Predicament on Pick-a-Power Planet

CW: This story contains goofy descriptions of violence and brief language.

Ten.

Nine.

The numbers slowly ticked down in Graham’s mind. When he reached zero, the situation he found himself in would be resolved, one way or another.

Graham stared into the steely grey eyes of the man across from him. This man was immaculately dressed in a tight fitting black suit that showed the impressive definition of his biceps, chest, and back. The fit on his physique made him look like a panther wearing spandex, but like a sexy-killer version of that. Graham was going to have to try that appearance out when he got a chance, assuming he could get his hands on the man at some point.

Grasped firmly in Graham’s right hand, arm extended toward the man in black, was Graham’s Glock 19 semi-automatic pistol. The gun was aimed directly between the piercing grey orbs of the man Graham had been tracking for days. Graham read neither fear nor remorse in those eyes, despite the situation and Graham’s pronouncement upon entering the room. That was just one of many facts that was making Graham very nervous. The detail causing Graham the most unease right now, of course, was that he had no idea what the man’s special power might be. That information was the thing Graham yearned for most.

“You’re under arrest for the murders of Lillian and Doug Doherty.”

After bursting into the man’s high-rise apartment, located on the 25th floor of one of Triton Heights’ many residential skyscrapers, Graham had led with this proclamation. He hoped the words came out confidently, but he was afraid his unease was apparent. “Surrender yourself now to avoid immediate execution!” His voice quivered a bit at the last part, damnit, not transforming himself into badass mode like that line usually did. The lack of reaction by the man in black was also disheartening.

Still, Graham remained mostly sure of himself. He had killed plenty of criminals and villains before. Some of those bad guys had even chosen super strength, and so they were even more jacked than this caged gorilla. It was just, at this moment, Graham wasn’t even sure if his threat was physically possible. Despite the unknowns and all of the tensions in his brain, the gun in his hand held steady enough.

The man looked first into Graham’s eyes and then at the gun pointed at his head. His confidence seemed to be holding up better than the policeman’s. In fact, he held his posture throughout the confrontation with an almost carefree poise.

“You’re not going to shoot me, officer,” he said without blinking. The tone of his voice, much steadier than Graham’s, reinforced the idea that he might be the one in charge of the action.

Graham was desperately trying to deduce what the criminal had up his sleeve. He concluded from the man’s announcement that he couldn’t be a telepath or psychic, however. If this situation lasted just a few more moments, then shooting the man is just what Graham would do.

This was when the imaginary countdown began in Graham’s head. The numbers ten, nine, and now eight had slowly ticked their way through Graham’s brain. If his clock reached zero before the man surrendered, Graham was going to find out what made him think he was so special.

***

Five years prior to the standoff in the apartment, Detective Graham Lawson had become a member of the World Rectitude Agency of Triton Heights (WRATH). He had excelled in his training, aced all of his tests, and proven himself apt in his procedures. The thing WRATH had been the most impressed with, however, was Graham’s unique and useful superpower. Graham had the ability to instantly transform his body into that of any human being he had ever had contact with. This talent made him especially qualified for undercover work. He was able to make himself completely unrecognizable at any time, or sometimes more importantly, make himself recognizable as someone he was not. This latter attribute made him more appealing to the Agency than those guys who had the power of invisibility. You could never really trust those guys anyway, as most of them were perverts.

WRATH taught its detectives that arrests were preferable, when possible, but that terminations were acceptable when the situation called for it. Ultimate authority was given to the officers. There was no need for a court system since the mental memory masters could construct past events such as murders and thefts perfectly. The cerebral images taken from their minds and shared by those with the power of thought projection could show an officer every detail of any crime ever committed. Before an attempt at arrest was ever made, the criminal had already been proven guilty.

Difficulty only arose when it came time to make the actual arrests. While a perpetrator’s special power was often known beforehand (as all powers were a matter of public record), knowing exactly what would transpire in a confrontation was a different matter. WRATH’s future glimpsers were not always allowed to converse with the detectives about this part of their assignments. If a detective were to be seriously wounded or killed on an assignment, the Agency thought it best practice to let them find this out the old-fashioned way. WRATH’s justification for this policy was to keep each agent “determined, efficient, and formidable.” A popular WRATH motto was, “Some things are better left unknown.” Another saying, and one Graham was personally more fond of, was, “If you shoot them and they don’t die, at least you know they won’t fly away.”

***

For the most part, the world (despite being a strange place in which to live) was a great place. WRATH was well respected for its policing abilities. Few citizens lived in fear of crime. Other aspects of life were enjoyable as well. Almost every citizen was able to put his or her respective superpower to some sort of productive use. Little girls who dreamed of growing up to become world-renowned artists, actors, or musicians simply chose the power to do so. Famous chefs could conjure delicious food from thin air; doctors could save lives without the use of medicine or surgery. Athletic events were on a whole other level. Players tackled one another fifty feet in the air and smacked two-hundred mile-per-hour fastballs out of the atmosphere. Even prostitutes could lead a less degenerate life and ensure their own well being by gaining the power to pass venereal diseases to whomever attempted to treat them poorly. The possibilities were endless, and reality reflected that infinitely. Despite the official record keeping, everyone had a mystery about them, and this phenomenon created respect. As a result, few people ever dared to be dishonest or abusive. This shared attitude made society most convivial.

***

Seven.

Six.

The countdown continued to click off in Graham’s head. The perp still showed no hint of nervousness. In fact, a smirk had actually appeared on his face since making his prophetic statement. The man stood motionless but fearless, and Graham started to feel like a tiny mountain village resting near an angry volcano - one that may or may not spew hot magma death all over him at any moment. He must be invincible or something, Graham thought, cutting into his countdown somewhere between five-and-three-fourths and five-and-a-half.

***

Early on the morning of Graham’s sixteenth birthday, he was taken (along with everyone else on the planet who turned sixteen that day) to drink from the Well of Infinite Power at the base of mighty Mount Higbarth. The sacred ceremony involved taking a drink from Higbarth’s purple wish liquid that sprang from the well, speaking a specific wish to your mind while taking the gulp, and obtaining the singular superpower of one’s choice. One time a boy had tried taking two gulps and wishing up two superpowers, and his head exploded, so that mistake was never repeated. Then the superpower of choice was announced in front of the Recorder (a wizened old grey-bearded man who had chosen the power of perfect penmanship as his superpower back when the teaching of cursive was a mandatory part of education, as he was sure having the best calligraphic handwriting on the planet would open many doors for him…), and he would write it down next to one’s name in the Official Record of Powers. This was the same record WRATH had access to. Most youths spent their entire childhoods preparing for this day, and Graham had been no exception. He had decided, after much internal debate, that the ability of physical transformation would profit him most. The decision was between this and being able to breathe underwater, but his parents had wisely counseled against the impracticability in the latter. Graham waited in line for almost eight hours (even perfect cursive takes longer than typing) until it was finally his turn to receive his blessing. He took only a small mouthful, not wanting his head to explode, and gulped it back quickly. While doing so, he carefully said the words that would define the rest of his life, and he was endowed with his new power instantaneously.

Graham never regretted the decision to transform. At first, he used the power primarily for the purpose of wooing the ladies. Those were a couple of the fondest years of his life, until he hooked up with a dude who had the same power as himself and was pretending to be a taut, young baddie. That woke Graham up a bit. He soon found what his parents called “more productive” uses for his power. His dream became to join the Agency, and a few years of hard work paved the way for that vision to manifest. In his work, Graham was never disappointed.

***

Throughout his tenure as a detective, Graham was able to utilize his power in myriad clever ways. After trying out many disguises like homeless people and celebrities, he decided that his favorite was the one that had duped him: beautiful woman. He chose his second-cousin Ethel, to be specific. He was hesitant to try it at first, having drunk from that fire hydrant personally, but was surprised how effective it was for undercover work. Graham had discovered that he could be the most handsome man in the world, but that people would still want to blow his brains out. He was amazed at how quickly the tables turned on a criminal when Graham transformed himself into the most gorgeous woman they had ever seen (Ethel didn’t have the hottest sounding name, but she was an S+ Tier Smoke Show!) and invited himself provocatively into their homes. By flashing a bit of thigh or wearing one of those sweet dresses that somehow shows the under-cleavage instead of the upper-cleavage, Graham was often able to lower a criminal’s defenses considerably. Graham loved to muse with his fellow officers how funny it was to watch people lose their wits when he got them all steamed up.

***

The countdown in Graham’s mind now ticked down to three. He searched the video files of his memory to the thought reconstruction of the Doherty murders. This man had certainly committed that crime. Graham remembered seeing the married couple frozen in terror as the man in the black suit had come at them with the long-bladed kitchen knife and stabbed them both repeatedly in the chest and throat. It didn’t take any superpowers to kill someone with a huge knife, but Graham couldn’t help but feel there was something odd about the whole situation. Had the man been using his superpower and Graham just didn’t know it?

Two. The countdown was getting damn close now. The man hadn’t moved a muscle since Graham had pulled his piece. The only change was the stupid grin that seemed to be growing on the criminal's face. What made him so confident Graham wouldn’t blow him to Hell? As the clock slowly reached one and Graham’s grip on the trigger began to tighten, Graham wished to God he knew what the man’s power was. Was it knowledge WRATH had once known and somehow lost? Was it in the Official Record of Powers? Was it ever known?

***

This standoff reminded Graham distinctly of one he had had with a man who could shoot fireballs from his fingertips. The Agency hadn’t equipped Graham with a proper profile on that man either. Right as Graham’s timer had hit zero in that confrontation, a fireball had screamed its way from the man’s right index finger aimed directly at Graham’s head. Luckily, Graham had shaken hands with a midget wrestler (the world’s greatest midget wrestler!) four weeks prior to that, and at the exact moment Graham’s head would have exploded like a cherry bomb, he magically became three feet shorter. The height difference caused him to miscalculate his first shot, and Graham ended up putting hot lead in the fire guy’s crotch. Graham was quick to honor the bro-code (don’t shoot a guy in the dick) and put a second shot in his brain directly afterwards, quickly ending his misery.

***

Zero. Time was up. Whatever card this guy has to play better come out quick, Graham thought, as his finger began to depress the trigger. Suddenly, instead of squeezing as he had planned, Graham’s hand shot open and the gun clattered to the floor. Graham’s mind told him to dive down and grab it, but his body did not respond. Instead, he made a ninety-degree turn and began to walk toward the window of the apartment. Slowly, and completely against his will, Graham walked to the window and opened it to its fullest extent.

“I told you that you wouldn’t shoot me, Detective,” the man in the suit said mirthfully. The grin had turned into a full-blown toothy smile. “Say hello to the pavement for me.”

Of course! It all became clear to Graham as one of his legs and then the other made their way out of the window. He’s a body controller! That’s why Mrs. Doherty didn’t move a muscle while he plunged the knife into her husband’s chest. I should have figured that out. He probably even had the Recorder scrawl down some different power so the world would never know!

The murderer turned Graham’s head back toward the room just before allowing Graham to plummet from the window. The killer stood in the center of the room, waving good-bye to Graham with all four fingers of his right hand flapping up and down. It reminded Graham of the way his mother used to wave at him before he would board the school bus. As a final touch, the man forced a big dumb grin on Graham’s face as Graham’s body slipped from the ledge.

About five stories into his fall, Graham regained control of his functions. A quick squirt of piss shot into his shorts as he looked at the ground hurtling towards him. I knew I should have learned how to fly, he was able to process, just before his body smacked dead in the middle of the road.