Veldron 25: Metahumans

Veldron's Saga 25: Metahumans

I dislike the term 'metahuman'.

Why? Because it's PR bullshit. It doesn't even make sense. There's nothing 'meta' about superpowers in general. People just don't like the word 'super' any more because it sounds arrogant.

I bring this up because it is one of the many reasons that I dislike the International Metapatrol, who were currently surrounding me.

"Give yourself up, Veldron!" some kid shouted as I ducked inside a barn for cover. Dammit, somebody had tipped them off. They just hadn't surrounded the bank because it was too densely populated an area.

The Metapatrol were the only force I knew of apart from the Ultimate Justice Squad who could chase superhuman criminals pretty much anywhere in the world without legal repercussions, but they didn't tend to do so as far as I was aware. To be honest, it wasn't something I paid much attention to; when your primary base is water-bound, people don't care nearly as much about who owns the water you're floating in when they try to beat you up.

But the Metapatrol spent most of their time transporting secured prisoners and guarding prisons that contain superhumans.

I recognised that voice, too... that was that guy! The one who had spotted me escaping from prison! I owed him some pain.

"What are you idiots doing out here?" I shouted as loudly as I could from inside the completely inadequate shelter of the shed. "All the real superheroes on holiday?"

Something thumping against the roof was the only reply. I clutched my weapon. It had its own power supply, but it was a small one and I didn't know how many I was facing. Would it be enough?

Better to be prepared. I drew a small paper packet from my belt and removed a sterile thick needle and a very tiny pair of tweezers.

As I may have said in the past, my pain tolerance isn't exactly anything to be proud of. I gritted my teeth and slid the needle into my left palm at the two relevant points. I drew out the ends of two tiny wires, which hurt like hell, and attached them to the small egg-shaped weapon. I secured it to my hand with tape. Hopefully I wouldn't have to use it.

The shed didn't contain much that was useful. I had a small multifunctional wrist-mounted gun in my belt, which I mounted on my right wrist. Pain, heat, sound; I was immune to two out of the three, so long as I didn't shoot myself in the hand. And I had earplugs.

Something else slammed into the shed, but I wasn't worried. These guys worked by the book.

Openings. There was a small window on one side of the rickety tin shed and the door on the other. I climbed onto a bench and looked out the window. I could see one guy, floating in full line of sight. Idiot. I could give him a jolt, but that'd just warn him that I could see him.

Door. I opened it a crack. Nobody in sight there – they would be hovering above the building and around the corners, where I couldn't get them from inside the shed but they had full view of me if I came out. And I had to come out eventually.

I rolled a concussion grenade out, just to see what they'd do, but they'd seen these tricks before. There were no cries or thumps as it detonated beyond the reverberation of the side of the tin shed. They would've sheltered behind something.

I couldn't fight from within the shed.

I clutched the small egg in my hand and dashed outside.

I felt something club the back of my head. An attempt to stun me, probably. That almost never worked against me. I gripped the egg, closed my eyes and detonated it.