Rogue Superheroes

by Matt Cowper

  “Nightstriker––” Sam whispered.

  “Right now, Gillespie and myself are candidates for leader of the Elites,” Nightstriker said. “Does anyone else want to be considered for this position?”

  No one replied.

  “Then there will be two choices,” Nightstriker said. “Though Gillespie and Anna were never officially recognized as members of the Elites, we will consider them members for our purposes. That means there are seven of us, and with only two options for leader, there should be no ties. Each person gets one vote.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Buckshot said. “When we gonna cast our proverbial ballots?”

  “Time is of the essence, so I suggest we have this pseudo-election in a half hour,” Nightstriker said. “Gillespie? Everyone? Is this suitable?”

  Slowly, everyone nodded – except Anna, whose smoke formed a hazy thumbs-up.

  Gillespie chewed her lip and looked at Nightstriker with a curious expression. It didn't look like she'd expected Nightstriker to back down so easily.

  “Fine,” Nightstriker said. “We will reconvene here in thirty minutes. I suggest everyone rest and ponder the choices carefully.”

  Chapter Ten

  Nightstriker

  Nightstriker never suspected totalitarianism loomed so near.

  He should have. One had only to take a cursory look at human history to see that in times of national crisis people rallied around a strong leader. They willingly gave up their freedoms, allowing the leader to amass more and more power, all in the name of restoring order.

  The warning signs had been there. But, in his arrogance, he thought he had everything under control. He would trickle out his damning information, the corruption would be excised, and society would move forward.

  Instead, the Elites had been totally blindsided. Their headquarters had been knocked out of the sky, perhaps damaged beyond repair; their strongest member now couldn't turn on his powers; they'd nearly been slaughtered by these Patriots; and President Lancaster was dragging their good names through the mud, and a large portion of the country cheered on his lies.

  Nightstriker wanted to hit back – hard. But who should he hit?

  They weren't fighting some maniacal supervillain. They were going up against the U.S. government, an entity that – at least in theory – represented the will of the people.

  Was he willing to fight the nation's people?

  Idiot! He was already fighting them. He'd started the battle himself, when he decided to play reformer. Many people voted for or supported the congressmen and officials he'd indirectly ousted. They wouldn't take attacks on their favorite politicians lying down.

  Perhaps he should've handled this in a more circumspect manner. He could've cornered each corrupt official, presented his damning evidence, and forced them to resign. There was no need to splash everything on the front page.

  But after fighting the Giftgiver, Nightstriker had wanted the public to know that steps were being taken to actually reform the country. Making everything public seemed the best course of action.

  Then why hadn't he stood by his actions, instead of hiding in the shadows? If people knew a superhero was behind all this, perhaps they would've been more understanding.

  Then again, many people hated superheroes, saw them as gods that made the common man obsolete. They especially hated Nightstriker, because he wasn't a superhuman – only a man who'd built himself into a world-class fighter and tactician through sheer will.

  Though it was politically incorrect to say so, Nightstriker knew people were insanely envious of him – even more so because he wasn't a warm and fuzzy hero. He rarely gave interviews, and when he did, he told the truth instead of coating his words in sugar so the masses would smile in agreement.

  Perhaps he should've let someone else handle this muckraking, someone more palatable to the public....

  So many choices, so many failures....

  And now his own team was turning on him.

  He continued pacing his quarters, hoping a solution out of this quagmire would present itself.

  He wondered what his companions were doing. Were they alone like him, pacing and thinking? Had they formed into groups to discuss the merits and weaknesses of each candidate for leader of the Elites?

  How would the vote go? He thought he knew how each member would vote, but he couldn't be certain.

  A knock on his door shook him from his dark thoughts.

  He opened the thick, reinforced door, and was surprised to see three people in the corridor: Blaze, Metal Gal, and Anna.

  “What is it?” Nightstriker asked, too curtly.

  “Uh...can we talk to you?” Blaze said.

  Nightstriker looked at each of them, then nodded. The three of them entered the room, and Metal Gal shut the door behind them.

  A few moments passed as his guests studied their surroundings. He knew what they saw: spartan accommodations for a spartan man. The room contained only a twin bed – neatly made – a waste bin, and a control panel set in the wall by the head of the bed. A prisoner's cell was more hospitable.

  “What can I do for you?” Nightstriker asked.

  “We'd like to discuss this vote,” Blaze said.

  “Specifically, we want you to know we have your back,” Anna said, a smoke-tendril drifting over to rest on Nightstriker's shoulder.

  “You're our leader,” Metal Gal said. “Gillespie is good, no doubt, but she's not you.”

  “We know you've made mistakes, and you know you've made mistakes,” Blaze said, “but we can hash that out after we take out the Patriots and put Lancaster in his place.”

  “So, in short: we're all voting for you,” Anna said.

  Their earnestness moved Nightstriker – and at the same time saddened him. They'd put an enormous amount of trust in him, and he hadn't stewarded that trust responsibly.

  Would he ever be the leader they deserved? Or would he stumble between one ill-considered crusade to the next, as Gillespie had said?

  “I...thank you all,” Nightstriker said, bowing his head. “Your support means a lot to me – more than you can possibly know.”

  “Whoa, hold on!” Metal Gal said. “If I'm not mistaken, I'd say we're getting our fearless leader misty-eyed!”

  Blaze and Anna laughed, and even Nightstriker grinned.

  “I have emotions just like any other person, Gal,” Nightstriker said, smirking. “Perhaps I don't show them as often as I should...but I digress. The math on the vote is simple: with your three votes, plus my vote, we will have the majority.”

  “That's right,” Blaze said. “Then you'll be selected as leader, and we can get past this finger-pointing and take on the real bad guys.”

  “Perhaps,” Nightstriker said, turning away and resuming pacing.

  “Perhaps?” Metal Gal echoed. “Perhaps what?”

  “Even if Gillespie loses fairly, it doesn't mean she or her supporters will once again follow me,” Nightstriker said.

  “That's idiotic!” Anna said. “They can't throw a temper tantrum just because they lost!

  “Idiotic or not, the team could split, with each faction going their own way,” Nightstriker said.

  “What, are you looking for a unanimous vote or something?” Blaze asked. “I don't think that's gonna happen. Gillespie will vote for herself, that much is a given.”

  “True,” Nightstriker said, “and since Slab and Buckshot aren't here, I assume one or both of them are voting for her, or abstaining.”

  “So how are we gonna bring everyone together?” Blaze asked.

  “I have various plans, all contingent on how the actual vote plays out,” Nightstriker replied. “Just know this: this team must stick together, and I will do whatever I can to ensure that happens.”

  “So what––” Blaze began.

  “Enough strategizing about votes and leadership roles for now,” Nightstriker interrupted. “I want to know how you all are doing.”

  “Us?” Metal Gal blinked her d
eep blue eyes. “We're fine.”

  “No, you're not. Blaze is powerless, Anna still can't turn into her human form, and Code ravaged Metal Gal only a few hours ago.”

  His guests now looked sheepish, and stared at the walls and floor – anywhere but at him.

  “There's no shame in filling overwhelmed,” Nightstriker said. “Here we are, cowering underground, when only recently we soared through the clouds. Even I'm stunned at how quickly our fortunes turned.”

  “It's not...it's not fair,” Metal Gal said, her metallic form shifting. “I was doing well. I could shift into my real body – I mean, how I looked as Siobhan – and I was working on important projects. And with Blaze...” She touched her boyfriend's arm, and Blaze smiled at her. “But now everything's...wrong.”

  “Not to be too blunt, but your relationship with Blaze has centered you, Gal,” Nightstriker said. “And, though you're only a few years older than him, he's benefited from your experience and scientific knowledge. You two need to stick together – perhaps even more than the Elites as a whole need to stick together.”

  His candid relationship advice clearly unsettled the two lovers. But after a moment, they intertwined their hands and nodded at Nightstriker.

  “As for the woman who so easily disabled you, Gal,” Nightstriker said, “I believe I have a counter.”

  “I'm listening.” Gal's eyes were now flashing red. “That bitch crashed through my defenses like they weren't even there. I want revenge.”

  “If we engage them again, you'll have it,” Nightstriker said, “but the plan I have in mind does require you to stretch your versatility to its limit.”

  “You want me to morph into another form? Maybe pretend to be you or Blaze to get the drop on her? Don't think it'll work. Her scanning tech will see through any deceit.”

  “No, I have another plan,” Nightstriker said. “Your weakness is having only one power core and only one data bank. An enemy need only disable one or the other to put you out of commission.”

  “A valid point,” Gal said, “which is why I was working on my Zeta Core – which you so conveniently depleted, and which now sits in the wreckage of the Beacon.”

  “I had to––”

  “I know you needed it to keep the Beacon from plopping onto Midtown,” she said. “I'm not really mad. But I can't exactly replicate that tech down here in this basement. As for my data bank, that contains my mind. Maybe even my soul, if you believe in that. To create another data bank, and use it as backup...I don't know...after what happened....”

  “What happened to you and Keith was tragic,” Nightstriker said, referencing Gal's deceased boyfriend. He'd died during the same experiment that led to Metal Gal becoming her current incarnation. “I would not want you undergoing any experiments that you're uncomfortable with. And, as you noted, we don't currently have the equipment necessary for any major engineering endeavors. No, what I have in mind is both simpler, and more sophisticated.”

  “Go on,” Metal Gal said.

  “As you know by now, Code was formerly Webmistress,” Nightstriker said. “Luckily for us, that allows us to study her villainous past – and use it against her. My database here contains several programs, coding, and protocols that Webmistress used. If you can upload those to your data bank, combined with Webmistress's 'memories' – mainly information gained from intensive psychiatric evaluations – they may throw the false-hero off.”

  “That's...interesting,” Metal Gal said, “but also dangerous. If I put that stuff into my system, it could overwhelm me – turn me into a killing machine, or disable me.”

  “It is a gamble,” Nightstriker said. “However, you can examine everything yourself before uploading. I believe you can handle it, but you know your system better than me.”

  “So, what's the idea? That Code will attack Metal Gal, but then it'll feel like she's attacking herself?” Blaze asked.

  “That's the basic premise,” Nightstriker replied. “If nothing else, it should confuse her for a few vital seconds, enabling someone else to remove her as a threat.”

  Metal Gal rubbed her chin. “It's worth considering, at least. I'll check out those files you have on her, see if the plan's workable.”

  “Good.” Nightstriker turned to Blaze and placed his hand on the young man's shoulders. “I apologize again for your...condition. We will get your powers back, Blaze.”

  “Thanks, Nightstriker,” Blaze replied. “Maybe I just need a long rest, give my powers a chance to recharge.”

  “Perhaps. I do want to test something, however.” Nightstriker reached into his utility belt and pulled out a small silver object. He flicked open its cap and depressed a button, and a tiny blue flame appeared.

  “This is a torch I use when I'm in tight confines,” Nightstriker said. “Place your hand over the flame.”

  “My hand?” Blaze said, staring at the blue, ultra-hot fire. “Oh, I get it.”

  He moved his hand over the torch, keeping it about a foot away from the fire at first. Then he slowly lowered his hand until it was inches over the flame, then lowered it even more until the flame was licking his bare skin.

  “No pain, I take it?” Nightstriker asked.

  “Nope,” Blaze replied, twiddling his fingers playfully. “I can feel – or sense – the heat, but it's not doing any damage. Looks like I'm still immune to heat and flame, like I was when my powers actually worked.”

  “That confirms my theory,” Nightstriker said. “Your powers are merely dormant, not lost entirely. Perhaps you do need a rest – or a push in the right direction.”

  “A push?” Metal Gal asked.

  “I suspect that if Blaze were exposed to a large heat source – or even a large energy source – that his powers would reawaken.”

  “What do you mean by 'large heat source'?” Blaze asked.

  “A volcano, for example.”

  “A volcano?!” Blaze said. “You want me to dive into a giant cauldron of lava?!”

  “While I think that would accomplish the restoration of your powers, there are no volcanoes near Z City, unfortunately. But yes, a similar heat source would suffice. Even a burning building may work, or another superhuman with flame powers blasting you with their own fire.”

  “Look, Nightstriker, I know you're an expert on...well, everything,” Metal Gal said, “but the things you're talking about could kill Blaze!”

  “Possibly,” Nightstriker said, “but unlikely. While it's not unheard of for a superhuman to lose their powers, they usually lose all of their powers, not bits and pieces. Blaze is still immune to heat; that leads me to believe he could survive a drop into a volcano, or even into a star. But ultimately, it's your call, Sam. This was just one test; you may want to do more before you agree with me.”

  “Yeah, that'd be wise,” Blaze said. “I don't know why I didn't consider testing my heat immunity before.”

  “We're all harried,” Nightstriker said. He let out a chuckle. “Plus, I'm the leader, right? That's why you'll be voting for me, because I know how to handle any situation.”

  Blaze chuckled as well. “Nightstriker joking? That's as rare as a unicorn.”

  Now Nightstriker turned to Anna, the young woman trapped in her smoky form. Anna's smoke rolled together until it created a humanoid shape. A spectral hand raised and gave Nightstriker what appeared to be a thumbs up.

  “I know you're too busy to tutor me,” Anna said. “We'll get me changed back one day, don't worry.”

  “Thank you for understanding, Anna,” Nightstriker replied. “I admit your inability to turn human bothers me greatly. But there is a solution – somewhere. Now, though, there is a simpler matter we need to resolve.”

  The smoky head tilted. “What's that?”

  “Your code name. Now that you're on the run with us, we cannot keep calling you Anna, especially during a battle.”

  “Oh.” The smoke wavered. “I don't know. I'm still undecided about this whole superheroing thing....”

  “I
assume, since you haven't deserted us, that you want to be involved in this fight. Am I correct?”

  “Yeah, but...I don't think I want to do this forever.”

  “I understand. It does take its toll – believe me. But right now, we need you – and you need us.”

  “I agree,” Anna said, but Nightstriker sensed she was agreeing just to keep him from nagging her.

  “Good. Therefore, a code name is paramount. You're not throwing away your true identity, or embracing superheroing. This is merely something that will make communication safer and smoother.”

  “I understand,” Anna said, “and I have been thinking of possible names, just in case...well...you know....”

  The smoky humanoid's head made a movement that, if Anna had been corporeal, would have been the equivalent of taking a deep breath.

  “I'd like my code name to be...Fart.”

  Everyone's jaws dropped – even Nightstriker's.

  “You know, because I'm a suffocating gas,” Anna said. “It fits, right?”

  “Anna, I don't think––” Nightstriker began.

  But the smoke was twisting in a way that, after a few seconds of consideration, Nightstriker realized was simulating laughter.

  “Trying to be funny, huh?” Blaze said, taking a teasing swipe at the smoke.

  “You shoulda seen your faces!” Anna shouted. “Ah...that was a good one, wasn't it?”

  “Do you have a real codename, or do we have to continue this farce?” Nightstriker said, though his tone was jesting.

  “No, you're right,” Anna said. “Time to be serious! OK...how about...Nimbus?”

  Nightstriker looked at Blaze and Metal Gal – both were nodding in approval.

  “A good choice,” Nightstriker said.

  Nimbus gave Nightstriker a double thumbs up. “Awesome!”

  “And with that sorted, we need to return to the main room,” Nightstriker said. “It's time for the vote.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Blaze

  It felt like cold electricity was running through the room.