Don't Be a Hero: A Superhero Novel

12: And Now, A Message From Our Host

As in many Asian-Australasian Union member countries, the Metahuman Division (colloquially known as Met Div) of the NZ Police was formed in 1959 in response to increasing public concern around metahumans. Met Div is tasked with controlling metahuman activities and responding to superpowered threats, although their methods for doing so are controversial. The division operates outside traditional police structure and combines both investigative and response elements to form an almost entirely self-contained organisation. In recent years, many branches of Met Div have been downsized due to decreased resistance from the metahuman community. Today, one of Met Div’s major roles is ensuring that all metahumans are registered and fitted with kill-switches if above a certain power level.

—Metahumans in New Zealand: Past to Present, Herbert Gutman

***

Morgan was finishing the briefing on the evening’s upcoming raid when the right side of his vision went dark.

He paused in mid-sentence, facing the men and women who would be fighting alongside him tonight, and tried to get his heart rate under control. The air was stuffy in the requisitioned warehouse. He blinked, hoping the black splotch would go away. It didn’t.

“My lord?” Obsidian said in a low voice. She stood beside him; as his second-in-command, she would be in charge of securing the building’s perimeter and dealing with any external threats. Her sharp, stony face betrayed nothing, but her eyes dimmed.

It had come on so suddenly. He didn’t even have a headache at the moment, and the pills were controlling his seizures. How was he supposed to fight with this blind spot in his vision? Damn it all! His gloved hands curled into fists. He could feel sweat dripping from his forehead and rolling around the corners of his domino mask.

Perception is all that matters.

“This is not going to be like Siberia,” he said to the group, channelling his anger into his voice. “Our target is easier, yes, but do not let your guard down. We are in a city that is hostile to us. Any counterattacks will be rapid. Those of you holding the perimeter will need to be prepared. You cannot fail.”

He stared at them, trying to ignore the black spot, but his mind was already calculating scenarios in which it would be a fatal weakness. Why now, of all times?

“Make your preparations,” he said. “We leave in an hour.”

The metas bowed as one and wandered away, chatting and joking with one another. Only Obsidian remained at his side. He turned his back on her and faced the maps and building blueprints he’d marked with routes and extraction points. The spot was like a black ghost, haunting him. Every time he tried to look at it directly, it shifted away. It was infuriating.

Obsidian shifted her weight and the floor rumbled. “My lord—”

“It’s nothing,” he said.

“Very well.” She paused. “Avin approaches, my lord.”

Avin? Oh, the harpy. He turned to find the naked bird-woman making her way towards him. Her wings were folded around her shoulders, but they were still tall enough to brush the top of the doorway. The feathers weren’t enough to cover her flat breasts. She walked unnaturally, like she was unused to it, and her twisted arms gave her a somewhat demonic appearance.

She stopped before him, and gave a small bow of her bald head. That was enough for him; his people didn’t need to treat him like a god. The “lord” business was all Obsidian’s doing. It was only important that they believed what he believed. Or that they knew little enough of the darker parts of his plan that they didn’t actively oppose him.