Unity Carl Stubblefield (read book TXT) 📖

Even worse, he feared that if he failed, it would bring attention to the object and they would learn of its true power, and guard it much more securely.

He got close, looking at the thin glass pane. A small wire connected to the frame that he assumed went to the alarm. Wouldn’t it be ridiculous if it was merely a false wire, leading nowhere? Keeping him at bay for over a decade while he pined and cleaned. Waiting for something to change.

Who am I kidding? I don’t have the balls. I’m nothing without them. I never was—

A deafening screech filled the air. His heart froze for a moment, worried he had tripped some alarm by breathing on the glass, or setting off some sensor. A flashing light made him twist, drawing his eye to the fire alarm. As he turned back, he saw that he had let go of the mop, and the handle was resting against the thin glass, leaving a large crack.

Was fate smiling upon him or giving him an ultimatum? Firming his resolve, he jabbed the mop handle into the glass and scraped it along the frame to clear the shards away. If any alarm was sounding, it was caught up in the existing wail. He reached in and touched it, feeling a pop like static electricity as he did.

Gently removing it from the small display stand, he unzipped the front of his coveralls and slid it inside his shirt, letting it press against his bare chest before zipping his overalls back over it.

Could it be that easy? All these years of waiting and that was all it took? A long-forgotten feeling began to swell within him, like a cherished childhood memory returning. Buried by the responsibilities and disappointments of adulthood, to the point one had forgotten that there had once been hope and dreams.

He stood for a moment, holding his hands over his chest, holding the item close, taking in the feeling. It had missed him too. That was clear. He didn’t feel any need to stay here any longer. This job was only a means to an end. A chance to be close to it. In fact, he looked forward to the unfulfilling job of cleaning just because it offered him a chance. A glimpse. A breath. But now, it was his again. He did not need to be here. He dropped the mop where he stood and made his way to leave. He could see supers crowded like cattle trying to press their way out.

No need to go that way. The good thing about being a janitor was that you needed to be out of sight. Working when people were gone. Now that he thought about it, it was the weekend. That was odd that so many supers had assembled in the coliseum. Probably some succession battle, or those new ceremonies they were on about all the time. He could care less. He pushed open the door and walked outside.

Turning, he felt the pull to where he needed to go next. He reoriented and began walking.

Harmony blinked with recognition. It was Prime! She was flipping around this large man, hitting him with wooden rods, one in each hand. Despite the siren, she could hear the *thock* as one of her weapons connected with the man’s hard head. They appeared to leave no lasting damage, as the gorilla of a man blinked away each concussive blow and tried to grab onto her. She bent backward, out of his reach, seamlessly flexing like a gymnast and flipping over.

With a roundoff, she skirted around his side. Prime swung one rod and hit him hard in a knee. Harmony winced as she saw it hyperextend backward just a bit like a Barbie leg. The man stumbled and knelt, but quickly stood again and shook his leg. He had a slight limp now, but it was almost imperceptible. Something that resembled a tiny rock in his shoe more than a wrecked joint.

He had become more reckless in his lunges, trying to swipe with his long arms and gather Prime into his bear-like grip. She slammed down on his outstretched hands with the staves like she was playing red hands. Her blows were lightning fast. Harmony was amazed that the man’s hand bones weren’t pulverized as she repeatedly knocked them down and away. A metal disk was torn away from the onslaught, causing green energy to leak out, forming a longer arc, crackling and spitting energy like a Tesla coil.

He briefly looked at the gloves to assess the damage. She managed another crack across his forehead before she retreated with a series of backflips. One of his beefy veins split right at his brow line, allowing purplish blood to dribble into his eye. He swiped at his eye reflexively and there was a flare of green energy. The wound appeared to bleed even more and he quickly retracted his hands. Head-Wound Harry looked gruesome as he tried to shake his head to clear his vision. Prime circled him in a crouched stance, ready to pounce on any weakness.

A flash of movement in the doorway divided his attention just enough that she made her move. The man looked like one of those wooden kung fu dummies her brothers would practice on. What were they called? Wang Chung? Something like that… Elbows, head, and torso took a repeated beating, as every attempt to shield himself led to another attack at a newly exposed area.

Harmony was so entranced she jumped as her arm was grabbed. She started in terror until she saw Grimdark’s haunted face. His pallid complexion was even more pale than usual, his eyes dark and brooding. He motioned his head toward the door. That damn siren continued to scream full blast, and probably would result in some kind of hearing damage.

Sure, ice-cold hands pulled her to her feet, but she still almost slipped on some of the debris on the polished floor. How did Prime move so elegantly