A Worthy Adversary

Book One of Three

Rating: PG-13 (for swearing and teenage drinking)

Summary: In the year 2011, super-powered humans, called metahumans, live among us. One of them is 15-year-old Jim Marks, a rebellious teenager who is soon offered the chance to be a vigilante and a hero. But when the woman who outed the metahuman community is assasinated, Jim, with the help of his friends, try to figure out the mystery. What they discover is not a simple murder, it's a plot and conspiracy and Jim is stuck in the middle of it all.

CHAPTER ONE

He didn't know what to think. He certainly didn't expect this when he turned on the television, he expected a re-run of a show, he expected something normal, not this. He didn't expect to see this announcement of a woman standing in front of a podium, about to tell the world news that would transform the global population.

She was a young woman, she was certainly known; she was running for office, a campaign that promised truth and honesty to the country, to the world. He listened, for once, to the news.

"The truth is that metahumans are very real, and they are among us. But despite popular belief, they are not fearful creatures, they are not enemies, they are simply people. We are simply people," the woman said.

A gasp was heard in the crowd.

"Yes, I have to admit, I am one of them, and I am not ashamed."

"How can we know you're telling the truth?" a voice erupted from the crowd.

"By doing this," the woman smiled.

She then pointed to something off-screen, and the camera quickly swiveled to see what she was pointing at. It was just an ordinary chair, but in a second, it multiplied. To two, then to three, then finally settling on occupying one space of the conference room.

"There is nothing to fear, we should not be feared. We have been for our entire existence, and we will be for our rest. We are who we are, and you have accepted us before. Accept us now, for what we truly are. We are just people."

"This is absurd!" an angry voice said.

"Think of it. We could be your father, your mother, your husband, your wife, your children. Mankind is evolving, and any numbers of people already have. Accept us."

He turned off the television after that, and sat in a dark space. He cradled his head in his hands. For once in a long time, he was scared.

The smoke from the man's cigarette billowed in front of his face, the gray air swirling to make an indescribable pattern that unfolded in the boy's eyes. Whiffing the stale night air around him, the boy shrugged his shoulders measly and leaned against the brick wall of the alley.

It seemed an unorthodox place for a rendezvous, but all the boy needed was a quick pick-me-up, and, despite the comments from his friends saying he looked older than he actually was, he was still fifteen and bars would still not let him in. all he needed was a bottle of booze he would down in his free time, and his only supplier was the man before him, gruff with a beard framing his chin, with the wild red hair and equally wild pair of black eyes, he looked much like a biker lost in translation, but he was just a bartender sneaking out. Tattoos swirled on his forearm and neck, symbols and signs that didn't mean a thing to the boy.

"Come on, Bill. Take the edge off and just give me the booze already," the boy sighed, for he knew he was going to break Bill's exterior; he knew how to persuade.

"Fine," Bill surrendered and took out a bottle of liquid courage to give to the young man.

The boy smiled happily, giving the money he promised Bill and opened the bottle with a devious smirk; he knew he could get away with probably anything, whether it be with the girls from his school or people he just needed an easy favor from.

"You know, Jim, this isn't right for a kid like you. You're only fifteen and your mom's a cop, you could get caught and I can't keep picking up after you when you get into fights," Bill said, pocketing the money.

"I can take care of my own ass, thanks, Bill," Jim said surly.

Jim was a handsome young man, that was a fact, his hair was dark as a raven's, messy and tousled and turned, while his eyes resembled something of a mud puddle in the midst of the transparent rain. His face was youthful, as any teenager's would be, pale and smooth, save for the cut that ran on his cheek, still red from his previous encounter.

Bill was right, Jim was much too young to be where he was, drinking the way he was like an insipid drunk of a man; words soon to be slurred, mind soon to be blurred. He was dressed in a jacket to keep him warm from the thin cloth that was his gray t-shirt and the jeans that he was wearing were faded and torn at the knees; he looked the way he was, troubled.

"I know you can. I know what you are, okay? There's no need to flaunt it, Jim, I get that you got the whole rebel thing going on, but what if someone catches you doing the things you do, huh? Just because the government's on good terms with your kind doesn't mean the rest of us are," Bill looked up to the night sky, as the stars dotted the dark blue canvas of the universe.

"You saying you aren't?" Jim raised his eyebrows.

"I'm saying your kind can take care of your own kind, no need to involve the rest of us. We were happy before you lot came along, why ruin that?"

"You've got an interesting political view there, Bill."

"Look, kid, the world's a tough place to live in, powers or not."

Jim's nerve seemed to trigger when he heard the older man's words and his eyes darkened with slight anger for the man before him. sure, he had known Bill for years, he was there when he got into his bar fight two years ago, but that didn't mean what he thought about metahumans didn't hurt him.

"You know what? I'll take the liberty of rephrasing that for you, Bill. The world's a tougher place when you've got powers. Being metahuman is like having mounting problems, while humans can just sit there, watching the rest of us getting killed," he said, growling. "Or better yet, go watch the news while my kind saves yours. This new vigilante group saves people, regardless of their DNA code. Do you think that train could've been stopped with sheer human power? Do you think those people on that breaking bridge could've been saved with a fire ladder? Do you think-"

"I got it, kid. I got it, save your breath on me. You might need it someday," Bill held up his hand as a sign of surrender.

He craned his neck sideways and saw that the bar across the road had its light dimmed; his bar. He clapped his hand on Jim's shoulder and said cautiously to the young man, "I gotta go close up. Don't get into any more fights, at least not tonight. I do not need another midnight call from Preston Memorial telling me you got a concussion in the head, you hear me, kid?"

"Yeah, yeah, no powers," Jim smiled, and downed another sip from the bottle. Bill disappeared into the night, and he was all alone again.

There, young Jim Marks, pondered, with the liquid in his hand getting more and more ignored by its master's willing mouth by the second and his mind going deep into his thoughts and pondering. His powers were under control, he could keep it in himself for one night, for sure, that was, if no one approached him that looked even competition, or better, easy prey.

He looked down at his hands, and knew that power was behind them, ready to be unleashed at the next person that walked round the corner looking for trouble. He had to hold it in, though, for Bill's word, and for his mom back home. Jim had been a troubled kid, but his behavior had been acting out only as recently as two years ago and Anna Marks couldn't seem to get a hold on her son.

He loved his mother, he truly did, she understood them, on the contrary to popular belief of misguided kids and their parents, it wasn't her that made him this way, it was the absence of the other parent. His father had left when he was just three days old, and then poof, no letters, no pictures, no cards with the words of petty apologies written on them.

He had been a good kid growing up, he got exceptional grades, he went down to the station when they couldn't find a babysitter and became the police department's cherished little Jimmy Marks, he had been good. The powers just made him different.

Jim sighed and sat on the ground of the alleyway, abandoning the bottle beside him as he cradled his head in his hands. He really should be better, for his mom's sake. She was still young, there was only a 19 year age difference between them; she had married young and had her first and only child as a young woman right out of high school but that didn't mean she didn't care for her young son.

He should get better, no more drinking, for starters, and coming clean, finally, about his abilities, that he was one of the people featured on the news, being good Samaritans. She could be happy. He heard a heartbeat in the distance, calm and steady.

"Hey, kid!" someone called out to him.

Jim snapped his head up and saw a trio of boys that could only be two or three years older than him, yet had the nerve to call him 'kid'. The leader, it seemed, he was the one two steps forward the others, was wearing a leather jacket that made him look a tad bad-ass and a little more like an over-ridden Grease character. He had spiky blonde hair, taken up by some kind of cheap gel. His other cronies looked like identical twins; the same dark red hair, chopped and clean-cut, the same dark eyes.

"What?" Jim snapped back.

"You know, we overheard your conversation. You're a Meta, huh?" the leader said, crossing his arms.

"You got a problem with that?" Jim stood up on his feet so he could look at the blonde guy at eye-level.

"As a matter a fact, I do," he responded. "You know, my girlfriend got killed by a Meta, in cold blood."

"How do you know she got killed? Maybe she just killed herself 'cause she couldn't bear being with an ass like you," Jim smirked, enjoying the look on the guy's face, the way the red crept up and how his hands evolved into fist ready to assault his face.

Jim could feel the blood rush from his head to his hands and he knew full well what was going to happen next; he was going to break his word to Bill. How could he not? The way the boy was reacting by simple words uttered was too easy, and the fact that he already thought Jim was nothing by a dead-end loser was more of a challenge. He loved proving people wrong.

So Jim gave the opposing party the leading strike. Soon enough, he was pinned against the cold, brick wall of the alleyway, it was crushing his back but he could take the pain, he had been through worse. The young metahuman smirked as the leader's face drew closer to his, and he felt his breath rush out, but panic wasn't part of Jim Marks' cabinet of emotion.

Instead, he smirked at the boy in front of him and drew two fingers from his hand and, with an easy flick of the wrist; his two cronies hit the wall with ease. The leader turned back to see the condition of his friends, and Jim took his distraction as a moment of opportune and shoved his knee into the guy's stomach, that resulted in him coughing out blood, splattering on the brick behind Jim.

Jim sniggered a little and let the boy fall to the ground with another shove and kick. As he looked down at his work, he thought to himself: too damn easy.

From afar, he could hear footsteps coming towards the scene and Jim's eyes bulged out in surprise. He quickly grabbed the bottle still sitting on the coarse, hard floor of the alleyway and stepped over the unconscious bodies to be wrapped in the cold wind of night. He took a deep breath and hid the bottle in his jacket, just in case he ran into one of his mom's old friends from the station.

He walked calmly to the direction of his house, cleaning up his hair to make sure his mom didn't ask questions besides the customary 'where the hell have you been?' Jim sensed a shadow following behind him, an eerie ghost following his very tracks. A chill crept his spine down to up, so he decided to face the music and turn around. But he wasn't confronted with a transparent being from the hereafter; it was just an elderly man in an army jacket with a smile on his face. He was the heartbeat from earlier, Jim could recognize it easily.

"Why are you following me?" Jim pocketed his hands and looked at the man more intently. He had brown hair, slowly decaying into the gray strands that were inevitable, and had warm brown eyes; he looked wise.

"I almost couldn't believe it when the bartender told me who you are," the old man stepped forward.

"Who am I? Or a better question, who are you?" Jim crossed his arms in an offending fashion.

"I'm General Jonathan Pike and you, you are little Jimmy Marks," the man smiled. "Not so little anymore, you see," Jim chuckled.

Pike looked at him intently, like the boy was under a microscope, ready to be experimented on, he felt slightly demeaned by the older man's steady gaze on him. "I got that. 15 years old and already getting into fights?"

"I gotta express my feelings somehow. The world won't let me do that so easily. But you haven't answered my question, General Pike, what are you doing following me?" Jim narrowed his gaze.

"I know what you are, son. I know what you can do. I've been trailing you for days now, waiting for you to unleash that potential. Tonight, you have done just that," Pike said.

"What do you mean, you've been trailing me? Are you the government? Is that why you're a general?"

"I am not the government, but let's just say that I help the government deeply with what I do. And I am what you are, too, James. Metahuman."

Jim was astounded; he'd never met another metahuman in person, sure, he'd seen them on the news, on the front pages of various metropolis newspapers, but he had never been acquainted with one of his own kind. Plus General Pike didn't really look like a metahuman; he looked like one of those homely fathers with the hard-working jobs.

"You know what? I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that you're part of the vigilante group that's been helping around New York," Jim shrugged his shoulders.

"Your wild guess would be right, James. I am part of the vigilante group. What's more is that I'm the leader to that group and I am here to offer you a place with me," Pike tied his hands behind his back.

"Wait, you're here to offer me a place with you? Why me? I'm nobody," Jim waved his hand in confusion.

"You are somebody, James. I saw what you can do. Telekinesis is a very powerful ability when controlled right. And by the fact that you could hear my heartbeat tells me you have super hearing?"

"Not only super hearing, super five senses, I can see from miles away, smell stuff from three blocks down, I can recognize every taste you give me, and I know what I'm touching even when I'm not looking. I also have eidetic memory. Helps me a lot in school when I'm not flunking," Jim said.

"See, Jim? You are somebody? And I'm offering you a job that can make you just that and let the world know that fact, as well. You get to save people when they're in danger, you can adapt and evolve with your own kind," Pike gave a nice fight.

Jim was speechless, he couldn't decide. This was what he wanted, wasn't it? It was a chance to use his powers and not get beaten up for it, instead be praised for it.

"Give it a night. You don't have to answer now, but I'll be here when you do, yes or no," Pike pulled something out from his pocket.

A white piece of paper, on it, was typed out the words 'General Jonathan Pike' and a line of numbers that assembled a phone number. He stared at it, perplexed and confused, for a few moments but looked up to look at the general but discovered he was all alone. Jim looked back down at the card and pocketed it safely in his jacket and began walking to the direction where home was and, where home was, he was safe to think.

Jim's house wasn't big, it wasn't small; it was decent. It was a lot on a street, cramped up together in the New York atmosphere. Their front door was red like he remembered his grandmother's lipstick was, with a lamp on the right side of the door, illuminating the steps of ladders leading up the house.

Their house was a warm color of beige, it had been that way since they bought it when Jim was a few months shy of six and it had a faded just a tad, but neither of them had made the notion to the paint it and make it anew again. the windows indicated that the person inside had already fallen asleep, as the lights were off, just a few remained on, because he knew his mother usually awoke in the late night or early morning to get some water and it was easy to have light to guide the way. Either that or it was an early case.

Jim opened the door with his keys and was greeted with the darkness that was his home. His house was only two floors, downstairs consisted of a living room, a kitchen and a bathroom overhead and, as of then, no one was around, so he switched on a table lamp or two.

He slumped on the couch, his trusty bottle of liquor on the wooden table before him. Just for kicks, he levitated the bottle two inches of the surface and let it float for two seconds before descending back onto the table.

There was only two people (well, three now, considering General Pike's existence in his life) that knew about his abilities. Bill, for one, he was just easy, he was a stranger and he needed to pour out his life stories to somebody and someone once told him bartenders had become the new taxi drivers; you could tell them anything under intoxication. The other had been someone more closely related to him, someone who had known him since he was two years old and watched him grow up in watchful eyes.

Zachary Gray had been a close family friend for years and he became Jim's substitute for a father growing up, Zach had been there and he was the first person Jim told about his abilities when he found out. Zach was someone Jim looked up to, but someone who insisted to speak at eye-level either way.

He and his mother worked in the same field of work and, soon enough, they had been partnered with each other in the department. They became close friends and they had been this weird version of a family. He and Jim's mother even dated for a year before breaking up, deciding on being friends; instead, it was the ground that kept both of them leveled.

Even so, Zach had always been part of Jim's life and he was grateful to have a strong hand on his shoulder always. He wondered if he could ask Zach about his opinion for this question: should he or should he not accept Pike's offer? Knowing Zachary Gray the way he did, he guessed that he'd probably ask the teenager to lay out a list of pro's and con's. So, considering, he didn't have a lot of options, besides the random coin toss, he should probably use Zach's way.

Jim stood up from his seat to circle the living room, and stopped on the mantelpiece that had all of their pictures on it. Well, most of their pictures. Some were kept upstairs in his mother's bedroom like prized possessions. He knew how the system worked for these pictures.

Eight pictures were chosen as favorites, while others were arranged in chronological order. The top eight were a picture of Jim as a baby, Anna Marks graduating college, Anna and her family from Brooklyn, Jim when he entered kindergarten, then Jim graduated junior high, Anna and the entire police department in their station during Jim's 12th birthday party, Jim and Anna alone with smiling faces and knowing eyes and, finally, a recent photograph of Jim, Anna and Zachary.

Anna Marks had always been the girl to appreciate memories; she had sometimes wielded a camera instead of her customary gun and badge. But one memory Jim knew was missing from the top eight that should, by any rule invented, be on the brown, shining mantelpiece; a snapshot from her wedding day with a man named Geoffrey Carvel but Jim guessed he knew why that wasn't there. Perhaps she grudged him as much as Jim did.

He took his eyes off the pictures and walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water; he could feel the alcohol creeping up to him and feel the aftermath of it. He sat down and gripped the glass, twiddling his thumbs tenderly. So, the pro and con list.

He was going to be working with his own kind and know what it felt like to be part of an important group, so that was a pro. He didn't know what the hell he was getting into; con. Who knows what could happen to him when he was on the job? That was a con. There was a big chance there would be people to help him control his powers; pro. If he did his job right, he could be a hero; pro. But that was an 'if', what if he screwed up? That was probably a con.

Jim sighed and banged his head on the table, desperate for an answer. Maybe he should call Zach, or maybe he should just leap without looking, the way he had treated life ever since he was five and let go of the monkey bars, despite his mom's objections. Jim had always taken unnecessary risks to prove he was right, why not this one? Why was he pondering and thinking so much that his heart hurt as much as his head?

Leap without looking, he told himself. Even if you fall to the rocks. Jump without a chute, Jim. You can do this. He took the phone from near the sink and dialed the number from the card in his hand. The receiver beeped for a few long seconds before a gruff voice answered it. Jim didn't wait for a 'who is this?' and said, quickly and muttered slightly under his breath, "General Pike? This is Jim Marks. My answer is yes."

A/N: Read and review!