Booster Gold #4 - Linear Obsessions

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Author: ScarecrowSid

Book: Booster Gold

Event: Origins

Set: 4

October 24, 2015

          There were few things more tedious than patrol, but when coupled with the search for an enigmatic masked madman it became insufferable. Booster Gold had spent the last month of his life trailing the Question, coming up short and arriving just after the ‘hero’ finished his business. There was, however, a single benefit to this unforeseen change in his status as a hero—now he had a partner.

          “Skeets,” Booster said. “Are you absolutely sure there was no mention of this guy’s biggest actions in your memory banks? Perhaps some reference to the fall of a supervillain or…” He trailed off, he knew the answer.

          “As I’ve said before, sir,” Skeets began. “My records of history indicate that the Question was not an active presence in Hub City until 2016. Somehow, you’ve triggered his actions earlier than records dictate. He isn’t supposed to exist until after Superman makes his debut.”

          “Damn timeline,” Booster scowled. “Why would my being active change anything?”

          “I’ll take this one, Skeets.” Ted’s voice grated a little over the newly discovered earpiece in Booster’s suit. Over the last month, he and Skeets had taken to cataloging and optimizing the suit’s features, much to Booster’s chagrin. There was something honest, heroic even, about stumbling across some unknown ability or gadget—especially on-screen. “Booster,” Ted had taken to using his nickname, an extra measure of security should their communications fall into the wrong hands. “Your very presence here is changing history, whatever data Skeets has in his memory is going to fall further and further out of sync with history as time moves forward.”

          “That’s a problem,” Booster said.

          “As long as the key point remains intact, your plan won’t suffer sir,” Skeets remarked. “As long as Superman’s origin is untouched, we can swoop in and make it our own!”

          “What the hell is a Superman? You two keep mentioning it,” Ted asked. “Skeets mentioned ‘replacing the Superman’ as your primary goal, what the hell is a Superman?”

          “Next year, on a certain day,” Booster replied. ”You won’t be asking me that question anymore—you’ll be asking ‘Superman who?’”

          “When and where exactly is this ‘certain day’ taking place?”

          “Where? Metropolis. When? Spoilers,” Booster flashed a practiced grin but, remembering that Ted was in his lab and his drones were recording his dramatic flight sequence from assorted angles, quickly abandoned it. “I think this going to be another wasted night, gentlemen. I’m coming back to the lab.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

          “Why can’t I find the bastard?” Booster down upon the Kord Industries warehouse housing the SunKord, the roof slid open, just enough for him to drift through the opening and settle down beside the aircraft. “I’m from 400 years in the future, how the hell is this Neanderthal outsmarting me?”

          “Intelligence is relative, you may have human advancement on your side, but my IQ still tops yours,” Ted replied from the monitor bank he’d set up in a secluded corner of the hangar. A week ago he had dismissed his staff, stating that the SunKord needed to be redesigned aesthetically. Apparently, this wasn’t a new behavior, as his employees took it in stride and began working on other projects.

          “Oh please, I could do that stuff,” Booster pointed in the general direction of several whiteboards pinned to the walls. “You should see the physics they taught us, it might make that big brain of yours explode.”

          “Then please,” Ted said, rising from behind his monitors. He handed Booster a black marker and pointed toward the nearest board, “Show me what you know.”

          “…I don’t want to damage the timeline any further.”

          “Bullshit,” Ted chuckled. “You don’t know, do you?”

          “To be fair, I wasn’t the best student,” Booster replied. “I was more focused on games and fame… Anyway, enough about my past. Skeets, are you patched into the HCPD?”

          “I am piggybacking on Mr. Kord’s network, sir,” Skeets said. “So far, I have yet to encounter any incidents to which the Question may be attributed.”

          “He’s not a ghost, why can we never track his movements?” Booster asked, his agitation bled through in his tone. Skeets and Ted recoiled in response, but he continued, “Ted, you have a satellite and a direct feed to the Police Department’s system, is there any way to…predict where he’ll show up?”

          “I’ve been trying for weeks, Michael,” Ted scowled. Booster made note of the twisted inflection Ted applied to his name, Michelle had done the same for years. He thought about making a quip concerning secret identities, but Ted seemed unusually serious right now. “I’ve written a program to correlate both my satellite’s feed and the police switchboard, but so far all it can tell us is he seems to operate primarily on the East Bank and likes to stop robberies, beat down thugs, and chase down murderers. We live in Hub City, a dozen of each of those occur every goddamn night. So unless you plan on robbing a bank, I can’t give you a definitive answer where exactly he’s going to show up!”

          A tense moment passed between them, a hollow, silent thing broken only when Booster felt a grin creep at the corners of his mouth. Ted, obviously confused, asked, “Why is your face doing that? Booster, what the hell are you thinking?”

          “You really are a genius, Ted,” Booster said, smirking as he floated over to the SunKord. “Hey, where did you move the flight suits?”

          “No,” Ted shouted. “This is a terrible idea.”

          “Hey, it’s like you said, if we can’t find him—let’s have him find us,” Booster said. “Did you move them? Skeets, where are the flight suits? All I really need is the face bit.”

          “Skeets,” Ted said, pointing a finger at the bot. “Don’t tell him anything.”

          “I apologize Mr. Kord, but I am in favor of Booster’s plan,” Skeets hovered over to the SunKord and highlighted a panel. Booster floated over and ran his hands over said panel until his fingers stumbled upon a button hidden between the seams. Hydraulics hissed as the panel slid away, revealing a hatch labeled: Emergency Equipment.

          Booster pulled the hatch open a little too forcefully and the door creaked off its top two hinges and hung limply from the third. He looked back at Ted, who was rubbing his left temple and a spot over his left brow with his thumb and forefinger, respectively. “My bad,” Booster said. “Good thing this is just a prototype. If a hinge like that failed on a real plane, oh boy would you be in trouble, Teddy.”

          “I didn’t plan for superpowered individuals straining the hinges,” Ted replied, settling back into his chair.

          “Whatever,” Booster grinned back at his friend. “Let’s see if this works.” He held up three balaclava-like face masks and shot a thumbs up toward Ted, who threw up his arms and grinned back in reply.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

          “I’ll need a name,” Booster said, pulling the balaclava’s eye slot to taut around the frame of his golden goggles. He looked himself over in the mirror, the red mask and gold goggles actually worked quite well with the blacked out stealth mode of his super suit. “The Crimson Avenger. Wait, that sounds heroic. The Crimson Revenger? Does that sound dastardly Ted? Hey, Ted!” Booster whipped around and scanned the immediate area, but Ted was nowhere to be found. “Where’d he wander off to?” Booster turned back to the mirror and looked himself over. “Maybe something simpler. The Red Bandit? No, not the Red Bandit. You’re overthinking this, Booster. Skeets, what was the name of that guy? The guy in the red fish tank.”

          “Sir, his name was the ‘the Red Hood-” Skeets began, before Booster interjected.

          “Right, of course! Okay, call me the Red Hoodlum,” Booster dropped his voice into a lower register for his new name. “Skeets, find me a bank to rob.”

          “It’s three o’clock in the morning, sir,” Skeets replied.

          “Thanks for the update, Skeets. Now about those banks.”

          “Sir, there are no banks open right now.”

          “Jewelry stores?” Booster asked.

          “No.”

          “Damn. Whatever, I’ll figure something out.”

          “You must be joking,” Ted’s voice echoed through the empty space as he returned from wherever he had wandered off to.

          “Where the devil have you been?”

          “I’ve been sitting in that chair all night, I needed to use the lavatory,” Ted replied. “You went with the red ski mask? The black or, hell, even the blue would have worked better. Not to say that this plan of yours is ever going to work, because it’s not.”

          “The real question isn’t why I’m wearing a red ski mask, it’s why aren’t you wearing a blue one?” Michael asked. “Think about it, we could team up for a night on the town and, together, capture the crazy guy in the mask.”

          “By dressing up as other crazy guys in masks.”

          “Now you’re getting it.”

          “Thanks, but no thanks. Unlike you, I: 1) Don’t have a super suit, 2) Don’t have a forcefield, and 3) Don’t want to be shot in the face.”

April 18th, 2462

          “Slow and steady is the best approach, Michael,” the Batman of 25th century growled in his direction. “We’ve taken apart several key operations throughout Metropolis.”

          “I told you how to take out my father a year ago,” Michael shot back. “I’ve told you every shady deal he’s ever planned out, and you’ve done nothing.”

          “What you gave me was conjecture, rumors, and whining,” Batman replied. He was a haunting figure, his armor, and the eerie green glow, would be enough to frighten most men, but it was the voice that continued unnerve him nearly a year later. “You’re doing good work, Michael. There’s an infection in Metropolis right now, you and I are the only ones fighting it. We fight slowly, but we strike forcefully.”

          “We should call in someone who hits a little harder, speed up the process,” Michael said. “It’s his city isn’t it.”

          “He’s off world, he’s always off world,” the Batman replied. “It doesn’t matter how many statues they put up, he won’t always be here to save the day. Sometimes, you need to save yourself.” The Batman walked toward the edge of the rooftop, the one where they had first met, and looked over the edge. “Now, do you have any new information for me?”

          Michael sighed and joined the Batman at the roof’s edge, looking down upon Old Metropolis and wondering how exactly he found himself here, in this moment. He must have zoned out, the Batman cleared his throat impatiently and Michael snapped back to attention.

          “I landed the job at the Metropolis Space Museum, just like my father wanted,” Michael said. “Apparently the security manager was a ‘fan’ of mine during my time at Gotham U, and by fan I mean I cost him money when I threw that last game.”

          “Has he told you why he needed you in the museum yet?”

          “No, but I can’t imagine it’s for anything other than a heist,” Michael said. “Question is, which crew will he use?”

          “Keep me posted,” the Batman replied. “And keep getting into trouble, it’ll help our cause.” He took a step forward and leapt from the rooftop, Michael looked down, over the edge as the Dark Knight soared on wings hidden between his arms and torso. He soared upward, into the night and blocked out the pale moon’s light in a silhouette that matched his founder’s sigil with haunting regard.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

          First days at a new job are hard, they’re made exponentially harder when everyone who works there has already formed an opinion about you. Michael’s direct supervisor was a burly man in his forties, he had graying hair and a thin mustache that failed to stretch beyond the corners of his mouth.

          “Hey Bert,” Michael said. “When exactly do we settle into our post?”

          “Gotta walk before you can sit kid,” Bert said. “We’re gonna set you up with your partner, then you’ll run through your training shift tonight. I’ll be off duty in about,” he paused to bring up his feed, a holographic clock appeared in the palm of his hand, reading 11:45 P.M. “Fifteen minutes, we’d better hustle.” Bert led him past the array of exhibits and toward a narrow hallway at the back of the structure. At the end of said hallway was a black glass pane that slid away after it scanned Bert, revealing a room filled with an assortment of mechanical parts and stacked crates.

          “Hey Ernie, you around?” Bert called to nowhere in particular.

          A wheezing fellow, likely two decades older than Bert hobbled out from behind a stack of boxes. “This the superstar?” He managed before falling into a coughing fit that left Michael feeling winded.

          “That’d be him,” Bert replied. “Can you get him set up? Mary made a roast, if I’m lucky it won’t be dry just yet.” He clapped Michael on the shoulder and hurried out of the room, waving over his shoulder as he vanished behind the white light of the doorway.

          “Here,” Ernie wheezed again as he shoved a crate in Michael’s direction. “Open that up, start up your partner.”

          Michael scowled at the old man but complied and opened the crate, resting within was a single egg-shaped metal droid. He pulled it from the box and held it in his hand, it was smaller and lighter than he had expected, given the size of the container. Michael blinked at it, and it blinked back with a single red eye.

          “Serial number?” Ernie asked as the droid drifted out of Michael’s hands and hung in the empty air.

          “What?” Michael asked.

          “Not you,” Ernie growled before falling victim to another coughing fit. “Droid, what is your serial number.”

          “5K33T5,” replied the droid. It’s voice was male, somewhat refined with the slightest hint of an accent. “Do you wish to assign a designation to this unit?”

          Michael stared at the security drone for a moment, it was encased in a black, matte shell and seemed to suspend itself without the use of any sort of thruster.

          “Do you wish to assign this unit a designation?” it asked again, hovering in front of Michael. Ernie impatiently clicked his tongue as he logged the unit’s serial number, and Michael realized the drone was talking to him.

          “What was your serial number again?”

          “5K33T5,” it answered.

          “5K33T5,” Michael repeated. “Okay, I’ll call you Skeets.” Ernie’s eye roll was exaggerated, and annoyed Michael a little—but he tried to ignore him.

          “Very well, this unit is now known as ‘Skeets',” Skeets said. “What shall I call you?”

          “Mic—” He began, but Ernie cut across him.

          “Call him Booster,” he said. “This superstar’s name is Booster.” Evidently, Ernie held some kind of grudge as well, he likely lost a substantial sum during Michael’s days playing for Gotham U. “Ain’t that right, Booster?”

          “Very well, I will call you Booster,” Skeets said. “Shall we begin your training, Booster?” The drone hovered ahead of him and out the door, Michael followed after one last glance in the direction of the wheezing old man who seemed to despise him. Booster was a name he’d left on the field, he didn’t need it anymore.

October 24, 2015

          Booster glared at the neon man staring back at him, thick red beard and slicked back hair wedged beneath a lopsided white chef’s cap and an audacious yellow apron. The apron itself had a boxed receiver embedded within, jutting out in a potbelly below the aptly titled: Big Belly Burger.

          Booster took a step forward and tapped on the box, a crackling came in reply as he asked, “Hello? Anyone there? You guys open.”

          “Welcome to Big Belly Burger, may I take your order?” A voice crackled through the speaker and screeched a little into the empty night.

          “Yeah, hi. I’d like a Mega Big Belly Burger, no cheese…”

          “No cheese is extra, that okay?”

          “Yeah, okay, fine. An ice cream cone, chocolate…” Booster continued.

          “We don’t have ice cream.”

          “Then what’s the point of a twenty-four hour drive-thru? Okay, you know what, forget the ice cream. Give me a bigger Soder Cola, no ice.”

          “Biggest Soder Cola, lite ice?”

          “No, bigger. No ice,” Booster said through clenched teeth.

          “Dude, we don’t have a size bigger than ‘biggest,’” the speaker replied.

          “Oh for f*ck’s sake,” Booster said.

          “Hey, while you’re there, can you get me some fries,” Ted asked through Booster’s earpiece.

          “Shut up, Ted,” Booster replied.

          “We don’t just give out bread, man,” the speaker said. “You have to order something.”

          Booster punched the speaker and made his way toward Big Belly Burger’s payment window, clenching and unclenching his fists in sync with his steps.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

          High above Booster, somewhere amidst the nameless skyline of Hub City a man out of time set a cigar ablaze. He took a long drag and coughed out a plume of silvery smoke before setting his rifle along the roof’s ledge and activating the targeting H.U.D.

          A man came into view, wearing a red mask over his head and a suit of black body armor, a suspicious character in any regard, but tonight he drew the attention of Travis and his rifle. Travis brought up his mechanical right hand and tapped the display nested therein with his good hand, bringing up a chart with the name ‘Booster Gold.’

          “Doesn’t look like you,” he said. He studied the icon, tapping it to bring up a holographic projection. “Probability that that man is Booster Gold?”

          A smokey female voice replied to him, “The likelihood that both ‘the Question’ and ‘the Red Hood’ would be active in Hub City, in the year 2015, is completely unlikely without the actions of a time traveler having some adverse effect. This is the most likely place to find your foe, and the only point—”

          “Okay, I understand,” said the man out of time. “Quit badgering me.” He focused once more on the holographic display of his rifle’s scope, tracking the head of the man in the red mask. “So long, Booster.” He settled the rifle’s stock into his shoulder and brought his finger to the trigger, he took one long breath, exhaled, and prepared to fire.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

          Booster approached the drive-through window, tugging at the part of his mask pressing down on his nose. It was beginning to itch, he suspected he may be allergic to whatever fibers comprised the mask. He looked at the young crew currently putting together his order with a scowl but, remembering he was wearing a mask, chose instead to knock on the sliding window with his hand.

          A confused young man opened said window and stared Booster, dressed as the Red Hoodlum, with a mixture of confusion and bewilderment. “Dude?” said the young man. “Where’s your car?”

          “You know, it’s the damndest thing, I sitting here, behind the wheel, and it just started sinking into the ground..”

          “Your car sunk into the ground?”

          “Yeah, can you believe it? Spontaneous sinkhole, completely out of the blue.”

          As the young man leaned out the window to look at the ground, then slowly recoiled into his window. “That’s wild, man.”

          “It is, where’s my stuff?”

          “I can’t serve you if you don’t have a car.”

          “You’re joking,” Booster said. “Just give me my damn food. I have a lot to get done tonight, and I can’t waste any more time with you.”

          “Look, man, you have to come back with a car.”

          “I’m not coming back with a car, now give my order,” Booster said. The young man tried to close the window, but Booster held it open with minimal effort. Behind the young man, who should have been frightened but apparently lacked the sense, there was a machine with waffle cones stacked beside it. Booster took his other hand and grabbed the young man by the collar, pulling him out the window and depositing him on the ground. He pointed back into the restaurant and said, “Is that an ice cream machine?”

          “Yeah, but it ain’t on,” the young man replied.

          “I didn’t ask if it was on, I asked what it was,” Booster said, clenching his teeth once more. “You said there was no ice cream. Why would you say that?”

          “Are you seriously harassing this kid over ice cream?” Ted said through their comm-link.

          “It’s the principle of the thing, Ted!”

          “My name ain’t Ted, man,” the young man said.

          “I’m not talking to you right now,” Booster said. He took one long, deep breath and shook his head. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You,” he said, pointing at the young man, “are going to go back inside and call the police. Tell them I’m robbing you, tell them I have a gun.”

          Booster shoved the young man back through the window, and began to pace in place before shouting after him, “Hey, turn that ice cream maker on! I want a cone before the cops get here.”

          “Is this the best course of action, sir?” Skeets asked.

          “Yes,” Booster replied. “This is one of the few places open, and at this point in our little adventure I am getting my goddamn ice cream.”

          “Dude? What’s your name?” the young man asked, his ear pressed to his phone. Booster shook his head and ran a finger across his throat. “Yeah, it’s some dude in a red mask, he’s super strong, I asked him his name and—”

          “Hang up,” Booster said. The young man followed his directions and began emptying the cash register. “Wait, what are you doing?”

          “Getting you the money.”

          “I don’t want the money, I just needed you to make the call,” Booster scratched at the itchy spot over his nose once again. “Oh, and my ice cream. Don’t forget my ice cream.”

          “Sir, the police are on their way,” said Skeets.

          “Good,” replied Booster. “Ted, can you work your magic and stop the officers who are responding from showing up? I’m sure our friend heard the call.”

          “I’m not a wizard,” Ted sighed.

          “Yeah you are, I saw that picture on your desk,” Booster snorted.

          “That was Dungeons and Dragons, I was eleven, and f*ck you,” Ted spat back. “I’ll see what I can do.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

          Fifteen minutes went by before Booster gave up, he took his ice cream cone in hand and pulled up the mask so he could have a lick. “I’m guessing our friend isn’t going to come after me.”

          “No,” said Ted. “It would appear not.”

          “You made quite the villain, sir,” Skeets said, an air of amusement in his voice. “This young human was terrified!”

          “I suppose we can try again tomorrow,” Booster said, looking over his cone with a grin. “This is spectacular, well worth the—” something whizzed past him, ricocheting off the ground and exploding within the ample gut of the neon man. Booster looked down at his hand, at the mangled remains of his cone and looked up toward the skyline.

          “Sir,” Skeets said. “It appears someone has murdered your ice cream.”

          “Murdered his what?” Ted asked.

          “My ice cream,” Booster answered. He lay the carcass of his cone gingerly across the ground and glared up at the buildings as another shot rang past his ear. He dug his toes into the ground and felt a warm surge from the Legion Flight ring beneath his gloved right hand as he kicked off and rocketed toward the sniper’s perch. “I’m coming for you, Q!”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

          Shot after shot continued to come to a cushioned stop as Booster’s force field held back the onslaught, which grew more and more erratic as he neared. He came to land on the sniper’s building with a sloppy skid and stood perplexed at the two figures currently having it out on the rooftop. The first was a man, somewhere in his forties, with a metal right hand and a matching right shin. He had long, black hair slicked back and tied into a ponytail and deep, gaunt eyes that were shadowed by his thick, protruding brow.

          Despite the oddities of the first, the second was by far the more confusing. He was draped in a heavy black cloak, the kind often seen in 22nd-century fantasies. Booster had always been a fan of the classics, he had seen more than his fair share of cloaked mystery men growing up. A brief glimpse below the fur lined hood showed that it was a man, wearing some kind of black helmet over most of his face.

          “You can’t stop me now,” said the man with the metal hand. “I know where to find him, I know how to stop him from changing things.”

          “Your obsession bores me,” said the cloaked man. His voice was synthetic, residing somewhere within the ‘uncanny valley’ that was so popular during this time period. Booster knew the voice was altered, or faked, but it was close enough to real that he scarcely noticed. “Time is fluid, accept it.”

          “Time is linear,” said the man with the metal hand. Booster pulled off his red mask and set it aside, he then nodded to Skeets and his armor once again adopted its matte blue and gold sheen finish. “He is a criminal, just like you. I will dispose of him, dispose of you, and then all will be right in the universe.”

          “Look, I don’t actually know what’s going on here,” Booster said. “But it seems to me, that you two are having some kind of issue…”

          “What the hell are you doing?” Ted shouted into his ear.

          “I’m just trying to see if we can talk this out,” Booster continued, ignoring the protests in his ear. “You, the….Linear Man, seem to want to kill me. I don’t actually know who you are, so I don’t understand why you would want to do something so uncool. You, on the other hand, cloaked man, seem to be his enemy.and….Skeets, what was that phrase that was popular in this century? The one about enemies.”

          “The enemy of my enemy is my friend, sir.”

          “Right, that one. Let’s team up, cloaked guy,” Booster said. “Ted, make sure you’re recording this. I’m anticipating one hell of a fight.”

          “Enough,” said the Linear Man. He sprung forward at an inhuman pace and caught Booster by the neck. “One snap and this ends.”

          Booster, in kind, brought up his right fist and caught the Linear Man just below his ribs on his left side. If not for the reinforcements his suit provided, Booster was certain his hand would have shattered against the apparently metallic torso the man possessed. “Goddamn cyborg!” he shouted as he saw status icons flashing across the gold lensed goggles H.U.D. His suit had switched itself into battle mode, likely thanks to Skeets, and begun reading his enemy’s movements.

          “Not bad,” said the Linear Man as he leapt back. He raised right hand and the prosthetic dropped away at the wrist, revealing what appeared to the mouth of a laser. Booster narrowly avoided the green burst of light that made quick work of the roof’s brick railing. “Shame you picked the wrong side.”

          “I haven’t picked any sides,” Booster said, raising an eyebrow at the Linear Man. “I’m here for one thing, and one thing only: Me.”

          “That’s the problem,” the Linear Man replied.

          “All right, I’ve had enough of this,” Booster said, rolling his eyes. “Skeets, bring the gauntlets up to forty percent of full power. Skeets?” No reply came, he tapped his comm-link and tried to talk to Ted next. “Ted, can you hear me?”

          Booster glanced around the rooftop and noticed the cloaked man talking to Skeets, whispering something inaudible. He thought of approaching, but remembering the Linear Man turned his attention back toward the beam toting assassin. “I’ll do it myself.”

          “No, you won’t.” The synthetic tones of the cloaked man whispered behind him, he felt a cold hand come to rest on his shoulder. In an instant, Booster felt his entire being be swallowed up by the man’s cold hand. He folded in on himself, like a sheet of paper crumpled into a ball before being tossed into a wastebasket. As he drifted into himself, he heard one last echo, “Time to go, Booster Gold.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

          “Time to wake up,” said the cloaked man. “We’ve had to skip ahead a little, Michael.” Booster pulled his goggles up to rest on his forehead and began rubbing his eyes. It was midday, but the sky was too clear and clean for them to be anywhere near Hub City. The cloaked man offered a cold hand and hoisted Booster to his feet, he gestured out toward the city. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

          “Where are we?” Booster asked.

          “A better question would be, ‘when are we?’ But I’ll let that one slide, time travel without a sphere tends to rattle the senses,” said the cloaked man. “Welcome to June 6th, 2016… Metropolis.”

          Booster felt his heart sink, he pulled down his goggles and stared out across the city. In the distance, he could make out something large and cumbersome issuing a plume of smoke. He pulled his goggles back into place and activated their zoom feature, narrowing in on what appeared to be a smoldering plane in free fall. A figure, dressed in blue and flanked by a billowing red cape caught the wreckage.

          “No, no, no,” Booster said. He ran his hands through his hair and fell to his knees, defeated. “This wasn’t part of the plan. Dammit.”

          “Plans change.That was not yours to do,” the cloaked man replied. He stretched out an arm and pointed toward the wreckage as it was slowly lifted up and away to safety. “That was not your future. And trust me, you have a big future.”

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