After a bunch of folks have started posting teasers of their WIPs, I figured I’d throw my hat into the Teaser Tuesday ring. Since this is my first stab at posting a teaser, I’m not sure how much background I should provide. I’ll just say this is from an early chapter of my current untitled WIP, which is (theoretically) the first book in a series of superhero novels:
The force of the blast had thrown Douglas clear across the cluttered basement, where he landed amid a stack of musty old cardboard boxes. He was soaked from head to toe. His shirt clung to his body and water ran in tiny rivulets down his face, stinging his eyes. Droplets clung to the lenses of his wire frame glasses.
Now he understood why they used to use water cannons as crowd control. You put enough pressure behind it, and water could hit you like a speeding bus. Not that Douglas had ever been hit by a speeding bus; but, after today, he was pretty sure he knew what it would feel like.
“Why did you come here?”
Douglas blinked, trying to focus on the source of the voice. His head was still a little foggy after slamming into the boxes at several feet per second. The specks and streaks on his glasses didn’t help.
Byron. Felix Byron. Right, now he remembered. That creepy son of a bitch blindsided him as soon as he got to the bottom of the stairs.
That single recollection seemed to flip a switch and Douglas’ vision came into sharp focus. The figure standing over him was of average height and build. His black hair hung in a long, greasy mane that just about reached his shoulders. He studied Douglas with dark, heavy-lidded eyes set into a face that could have been considered attractive if it wasn’t covered in grime and stubble.
“You’ve got to stop, Byron,” Douglas said, not noticing until just than that his breathing was still somewhat labored. “You’ve been a bad boy. And you have to stop.” He almost added “Because you’re ruining it for the rest of us”, but decided maybe now wasn’t the best time to be snarky.
Byron chuckled. Actually chuckled, but without the slightest emotion-neither mirth nor malice. If it had been a maniacal chuckle that wouldn’t have been so bad. But, a cold and emotionless chuckle was just…wrong.
Byron tilted his head to one side and studied Douglas. His eyes moved quizzically, the way you look at something right before you rip it open to see how it works. “And who’s gonna stop me?” he asked, coolly. “You?”
Deciding it was time to cut a slightly more dashing figure, Douglas extricated himself from his nest of soggy cardboard and got–rather shakily, he had to admit–to his feet. “If I have to.”
Again that chuckle. “Unlikely.” Byron’s right arm snapped out, the palm facing Douglas, and a jet of water erupted forth.
Not again, Douglas thought, as the near-solid stream of rushing liquid hit him square in the face. His nostrils burned as the water forced itself up his nose and down his throat. He coughed and gagged as the continuous torrent of water started to fill his lungs.