddering palm.
"Freeze!" I call out. "D-Don't move!"
The villain pauses the motions of her hands. Around us, I can see in my periphery the glowing circles of many digital, serpentine eyes aimed right at me. The machine helpers won't be much good without commands from their mistress, so I think I can ignore them if I take her out first. The villain herself is still for a moment. And then she begins to turn about to face me. Something in my voice has given away my weakness.
"Don't move!!" I insist fearfully.
But it's no use. My fingers are unmoving upon the trigger. I can't shoot another human being. I really should have known that about myself before bringing this impotent tool along with me today. What was I thinking? Was I really trusting to destiny so blindly?
This villain's name is Gorgon. Her eyes glow with the same yellow incandescence as her drones, and when they lock onto mine, I am forced suddenly to stillness. I am drawn in by the ethereal light, the charming curiosity of her ruby-red smile and the dynamic, black wings of her alluring eyeshadow. Gorgon's ability allows her to temporarily stun the part of her target's brain which lets them make conscious movements with their body. Movements such as pulling the trigger on a laser gun. She can keep me held like this for as long as she retains eye contact, and the other heroes who have faced her seemed confident that she does not have to blink unless she wants to.
Gorgon tilts her head curiously at me, now correctly confident that I am powerless to harm her. She folds her arms under the round curve of her chest. The neck of her gown beneath her jacket is a sharp plunge that reveals the centre of her cleavage, and an onyx necklace studded with jade gemstones draws attention to her luscious, lascivious figure.
"Now, who is this?" she wonders aloud, pouting her soft lips. Her voice is a gorgeous, husky and confident alto, and her accent holds a curious continental lilt that I find myself eagerly trying to identify with the part of my brain that isn't panicking. "I don't think we've had the pleasure."
I can't speak, of course. My body's subconscious processes continue to function, thank God, but I can't decide to say a single word while her eyes are on me. Gorgon saunters forward, and the movements of her rounded thighs are highlighted by the thin silk of her gown. Once she is within arm's reach, she smiles with sudden realisation.
"Ah, I know you!" she declares. "You're one of the General's little Accord, aren't you? You're... their intern? Is that right?"
Her teasing smile makes me equal parts infuriated and aroused. My heart beats hard in a rhythm of her choosing.
"And you're all by yourself today, little intern?" she chuckles. "How very brave of you. The big boys must have taught you well, to make you so brave."
Gorgon reaches up and strokes her fingertip along the edge of my gun. "Still, to come here alone with just this toy to defend yourself with was foolish, wasn't it?"
A robotic snake drops suddenly from the ceiling and lands on my arm, summoned by Gorgon's free hand on her belt. My body flinches with primal shock, but as soon as I recognise my own emotions, I am forced back to stillness. Gorgon laughs proudly at my paralysis as the snake slithers its way around my wrist and about the metal box of my gun. The snake fixes me with its own wide, yellow eye. Then it crushes my gun into mangled scrap with a squeeze of its serpentine body. I can feel the pieces crumbling through the vibrations working their way up my arm.
