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  That left Rodriguez, who had just enough time to look at his fallen comrades before the tile flew toward him. Unfortunately, the tile didn’t hit him, because Rodriguez ducked at the last second, allowing the renegade roof tile to fly harmlessly over his head.

  “What in the hell was that?” said Rodriguez. He looked up at me and scowled. “You! Did you throw the tile? If so, it didn’t work. I’m still standing, even if you took out all of my other comrades.”

  “That may be true, but have you considered that maybe you have spoken too soon?” I said.

  Rodriguez tilted his head to the side, like he didn’t understand what I meant, but then the tile hit the shed door behind him and bounced off it. It hit him in the back of the head so hard that Rodriguez fell face first onto the ground, where he lay as still as a stone.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I just stared at the scene below me uncomprehendingly. Seven Injectors—the toughest of the tough, some of the most dangerous and murderous criminals alive—lay scattered around the backyard in various states of unconsciousness. The roof tile I had thrown now lay on the ground next to Rodriguez. It looked pretty harmless at the moment, but I now knew that roof tiles could be dangerous weapons in the right hands. Or at least in my hands, anyway.

  Speaking of my hands, how did I even do that? I could barely even bounce a ball off a wall, yet I had made that square tile bounce all over the backyard like everything was made of rubber. Even stranger, the tile itself looked okay, not even cracked from bouncing off of so many hard surfaces.

  “Good job, kid,” said Grandfather again. “For a newbie, you sure got the hang of that quick. You’re almost a natural, though you still have a long way to go before you’ll have complete control over it.”

  “Are you real?” I said aloud. “Are you really Grandfather? Or am I just going insane?”

  Grandfather chuckled. “Could be both. The McDonald family line is known for going crazy at sixteen. It’s a family tradition, mostly because it’s genetic and crops up every now and then like bad acne. Speaking of acne, you’ve got too much of it.”

  “You can’t really be Grandfather,” I said, “because Grandfather would never give me skin care advice.”

  “It’s just a joke, son,” said Grandfather. “Kids these days are so high strung, I swear. But never mind that. I think you should get back down to the yard and ditch the costume.”

  “Why?” I said, looking down at the costume I wore. “It’s kind of tight, but it also looks kind of cool.”

  “Because the police are going to be here soon and the last thing they need to see is you in costume,” said Grandfather. “They’d ask too many questions you don’t have the answer to right now. Best to play the part of the scared teenager who has no idea how these guys got defeated.”

  I frowned. “If I do that, will you explain who you really are and what this costume is?” I already had my suspicions, but I didn’t want to say them aloud just yet in case they were wrong.

  “Sure,” said Grandfather. “It will be my birthday present to you. Only, I won’t be able to wrap it up in a box and put a bow on top. You won’t mind, though, will you?”

  Either Grandfather had more of a sense of humor than I remembered or this guy actually wasn’t Grandfather at all. Regardless, he had a point about getting rid of my costume. The last thing I needed was to explain my getup, mostly because I couldn’t even explain it myself right now.

  So I jumped off of the roof and, landing on the ground, was about to make my way over to the shed when I heard a ringing noise coming from somewhere. It sounded like someone’s ring tone, but when I looked around, I could not see where it might be coming from.

  Soon, however, I noticed it was coming from Rodriguez’s pocket. It must have been his cell phone ringing, but I had no idea who could be calling him. Probably one of his fellow Injectors, perhaps checking to find out the current status of their mission. Or maybe … it was his boss, Michael Jones, calling for the same reason. It made sense. My own research of the Injectors indicated that Jones worked closely even with the lowest members of the organization. If I answered the call, I might be able to find out why the Injectors attacked the bus in the first place and maybe even find Jones himself.

  I walked over to Rodriguez’ unconscious body and fished his smartphone out of his back right pocket. As I suspected, the number on the screen was listed as ‘BOSS,’ so I swiped right to answer and held the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Rodriguez,” said a deep, calm voice on the other end, which I assumed was Jones. “I have not heard from you since you left headquarters this morning. How is the mission going?”

  I could not help but crack a smile and look down at Rodriguez, who still lay very unconscious at my feet. “Gee, boss, I don’t know. I’ve got a splitting headache, you see, so I’m probably going to go home after this and take a long nap. You wouldn’t happen to have any pain meds, would ya? ‘Cause I’m going to need them later.”

  “You don’t sound even remotely like Rodriguez,” said Jones, who sounded both alarmed and annoyed now. “Who are you and where is Rodriguez?”

  “To answer your second question, Rodriguez is currently indisposed,” I said, glancing around the backyard, “as are the six other guys who helped him. As for who I am …”

  My voice trailed off. I knew I couldn’t just give him my actual name, but at the same time, I didn’t know what else to tell him. Clearly, I was now a superhero of some sort, but at this point I didn’t know what my superhero name was. I was pretty terrible at improv, so I didn’t trust myself to come up with a cool name on the spot.

  But when I looked at the TW insignia on my chest, I suddenly knew, without even thinking about it, who to tell Jones I was.

  My smile never leaving my lips, I said, “I’m Trickshot. And I’m going to take down your entire operation piece by piece.”

  Before Jones could respond, I dropped the phone onto the ground and smashed it under my heel.

  “What was that?” said Grandfather, who sounded genuinely bewildered by my actions.

  I smiled. “A declaration of war. What else?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait long inside the shed before the sound of police sirens could be heard roaring down the street toward my location. It was just a few minutes later that the backyard was crawling with police officers and even SWAT members, who had come in response to the news that the Injectors were behind this attack. Of course, I had gotten rid of my Trickshot costume long before any law enforcement officers showed up. Taking it off was as simple as putting it on. I just pressed the red button under the face of the watch, and the suit disappeared from my body, making me look like an ordinary teenage boy again.

  But I still had to pretend I was an ordinary teenage boy to the police. That required shaking and even faking some tears, as well as stuttering a lot to show that I was rattled by everything that happened. It was easier than I thought, because despite how thrilling that fight had been, the adrenaline wore off very quickly and my whole body shook with fear and exhaustion. Luckily, the police did not pay much attention to the Trickshot Watch, which I guess they didn’t notice or maybe thought was just an ordinary watch.

  They did, however, question me to find out if I knew who defeated all of the Injectors. I told them that I didn’t know, that I’d been hiding inside the shed the entire time and didn’t see a thing due to the lack of windows. I told them that I heard someone who might have been a superhero beating up the Injectors, but I couldn’t tell them who it was. The police seemed to think it was Bug Bite, the local superhero of Rumsfeld, though given how Bug Bite was apparently busy with another crime on the other side of the city at the time, that theory was a lot less plausible than it first seemed.

  The reason I lied was because Grandfather told me to. He told me that I needed to keep the true power of the Trickshot Watch under wraps for now, because he was afraid of the police taking the Watch from me as evidence. It w
as easy enough for me to lie about, because I didn’t want anyone knowing about my new secret identity yet, because there was still a lot I didn’t know about the Watch and how it worked.

  I did learn, however, that thanks to my efforts, not a single student on the bus had been killed or even harmed. Apparently, as soon as the Injectors jumped off the bus and chased me, Mr. Smith woke up and managed to drive the bus all the way to the school itself before he lost consciousness again, forcing some of the students to call 911. The police told me that Mr. Smith was currently in Rumsfeld General, where he was expected to undergo surgery for his gunshot wound, surgery he was expected to survive.

  It was a relief to hear that everyone was okay, but not surprising. The Injectors had only sent three people to take over the bus, after all. It only made sense that Mr. Smith would take advantage of their absence to escape. Stopping the Injectors before they shot him would have been better, I guess, but what happened happened and there’s no changing it.

  In any case, I didn’t actually have to go back to school. Though I was unharmed—which the police apparently found surprising—I shook enough that they decided that I was in no mental condition to go to school today. Instead, one of the officers—a nice twenty-something dude named Henry—escorted me in his police cruiser back to my parents’ house, which was pretty cool, because I always wanted to ride in a police cruiser.

  When we got back to my house, Mom was practically insane with worry over me, because she’d apparently received a phone call from the police a few minutes ago and had been worried sick about me. She hugged me so tightly that she nearly crushed the air out of me, even though I told her I was perfectly fine. Officer Henry explained the situation to Mom, who listened intently, while I interjected every now and then to provide details that Officer Henry didn’t know, though I was mostly quiet because I wanted to get back to my room to talk to Grandfather.

  “So they’re all under arrest?” said Mom when Officer Henry finished his story, all three of us standing on the front porch in front of my house. “Every last one of them?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Henry, nodding. He stood on our front porch with his hands in his pockets, looking quite relaxed despite the tense situation. “You don’t have to worry about any of them coming after you or your son.”

  “What about the other members of their gang?” said Mom. “Won’t they come after us to avenge their friends?”

  “That doesn’t seem likely,” said Henry. He nodded at me. “Your son here wasn’t the one who beat their friends up. It was someone else, so I bet the Injectors are going to look around for him instead of you or your son. Still, I would recommend getting a gun, if you don’t have one already—”

  “My husband has three,” Mom interrupted. “And we all know how to shoot them.”

  “Good,” said Henry, who looked slightly taken aback by Mom’s promptness. “In any case, just take basic safety precautions and you should be fine. And if you see anything suspicious, just call us up and let us know. We’ll be happy to help.”

  “Thank you, Officer, for bringing my son home safely,” said Mom. She clutched my shoulders with a surprisingly firm grip. “When I heard his bus was attacked by the Injectors, I thought he was a goner for sure.”

  “You’re welcome, ma’am,” said Henry. “Now, I need to go back to HQ and file a report. But if you see anything suspicious, please feel free to let us know. We’re just as committed to putting the Injectors behind bars as anyone, especially if they’re going to start threatening our children like this.”

  With that, Henry turned around and walked down the steps to his car, which was parked at the curb. He hopped into his cruiser, waved goodbye at both of us, and then turned on his car and drove off down the street out of sight.

  Mom sighed in relief when Henry left. “Good God. Of all of the bad things that could have happened today, I never thought that the Injectors would attack your bus. When I heard that name over the phone, I thought for sure that I was going to be told that the Injectors had blown up the bus or gunned down everyone inside.”

  “It’s fine, Mom,” I said, gently brushing her hands off my shoulders. “The Injectors weren’t looking to kill anyone this time, I think. They just thought that we had something they were looking for.”

  “And what were they looking for?” said Mom. “Did they say?”

  I shrugged. “No, they didn’t. I think they were probably looking for Power, however. I bet one of the other students stole some from them and they were just trying to get it back before it was used up or sold to someone else. I know that Robby Mattis just got arrested for possessing that drug last night.”

  Mom shook her head in disappointment. “I just don’t understand why so many kids these days want such a dangerous drug. When Thomas died last year, I read a bunch of articles and books on Power and how its ruined so many lives. With all of that information out there, why would anyone ever even consider using that stuff?”

  I shrugged again. “I guess a lot of people just want to be special, especially younger people, but they don’t want to work for it. Or maybe they think it will make their life more interesting or something.”

  “I suppose,” said Mom, frowning. “Still, I wish the government would do something about it. That drug has taken far too many promising young lives for it to be tolerated anymore.”

  “I know, Mom, I know,” I said. I glanced at the empty driveway and then back at Mom. “Where is Dad? Is he still at work?”

  Mom nodded. “Yes. I tried to call him, but my call just went to voice mail, so I left him a message telling him to call me back as soon as he gets a chance. I bet he’ll get off work early just to come back home and make sure you’re okay.”

  “Right,” I said, though deep down I was a little pleased with this information, because it meant I wouldn’t have to wait to talk to Grandfather. “Well, I’m going to be up in my room for now. All of the excitement of the past hour or so has left me tired out, so I’m going to take a nap.”

  “Okay,” said Mom. “I need to get your birthday cake out of the freezer, anyway. It should be ready to eat by dinnertime, but if you need to sleep the rest of the day, you can do so and we’ll just have cake tomorrow.”

  “Nah, I’ll definitely be ready to have cake later,” I said. “But thanks anyway. I really appreciate your concern.”

  Before Mom could say anything else, I went back into the house, up the stairs, and into my room. I closed and locked the door to my room quickly and then sat on my bed. “Okay, Grandfather, I’m ready when you are.”

  At first, I didn’t see anything, but then Grandfather flickered into view like a hologram. He was leaning against my desk, his arms crossed in front of his chest, a mischievous little grin on his aging features.

  “Hi, Jack,” said Grandfather. “Oh, and happy birthday, before I forget. I hope you’ll remember to leave some of that ice cream cake for me later, because it sounds delicious.”

  “But you’re just a hologram,” I said. “You can’t eat.”

  “It was just a joke, son,” said Grandfather. “You take things too literally sometimes. Just like your father when he was your age.”

  I scowled. “So you are a hologram, then?”

  Grandfather shrugged. “Technically, I’m an advanced artificial intelligence that is mimicking the appearance, behavior, and mannerisms of the real Gregory McDonald, that is, your grandfather. I only take this form in order to make you feel safer around me, but I can take other forms if you like.”

  My shoulders slumped. “So you’re not really Grandfather at all? You’re just a really fancy computer simulation?”

  “More or less,” said Grandfather. “To be your actual grandfather would require Gregory McDonald to download his consciousness into the Watch, but because that’s currently beyond the limits of modern technology, he couldn’t do it. So he made me instead, his personal AI assistant who exists to serve him and any other users of the Trickshot Watch.”

  I fro
wned. “You’re awfully intelligent for an AI.”

  “Because I’m not made entirely of human technology,” said Grandfather. He waved his hand. “But I will get into that later. For now, I assume you wish to know about the status of your actual Grandfather.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, but first, can you give me your real name? I don’t want to keep calling you Grandfather if that’s not what you actually are.”

  “Very well,” said Grandfather. He put a hand on his chest. “You can call me TW.”

  “TW?” I said. “For Trickshot Watch?”

  “Yes,” said TW. “Technically, I don’t have a proper name. TW is just what your grandfather always called me. I’m used to it, so I don’t mind being called that name.”

  “I see,” I said. “Okay, TW, let’s get to the most important question: Is Grandfather still alive?”

  TW nodded. “He is.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “Whew. For a moment, I was worried that you might say he was dead.”

  “But he’s not free,” said TW. “Not anymore, anyway.”

  “What do you mean?” I said. “Is he in prison? Did the federal government really arrest him after all?”

  TW shook his head. “No, not the government. Another organization did, one that has nothing to do with the government. They are called Icon. Have you heard of them?”

  I shook my head. “No, I haven’t. Who are they?”

  “A secret organization,” said TW. “Very covert, to the point where the vast majority of people on the planet have never even heard of them. They’re so secret that even I don’t know everything they’re trying to do. But I do know that they captured your grandfather and are holding him captive even as we speak.”

  “Why did they capture Grandfather?” I said. “Are they holding him hostage?”

  TW unfolded his arms and pushed himself off the desk. He began pacing back and forth in front of me, as if trying to think about how to answer my question. “To answer your question, I need to go back to the beginning, to the very start of your grandfather, Trickshot’s, career. You know that he was once the superhero Trickshot, yes?”