The Superhero's Son (Book 9): The Superhero's End by Flint Lucas

Author:Flint, Lucas [Flint, Lucas]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Superheroes | Supervillains
Publisher: Secret Identity Books
Published: 2016-12-03T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

I walked through the halls of the Compound in the cook’s universe, occasionally readjusting my chef hat in order to keep it from falling off. I didn’t know how actual cooks did it; maybe every cook was born with the power of super balance, which was how they kept their hats from falling off their heads.

In any case, so far my disguise had worked. No one looked twice at me whenever I passed by someone, but that wasn’t saying much, since I hadn’t seen too many people on my way down to Level Three. I did get a little lost, though, and had to ask a guard for directions to Level Three, but he had been kind enough to point me in the right direction and hadn’t even asked me to prove my identification, but I could have because I had taken the cook’s ID card off his body when I knocked him out. It was currently stuffed into one of the apron’s pockets, but so far I hadn’t had need to use it. Still, the cook had said that the only way to access the cage was to have an ID on you, so it was probably the most important object on me at the moment. I also had my suit-up watch in another pocket; I had removed it so that no one would notice it and get suspicious.

Despite the success of my plan so far, I was still a little nervous. Even if no one recognized me, all it would take was for someone to find the unconscious cook—Damian Frank, according to his ID—in the food storage room and then sound the alarm. And I doubted it would take the guards very long to find me.

But I pushed that thought aside for now. I needed to focus on getting to the others. I would worry about being found out later; besides, I’d tied up the cook with some rope I found and hid him as well as I could, so with luck, they would only discover him after my friends and I escaped this place.

Besides, very few people in this place even knew my face. On my first visit several months ago, I had only been seen by a few guards and a handful of other people, so even if someone saw my face, they wouldn’t realize who I was. They’d just think I was another cook in the Compound, albeit probably younger than most. I had the perfect disguise, so long as no one asked to see the ID I’d stolen, anyway.

I stepped inside an elevator to Level Three, but before the doors closed, I heard someone call, “Wait!” and a large hand grabbed the doors before they could close. Then the person pushed the doors open, stepped inside, and allowed them to close behind him.

Uh, oh. I recognized the guy who had stepped into the elevator with me. He was a tall, strapping black man in a neatly pressed military uniform. He looked like the

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