Chase found himself pacing behind the curtain separating him from the massive crowd who came to see Senator Alastair Crane speak.
He never paced. In fact, he rarely got nervous. Anxious? Sure. Antsy? Definitely. But nervous? That just wasn't him.
He could recall a few times where his nerves nearly got the best of him. They stuck out in his memory like brash graffiti against a stark white skyscraper. He remembered how nervy he had been when starting school in Germany at the age of twelve. He remembered the dread he felt in the base of his stomach when his father took him hunting for the first time. And, more recently, he remembered the first time he had seen Stella.
It still felt like it had been yesterday when he saw her beautiful face in the halls of River Hill High School. Her hazel irises shone like bronze coins beneath the summer sun.
As her illuminating smile filled his head like sunlight consuming a dark room. He felt the tension leaving his taut muscles. His jaw unclenched and he slowed to a stop in front of the heavy curtain in front of him.
Everything was going to be fine. The mission to protect Senator Crane was going to go on without any complications. No one was going to die.
Everything was going to be fine.
"Well, if it isn't Atlas' golden boy," a voice said from behind him.
Straightening up, he turned around to face them.
Standing before him was the senator himself. His dark hair was slicked back, the obsidian strands catching the glare from the spotlight rigs above them. He donned a smart, gray suit with a black tie. A smug smile sat atop his lips.
Chase scowled. "Mr. Crane."
"You don't look happy to see me, Sentinel. That is what they're calling you right?"
He nodded begrudgingly.
Crane rubbed his forehead, stuttering on a response. "You know, I never got the point of codenames. I mean, your team members don't wear masks like comic book heroes. Why not share your real names with the public?"
"That wouldn't be wise, senator. We all have families that we don't want getting hurt because of our occupations."
"Occupations." He laughed. "What kind of company allows children to fight for them?"
Chase aggressively ran his tongue along his front teeth to keep him from snapping. He sucked in a breath before releasing it. "We volunteer our lives for a greater cause. Some of these children are braver than most adults."
"Most humans aren't brave," Crane said, his demeanor thoughtful, almost aloof. "You know, seventy percent of Americans aren't brave? It's a staggering statistic. You'd think with the emergence of superheroes, human bravery would skyrocket."
"I..." He furrowed his brow. "I don't understand."
"I say that to say this," the man continued. "People are afraid of...your kind. Frankly, they don't really understand you. I don't really either. I mean, I've seen the charts and the data, but I don't get it." He shrugged nonchalantly. "I never was a science guy."
Chase quirked an eyebrow at him.
"When people are afraid, tensions can get high. That's where I, specifically the PRA, come in. Under my administration, people won't have to worry about being crushed in the rubble of a building because of a Prime. They won't have to worry about dying a fiery blaze because someone couldn't control themselves. They'll be safe. Secure. Comfortable." He winked at Chase. "Because, after all, it's easier to control a nation when everyone is content."
The boy took a step closer to the senator. Crane didn't flinch. He simply lifted his chin and narrowed his gaze.
"You want to oppress people who have done nothing wrong," Chase said, his voice low and menacing. "You want to take away our freedoms for the sake of comfortability. But as long as me and my time are still here, that won't happen. I promise you that."
Crane flashed the boy his world-famous smile. "I guess we'll see."
"I guess we will."
The senator extended a hand towards him. The two shook hands, their steely eyes locked in a silent standstill. They stood like that for a few moments before Crane pulled his hand back.
"That's some grip you've got there, son," the man said while rubbing his wrist.
"Sorry about that. Guess I still don't know my own strength."
Crane chuckled darkly. "Guess not."
Chase took a glance around the area. The senator's campaign staff were milling around, making sure everything was in order in and around the stage for their boss' speech. They reminded him of worker bee's—mindless, yet efficient. He wondered if they truly believed in their employer's vision or if they were just in it for the paycheck.
It was hard to tell.
"You know," Crane started while fiddling with his silver cufflink, "I really don't see the need for Atlas' involvement here. My security team is more than equipped to deal with any threat that may arise."
Chase snorted. "No offense, but they won't be able to save you if a Prime decides to attack."
"With the PRA, no one will have to worry about that ever again."
His lip twitched as he narrowed his eyes at him. "Too bad it won't make it past the United Nations."
The senator grinned. "We'll see."
"Yes, we will."
As he glared at the stormy-eyed politician, one of his assistants scuttled over to him. They whispered something in his ear. His grin widened. A strange glint passed over his eyes. Chase tilted his head at him.
What was that?
Crane faced him. "It was lovely chatting with you, Sentinel, but I've got business to attend to. I'll leave you to your...mission." He gave him a curt nod before turning his heel and walking off in the other direction with his assistant in tow.
Chase watched him the entire way as he faded from view. Shaking his head, he pressed his finger to the communicator lodged in his ear. "Starchild, talk to me."
Static crackled before her familiar voice came through. He heard wind rustling in the background. While he had been securing the backstage area of the outdoor auditorium, Stella and Danai had been patrolling the skies in search of anything out of the ordinary. The rest of his team were scattered around the large plot of land Crane had occupied for his political rally. Some were mixed into the crowd while others guarded the outskirts.
If any of the rogue Primes were planning on showing up, they would find them. And they would stop any threat before it began.
They couldn't afford another loss.
"Everything's good up here," Stella told him.
"Vortex? How about you?"
Danai took a few seconds to respond. "Nope. Nothing." She cursed under her breath as a flock of birds seemed to pass by her. "Stupid air rats. I still can't believe we're protecting this clown. If you ask me, we should let these Primes off him."
"Vortex," Stella hissed. "He's still a human being."
"Barely."
Chase stifled a laugh. While he wouldn't go as far as to wish death upon Senator Crane, he did share some of the girl's sentiments. Crane was an oppressor at heart. He was a bully with a big stick—and he was about to get an even bigger one. The last thing they needed was for him to be martyred on national television.
That would've spelled the end of Atlas and the beginning of Crane's tyrannical reign—even if he wasn't alive to see it.
No. They needed to keep him alive. At least that way, they had a chance of swaying the United Nations in their favor.
"Alright, well keep me posted," Chase said. The two girls gave him their words of confirmation before severing the connection. He changed the channel to his ground team. "Titan, Force, Field. You boys see anything down there?"
"Negative, boss man," Angus replied. "Nothin' but old dudes in cowboy hats and ladies with signs."
"They're campaign posters," Lucky corrected.
Chase rolled his eyes at them. "Titan? What about you?"
"We're good here, Sentinel," Andre answered.
Nodding, he closed the audio channel. He exhaled and took a peek from behind the curtain. There was a sea of people at the mouth of the stage. People from all walks of life made up the crowd. He had never seen so many different kinds of people in one space before. He would've never thought Crane could promote that kind of unity.
The man was a Republican with a penchant for throwing people in jail. That necessarily wasn't a bad thing, but when most of those in jail were only booked on minor infractions, it raised a couple of eyebrows. Of course, nothing came from the investigations launched against the senator of New York.
Crane had called Chase Atlas' golden boy, but the man was America's golden boy. He could do no wrong in the public's eye.
That's what made him dangerous. He was intelligent. He was radical. He was strong-willed. And he was backed by the people. It could've been a recipe for success and change, but Chase knew better.
What was cooking in the oven was sinister. It was vile. And it couldn't prevail. He would make sure of it.
"Showtime, everyone!" a crew member yelled from behind him. "Senator Crane will be taking the stage in just a minute!"
He nodded. It was almost time.
#
Despite Crane's protests, Chase insisted on taking the stage with him. It was the logical play. Just in case anyone tried something, he would be able to protect the man from harm—even if he didn't particularly want to.
"Let's go, let's go," one of the crew members urged while prodding him forward. "They're all waiting."
He shuffled forward behind the senator's bodyguards. They were all tall, well-built men dressed in all black suits with handguns hidden beneath their jackets. Shades guarded their eyes and earpieces hung from their ears. Stoic expressions covered their faces like masquerade masks.
They looked well trained, but all the skill in the world wouldn't be able to prepare them from a Prime attack. He knew from experience.
They needed Chase up there in case things went south.
As they took the stage, music blared from the speakers lining the edge of the raised platform. The boisterous noise clashed with the cheers from the crowd below. Crane took it in his stride, waving and smiling and blowing kisses.
Chase's nose crinkled at the sight.
It was all fake. The fact that everyone else couldn't see that was worrisome. They saw him as their savior. Their messiah. But he was no shepherd. He wouldn't be leading them out of the desert. He was the wolf.
And his plan was to put all Primes—good and bad—in captivity like they were feral animals.
It made his stomach curdle.
Now, Chase wasn't an anarchist; he was anything but. His father had ingrained a deep-rooted sense of patriotism into him at a young age. But that didn't mean he was blind to the wrongdoings his country had committed. His flag-waving nature meant he wanted the best for his fellow citizens.
And Senator Alastair Crane was not what they needed. He just wanted everyone else to realize that.
A wooden podium sat in the center of the stage. One of Crane's public relations employees introduced the senator to the crowd, which only incited another bout of thunderous applause.
Senator Crane was eating it all up, soaking it in. He seemed to be feeding off of their love and commitment to him.
With a shake of his head, Chase fell in line with the rest of the man's security as he prepared to begin his speech. The senator tapped the podium's microphone a few times, coaxing the audience into silence. After a few moments, they fell quiet. Soon, the only sounds coursing through the large plot of land were the clicks of camera shutters and the howling, autumn wind ripping through the Elm trees framing the rally.
The entire scene was picture-perfect. It almost reminded Chase of a painting. He just hoped it would stay that way.
With his hands clasped behind his back and blue eyes searching through the expectant crowd, he waited for Crane to begin his speech.
"Thank you for the warm welcome, residents of Houston," he began. He observed the audience for a moment. "Wow. What a turn out this is. Matter of fact, can we get a round of applause for you all? You're amazing!" He started clapping and those beneath him followed.
A few whistles and hollers rang out through the sea of heads. Chase kept his eyes peeled for any enemies. Luckily, he didn't see any. He took a few calming breaths as he felt the jitters returning to his body.
Everything was going fine. He hadn't received any alerts from his team. No one in the crowd looked suspicious. It was all going to plan.
"Now," Senator Crane began. "Let's begin."