The OK Team 2 by Nick Place Page B

keeping a wary eye on the floating bin. ‘My name is Torch. I’m a Level D Hero, Third Grade. Who are you and what is your level?’
    The kid levitates the new bin through the air. ‘My name is Directo and I’m new to Bushranger’s gang. I’m Category 1.’
    â€˜In that case I can’t shoot my flame directly at you. And I urge you to surrender because if you’re Category 1, you can’t lift anything heavier than that bin. Stop now, and you won’t get hurt.’
    â€˜I’ll keep that in mind,’ says Directo, and flicks his hand to send the bin shooting, lightning fast, at Torch. Liquid spills from it and we realise the bin is completely full of water. Torch gets out of the way just in time.
    â€˜Hey!’ yells Torch, outraged.
    Directo lifts another bin and prepares to throw it at me, but I’m distracted by what appears to be a big black cat. In fact, it definitely is a panther – one of my greatest secret fears! – standing a metre high and with very long and razor-sharp teeth. He growls and stalks towards me.
    â€˜Cannonball, where are you?’ I yell.
    â€˜Sort of busy,’ I hear from above. I look up and my friend is a red and black blur in a high-speed dog fight with a yellow opponent who is streaking like a shooting star between the car park pylons.
    I become invisible and tiptoe fast to my right to escape the panther. It sniffs the air, trying to follow my scent. Directo’s bin slams into the ground where I had been and the panther leaps it, snarling and hissing as water gushes onto the ground.
    Southern Cross is finally back on his feet, but he’s doubled over, holding his stomach as if trying to stop his appendix from bursting.
    â€˜Are you okay?’ I yell.
    â€˜Focus. I can’t help you,’ he says.
    â€˜What do you mean? We need you.’
    â€˜The Knight-Hood Pact. You have to face Bushranger alone.’
    â€˜He’s not even here.’
    â€˜Yes, he is. I wasn’t knocked out by that over-sized monkey. Bushranger’s nearby because my strength is draining. I can’t stay or I’ll faint.’
    This isn’t making any sense, but there’s no time for debate. Southern Cross rises wonkily into the sky and then flies off. I can’t see Bushranger anywhere.
    Meanwhile, Cannonball screeches to a halt and Swoop Swoop does too, hovering twenty metres away. Cannonball is panting. ‘Swoop Swoop flies like a Category 6er. I can’t keep up. No way.’
    â€˜She’s supposed to be Category 2,’ I say, turning solid.
    â€˜It sucks to be you,’ says Blink who appears right in front of us, and punches me squarely in the nose. Then he’s gone.
    I reel back, holding my face. ‘Where did he come from?’
    â€˜Here,’ says the Villain again. Right in my face.
    Then he’s gone again.
    Then he’s back. Wop! I cop another blow to the nose. My eyes are streaming tears.
    â€˜You’re not supposed to be this good,’ I yell, crouching in pain.
    â€˜Just lucky, I guess,’ says Blink, right there again. I turn invisible a nano-second before a third blow lands.
    He’s gone again. He can turn invisible faster than I can. I wax in and out of focus with envy and stress.
    Morphul is now in the shape of an old man, wearing an orange, red and yellow lycra outfit and I realise he’s become Old Man Torch, the greatest of the Torches and our Torch’s grandpa.
    â€˜I’m much better than you’ll ever be, Candle-Boy,’ he says to our Torch.
    â€˜No!’ Torch yells. ‘I can be a mighty Torch! I can! I can be an inferno.’
    â€˜You’re crap. You’re a disgrace to the name!’ says Morphul as Papa Torch, and then completely flames up his body. He shoots a stream of fire straight at our Torch, who ducks. Even in the fading light from the flame, it’s easy to read the haunted expression on Torch’s