Josh Ford, aka Metalstorm, stared out over the field of dead, yellow grass. Pictures proved it had once been lush and green, but it hadn’t been maintained since before he’d arrived at Stanford. The students still hung out there, but they used blankets to avoid getting too dusty. The flowers in the middle that surrounded the big red “S” were still maintained, but the area still smelled like a dry, dusty farm.

He held the phone to his ear and waited for an answer.

“Hello?” answered a female voice that was somehow both sultry and sweet. “Josh?”

Just hearing her voice warmed his soul and conjured an image of the green-eyed, raven-haired beauty. Sasha Nikula, aka Ivory Wing, was most definitely the most exquisite woman Josh had ever met—and he knew a lot of gorgeous super women.

“Hey, Sasha, how’ve you been?

“Oh. you know, busy as ever with, well, you know.” She chuckled, and Josh melted even more.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, um, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’ll be home for Thanksgiving this weekend, and I was just wondering if, uh, you crazy kids would be up for meeting up with, I mean, if you guys are going to hit up Central Park, or . . . ”

He’d meant to say “meeting up with your old leader,” but Josh hadn’t been much of a real leader in the Junior Supers and even less so after Mike Edwards/Truesdale/Follett, aka Stone Tactical, had shown up. Before Stone, he’d acted more as a babysitter, cat herder, or, at best, amateur press agent. After Stone joined up, Josh had felt more like a baby lieutenant in a war movie who did whatever the sergeant said—even though Stone was a few years younger.

Josh spiraled over how to ask to hang out without sounding like the old guy who wanted to pal around with a bunch of kids. Which was ridiculous as they were only a few years apart, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling.

Trapped inside his head, he was relieved when Sasha broke the awkward silence.

“Oh. Well . . . I know we’d all love to see you, but we already went on our last patrol. It wasn’t anything to get excited about anyway. It’s just three of us now when Stone doesn’t make his rare appearance. And if he’s not here, we never really do anything exciting. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s cool.” He casually kicked a rock and created a tiny spurt of dust. Without Stone, they got their pictures taken, ate from food trucks, and wandered aimlessly around in costume until time was up. Patrols with Stone always entailed hunting drug dealers, flushing out rapists, shutting down thievery rings, and real stuff like that. They’d even taken down El Cannibale, a major MS-13 criminal, not long after Stone had shown up and almost entirely on the thirteen-year-old’s initiative and planning.

It was such a stark difference that Josh, when he’d still been the leader, had taken to asking himself “What would Stone Tactical do?” when they patrolled without him. It made for a silly acronym, but since it was all in Josh’s head that would never matter. For a multitude of reasons—fear of discovery being first and foremost—Josh could never do the sorts of things Stone would.

“Are you guys doing any events? Macy’s or anything?” He could hear the desperation in his own voice.

“No. I think the supers department wants us to keep a low profile, what with the recent press surge of NK stories and all.”

Josh had been afraid of that. For no apparent reason, the media had recently exploded with documentaries about the victims, the assassination, and the myriad conspiracy theories surrounding the tragic fall of the man who’d once been the USA’s most celebrated super—Lieutenant Colonel James King, aka Major Freedom, but now known to the world as NK—the Nebraska Killer. There had been an uncomfortable amount of focus on the fact that NK had been a metallo, just like Josh.

“That makes sense. Well, uh, anyone gonna be around?”

“Again, no, sorry. My mom decided we’re doing Thanksgiving in Cabo this year, so I’ll be having tacos instead of turkey. Looks like we’ll actually be passing each other in the sky. I can’t stand going so slow in those weak little machines, but I guess that’s how everyone else has to do it, right?”

Flyers were always annoyed by commercial air travel. Josh’s biggest problem on airplanes was refraining from interfering with any of the thousands of moving parts that were keeping everyone alive. He’d actually been on a no-fly list as a young teen until he’d proven he wouldn’t be a problem.

“Jorge’s helping his folks with some major renovation of the restaurant—you can imagine how much faster demo goes with a hulk. The new kid, well, you know how hard he is to pin down.”

“Yeah,” Josh chuckled. He’d only known Nubian Lightning—yes, the kid had come up with that name himself—for a few months before he’d left. The speedster was almost as free-spirited as Stone was. “Anyway, I gotta get to class. Guess I’ll catch you guys next year or whenever.”

“It’s good to hear from you,” Sasha said, and Josh got that warm feeling again. “You go to class, then, so you can become an amazing, brilliant lawyer and then secretary of the supers someday.”

As much as people told Josh that was the path he was on, the miraculous longevity of supers meant that it could be decades, if not over a century, before the current secretary needed replacing. Odds were strong the Storm would arrive well before then. But it was nice people believed in him. It was also absurd. Katherine Harris, aka California Girl, was a flyer, as was every super in a position of true leadership. No metallo would ever be in such a position, especially after what happened with Major Freedom.

“You got it. Great hearing from you too. Have fun in Cabo.”

* * *

The bell rang, though most of the students had already collected their things and many had actually left over the last few minutes. The teacher’s assistant kept talking, though no one could hear her anymore.

Except Josh, who could still hear her with his improved super senses, but that was a strict secret.

“Hey Josh, got any plans for the long weekend?” Lo asked.

Back when the short, raven-haired Lo had been a cheery blonde named Celeste, she’d been one of far too many pretty young women who’d shown lots of interest in him. He’d known from the start they were only interested in either his super-enhanced good looks and physique or his trust fund, and he’d quickly learned how dangerous the attention could be. After he’d spurned too many eager and willing coeds, he’d become popular among the large number of gay students until he’d come out as asexual. Even so, plenty still hinted they were available if he ever wanted to “explore.”

“Just heading home to the family for . . . ” He trailed off while searching for something to say other than “Thanksgiving.” He’d learned his first year that one did not call it that here. “ . . . you know, just to see them.”

“Must be nice having a family you can still talk to.” Lo smiled as if they were sharing a joke, but her eyes remained empty. “I’ve been no contact for over a year for my mental health.”

Josh nodded knowingly. He had to actively avoid focusing on her nose piercing. He had nothing against them at all, but as a metallo, he felt a little like a cat trying to ignore a ball of string.

“Then what are you doing with your time off?”

“Friendsgiving with some people, mostly to support Max since, you know . . . ”

Josh knew. In particular, he knew that he couldn’t refer to the event itself. It was just a thing that had happened that they couldn’t really talk about, but the important thing was to support Max.

“Of course. Give—” He’d almost made the unforgivable sin of saying “her.” “—Max my best. Enjoy the break.”

“You too.”

Every crime outside of homicide had been skyrocketing the last few years, and even homicides were creeping up. General consensus was that it was “just how things are.”

But— What Would Stone Tactical Do?

He would most definitely be patrolling the campus vigilante-style, wearing a hoodie and hiding in the shadows or floating overhead. He’d watch unaccompanied women traveling in the dark and take note of anyone nefariously following them. If any potential wrongdoer got too aggressive, he’d tweak their tailbone and they’d collapse in misery. If they needed a stronger disincentive, he’d oblige. No one would be any the wiser. The women in question would probably never even know they’d been saved.

It was mind-boggling Stone had figured out how to fly using Earth powers—except that skeletons were, of course, composed of the Earth’s elements. He’d figured out a thousand uses to Earth powers that no other US earther seemed able to grasp. Stone had even rigged a way for Metalstorm to fly with a simple metal harness, which should’ve been obvious. That was part of Stone’s brilliance, recognizing the obvious and making it reality.

Flying had been pretty incredible. In truth, Josh could patrol the campus at night. Most people had some kind of metal on them he could grab hold of to stop or at least slow down an attacker while the intended victim got away. Piercings alone were abundant here, and that was low hanging fruit for a metallo. Zippers were easy targets as well. Even if someone was metal-free, Josh was getting pretty decent at Japanese jujutsu, and he was much stronger than the average human. Not Jorge strong, but all supers were superior in most ways.

But no, he couldn’t do that. Closing with a perpetrator was a guaranteed way to be identified. Even floating around carried a lot of risk, and he didn’t have the range to lurk from a distance like Stone could. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he could both float and deter a would-be attacker at the same time.

Being identified would be a nightmare. One of the reasons he’d been pushed to Stanford was because the country had been convinced Metalstorm was dead set on going to Harvard. Even if people didn’t immediately discover it was him specifically, the knowledge there was a super patrolling campus would ignite a fire storm of protests and bad press. It wouldn’t be long before he was outed as the culprit just to silence them and return to the status quo. He’d be branded the next Nebraska Killer. He’d probably have his powers severed and go to prison for life.

But Stone would make it work and never get caught. That’s what Stone would do.

* * *

“And there’s Tom Turkey!” blasted the announcer over the loudspeaker. “The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade’s longest running float and the parade’s lead float for most of its history going back to 1973 . . . ”

As the announcer prattled on, Josh leaned forward and looked further down the line through the massive windows of the Appel Room in Jazz at Lincoln Center. His family was making a tradition of enjoying the Parade Day Brunch, though Josh presumed it was mostly a way for his parents to be seen by NYC’s most important people. To wit, his parents were spending far more time hobnobbing and networking than paying any actual attention to the parade. Josh played the dutiful son with a bright future when needed but extracted himself from interaction by feigning interest in the parade whenever possible. He’d seen it in person more than a dozen times, and always from the best possible seats. There had been a time when he’d been so excited at the sight of each and every float. It was a high he was still chasing.

Next down the line was the latest incarnation of Spider-Man followed by several multi-versal versions like Spider-Tank and Spider-Glam. This was, of course, to promote the new live action Spider-Verse movies, as the announcer was now explaining.

This was followed by a series of corporate floats like M&M’s, the Sinclair Dinosaur, and a cheetah—the mascot of a new electric vehicle company that had grown exponentially in the last few years.

Naturally, there was a float and tantalizing hip hop dance scene from the new musical about Rosa Parks. Though the singer had quite the voice and the dancers were admirably talented and flexible, it was hard to see what any of it had to do with the civil rights movement. Josh was near to zoning out when his parents nudged him.

“Lanny, you simply must meet our oldest son,” his mother said as she tugged aggressively on Josh’s elbow.

Josh spun and forced a smile.

Lanny looked exactly how Josh would’ve guessed, which was to say expensively dressed and doing everything money could do to hide his age. The black-haired man smirked at Josh with a sharp, calculating eye as he thrust his hand out. As expected, it was an overly hearty handshake, and he grabbed Josh’s elbow in that annoying move that pretended to indicate warmth and trust but was really meant as a flex. Josh restrained himself from crushing the man’s fingers.

“Josh Ford, sir.”

“You’re at Stanford, is that correct?” Lanny asked with a tilt of the head.

“Yes, sir. Pre-law.”

“Ah.” For some reason, the man wasn’t letting go of the handshake. “I would’ve thought you for a Harvard man.”

That had been the plan. It was where his father had gone and it was where his brother Thad had just started. But in addition to the rumor problem, “it had been decided” that Harvard was a little too close to New York City—where Josh had been a member of the Junior Super Corps—and that it was best to make a clean break from “those activities” when Josh matriculated.

“Oh, I think he was hoping to get away from his parents for a bit,” Josh’s father said, as if Josh had had any say in the matter. Though it was a decent point.

“I know how that goes, Jerry,” Lanny replied with a glance at Mr. Ford. The man finally released the elbow but only to slap Josh’s shoulder. “Family business, then?”

“Yes, sir, at first, but we’ll see where that leads.” He could practically sense his mother mouthing the words behind him, considering how much he’d been coached.

“I see,” Lanny said. “You have . . . loftier ambitions?”

“Just keeping his options open,” Josh’s father said. He gave a well-practiced proud side eye at Josh. “What is it you’re apart of again? The Debate Society?”

“Yes, sir. Also Stanford in Government and the Pre-Law Society.”

Lanny chuckled. “What, no Mock Trial?”

“I wanted to, sir, but it conflicted and I had to prioritize.”

His father tensed. His mother gasped.

“I see. Prioritizing is quite possibly the most important thing to learn in school.” Lanny pulled him in close to bare whisper. “Especially with your extracurriculars.” There was zero doubt what the man meant. He straightened and raised his voice again. “We’ll be keeping an eye on your progress, young Mr. Ford. Best of luck.”

With that, he finally relinquished control of Josh’s arm and abruptly wandered off.

We?

His father promptly put a hand to Josh’s shoulder and pulled him into another awkwardly close half hug.

“Not on Mock Trial?” he whispered through clenched teeth.

“I—”

“We’ll discuss this at home.”

Both of his parents hurried off to greet another very important person in the NYC hierarchy. Josh fought a look of dejection off of his face—couldn’t be seen sulking—and returned to the window.

Looking to his right, he discovered he’d missed Sponge Bob Squarepants, Aquaman, and Mario.

But he had not missed his absolute favorite part of the parade.

The Rockettes.

He’d thought they were awesome before puberty, but now he was simply entranced. So talented, energetic, and gorgeous. Always smiling, always joyful. As much as he fought to avoid intimate relationships at Stanford for a multitude of reasons, he really loved women. And these women were amazing.

There it was—the long line of legs flying into the air in perfect precision. If Josh had anything resembling a happy place to retreat to deep in his psyche, this was it.

At a casual glance left, he spotted a jolly Santa sitting atop his sleigh and waving at the crowd.

“Wait, where are the super’s floats?” Josh craned his neck both ways to make sure he hadn’t missed them.

California Girl and Italian Falcon had been part of the Macy’s Day parade since well before his time, both in balloon form and in their physical presence aboard a float, waving at crowds. They’d always been joined by an adult super pick of the year, and occasionally by the current junior super squad. Josh himself had been in the parade a few years back with Fresh Breeze, Ivory Wing, and Hombre de Poder. He’d invited Stone Tactical, but both Stone and everyone else agreed it would’ve been too controversial for him to attend. But regardless of exactly who was in the float, it had been a staple.

Granted, Major Freedom had once been a staple too . . . 

* * *

“Oh yeah, of course they wouldn’t have a supers float in the current climate,” his brother Thad said in between mouthfuls of green beans. Thankfully, it wasn’t the disgusting, smelly green bean casserole everyone else seemed to love, but the green beans with shallots and pancetta dish his brother always asked for.

“What ‘current climate?’” Josh asked as he sliced his turkey. “Did something happen that I didn’t hear about?”

“No,” Thad said after washing the food down with white wine, “just, you know, with all the new information coming out about, well, you know who.”

“Voldemort?” Josh asked sarcastically.

“Josh, do not make light of this,” his mother scolded. “A lot of people died.”

Josh set his fork down. “Believe me, Mother, I know that full well. Probably a lot better than any of you. But what ‘new information,’ Thad? The recent stack of documentaries haven’t released any new information, they just reinforce what we’ve known about the event for decades. Some crazy theories and accusations, sure, but—”

“What Tad is trying to say,” his father interjected, “is that we’re getting a better . . . you know, view of the event through the eyes of the victims and the families of the victims.”

Josh had never figured out why his parents had recently started calling him “Tad” and not “Thad” as they’d named him.

“Yes, but why now?” Josh asked.

His father shrugged and mumbled something about research and how these things take time and blah blah blah.

“Okay, I’m officially vetoing this discussion,” his mother said with a stern queen bee look at all of her boys. “Tad, how’s lacrosse going?”

Thad smiled while finishing a sip of wine and chuckled as he set it down.

“Absolutely incredible,” he said. “Great bunch of guys, they really take care of their own.” He nudged Josh and winked. “Oh, but the girls, man, Harvard’s got some real stick bunnies if you know what I—”

“Tad!” his mother said, but with a coy smile.

“Sorry, Mother. But it is going great, and that’s just me as a baby freshman, you know, starting at the bottom, paying my dues and trying to prove myself. Josh, I bet you’d have gone straight to the starting lineup, definitely be captain by now.”

With an aggressive clearing of his throat, his father set his fork down and glared at Thad. “Tad, let it go. We’ve told you a thousand times that Josh can’t be seen . . . you know, doing too well. Can’t stand out too much, at least not for any physical prowess.” His father settled and looked Josh in the eye. “Which, I know, it stings a bit. But you’ll prove yourself in places you are allowed to excel soon enough, I have faith.” His eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips. “Though, on that—you’re not a part of Mock Trial?”

Josh froze. He’d known this was coming, and he still saw no path to escape. He relaxed his body and released a calming breath.

“Father, the schedule just doesn’t work. I had to make decisions, and—”

“Then you talk to me before you make these decisions!” His father pounded a fist onto the table.

Josh glanced to his mother and, by her expression, she was taking father’s side.

“There are always options, Josh. Exceptions can always be made, especially for you by the people who—you know—are in the know. Beyond that, even if I and the faculty can’t find a way, we can better advise you on what to cut if it comes to that. Mock Trial is a non-negotiable, son. A non-negotiable!”

Josh bolted to his feet. His cutlery rose with him and lazily floated a foot above the table.

“How about another perspective, huh, Father? Maybe I’m a grown adult who needs to learn to make his own decisions. Maybe I feel confident I can still become a stellar lawyer doing almost everything I possibly can to increase my odds, my visibility, my status, my knowledge and experience without having to do absolutely everything and burn myself out into a miserable shell in the doing. Perhaps I’m trying to find balance to keep myself from going completely insane like, say, the USA’s last predominant metallo super! How about you learn to have a little trust in me, a little faith, or, failing that, maybe just an ounce of love for me that isn’t predicated on my capabilities and what I can do to increase your personal stature? Have you considered any of that?”

Only Josh didn’t actually stand up nor say any of that. He wondered if that was the sort of thing Stone might have said under the circumstances. No, Stone, would’ve already graduated summa cum laude having led every single club and activity one can do after a single year if not a few months. He’d probably also have burned through law school faster than anyone in the history of mankind, passed the bar, and then wandered off to master some other monumental human endeavor.

“Josh.” His mother said his name by itself, in a tone that was either a caution or an admonition.

This is when he noticed that although he hadn’t stood and hadn’t ranted, he had lifted not only his own silverware into the air, but everyone’s. His father’s anger had given way to fear. Thad was pale as a sheet and frozen solid. His mother looked as if she were telling a tiger not to eat her and desperately trying not to show fear.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes and released all the cutlery in a noisy clatter.

“You’re right, of course, Father. We’ll see what we can do.”

His father nodded as if placated, but the tension remained. The meal continued in awkward silence.

* * *

DJ Skyfab was up on the stage of the tall, warehouselike Terminal 5. She was wearing this very revealing red leather bikini with molded demon hands covering up the three things that needed covering. Josh tried not to stare and instead simply appreciated her talent with a . . . whatever it was DJs used these days. Why she was wearing that was a matter of internal debate.

It was, in theory, a Thanksgiving Day-themed party but, as one might’ve guessed, people seemed pretty confused as to what that was supposed to mean. It wasn’t like anyone was going to dress as a Quaker, and dressing like a Native American (was he supposed to say “Indigenous” these days?) was clearly racist. Of course, that didn’t stop a significant number of gorgeous young women from dressing in scandalous versions of both, not to mention sexy turkey costumes, but most people were in generic clubbing attire. Josh and Laura fell into the latter category.

In a short skirt, flimsy halter top, pigtails, and glitter around her eyes, Laura, aka Fresh Breeze, looked like a perfect little brunette rave fairy bouncing up and down to the beat. Josh was doing his best not to gawk, but he still stole all the glances he could. There’d been a time a few years back when they’d been together. It hadn’t gone past a few steamy make out sessions and it had ended when he’d taken the lead of the junior supers. Granted, there was nothing expressly forbidding a relationship among the juniors, but it just hadn’t seemed right for him to date someone he was supposed to lead.

If he was going to be honest with himself, that had been the excuse. Laura, as wonderful as she was, wasn’t exactly material to be a “Mrs. Joshua Ford” by his mother’s standards. The one time Josh had brought her over for a family dinner, his mother had subtly said as much by stating, “Well, she certainly is quite well endowed, isn’t she?”

As if Laura was nothing more than a nice pair of tits. Laura had been his closest connection among all the supers, the only person he’d ever felt he could open up to. She was a great listener and never judged him the way everyone else seemed to.

But they were really, really nice tits. The word “tits” didn’t even appropriately cover it. Laura had proper breasts and they were magnificent. Josh was getting uncomfortable as his mind conjured delightful memories of the times he’d been pressed up against them.

Shit, he was staring.

Thankfully, she was oblivious, but another girl nearby glared daggers at him and he looked away.

Laura tugged at his elbow.

“I need some water!” she shouted over the steady beats. He pointed toward the bar and let her lead the way. They’d chosen Terminal 5 because it was one of the few places that allowed under 21s in, though under strictly controlled circumstances.

On the upside of being underage, the soft drink counter wasn’t as crowded.

“Two waters!” he shouted to the cute, pixie-haired attendant. He stuck a hand in his pocket to fish out his wallet.

“Here!” Laura said, pushing a shiny credit card in his face. It was, oddly, all metal, which he detected even before he took it from her hands.

“Oh no, you don’t have to—”

“It’s my boyfriend’s,” she said. “I told you, he’s some big-time banker or finance . . . um, whatever, but he’s loaded.” She shrugged coyly and batted her eyelashes. “I know, I got a sugar daddy. Who’d a thunk?”

“Whatever,” Josh said with a chuckle as he pressed the card against the reader and swiped the two bottles of water. He smiled and said, “Thank you!” to the girl, but she’d already focused her attention on her next customers.

Josh and Laura shuffled aside and squeezed into a not-really-empty-stretch of the long-running communal table.

“So who is this guy again?” Josh asked. In his heart of hearts, he hoped it was casual and wouldn’t last.

“Some guy that Sto—I mean Mike knew from business school or something. I’m not sure I fully understand, but apparently they wrote some paper together a few years back or something? Like before Mike joined, I mean met, us.”

“Wait, before Mike met us? He was thirteen when he met us.”

“Yeah, well, you know Mike.”

Josh knew full well that Mike had written some papers with prestigious universities under various aliases going back several years before he’d Acquired and joined the juniors.

“Dave knows Mike as ‘Phillip’ for whatever reason,” Laura continued. “Anyway, Dave’s almost like the meme—‘six feet, trust fund, finance.’ Cocoa eyes instead of blue, but this girl ain’t complaining. So dreamy.”

“So, did Mike introduce you?”

“Yeah, and not too long after Mike joined us. About the same time Mike was setting me up with that crazy flying tank/harness thing. Do you still ever use yours?”

“Not much,” Josh said. “Never find the time. Even with mine being so much simpler than yours.”

Josh’s Mike-designed flying harness was just that—a simple metal harness Josh could use to lift himself like Magneto. Laura’s was essentially a scuba tank attached to something more like a parachute harness.

“Me neither, especially with all the renewed press these days about you-know-who.”

Don’t say Voldemort. She wouldn’t get it, nor think it funny if she did.

“But back to Dave. We sort of kept in touch, but he never made any kind of move until—um, about a year ago, I think? You know, the first time we met he actually recognized me from the magazines. If I had to guess, I’d say he was pretty smitten right off the bat. Not really sure why he waited so long.”

Because you were underage, maybe?

“Wait,” Josh said. He glanced around to see if anyone seemed to be listening. He leaned in and lowered his voice. “You’re saying he knows?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of nice not having to pretend around him.”

A familiar beat started up and Laura jumped up with a delighted squeak. She downed the last of her water and grabbed his wrist to drag him back to the dance floor. Taken or not, it was fun enough just watching her dance.

Taken by a lecherous late twenty-something investment banker who’d all but groomed her as far as Josh could tell. And Stone had even played a hand in it. Though knowing Stone, he’d probably had his reasons. That probably wasn’t completely fair, and Laura had free will and everything, but that was all beside the point at the moment.

A muscular guy covered in tattoos and piercings practically shouldered Josh aside and moved in on Laura. She had her back to him, so she probably assumed those were Josh’s hands on her hips. If that’s what she thought, then Josh couldn’t help but notice she made no move to get away. Which meant that could’ve been him, up there grinding her, pressing against her like they had when—

But it wasn’t him. Either way, she had a boyfriend, lecher or not, and this was not him.

Of course, it also wasn’t really Josh’s place to defend her. Or was it? It was getting so hard to know the right thing to do anymore.

A couple other guys were pressing in around them, clearly friends with Mr. Bad Boy. They danced to his sides to create a barrier to Josh.

When the man pressed a little tighter, slid his hands to her thighs, and sniffed her hair, Josh acted on instinct rather than reason.

Piercings were such an easy target. Josh took a step back to create some distance and turned sideways. He tugged at the line of thin rings in the guy’s left ear. The guy snapped his head around to look for who’d done it, but no one was close enough to look suspicious. He glanced at one of his buddies and then glared at Josh for a second before shrugging and leaning back in as if to kiss Laura’s neck.

Josh pulled harder. For the most part, Josh could only affect metal he could see with his eyes. He’d played around with Metal Sight, but had only ever been able to “sort of” sense metal when he already knew it was there, and even then not so much.

The guy fiddled with his ear but remained undeterred. One hand went to Laura’s belly while the other slid up her thigh and slightly up her skirt.

Would Laura really have let me do that?

Josh could’ve yanked harder on the earrings, but that might’ve become too obvious. He wondered if the guy had nipple piercings—he certainly looked like the kind of guy that would. It might have been Josh’s imagination, but he could indeed sense a metal rod through each nipple. He twisted and pulled on both of them pretty hard.

“Aaahhh!!” The guy staggered back a full step in shock and grabbed his pecs. He stumbled into one of his buddies, who searched around for a second and then locked eyes with Josh.

Josh wondered if maybe the guy had a Prince Albert too . . . 

Laura spun innocently, but then her eyes went wide and she jolted away from the guy. Then she looked at Josh.

“Oh my gosh!” she said, but then she glanced back and forth between Josh and the guy. Her eyes narrowed.

Frowning, she grabbed Josh’s elbow, squeezed it like a vise, and dragged Josh toward the exit. The three guys watched them but didn’t follow. People gave concerned and confused looks at Josh and Laura as she pushed her way out.

* * *

The line outside still stretched half a block, so Laura led him down the street and around a corner until they were completely alone.

Well, alone with the exception of an off duty yellow cab parked nearby. It struck him as an odd place for a taxi to be sitting, especially as the driver was in the seat and didn’t look to be on his phone or eating or anything. He just sat there, staring at them a little too creepily. The man wore a black T-shirt and rested his arm out the window, such that Josh could see an M-shaped tattoo of devil horns on his forearm. Granted, cab drivers came from all walks of life and Josh shouldn’t make assumptions, but—

Laura punched him on the arm.

“You can’t do that, Josh! Not where people can see, and not like he was— I mean, it’s not like . . . ” She shook her head and looked up as if searching for words.

“He had his hands all over you! It looked like he was about to feel you up.”

Laura sighed and continued to shake her head. “Yeah, but I thought it was—” She looked briefly at him with wide eyes, but then bit her lip and looked away. “I can, you know, take care of myself. You know that! And even if . . .  Ugh! You just can’t do that, Josh.” She punched him on the arm again. “We can’t go around doing . . . stuff.”

“I know, I’m sorry, okay, I guess I just didn’t know what else to do.”

“Well, not that!”

“I get that. I’m sorry. I’m saying I’m sorry. Okay?”

She hugged her arms over her chest and nodded. “Okay.”

He let an awkward silence linger for a few seconds.

“Think they’ll let us back in?” he asked when he couldn’t take it anymore. It also didn’t seem like he should mention he could easily open one of the metal side doors as he had several times in the past.

“I think I’m just going to go home.”

Dumbfounded, Josh semi-subconsciously pulled out his phone. “Okay, I can get us an Uber.”

“No, I’m nowhere near you. There’s a cab.” She stepped forward and put her hand up.

The parked taxi cab flicked its lights on. Something in the way the driver perked up set off alarm bells in Josh’s head, as if the driver had been waiting.

As subtly as possible, Josh took hold of the entire vehicle and held it in place. The engine revved and the driver scanned the dashboard in confusion.

“Are you—” Laura began to ask as another yellow cab pulled up and rolled to a stop.

A little freaked by the other driver, Josh checked this one out and got a relatively neutral read. He still thought he should offer to ride with her, to make sure she safely got where she was going, but she was a super and, as she’d just made abundantly clear, she didn’t need or want a protector.

She surprised him with a quick but tight goodbye hug. His brain went blank.

“I know you were trying to do the right thing. You just . . . I mean, like I said, we can’t be doing things like that.”

He remained frozen as she hopped in the cab and disappeared into the night.

He glanced back at the suspicious looking taxi to find the driver had not just shut the engine and lights back off, but gotten out and walked off somewhere. Josh’s alarm bells turned into loud, blaring klaxons. If that guy had been waiting for them or, more specifically Laura, and he’d somehow pieced together that Josh had been the one to prevent him from picking her up—

No, that was paranoid. Suspicious or not, how would the guy have known they would walk to this spot? Unless he was waiting for anyone in general, but then he probably wouldn’t be the sort of person to piece together Josh was a super who’d held his car in place.

Am I overthinking this? Or underthinking this? What would Stone think?

His thoughts were pierced by a woman’s scream. It was just a singular, high-pitched shriek followed by a minor whimper, and then nothing.

Josh looked around, made his best guess as to its origin, and broke into a sprint that would’ve shamed some Olympian athletes. He was running so fast he had trouble catching himself as he turned into the narrow alleyway and had to push off the far wall rather than run into it. A trio of dark figures crowded around another figure huddled on the ground.

“Hey!” he shouted as he ran up.

The dark figures spun and the dim light caught their faces. It was the three guys from the club who’d surrounded Laura. The groper was in the middle. All three were smiling.

The huddled figure stood up casually. She was a tiny Hispanic girl with tight white shorts, a black, narrow tube top, and a “13” tattoo on her clavicle. She smiled and backed away.

Whatever it was that Stone would’ve done, he sure as hell wouldn’t have walked into a trap. Of course, Stone wouldn’t even be trapped by these clowns—he’d simply pick them up by their skeletons and toss them around a little before handing them to the police.

Of course, Josh could do something similar. He grinned, reached his hand out, and felt for the piercings he’d grabbed hold of before. He didn’t know what piercings the other two might have, if any, but surely they had some, and he’d find them.

 . . . or maybe not?

He had no sense of the nipple rings he’d found earlier. Nor could he feel the earrings or . . . anything. His smile melted in confusion.

“Looking for these?” Laura’s groper asked. He lifted his shirt and revealed two pecs without any piercings. Releasing the shirt, he ran a finger along his bare ear. “Seemed a good idea to clean ourselves up a bit before taking on the heir of Captain Metallo. Does that make you Lieutenant Metallo? Metallo Junior, maybe?”

Josh’s blood ran cold as he realized they’d even switched out their jeans—with zippers and a belt—for basketball shorts. By feel, at least, he couldn’t find a sliver of metal on them. Worse, the only metal he could see or feel in the entire alley was an old-style fire escape. He wasn’t strong enough to rip it out, and it would only be useful if one of them walked directly under it. So, basically useless.

He backed away slowly, deciding it was best to make what Stone would probably call a tactical retreat. The fire escape was behind the line of thugs, so the best way out was the way he came in.

At the sound of crunching gravel, he spun. Almost entirely on instinct, he ducked at the sound of rushing wind and felt something brush across his hair. A new arrival had snuck into the alleyway behind Josh and swiped at him with a wooden baseball bat.

Josh immediately identified the driver of the cab he’d held back. The man stepped back and held the bat out menacingly.

“El Cannibale sends his regards, white boy. ‘Course we were supposed to start with that busty little airhead, but you’ll do for an appetizer.”

So this was all about revenge. It had been years since Mike had led the junior supers in a raid to take down MS-13 big bad El Cannibale and his super henchman Death Strong. Stone would’ve made some sort of quip about how they’d taken their sweet time, but Josh was tongue tied. More than anything, he was still wrapped around how stupid he’d been.

The driver reared back with the bat, but Josh slid inside the swing, elbowed the man in the face, then wrapped an arm under both of his arms to lift and throw the man over. Josh’s jujutsu training was kicking in, and it seemed best to stay on his feet at the moment. If he could get clear of the driver, he could still escape out of the alleyway where he could either get away, find help, or, at the very least, find more metal to use.

When the driver hit the ground, Josh let go, stepped back, and turned to run. He’d barely taken a step before he heard rapid, pounding footsteps catching up to him. He shifted to the side, spun back, and reflexively leaned and stepped further out of the path of the charging groper. Josh hooked the closest arm and put his other hand on the back of groper’s back to drive him into the ground. Unfortunately, the two other thugs—was he allowed to call them “thugs?”—had been right behind Groper, so Josh had to let go to dodge them as well.

He danced backward defensively and found his exit blocked. With half a moment to think as they regrouped, Josh realized how his training had failed him. In training, they always half-heartedly simulated a finishing move and released their opponent. At best, they’d either demonstrate a good submission hold or slowly increase pressure on a lock until the other guy tapped out. That pause at the end and the general habit of stopping before someone got hurt were both going to get him killed. His instincts were great for the initial moves, but completely wrong at the end of the move.

Stone wouldn’t be hesitating. Even without incredible Earth powers, he’d already have wiped the floor with these guys.

Stop focusing on what Stone would do! What do I do?

Some of his training had dealt with multiple opponents. The very short version was that you never allowed them to circle up and strike first. You aggressively charged one individual at the end of a line to take the initiative and you kept them lined up as much as possible.

So he did.

With a scream of rage, he feinted a step to the left and then leapt to the right, putting him right beside Thug One. Josh batted and grabbed Thug One’s closest arm while jabbing him hard in the chin with his other hand. At the same time, he swept a leg behind the guy and threw him over the leg and hard onto the ground. This time he didn’t let go of Thug One’s arm and didn’t hesitate before kicking the elbow with everything it had. He was rewarded with a sickening crack and a shriek of pain.

Groper was already on him again. He swung a wild punch jumping over his fallen buddy. Josh dodged inside just enough to grab Groper’s arm and neck and used the momentum to launch Groper into the wall behind them. As Groper slammed headfirst into the wall, Josh followed with a kick to his back.

Knowing the other two would be right on him, he dropped, turned, and rolled along the wall to get clear for a moment. He took a few more steps as he came to his feet to get a more distance.

“Can metallos catch bullets?” a sweet little voice said.

Josh was staring at the barrel of a pistol held by the tiny little girl whose scream had led him into the alley. She hadn’t finished the words before jerking the trigger.

Josh had, in fact, spent a considerable amount of time trying to answer that. He’d taken the trouble to go to ranges a good distance from where he lived and taken great pains to conceal his identity. After a lot of shooting and a lot of time trying to keep control of the bullet as it went, he’d concluded the ability to catch bullets was still a bit beyond him. He couldn’t even tell if he was slowing them or altering their trajectory.

But it was simple enough to move the muzzle, which he did. An eruption of pain in his left bicep told him he hadn’t moved it far enough fast enough, but he could still clench his fist, so it was good enough for now. He continued to spin the gun away from himself and then around until he’d broken her finger and pointed the gun back at her. She screamed and buckled.

Still using powers, he pulled the gun from her hand, popped the catch to drop the magazine, and raised the butt of the pistol near her head. For the first time since the opening rounds of the fight, he hesitated. He couldn’t bring himself to pistol whip her with it, so instead he sent the pistol flying far away down the alley.

Josh’s vision exploded in a brilliant display of stars right before his brain registered the pain of the blow to the back of his head. The world was tumbling.

His skull throbbing, head spinning, and sight blurry, Josh flailed with both arms until he felt a leg. He quickly found the ankle, grabbed it tight, and rammed his shoulder into the shin. As whoever it was hit the ground, he scrambled onto a side mount. This time he remembered he was in a fight for his life rather than rolling on a mat. His knee cracked some ribs and he was pretty sure his elbow broke a nose. He also remembered he was fighting more than one opponent and had no idea if this had been the guy with the bat, so he rolled forward off of the man he’d just bloodied, rolled again. He came up to his feet and ran a few steps before spinning around.

Being a fast-healing super, his eyesight was already returning. The driver was on the ground moaning, face covered in blood and clutching his side in agony. Thug One was leaning against a wall and grunting with his eyes closed. Thug Two had picked up the bat and was watching Josh with obvious trepidation. Groper was standing a little wobbly with blood trickling down his rage-twisted face.

The girl was gone, though he did hear light footsteps racing away.

“Looks like five against one is down to two against one,” Josh said. “Two and a half at best.”

While he was talking, he glanced up and grinned. With a causal wave, he released a catch on an old metal fire escape ladder. Thug Two tucked his chin just before it would’ve cracked his dome, but the bottom rung still slammed into his back and knocked him to the ground. Thug One grunted and stumbled toward the street.

“And then there was one,” Josh said.

Groper’s eyes went wide. He looked at the fallen Thug Two and staggered back a step.

Three gunshots rang out in quick succession.

As soon as the first registered, Josh flung himself backward and pushed a wall of power out from himself with everything he had.

He didn’t see it, but he could feel the first bullet zip by a few feet ahead of him. The second he—somewhat oddly—watched float across his chest as if in slow motion.

The third he felt just before it struck his chin. He winced in anticipation, but it never hit. Trembling in shock, he turned his head and found the bullet frozen inches from his face. He relaxed, and it dropped.

“No!” the girl screamed. She must’ve picked up the magazine and ran back to find and reload the pistol.

Without really thinking, Josh tore the gun from her hands and pulled it toward himself. He’d never controlled metal from that far away. He could barely even make out her dark, distant figure. This time, he pulled the pistol into his hand and kept it.

Groper coughed, put a hand against his belly, and collapsed. One of the bullets must’ve hit him.

From far away, he caught the faint sound of a police siren. An old, white van pulled up and parked at the end of the alleyway. A door with a big “Fairy Cleaning Service” logo slid open and a tall, muscular man jumped out and grabbed Thug One. There was a brief scuffle that ended with Thug One gagged and tossed in the van. Another fairly large man hopped out.

Both men, who he could now see were dressed in baggy cargo pants and loose hoodies, cautiously walked down the alley with their hands up. The police siren was growing louder.

“Stop right there,” Josh said, though he kept the pistol pointed down.

The taller man eased a hand slowly toward his pocket. “I’m getting a phone out. There’s someone who wants to talk to you.”

He slowly eased an object out of his pocket and then hit a button. Josh felt the phone’s metal components, took hold of them, and pulled the phone to himself. The man had simply let go, as if he’d expected Josh to take it with his powers.

Josh put the phone to his ear just as someone on the other end picked up.

“Hey, Metalstorm. Sounds like you’ve had quite a night.”

“Stone? Are you here in New York?”

“‘Course not. It’s Thanksgiving and my family’s in Montana. Damn near in a food coma from all the turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and all that. No green bean casserole because that’s stuff’s disgusting but someone always has to bring it. And you? Did you have a good meal with your family before you took Breezy out?”

The two men collected Groper and the driver, who were both groaning and bleeding pretty badly from their respective injuries.

“So, are you just always watching us?” Josh asked.

“No, it’s nothing like that. We got some pretty late intel there was a plan to move on the juniors who’d taken down El Cannibale. We were actually following Laura because we trusted you’d be safe in your parent’s apartment.”

“And Jorge? Sasha?”

The tall man returned to haul off Thug One. Josh feared he might’ve killed him until he saw the man’s chest heave.

“We warned them both. Jorge’s got a tight community where he is, no worries there. And Sasha, well, trust me, she’s good. Tip of the spear good, as in she’s not entirely on vacation right now.”

Josh chuckled despite himself.

“Oh, hey, there was a girl here too. Though she’s probably gotten away by now.”

“No, we got her. And I saw what you did with those bullets. Pretty badass. When’d you learn that?

“About two minutes ago. Tried in the range a few hundred times, could never make it work.”

The sirens were getting pretty loud.

“Well, sometimes it’s all about motivation. Anyway, you should probably get going. My guys’ll take the pistol, if you don’t mind.”

The tall man was walking toward him again with his hand out. Josh dropped the magazine again and sent the two pieces floating separately over to the man.

“But Josh, good job either way. Quick question before I go. You handled yourself fairly well here, just about did what I would’ve done—other than taking that crack to the head, of course. But if you can do all that, why aren’t you doing more to keep your school safe? Seems to me that place could use a hero, whether or not they want one.”

Josh sighed and leaned his head back. “That’s . . . I mean, well there’s cameras everywhere and, people just—”

“You’re a metallo, right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then why are you worried about cameras? None of my business really, but think it over. You take care, and Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you have a lot to be thankful for. I know I do.”

“I do.” Josh replied, mostly on instinct. “Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.”

“Stone, out.”

The call ended and Josh sent the phone back to the tall man just before he got into the van. They rolled the door closed and casually pulled away.

Josh climbed onto the fire escape, lifted it and himself back up, and reset the latch. By the time the cop car pulled up, he was on the roof. They searched the alleyway for a bit, clearly found a single casing and the blood, but they didn’t even call it in and left pretty quickly.

He lingered on the roof for a while, staring at the sky. He did, in fact, have quite a bit to be thankful for.

Stone Tactical had told him he’d handled himself well. Room for improvement, of course, and Stone had been nice enough to leave out how he’d walked into a trap, but still.

“ . . . just about did what I would’ve done.”

Maybe, just maybe, when he got back to Stanford, he’d start doing what Metalstorm should’ve been doing all along.

Copyright © 2026 by Casey Moores

Casey Moores is an award-winning author of military science fiction and fantasy with novels and short stories in numerous shared universes, most notably the Shadow’s Path series with John Ringo, and now the Blood & Armor series with Bill Fawcett. A USAF rescue/special ops C-130 pilot for over 17 years, he now brings you those experiences as fiction. Casey is the winner of the Imaginarium Imadjinn Awards Best Historical Fiction for Witch Hunt in the JTF-13 series.