Abducted Part 1

Ethan showered off his sweat and the suit's grease and gear grime. He'd whooped it up and enjoyed more back slaps and high fives from his teammates in the locker room. But then they'd all gone off to some celebration party.

Ethan had told them to call him later and he'd catch up. He wanted to walk home alone. He needed a few minutes to get used to his own body, minus the six hundred pounds of an exoskeleton. Really, he wanted time to think. So much had happened so fast. He toweled dry, got dressed, and marched off campus onto the streets of Santa Blanca.

He knew every inch of his neighborhood. He spied imprints in the sidewalk's concrete of tiny and scratchy initials made by him and his sister Emma. He inhaled, smelling freshly cut lawns, barbecuing hamburgers, and a cool breeze from the mountains that surrounded his town. Streetlamps cast circles of light, but between them was a clear, moonless night, brimming with stars.

Part of him never wanted to leave. But another part of him wanted to see the world. Do things you couldn't do in the sleepy community of Santa Blanca.

His dreams abruptly vanished and Ethan stopped dead in his tracks. Past the next streetlight, he saw two figures both he recognized. They were the boy and the girl from the game.

" You Ethan Blackwood?" His voice was soft and a bit higher than Ethan's. "You're the straight-A student?" the girl asked. "Winner of two science fairs with a dead frog leg and a robot arm?" She made a gagging face. "Got a thing for severed limbs?"

Ethan's mouth went dry. In the pit of his stomach something curled inward. Ethan didn't understand. There was nothing to be afraid of in his neighborhood, apart from the occasional spooky bedtime story his mom and had told him when he was a kid.

But that scary feeling was here.

"I'm Ethan Blackwood." He stood straighter and took a step closer, not wanting to look frightened. "What do you want? An autograph?"

The girl pressed her lips into a white line.

The guy strode to Ethan nacking a knuckle-cracking fist.

He swung at Ethan's head!

It took Ethan a split second to react. There were bumps and jostles in a soccer match, all good-natured (more or less). But rougher play landed you in detention and went on your permanent record.

And a real fistfight? Anyone stupid enough to throw a got shipped off to Sterling Reform School. Or so Ethan heard. He'd never actually seen it happen. Ethan had played too many matches, though, not to duck.

The boy's fist was half the size of Ethan's head. Ethan got a close look at it (callused knuckles and all) as it whooshed past his nose. "Hey!" Ethan stumbled back. His hands instinctively rose and balled. "He's got the reflexes," the girl sad. "He even had them in that antique mechanical suit. That will help." She sighed. " And he's the right size, Felix. He's going to have to do."

The boy gave Ethan a doubtful look. Ethan's fists flattened into a peacemaking gesture. He wanted to turn and run. . . but then something occurred to him. Maybe this was the Westside Warriors' idea of a practical joke. His fear became prickly irritation.

Yes. That had to be it. This was a sore loser prank. And a bad one