Author: Osawese Agbonkonkon
Link: https://amzn.to/40MnIoK
Blurb
“Psychic Suit” As Featured On “DN Sports”, “My San Antonio”, “Fox 4 Dallas-Fort Worth”, “Austin American-Statesman”, “Fort Worth Star Telegram”, and “KXAN News”
A new metal. A terror attack. And they’re the only defense left.
The sky turned red over New York City when The Circle struck. A terrorist attack with a weapon forged from Psychanium—a sacred metal not of this world. Only one group should have had access to it: The Psychics, enhanced humans sworn to protect Earth from threats beyond imagination.
Now, they’re under fire.
Isazisi Irving, commander of an elite intelligence organization, is accused of failing the world. His ally Versia is being blamed for the breach as well. And across the globe, scattered Psychics are forced to choose: stay hidden—or rise and fight.
But there’s a problem.
Some of them are barely holding it together.
Caitlyn is battling addiction and grief.
Jake is running from guilt.
Reese is holding secrets that could destroy them all.
And Nick Fletcher, leader of The Circle, isn’t done yet.
This isn’t just a war for the world.
It’s a war for the soul of the Psychics themselves.
Written by a Division I track & field athlete balancing competition and creativity, Psychic Suit is a sharp, cinematic sci-fi debut packed with action, emotion, and high-stakes mystery.
Perfect for fans of X-Men, Attack on Titan, and Marvel’s Civil War.
About the Author
I’m Osawese Agbonkonkon, a Division 1 student-athlete at the University of Texas at Austin—and the author of Psychic Suit.
I started writing my debut novel at thirteen, the book grew with me as I became fascinated by sci-fi worlds and exploring the themes of power and mental health.
As a track and field athlete, I’ve learned that focus and resilience matter just as much on the track as they do on the page. In school, I am majoring in Economics with minors in History and English, along with plans to go to law school.
Psychic Suit blends political intrigue, psychic abilities, and personal struggle. It’s a reflection of my passion for exploring how extraordinary powers collide with real-world challenges.
My work has been featured on FOX 4, Spectrum News, KXAN, and NBC Bay Area. When I’m not writing or training, I’m usually watching my favorite sci-fi series. I’m currently working on my next novel and am excited to keep telling stories that push boundaries. As an author I am signed to Songspire Press and the IRL Talent Agency.
Website: https://www.osaweseagbonkonkon.com/
Linktree https://linktr.ee/Osawese_a
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/osawese_a/
Twitter: https://x.com/Osawese_a
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/osawese-agbonkonkon-74271b315
Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
The helicopter soared across the pitch-black New York City sky, its rotors making a faint whipping as the lights from traffic and buildings populated the ground below.
“Alright, touchdown in three.” The tactical squad leader barked. “We want them alive for questioning and easy clean up, stun rounds only. Take out the target, take the truck, and we’ll go from there.”
A motorcycle weaved through the New York City traffic, the rider wearing a black helmet with a black visor, an all-black leather jacket, and black cargo pants. He revved the motorcycle as he made a yellow light. The heads-up display in the helmet plotted his route for him. He skidded to a stop in front of a warehouse and took off his helmet, placing it on the motorcycle.
The helicopter landed, and the agents jumped off. One grabbed a large black duffel bag and hustled after the other agents. They moved through the back of the warehouse. Three men stood near a truck, smoking cigarettes while another scrolled through his social media. Others stood with guns, surveying the empty warehouse where harsh yellow lights watched from above. A stun bullet shot out of the dark, hitting the man on his phone in his neck. He convulsed, dropping his phone, which cracked before he hit the ground himself. The men smoking threw their cigarettes and reached for the guns slung over their shoulders. Stun bullets cut them down while tasers from behind took down the men who had their weapons ready.
“Get the keys,” the team leader yelled.
Another agent tapped his ear, “Asset secure,” he said.
“Providence Centurions,” a voice said.
The agents turned to the voice, guns raised.
“Who the hell are you,” one asked.
“Whoa, whoa, no need to yell. I’m a huge fan of your work. Great job cleaning up these boys. I think I’ll take it from her, and by the way, I love your matching outfits.”
The man had black hair, brown eyes, and a well-built, muscular figure. His all-black outfit held compartments housing gear and a holster.
“Hands up, get on the ground, Now.” The lead agent screamed. “Who do you think you are?”
“Have you ever heard the story of Perseus, the Greek hero? The man who slayed Medusa. He defeated her because of his cunning, and her pride. Every man to enter her presence turned to stone and she thought he would be no different. Until she was relieved of her head. I’m Perseus, and the Red Cyan is Medusa.”
“Get on the ground now, base we have a…”
The man’s cinnamon brown irises didn’t flinch as he whipped a gun from his side at inhuman speed, shooting two bullets. He ducked under the gunfire of another man and uppercutted him with the gun. He threw his elbow back, hitting another agent in the face. He spun the man around him as another agent shot at him, hitting his teammate. The man in black shoved the agent off him, turned around, and shot both of them. He dropped the clip from his gun and reloaded it, killing the other agents in the warehouse. He holstered his gun and snatched the radio off a downed agent.
“All clear here, asset secured. We’ll be on the move soon, over.”
“Copy, good work,” an agent on the other end said.
The man unzipped the duffel bag on the ground.
“Well, what are you doing here,” he said.
Inside rested a large black metal cylinder with red energy flowing through clear sections of it. The man in black pulled out a device and scanned the cylinder. The screen on the device read ‘Psychanium.’ The man smiled, zipped the bag, and placed it in the back of the box truck. Four motorcycles pulled up behind him, and the men riding them dismounted.
“What do you want us to do with the bodies, sir,” the man on his right asked.
“Nothing, I want Providence to find them,” the man said as he closed the doors of the truck.
“Sir, are you sure that’s advisable?”
“Did I ask you to question me,” the man in black shouted.
“No sir, sorry sir.”
“No, I shouldn’t have yelled.”
He pulled a white envelope from his breast pocket and placed it on a body beside the truck, the envelope had the words “Red Cyan” written on the front in cursive.
“What’s next,” another agent asked.
The man in black handed him the keys.
“The Psychics have taken too much from us. What is life if not the struggle against principalities, against wickedness in high places? You know the plan. 117 Moody Street.”
“Yes, sir,”
The box truck turned on Moody Street in New York City as the gloomy morning sky lingered over the city. The truck made another turn into an alleyway beside a glass and metal spire. Inside, men and women in suits ran around, papers flying out of their hands, phones pressed to ears, and others typing as they walked while talking into earpieces.
The back of the box truck opened, and a woman in a smart black and white business suit grabbed the duffel bag. She looked inside, seeing the same metal cylinder as the man in black. She zipped the bag and walked towards the door. She swiped a keycard and entered the building from the alleyway, walking to the elevator and arriving at the 40th floor. She walked into an office and dropped the duffel bag in a corner before making her way back to the elevator and into the passenger seat of the box truck.
“This is Fay, bomb planted,” the woman said into her earpiece as she pushed her lengthy, caramel brown hair out of her green-flecked hazel eyes. She sent an ‘all agents on deck, meet a usual location’ message through the tablet.
“Great work, get out of the blast radius,” the man in black said as he paced on a distant rooftop.
People walked Moody Street, heads locked downwards and looks of apathy on their faces as they stared into their phones or held high, showing off their luxury sunglasses as they took calls from their investment bank employments. Birds chirped in Central Park as the spire-like oaks glowed a brilliant green, ignoring the gray, depressing gloom of the overcast sky.
The man in black tapped a button on his phone screen, A crashing sound ripped through the city as the top of the building exploded. Another loud hum tore through the air as everyone stared at the building enveloped in a red bubble of energy while a red shockwave exploded from it, stretching across the sky, casting the glow of death as it washed over the city. Debris fell from the crumbling building, crushing bystanders as it collapsed.
The man in black ducked without thought as the bomb painted the sky red, and the shockwave pushed him back.
Through the rubble, blood and scar-covered people searched for their friends and relatives, engulfed in dust. Lifeless hands and legs stuck out from under large pieces of debris while pools and puddles of blood leaked out. First responders arrived on the scene, sirens and flashing red and blue lights filled the dust-choked sky while screams enveloped the air, echoing for miles.
Explosions rocked boats flying Providence flags in the New York harbor. The sound of alarms tore through the city as the ships began to dip below the waves.
The man in black dialed a number on his phone.
“This is Fletcher, get ready to sell our short positions of the stock of every corporation a Psychic family owns.”
The person on the other end acknowledged the request, and Fletcher hung up. He pressed another button on his phone, and worldwide, billions of devices received a single text. “WE ARE THE CIRCLE.” With an image of New York City on fire.
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