I was taken aback when I saw it. At the time, I was in my Mohawk persona: six feet six inches of impressive mocha-colored muscle and incomparable physique. (Not to mention the intimidating haircut, the source of my pseudonym.) I had just turned in another super criminal, Drillbit, and was waiting at the police station for confirmation that the reward on him had been transferred to my account. I just happened to glance at the wanted posters on the wall next to the on-duty desk, and that’s when I saw it.
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WANTED
INFORMATION LEADING TO THE WHEREABOUTS OF THE SUPER KNOWN AS KID SENSATION.
NAME: UNKNOWN
ALIASES: KID; THE KID; KID SENSATION
POWERS: FLIGHT; SHAPESHIFTING; SUPER SPEED; TELEPATHY; TELEKINESIS; TELEPORTATION; PHASING; BELIEVED TO HAVE OTHER POWERS BUT NATURE UNKNOWN.
DOB: UNKNOWN
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: UNKNOWN
LAST KNOWN WHEREABOUTS: UNKNOWN
KNOWN ASSOCIATES: UNKNOWN
REWARD: $1,000,000
CONTACT THE ALPHA LEAGUE WITH ANY PERTINENT INFORMATION
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Underneath the word “WANTED” was a grainy photo, a frame frozen from the interview Kid Sensation had given to that reporter, Sylvia Gossett, two years earlier. It showed a young, dark-skinned teen from the neck up.
I tapped the poster and turned to the officer on duty. “Why is this here?”
The officer glanced at where I was pointing. “Ah…thinking about going after the Kid, huh? That would be a sweet payday.”
“Except he’s not a criminal.”
“Are you kidding?” The officer was incredulous. “After what he did?”
I fumed silently, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice and face.
“This poster doesn’t list a crime,” I said flatly. “It doesn’t even say that he’s wanted for anything. It just says that they want info leading to his whereabouts.”
The officer shrugged. “So?”
“So, his picture shouldn’t be hanging up here with the scum of the universe - these freaks, fugitives, and felons who committed real crimes.”
“Hey man,” the officer held his hands up defensively, “we just post what the Watch Commander tells us.”
I grunted my disapproval. A few more minutes passed by in uncomfortable silence. Then a computer in front of the officer beeped.
“Alright,” the officer said, “the reward should be in your account.”
I turned to leave, still upset about the wanted poster.
“You really should think about going after Kid Sensation, though,” the officer said to my back. “Even without the reward, catching him would make you so famous you could write your own ticket.”
I left the police station in a huff. Why would I want to capture Kid Sensation? I am Kid Sensation.
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******************************************
I stepped out of the police station into the sunny warmth of a beautiful summer day. I had a little time to kill, so I decided to take a nice leisurely walk, which is not something I do very often. On this particular occasion, though, it gave me a chance to be alone with my thoughts. Thus, it wasn’t until after about fifteen minutes of random strolling that I realized, with a bit of a start, that I was being followed. Not a problem in and of itself (because I knew I could shake practically any pursuer without a lot of effort), but still somewhat annoying.
I was walking down a busy street in the shopping district at the time. Although my height as Mohawk made me stand out, the crowd was just dense enough that any tail I’d picked up could lose track of me for a second.
I hadn’t really seen the person following me, just felt their heightened anxiety when I passed out of their line of sight for a moment. As an empath, I typically tune out the emotions of people in close proximity to me, much like the average person will disregard conversations going on around them. However, my follower’s initial panic at momentarily losing track of me was the equivalent of having someone shout my name from across the street. In fact, I normally would have detected this level of distress from someone a lot sooner. Unfortunately, I was distracted by two things: the wanted poster I’d seen in the police station, and - more importantly - an odd buzzing sensation in my head, which usually indicated the manifestation of another power.
For a second, I wondered what power it was. It wasn’t super strength; when I’d awakened with my head buzzing that had been the first thing I’d tested by trying to lift the sofa with one hand. No luck. Despite all my abilities (and hopeful prayers), that was one of the few super powers I didn’t have. Or didn’t have yet, since it appeared that - from the perspective of developing super powers – I was still in puberty to a certain extent.
Turning my thoughts back to my stalker, I stopped for a minute to look in the show window of a jewelry store. While pretending to admire a tennis bracelet, I reached out empathically and felt for him…there, behind me and to the left – nervousness, dread, and a number of other bundled-up emotions directed at me. I glanced casually in that direction, pinpointing the source of the feelings I was picking up. A small, pinched-faced man with a scraggly beard and sunglasses was looking in my direction. He was no one I knew.
For a brief moment, I considered confronting him. As Mohawk, I enjoyed a reputation as a fearsome bounty hunter. I had captured several notorious criminals – super criminals, to be precise – and was starting to garner particular attention in certain circles. Could this guy be the friend of someone I’d brought in? Was he looking for payback? Was he some kind of fan?
I looked at my watch. I was supposed to meet Braintrust shortly for the debrief; I didn’t have a lot of time to mess around. Bearing that in mind, I could just disappear or zip away, but I decided to have a little fun. (Plus I was a little bit curious.)
Next to the jewelry store was a shop that sold vintage clothing. I ducked inside, grabbed a duffel bag, some sandals, a pair of jeans and a ’60s Summer-of-Love t-shirt with a peace symbol on it, then headed to the changing rooms. One of the store clerks, a perky young blonde with a ring of thorns tattooed around one arm, made a move in my direction as if to assist me, but changed her mind after seeing the look on my face.
It took me all of thirty seconds to change out of my Mohawk clothes and into the new apparel. I hadn’t checked the sizes of anything, but it didn’t matter; I could make them fit (or rather, being a shapeshifter, make myself fit them). I stuffed my old clothes, including shoes, into the duffel bag and walked out of the changing room a skinny White kid. If the store clerk found it strange that the six-six hulking brute who went in had been replaced by a suburbanite teenager coming out, she gave no sign. I ripped the tags off everything and presented them to the girl behind the checkout counter.
“I’m just going to wear these out,” I said, as she accepted the tags with a raised eyebrow. I glanced outside. Yep, Pinchface was out there, trying to appear nonchalant while conspicuously peeping through the store window.
I passed him on my way out after paying for my items. Again, I got a jumble of emotions coming off him in waves, but nothing really indicating menace. I decided not to worry about it. For his part, Pinchface never even looked at me, so focused was he on watching for Mohawk. I walked out the door and past him without meriting a glance.
I went around the corner and ducked down an alley. I checked to make sure no one was watching, then teleported back to my condo.
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