PROLOGUE
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In a remote corner of a major metropolitan city, in a deserted industrial wasteland of gutted factories and boarded warehouses, deep underground and far from prying eyes, menacing figures gather to plot the fate of the world.
There are six of them, but not all have appeared in person. In fact, only one may be said to be physically present in the room. Three others appear by hologram, ghostly blue projections emanating from unknown origins. Another speaks through a robotic representative, its weaponry and offensive capabilities plainly evident. The last speaks through a golem - a human body without a mind of its own.
“Omen, why have you called this meeting?” The speaker is the golem, a female this time, its high voice oddly hollow but eerily suited to the empty look in its eyes. It sits at a marble top table next to the robot. “I thought we agreed there would be limited communication until all was in readiness.”
“Yes, that was indeed the plan, Slate,” Omen responds. He is a robed and hooded figure. He sports a neatly trimmed black beard, and might under ordinary circumstances be considered quite handsome but for one disturbing feature: his eyes – dark and brooding at even the best of times – are completely black, evidence that at the moment he is entertaining some vision of the future. “Unless there was an emergency.”
“What manner of emergency?” asks one of the holograms, a swirling mass of disjointed shapes and obscure images – the projection of the extra-dimensional alien known as Summit.
“A new variable has arisen, a deviation that cannot be accounted for and which might actually interfere with our plans.”
“How is that possible?” asks Versus, another hologram. “You claim to be the most powerful precognitive on the planet, able to see the future in clear and unerring detail. We’ve staked everything on your purportedly infallible ability – and arrogant claims – that success was assured.”
“Precognitive does not mean omniscient. There are always variables in play, other possibilities and probabilities that could take on the shape of reality.”
“Now he tells us!”
“Calm yourself, Versus,” says the golem. “Tell us, Omen, what is this variable? Whatever its nature, we will find a resolution. We’ve come too far to be denied now.”
“It’s not a what; it’s a who.”
“Then the solution is obvious.” The robot’s claws extend and etch deep grooves into the marble table as they retract. “We merely need a name.”
“The one they call Kid Sensation.”
