Somebody, Save Me!

by Steve Beaulieu

  “Nice,” one of the muscle heads growled.

  “Isn’t he?” the thin Sid said, his voice full of fake wonder. “We owe you one buddy and I hate to owe anyone.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Devin said, making a move to leave before being cut off. “From one fan to another.”

  The thin Sid snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Fan. You think you’re a fan. Fans put posters on their walls and join forums. If you’re a Sid you go a little farther than being a fan. You want to show everyone and let the whole world know.” The Sid’s knife came closer to Devin’s face as he spoke. “Here. I’ll help ya.”

  Devin’s mouth opened and the Sid grinned. He didn’t see the shadow moving overhead until it was too late. A blur slammed down, pouncing on the thin man, wrenching the thug’s arm behind his back and breaking it. The shadowed figure gave a swift punch downward and the young man stopped moving. The two burly Sids moved in and the blur swung in an arc, clipping their chins. His quick strike left gouges on one man’s face while a flurry of punches broke the other’s nose and put him on all fours. A swift soccer kick to the side of his head knocked him out. The last Sid, eyes widening through a mask of blood, took off and ran into the night.

  Devin staggered back, watching helplessly as his tablet dropped before seeing the other person catch it in their hand and hold it out. Sharpened talons decorated each finger.

  “You dropped this.”

  He nodded, taking the tablet back. Surprisingly, it wasn’t even scratched. He stared at Peregrine for a second. Everyone in the city had seen pictures of both him and his sidekick Ladyhawk. A large gray outfit with a silver emblem shaped into wings on the chest and flaps built into the arms to allow for gliding. Here he was, standing right in front of Devin, eye to eye and…

  “Aren’t you supposed to be taller?” Devin asked. “And… why does your voice is so… high?”

  Peregrine stiffened, gave a brusque nod and took off. Devin blushed with embarrassment before the sound of his feed pinged reminding him to rush home.

  Gizelle cursed herself for being so stupid. She had thought about putting lifts into the suit and decided against it. They made it harder to move, and Tom had been adamant about not compromising a hero’s ability to bring justice.

  Criminals are rodents and we are their predators, he had said. It’s all part of the hunt.

  Gizelle had never felt that way. She’d tagged along after he’d scouted her, helping her pay for college, giving her a place to stay after her parents kicked her out when she turned eighteen. In the last five years, she’d watched him make the world a better place. All those years of hard work to help Mesa City, wiped away thanks to a freak car accident.

  Hating herself, Gizelle dug her talons into the fabric of her suit, letting the pressure build. She hadn’t cried once, even out of costume, over her lost mentor. The pain was there, but it was hard to be overwhelmed by it considering the life they’d led, and she still did. She had gotten used to the idea that each day could be her last. When it had finally happened, she’d focused more on how to keep Peregrine’s legacy going. At first, she did it so Tom wouldn’t be found out, later, because he had stopped so much crime by just existing. Ladyhawk wasn’t scary in the same way. If she announced herself, there’d be a crime wave. More murders, more rapes, more violent robberies. No, she had to keep the pretense up.

  She just wished it didn’t hurt her boobs so much. It was rough smashing them down and taping them up night after night. The one positive of it all was getting to fly solo. Mesa City was a strange town because it didn’t have a single skyscraper. All the buildings were six stories or below and when she took flight she was able to sail over it all, apart from everyone. From high above, the whole city looked like the desert surrounding it with jewels of light popping out of the dark red clay and inky blackness. It was hard finding crime to thwart now that she was alone. Tom had really seemed part bird, swooping down and taking out bad guys before darting away, his eyes shining with the thrill of hunt.

  Gizelle broke from her reverie as her earpiece buzzed. Banking left, she headed toward the Harold Haskell Observatory. It was nestled in the part of town surrounded by defunct factories and broken street lights. The only thing that stopped it from being vandalized was an electric fence and an impressive security camera system. Diving into the open mouth of dome, Gizelle heard the shutter close behind her. A moment later, the room lit up.

  Screens covered the entire wall with feeds from all over the city and the world. Some of the images looked like they were violating peoples’ right to privacy. A thin woman in a too loose gray sweater and roller skates lit up with LED shooting stars swung around from monitor to monitor making notes and typing quick messages.

  “Hard to see the stars like this,” Gizelle said.

  “Another time,” Clarice said. “Right now I’m bird watching.”

  It was an old joke between them, and a bad one at that. Peregrine had been the one to come up with it. Clarice was mourning him in her own way. She had been working with Tom since he saved her dad’s observatory from being shut down. The young astronomer ruffled her messy bun as she swung around Gizelle, offering her a frown.

  “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

  Clarice nodded. “Three more Sid hits tonight. I can’t prove it, but I think they’re coordinating. Obsidian might finally be using them.”

  Gizelle shuddered. The idea of a psychopath like Obsidian getting a bunch of sycophants to harm people on a citywide scale was terrifying. Tom would have accepted it without an ounce of fear. He considered Peregrine a symbol more than a mantle and a need to crush the darkest characters from spreading their poison into the world. If things were headed this way, he might have been right.

  “So what’s their next move?”

  “Not sure, my lady,” Clarice teased, trying to inject some levity into the room. “But I’ve been checking the local bars and seeing which ones are getting more activity than in the past. Got a major hit.”

  Made sense. The Sids stood out, making it easy for local law enforcement to nab them if they showed up at the same hole in the wall. Rotating their headquarters made it harder to nail them down. If they were able to find the new spot, it would be a real lead, considering the effect alcohol had on young men. And most Sids were talkers to begin with.

  “What’s the name?”

  Clarice’s smile turned predatory. “Opaque.”

  Crap. “I need to go in undercover, don’t I?”

  Clarice grinned, skating over to a closet and pulling the outfit.

  It took all Gizelle had not to throttle her.

  Taping down boobs made it harder to fight. Wearing pointy black stilettos was a million times worse. Mix in the black tight jeans and blouse (slashed to ribbons because, of course, they were) and it was like walking down the street half-naked. The dark mascara and lipstick were not helping either. But Tom had taught Gizelle how to become the character because no disguise worked without the right attitude. Moving down the street in a part of Mesa City that was known for partying until 2 A.M. (and carjacking and robberies after the bars shut down) she walked with the gait of a young party girl who was wearing more of a costume than a criminal uniform. The streaks over her face were artfully done the way a college girl just starting down a bad path might have them. In some of the rougher Sid hideouts it would make her stand out.

  Not in Opaque. Like most super beings, there were admirers for both sides of the spectrum. Of course, the kids who pounded Shard Dagger shots late into the night had never met Obsidian or they would’ve been less excited about being surrounded by images of him, but then again most of them wouldn’t have been breathing either.

  Gizelle filtered out the sounds of people vomiting, the screaming shouts of joy as people celebrated a night out on the town, jilted lovers weeping over exes, and the garish lights from the bars trying to entice those walking past to spend money on overpriced drinks. Keeping vigilant so as not to be taken by surp
rise: that was the easy part.

  Without Peregrine’s suit, or even her own Ladyhawk attire, Gizelle felt naked. She had never gone undercover without Tom watching over her and now, alone, she felt the loss of the suit for the first time. The sharp talons were gone, along with the micro-sirvos which gave her enhanced strength and reflexes. She was plenty strong and quick without them, but a few big, lumbering idiots were going to have size and power advantages over her. Tom had told her time and again that in a hunt, it wasn’t the fastest or strongest that caught the prey; it was the most cunning. She tried to imagine it now.

  It was hard to put it into practice when she was obviously keeping under the street lights as she approached Party Row. Here, the bars were seedy enough to feel dangerous while being safe enough the cops would show up if called. Gizelle moved past a few of the anti-hero themed dives and walked toward the largest building, which was billowing white smoke from machines placed around the perimeter. The square building had the appearance of black glass, and once every minute or so, lit up for a second so the inside was vaguely transparent. A line snaked around the entrance with red stanchion ropes dividing the door from the local hopefuls. A large, burly man with a shaved head and an earpiece glared back at them, allowing a few people in from time to time while the rest shivered in the cold.

  These were the posers. Kids whose mommies and daddies were paying for them to go to college and wanted a little danger in their safe little lives.

  Geez, Gizelle. Bitter much? She knocked the thought aside. Tom had been the father she never had, and being a hero was a privilege she hadn’t. She winced as her greatest fear roared to life again, knocking her off balance. Sooner or later, she was going to have to step into the spotlight as Ladyhawk or under some new name and prove that even if she didn’t deserve it, she was capable of being a hero. And her first test was going to be getting into Opaque without alerting the real bouncers.

  Moving around the club and into the shadows, Gizelle moved toward the side entrance and tried the door. It was locked. On other occasions she would have picked it with her talons or burglary tools, but she needed to look as if she was a girl from a nice family who was starting to make bad decisions with her life. As she went to step away a young man with the trademark Sid streaks on his face threw the door open. He gave her the once over and scowled.

  “Wait with the rest of the wannabes,” he said.

  He started to swing the door shut when Gizelle caught it. “We all started somewhere, right?”

  The Sid cocked an eyebrow. It was an old Obsidian line from years ago when he had been interviewed by a journalist from the Mesa City Observer. He had taken a liking to the writer and advocated for him to win the Pulitzer prize for his work which he did… posthumously.

  “Not bad. Let’s see what you got blondie,” he said, beckoning her in. Gizelle gritted her teeth and moved to catch up with him as they walked toward the putrid bathrooms and, further down, the club dance floor. Gizelle was under no illusions. Even if she did pass whatever tests this skeezoid had planned, he was still going to try and make a move. It was hardwired into his body language. Time to learn you shouldn’t trust strange women.

  As they moved past the bathrooms, she leaned down and unstrapped the syringe from her inner thigh. In one fluid motion, she uncapped it and sunk the needle into his neck, pushing down on the plunger while she covered his mouth. For a second, he fought before he started to drift into unconsciousness. Barging into the men’s bathroom she dragged his body toward a stall. Several amorous couples stopped making out with each other to stare. She ignored them. Slapping his face, she took on a worried look. “Baby? Baby, what’s wrong? You need to talk to me.”

  The others stared for another second before going back to their own carnal needs. Just another druggie Sid who got bad product. Idiot didn’t even bother injecting it into his arm. None of them were thinking about how illogical injecting a drug into your neck was. Or the fact that it’s a sleep narcotic, Gizelle thought, smiling inwardly. She laid the young man out onto a toilet, propping his head against one side and took the syringe out, throwing it in the trash as she rushed out, her eyes watering.

  No one gave her a second glance.

  Moving down the rest of the hall, Gizelle’s ears felt violated by what the Sids and these college kids called ‘Villaincore.’ It was a mixture of heavy metal with a lot of screaming and dubstep thrown in. If she had been able to understand the lyrics, she guessed they would have had the same content as the rest of the genre: grisly descriptions of heroes getting killed.

  Classy.

  The entire place was a mass of bodies grinding and Gizelle forced herself past a couple of less than savory encounters. The multi-colored strobe lights showed the lounge area which was covered by a metal catwalk for the second story. Most of the Sids took the tables and left the balcony and the floor for the patrons. It was the perfect white noise for setting up illegal deals.

  Moving toward the catwalk, Gizelle swayed a little, acting as if she had downed a few drinks already. Beneath her were Sids with large rap sheets. The true fanatics who were willing to die if their “leader” gave them the order. She dropped a tiny black spot, making sure none of the men below noticed before pulling on her left earring. Gizelle adjusted it left to right until she was able to tune past the pulsing music. The men were hunched forward, speaking just loud enough for each other to hear.

  “I don’t believe it,” one said.

  “Better start. We’re getting orders from the man himself. He’s finally gonna turn us loose and make this city ours. Step one has been stealing lights, cameras, any kind of TV equipment we can get.”

  Another Sid scoffed. “Hook me up with your dealer man because I want some of what you’ve been trying. Hollywood crap? What are we going to do, make a movie? I love what he stands for, anarchy, self-worship, but I don’t see him giving us the time of day. We’re small time.”

  “Shows how committed you are,” Believer Sid said, his tone getting an edge. “I heard he got some new info about a heist, or info on the mayor, or something.”

  “Oh yeah, and where did he get this info?” One of the other Sids asked, hope creeping into his voice despite his best attempts.

  “No idea, my guess is he paid–”

  “Hey,” a man said, jostling Gizelle’s arm and breaking her concentration. She turned around and saw the confident smirk on his face. His hair had too much product in it, his leather jacket reeked of money and expensive Japanese motorcycles, and his muscles screamed gym rat. His perfect nose and skin told her the muscles were all for show.

  He caught her staring and his grin became more pronounced. “Haven’t seen you here before.”

  “Take a good look, honey because you won’t see me after tonight either.”

  “Slow your roll,” he said holding up a hand. There was a glass in his hand which had a little bit of whiskey left in it. From the way he was swaying, it wasn’t his first. “My friends and I think you’re the cutest girl in the room. We wanted to find out if you wanted to hang.”

  Gizelle tilted her head and saw a pack of young men. All of them were carbon copy images of the man in front of her. One on one, she would be fine, if they got her together, she was finished.

  Should have brought the suit. Tom wouldn’t have made this mistake. Peregrine never made mistakes.

  Gizelle frowned. She didn’t like the feeling of being prey. Beneath her, the Sids were quiet, staring up at the intrusion. Great, her cover was blown. “Buzz off,” she said brushing past Douchebag Alpha and walking down the stairs. She made it halfway to the back entrance before her shoulder was near ripped out of her socket.

  “Why do you have to be such a stuck-up bitch? Can’t take a compliment?” Behind him were three men, two of whom were scowling and one who looked worried.

  Chalk one up for having a little common sense.

  Taking a deep breath, she assessed the situation. Four guys, one leader, ganging up on a girl. Analysis: take
out the big dog. As she reached for the door, the leader spun her around, his hand squeezing her arm.

  “Ouch! My shoe! You jerk, do you know how much these cost?” Reaching down, she grabbed her stiletto and spinning it around, smashed it into his hand. He let go immediately, cursing as he tried to pull it out. Gizelle gave a jump kick to his chin and knocked him down.

  With a growl, one of the other guys rushed her. She kicked off her other shoe letting it fly into the charging attacker’s face. He blocked with his arms, leaving his stomach open and with another kick, she took the wind out of him.

  When number three stepped forward, Gizelle pushed her foot down on his fallen friend’s kneecap, eliciting a scream. That froze them in place.

  “Free advice, gentlemen. When the lady says no, she means it. Now, you up for round three?”

  The two men shook their heads and, grabbing their friends, retreated back to the dance floor.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Gizelle took a moment. She was out on her only lead and the Sids were going to notice if she swung by again. But they had mentioned Obsidian paying someone for information and that narrowed the field. Add in the stolen equipment and it was obvious he was hoping to broadcast something. She had a few leads to follow up by tomorrow night.

  It wasn’t until she had gone three blocks that Gizelle realized she had torn her skirt beyond repair, trashing the outfit.

  At least the night wasn’t a total loss.

  The Piedmont Dome stood at the center of Mesa City with its beveled glass roof curving a little taller than its neighbors, giving it a view of the surrounding city. It was the closest the uptown elites got to staring down their noses at everyone else.

  Gizelle felt a little better in Peregrine’s suit. It was still restrictive and too large for her, making it difficult to move, but compared to the outfit from the day before, it was heaven. She sat in the rafters of one of the anterooms that certain privileged members of society were able to rent if they wanted to be alone or “entertain” company. The man she was looking for chose to be alone. With how many people sought him out, the quiet time was appreciated.