Force of Will part 1
by BlueBard

Will whistled as he trotted down the steps of his apartment building and walked to his car. It was a beautiful morning! The sun was just coming up over the skyline, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. It almost felt like the whole world was going his way. Will reached the spot where his blue Chevy was parked and stopped.

The sandy-haired young man carefully looked around to see if anyone was watching, then bent down and grabbed the rear bumper of his car with his right hand. Effortlessly, he lifted the back end of the car waist-high, then lowered it back to the ground. Grinning widely, he wiped his hand with a handkerchief. He straightened his dark blue suit, walked around to the driver-side door and got in the car.

Four days ago, Will Powers had been exposed to the same purple energy that had transformed Freedom Force. So far, he hadn't found a single thing too heavy for him to lift once he put his mind to it.

Once he put his mind to it. That was the key, Will reflected as he drove downtown. Technically, he wasn't any stronger than before. One of the first things he'd tried was ripping a phone book in half. At first, nothing happened. Then, he'd pushed. More with his mind than anything else. The phone book tore like wet tissue paper.

Will wasn't exactly sure how his new abilities worked. One of the other things he'd tried was making objects float through the air just by thinking about it. About all he'd accomplished by staring at that darn pencil was a headache. The headache, however, had gone away as soon as he'd wanted it to, which Will happily interpreted as not having to stock the aspirin bottle in his desk anymore.

He pulled into the parking garage of the Joseph Shuster Building, where the offices of the Silverman & Walthrope ad agency were located, and parked his car in his newly designated parking space. With a spring in his step and a broad smile on his face, he made his way in to the elevator lobby. A short elevator ride took him to the tenth floor. Will waved cheerily at Gail, the receptionist, as he stepped into the office suite.

"Good morning, Mr. Powers!" the pretty brunette greeted him. "Congratulations on your promotion yesterday!"

"Thanks, Gail! Just goes to show-- hard work and determination pays off!"

Not to mention a few handshakes, he thought to himself as he continued on to his new office. He walked in, threw his hat on the coatrack, hung up his coat and sat down at his handsome oak desk. He thought about the events of the last few days as he reviewed the paperwork in front of him.

Will was always quick with a firm handshake, at least when meeting people he wanted to make an impression on, but the practice had taken on new meaning since his transformation. With one handshake, he'd gotten back his biggest account after the boss had given it away. With a second handshake, he'd gotten a nice, new contract with Mansfield & Company just a day after they'd sworn never to do business with Silverman & Walthrope again. Another handshake had secured his promotion to Senior Account Manager.

Amazing what a firm handshake could accomplish. Or at least, a handshake backed up with Will's special whammy.

Recalling the use to which he'd put another of his new powers, Will felt a twinge of guilt, though it was quickly repressed. For Will's touch carried with it the power to change people's minds and make them do what he, Will, wanted them to do. The force of his willpower was such that Humphrey Hughes threw himself out a window just because he'd told him to take a 'flying leap'. Fortunately, Will's enhanced strength and speed had prevented Humphrey from splattering himself on the pavement like an overripe tomato.

There were limits, as he was finding out. He'd used his power to make Humphrey, and the other two men who'd witnessed the feat, forget what had happened. The very next day, Steve Peterson had asked him how he'd thrown that desk around, and what was going on with Humphrey?

Will quickly discovered that blunt commands wore off within a short period of time, but so far the carefully worded suggestions he'd given each of the men afterward seemed to be holding up. Now, they remembered Humphrey leaning out the window for a breath of fresh air after a fit of apoplexy and Will hurrying over to see if he needed any help. Then Will and the others had pushed the desk aside to give Humphrey room to lie down on the floor. That wasn't the way it really happened, of course, but it was a good enough story to keep the men from remembering the truth.

That use of his powers had been strictly necessary. Controlling people's minds for personal gain was another thing.

His reverie was interrupted by the ringing of the phone on his desk. He shoved his unwelcome thoughts aside and picked up the phone.

"Hello! Silverman & Walthrope, William Powers speaking."

A baritone voice with a thick Irish accent came on the line. "Would that be the William Powers who owns an apartment building at 2247 Sycamore Street?"

Will was taken by surprise. "What? Say, who is this?"

"Begging your pardon, sir. This is Sergeant Mahoney of the Police Department. Ninth precinct. And you sir? Do you own the apartment building at 2247 Sycamore?"

"Yes, as of this past week. What's this all about Sergeant?" he demanded.

"Sorry to be calling like this, sir. We've had a devil of a time finding you. I'm calling to let you know there's been an accident."

"What kind of an accident?"

"To tell you the truth, Mr. Powers, it's less of an accident and more like a felonious assault. Mr. Jones, your superintendent, has been beaten up pretty badly. He's in serious condition over at Washington Memorial."

"Is he going to be okay?" Will asked.

"I think so." Sergeant Mahoney's tone grew more serious, if that were possible. "Listen, Mr. Powers. I don't know if you realize how things are in that part of town, but it's likely Mr. Jones was beaten up by racketeers for protection money. Mr. Jones won't talk about it, and we're hoping you might get him to spill the beans about who worked him over."

"Well, Sergeant, I, uh, appreciate your call but I barely even know Jones," Will hedged. "Just met him the one time. I don't think he'll have anything to say to me if he won't talk to you."

"Won't you at least come down and give it a try, sir? These hooligans won't stop at one beating and might well decide to shake down your tenants or even yourself. We'd sure enough like to put the extortion racket out of business in this city."

"I'm sorry Sergeant, but I'm really not involved in this," he replied firmly. "I'm sorry to hear about Mr. Jones. But I don't even want to own that building, and I intend to get rid of it as soon as possible."

The sergeant's voice grew icy. "Well, then. I suppose that will be all. Sorry for troubling you, Mr. Powers." The police officer hung up, leaving Will alone with his thoughts again. He quickly buried himself in paperwork.

Later that evening, Will found himself standing in a corridor of Washington Memorial. The air had the same unpleasant astringent smell found in hospitals the world over. Visiting hours were over, but thanks to his new abilities no one stopped him from going where he pleased. Right now that was right outside room 307.

"Why am I here again?" he muttered to himself. With a small sigh, he pushed forward through the door into the darkened room and closed the door behind him. Dim lights gave just enough illumination to see by.

The first bed was occupied by a sleeping man who wasn't Jones. Too thin and too much hair. Will quietly walked to the bedside and touched the man. A now familiar tingle of energy left his fingertips.

"Don't wake up while I'm here," he told the man softly. Will wasn't sure if his powers would work on someone who wasn't awake, but it couldn't hurt to try. He really didn't want anyone to know he'd been here.

Will stepped to the other bed and peered at Jones in the soft illumination. The overweight man had a cast on one arm and a thick bandage wrapped around his head. Even in the dim light, he could make out bruises on the man's left cheek and over his left eye, which appeared to be swollen shut. He did look like he was in bad shape. Will picked up the chart at the foot of the bed and carried it nearer one of the dimmed lights. Most of it was incomprehensible to him, but he noted the words 'stable' and 'prognosis good' with satisfaction. Will returned to Jones' bedside and reached out with his 'magic' touch.

"Jones, can you hear me? This is Mr. Powers."

"Yes, Mr. Powers," the man mumbled, his eyes still shut. "I can hear you."

"Good. I'm going to ask you some questions, and I want you to answer me."

"Yes, Mr. Powers."

Jones appeared to be still asleep, as far as Will could tell. He decided his powers worked on sleeping people too. He let out a small sigh of relief. That was fine with him; anything he did could be explained away as a dream.

"Jones, did you tell the police anything about who beat you up?"

"Naw. If anyone heard I talked, I'd probably wind up shot."

"Jones," Will continued, "tell me who beat you up."

"Bunch of goons."

"Did you recognize any of them?"

"Naw. Just a bunch of goons."

"Would you know any of them if you saw them again?"

"Sure would. Like to get 'em one at a time in a dark alley. With a shotgun loaded with rock salt. Make 'em suffer."

Will smiled. He hadn't thought Jones had it in him.

"Do you know why they beat you up?" he asked.

"Yeah. Wanted their protection money. Guess we been comin' up too short for too long. One of 'em said they were sending the new owner a message."

Will thought that over for a moment. If the racketeers were trying to scare him, it wasn't working. It should have scared him, but it didn't. It made him mad.

"Oh, I got the message alright," Will growled softly. "Jones, is there anything else I should know about?"

"Yeah. Rent's due. I think that's why they did it when they did it. One of 'em said something about leaving me a good arm for collecting rent. Wanted to make sure I understood."

"Okay, Mr. Jones. That's all. Take it easy and rest." Will thought of something. "I want you to get better fast, okay?"

"Okay, Mr. Powers." Jones mumbled something else, then lay quietly.

Will had no idea if that last command would have any effect at all, but he figured it was worth a shot. He turned and walked out of the room.

Back at the Freedom Fortress, Mentor was puzzling over the sensor logs, his eyes unblinking as he stared at the display before him.

"What's so interesting, Mentor?" asked Minute Man as he peered over the alien's shoulder.

"These sensor readings. I have noted a low-level of unaccounted for activity on the Energy-X sensors these past few days, ever since the flare which overloaded the sensor net. The emissions are too low to pinpoint, but they are frequent and carry an unusual energy signature."

"Sounds like our unidentified friend is using his new powers."

"Agreed. He, or she, appears to be quite active. Their mutation must be of a very subtle nature, for them to be using their powers so frequently and to remain unobserved. Furthermore, the subject must be somewhere in the heart of the city for us to be able to detect this activity at all. The sensor net does not yet cover every area, so the subject must be somewhere within those areas we are able to monitor." Mentor motioned for Minute Man to look at the screen.

"Do you see, Frank Stiles? The subject has been active again, just during the last hour. By recalibrating the sensor net and triangulating, I have managed to determine the general location of the emissions."

"Where?"

"The emissions were coming from somewhere within the Washington Memorial Hospital, but have since ceased."

"There's no point sending a team to investigate it, then," Minute Man sighed. "Sooner or later, we'll find this person and make contact. I just hope we won't find we have a new adversary."

The next evening after work, Will found himself back at the shabby apartment building on Sycamore Street. Jones had told him the rent was due, and the man was still in the hospital, unable to make his rounds. He hated to have to bother with collecting rent, especially in this part of town, but someone had to do it. Will decided he'd do what he had to do until he could sell the building to someone else.

Fortunately, he wasn't having any trouble collecting the full rent so far. His 'magic touch' guaranteed it. He figured once he had all of the rent, he'd pay Jones another visit and ask him what he was supposed to do with the money.

He was tempted to collect the back rent while he was at it, but he had no idea what each tenant owed if anything, and didn't think they'd have it anyway. These people were poor.

Not my problem, Will thought, as he knocked firmly on the door of apartment 2-C.

"Hold on," a familiar woman's voice called out from behind the door. "I'll be right there!"

The door soon opened to reveal a lovely young woman with dark silky hair looking up at him with deep brown eyes and a friendly smile. "Hello? Can I help you?"

With a little shock, Will recognized her as the girl he'd met on his first visit. She had the same bewitching effect she'd had on him the last time, but he recovered faster this time.

"Miss O'Brian! Nice to meet you again," he smiled.

"I'm afraid you have the advantage of me, sir," she smiled back shyly. "And you are?"

"Will. Ah, William Powers. I'm your new landlord."

The girl's smile hardened, and so did the tone of her voice. "Oh, you are, are you?" Her brown eyes bored into him as she continued, "And what might you be wanting at this hour, Mr. Powers?"

Will was taken aback. He hadn't expected such hostility from this young woman. The other tenants had greeted him with suspicion and annoyance, but nothing like this.

"Well, uh, Mr. Jones is in the hospital so I, ah, came to collect the rent money."

"Who is it, Grace?" asked a quavering female voice.

"It's just our new landlord, Grandmother," Grace replied in a smoldering voice filled with forced courtesy as she shot Will a look of cold anger. "He's come 'round to collect the rent." She focused her attention on him as her voice hardened once more. "Wait here. I'll have your rent money in a moment." Then she disappeared into the apartment.

Will felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on his head. He should have known that the landlord is never welcome, but she'd seemed like such a warm and friendly person that this reversal of attitude took him completely by surprise. Will had no experience with an Irish temper before and he was getting a small taste of it now.

He was still in shock when Grace opened the door with a handful of bills and coins. She shoved the money into his hands.

"There you are. Every last penny, Mr. Powers," she informed him, her voice trembling with anger. Will's initial attraction for her was replaced by a spark of his own ire.

"What is your problem, Miss O'Brian? Why are you so angry with me?" he asked indignantly.

Grace's eyes flashed. She stepped out of the apartment and closed the door behind her.

"My problem," she spat, "is a building where the boiler works only half the time but the landlord must have every penny of the rent. My problem is an elderly woman with a chill in her bones and chronic bronchitis. And my problem," she grimaced, "is a peacock who struts in here expecting to charm his way in the door and then asks for the rent money." She emphasized her last point by poking a finger into his chest.

Will dropped the money and grabbed her hand as the coins clattered to the wooden floor. The girl swung at him with her other hand in outrage, and Will grabbed it as well. "Grace!" he snapped. "Listen to me!" A surge of energy shot through his arm.

Suddenly, her brown eyes locked onto his, all resistance gone. In the heat of the moment, he impulsively drew her into a passionate embrace and kissed her full lips, savoring their sweetness. The girl returned his kiss with enthusiasm. Then Will came to his senses, broke off the kiss, and held her at arms' length. She stared at him blankly.

"It's not me," he whispered. "It's the power." Will was suddenly filled with shame.

"Grace, listen," he said softly. "I... don't know what came over me. You were right to be angry. Forget this ever happened."

"Yes, Mr. Powers," she responded blandly.

For the first time since the transformation, he hated the sound of that. Will bent down and gathered up the money. He placed it back in her hands.

"Don't worry about this month's rent. I'll cover it."

Will turned and walked down the stairs without looking back, not caring about collecting the rest of the money from the other tenants. He'd come back later. Or maybe he'd wait and let Jones do it.

Grace, feeling a bit dazed and not sure what had just happened, turned and went back inside the apartment. She was trembling and didn't know why.

"Is everything alright, Dear?" asked her kindly grandmother from her rocking chair by the window.

"Yes," she said slowly, "I suppose so." She looked down at the money in her hands. "He left the rent behind."

"How strange!" her grandmother replied, absentmindedly tugging the shawl around her shoulders.

"Strange indeed," Grace agreed, her thoughts whirling. "I suppose I'd better set this aside in case he changes his mind and comes back for it."

Meanwhile, Will reached the bottom landing, mentally cursing himself all the while for his lack of self-control. He pushed his way out the front door, then stopped cold.

His beloved car sat on its rims, the tires slashed. The driver's door stood open to reveal slashed vinyl and shreds of white foam. Will let out a strangled cry of rage.

From either side of him, a group of men slipped out of the shadows of dusk into the last glow of sunset. They were dressed roughly, and each carried a bat, or a pipe, or wore brass knuckles. The man in front spoke.

"Welcome to Sycamore Street, Mr. Powers. Say hello to the Welcoming Committee."

To Be Continued...