Free Killing Capes by Scott Mathy Page B

success. Due to the commotion and the impending arrival of New Haven’s Capes, the Associates would not be coming. Once they verified their work, their orders were to leave whatever remained. In truth, the mysterious death of Killstreak probably wouldn’t make the papers at all. The top of the Uni-Comm tower suffering a disastrous gas explosion would be enough to keep them occupied for a few days.
    As Dwight knelt to photograph the remains, he noticed something odd. The coloring of the uniform was correct; it matched their reports for both design and patterning. It was the injury that puzzled him. Examining the wound, it was a clean cut. Their estimates had put the line at the speedster’s throat. Unless B’s aim had been off, the wire should have removed the head intact.
    What was left of the body lay in front of Dwight face down, the seeping blood creating a puddle around it. The cut had gone through the eyes, severing the top of the skull. As he rolled it over, a horrific mess of brain matter and other unspeakable fluids sloshed onto the pavement.
    This wasn’t the first time Dwight had seen the results of his work, but this was certainly the closest he had ever gotten to it. He gagged uncontrollably but attempted to maintain his composure, trying to pinpoint the growing unease he was feeling. Even before he spilled the contents of the man’s head onto the concrete, there was something else gnawing at him.
    Against his stomach’s wishes, a second study revealed the flaw. Their wire had been at the perfect level for their target’s neck. This wasn’t Killstreak. While whoever this was had been dressed like him, Killstreak’s infamous logo was missing from the chest. The face, along with the recently-reduced height, belonged to a much younger person. Dwight guessed the boy couldn’t have been out of his teens; this was definitely not the rugged, world-worn face of the villain in their file.
    “A fucking sidekick?” Dwight cursed, furious with himself for his own sloppiness. They should have found a way to get visual confirmation before executing the plan. He remained there concentrating on all the ways their mission could have been improved upon. Suddenly, a burst of wind and something solid slamming into his back threw him off his feet and into the air.
    He landed with a hard thud on the concrete a dozen feet from the body he was crouched over. The unexpected flight completely knocked the breath from his lungs. As he tried to recover, he looked back at the maimed body and realized what had hit him. Standing over the corpse was their actual target. Even through the concrete dust, he could recognize the crimson costume and gruff face. The villain dropped to his knees, jaw held open in horror.
    As Killstreak touched the body of his sidekick with trembling hands, Dwight became exceptionally aware of his dire misfortune. He inched his way along the concrete, struggling not to draw any attention from the grieving Power. If Killstreak was preoccupied with his fallen companion, Dwight would use that opportunity to find B or get himself to safety.
    A wailing moan emanated from Killstreak’s quivering mouth. Spittle and tears ran down his face. Dwight only managed to drag himself a few feet when the speedster turned his attention toward him. There was a transition as that cry transformed into a hateful roar. Dwight immediately knew he was fucked, absolutely fucked .
    There wasn’t time to think about anything else before Killstreak was on him. In a quite literal flash, he had Dwight by the collar. He pulled Dwight’s face close to his, lifting his back from the sidewalk. Killstreak’s enraged breath came through clenched teeth. “My son!” was all the villain growled in Dwight’s face.
    Dwight struggled against the Power’s grasp. He couldn’t think of a plausible lie before Killstreak brought a single hyper-accelerated fist into his right cheek. The force of the punch was enough to send reality spinning. His