Somebody, Save Me!

by Steve Beaulieu

  The room was shadowed from the light around the lower buildings. The man who had permanently rented it for the next hundred years (more as a show of prestige and power than necessity) had furnished it with a single comfortable arm chair and an end table with a decanter of high-end whiskey. Even if she hadn’t been able to see the outlines of the objects, or turned on her night vision mode, Gizelle would have known where everything was. She had been here plenty of times before. But Tom had been the one taking center stage.

  Am I ever going to feel like I’m in control? She silenced the thought.

  The double doors opened and a well-built, handsome man in a tuxedo stepped backward into the room. “Gloria, Daniella, I’ll tell you later in private. And Maxim, make an appointment and I’ll discuss our personal matter more in-depth.” Closing the doors, the man walked into the room without turning on a light. In the pale moonlight his bronze skin seemed to glow. It was just a tan, but even still, there was no doubt about it; Jerome “The Whisperer” Talmudge had a certain magic about him. Sitting down in his armchair, he poured himself a drink, signaling the end of his work hours.

  “I’d offer you a glass,” he said, “but I assume you’re working.” Gizelle dropped from the ceiling without a sound, grabbing Jerome’s left arm right as he was about to take a sip. Tom had done it plenty of times. He said it was to show no one was untouchable. She suspected it was more to irritate Jerome and throw him off his game. He pulled away from her, rubbing an imaginary bruise. “No calls, no letters, and you drop by unannounced.” With a side eye, he gave a sliver of a smirk. “Not even you get to take up my time without giving me some notice.”

  Giselle hesitated to speak. Jerome never went outside of the building and he rarely left his rooms or his chair and yet somehow he knew everything that happened within the city; where to find things, who was cheating who, and what blackmail to use against certain politicians.

  “You don’t have your next meeting until tomorrow afternoon,” she said, imitating Tom’s deep growl.

  “Five o’clock is the start of evening, to be precise,” he said, his mouth quirking.

  He’s enjoying this, Gizelle thought. “Obsidian’s making a play for the city.”

  “Perhaps. It will certainly make things interesting.”

  “What if he breaks in to the Dome? You happen to have quite a few rooms here. Trust me, moving is a hassle.”

  Jerome gave a laconic shrug.

  Alright. Time to play the trump card. “You owe me for saving your life.”

  “I owe Peregrine. Not his trollop.”

  Giselle’s clawed hand arced towards Jerome’s head and found hair. He had pushed the chair to the side, dodging the strike without dropping his drink.

  “Please don’t make me stand up for this. I’ve finally gotten comfortable.”

  “You promised,” Gizelle said, giving up on her impersonation. “No selling out secret identities.”

  “And I assure you, yours is safe. Obsidian is aware of who you aren’t as well as who you usually run around as. He still has no idea what face lies under that cowl.”

  Gizelle smashed the end table aside, shattering the decanter. Jerome’s face hardened. “Get out.”

  “What is he planning?”

  “I never ask, now leave and never return. I—ghh.” Jerome clutched his shoulder as Gizelle twisted the fabric, pushing shards of glass into his arm. The distraction was enough and Gizelle grabbed his throat with her other hand, her sharpened fingers brushing against his neck.

  “Violating the no kill policy,” he said, his breath sharpened. Sweat plastered his brow and his slicked back blond hair had started to go messy.

  “You think you know it all, but you don’t.”

  “I know you’re crying.”

  The grip on his throat tightened. “It’s the last thing you’ll ever see.”

  Jerome gazed into her face and sighed. “I’m sure the transition has been difficult, so I’ll let this one indiscretion go–for old times’ sake–sweep it under the rug so to speak, if you let go of my throat right now.”

  Gizelle muttered under her breath as she pulled back. Jerome rubbed his throat and inspected his shoulder. “The blood stain ruins this suit. Not to mention I’ll need to call in the doctor.”

  “Jerome.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Obsidian. His plan.”

  “Now I seem to remember offering to let this little tantrum pass without retribution. I never promised you information.”

  “Fine. Consider this new partnership terminated,” Gizelle said, getting ready to leap back into the rafters and out the roof.

  “Wait a minute,” he said.

  She froze mid-crouch.

  “You don’t need me to tell you what’s going to happen. All you need is a TV in ten, nine, eight…”

  Moving like a blur Gizelle heard Jerome laughing behind her. “Good luck, fair lady. You’ll be needing it.”

  Sailing three blocks from the Piedmont, Gizelle landed in the shadows of a brick market stall across from Yabel Stadium as the large monitor flickered to life with the sound of shattering glass and a cracking black screen. Beneath it, the cars and people froze on the street, staring up at the impromptu show. As the black pieces fell, a man stepped out dressed in simple black stretchy fabric with deep gouged scratches on his face and a smile playing on his lips. Next to him was a totaled car. Giselle’s eyes went wide as she recognized it.

  “Picked it up today,” Obsidian said, his rough voice growling as he spoke. It sounded like he had sliced it up and stuffed a bunch of tobacco down his windpipe before sewing it up again. “Not much of a bargain, I admit. It cost me dearly. Of course, who wouldn’t want the car our esteemed Peregrine died in.”

  A gasp went up from the crowd. Gizelle retreated farther into the shadows. If there was any video, she would get picked apart and Mesa City would spiral into a panic. “He wasn’t in costume when it happened, and—sadly—I’m not allowed to tell you any other juicy details. Part of the package deal,” Obsidian said as the camera followed him away from the vehicle.

  I’ll bet. For as powerful as Obsidian was, no one crossed The Whisperer without paying for it later. Thinking about her encounter sent a shiver up her spine. She had lucked out. It wasn’t likely to happen again. Still, no one was going to believe Obsidian if his proof was a random car.

  “I’m sure you’re all suspicious,” he continued. “In this world of social media and digital editing you’re right to be skeptical; which is why I’m issuing a challenge to this pretender who has been wearing your esteemed protector’s mask. They can fight me right now and prove me wrong with the internet watching to make sure Peregrine hasn’t suddenly lost a few inches and seventy pounds of muscle. Or this fraud can test themselves and try to measure up as the city collapses around them. I’ll wait,” he said, sitting down in a black chair.

  Right as he did, explosions went off. Giselle’s ear radio buzzed to life.

  “How bad is it?” Gizelle asked.

  “A dozen different groups with hostages and explosives. They aren’t even trying to hide. This is a power play. If Obsidian proves Peregrine is dead he’ll move out and pick off the police force. The only other option…”

  She didn’t have to say it. The only other option was to play his game. The Sids were tough and zealots, but they had the same weakness found in all fanatics. They crumbled without their leader. But if she showed up in the costume, it was only a matter of time until the internet put a photo of her next to Tom and figured out the truth. Once they did it, was going to be the same mess all over again.

  She had failed. No matter what happened tonight, even if she took down all of the Sids, even if she stopped Obsidian for good, Peregrine’s legacy was ruined. Mesa City would disintegrate into gang violence and anarchy. Hiding in the shadows, all she wanted was for the ground to open up and swallow her like a field mouse. Some hunter you are. She tried to think about what Tom would say. He had been the tactica
l savant. She had never been as good at any of this. Nobody was scared of Ladyhawk. They didn’t have a reason.

  A small defiant voice rose above the doubt. Yet.

  Her eyes widened.

  “I need to get back to base,” Gizelle said, tapping her ear and connecting with Clarice.

  “Why?”

  “I’m sick of my boobs hurting.”

  “Finally,” Clarice said. “I’ve got something I’ve been saving.”

  The new suit moved like a dream. It was strong, with a decent leather top that didn’t make her feel like she was some pin-up model in skintight fetish gear; most likely because of the layered armor. Clouds had moved over the moonlight shrouding her flight. For the first time since Tom had died, she felt a little like herself. The silver wings had been turned gray and were thinner and shapelier. So were the talons on her gloves. The rest of the suit was black, and it was easier to connect with the circuitry which gave her an added strength and speed. This was who she was meant to be.

  It hadn’t taken Clarice long to pinpoint the studio. Obsidian wasn’t trying to hide. The broadcast was easily tracked to an older building which had just closed down for renovations. A tower had been hastily set up. There were no guards around the tower or the building.

  As she moved from the roof of the building, down through the skylight and into the rafters, she watched as Obsidian stood up and opened his arms.

  “So nice of you to join us.”

  He was playing to the crowd. Two could play at that game.

  Swooping down, Gizelle snagged one of the lighting crew and slammed them into the camera operator. Talons flew out crushing the rest of the lights except for one, casting the whole set into shadows. Obsidian glared, blades slowly extending and retracting with each breath. The sharp points pushed out a little more each time as his control grew ragged. Gizelle chose to ignore it. She kept focused on dispatching the flunkies. When she took out the last of the cameramen, she made sure the machines were still rolling.

  “It won’t hide what you are. People will still find out,” Obsidian said as five blades slid out and swirled around his fists.

  “People of Mesa City,” Gizelle’s voice boomed out. “What this man is telling you is true. Peregrine is dead. My name is Hawk. You probably saw me as Ladyhawk, his old sidekick, but tonight, I’m here to show you that justice doesn’t die.”

  She was pretty sure Obsidian’s eyes rolled as he made gagging sounds; the whole time, the man was turning into a glistening dark pin cushion.

  “Are you done?” He snarled.

  Gizelle nodded and broke into a low fighting stance and firing off talons. Obsidian wasted no time in rushing forward, knocking the projectiles and swinging his body as he swung a left hook. He was probing. She flitted backward, dodging from side to side as he tried to learn her rhythm. It was a little insulting. They had fought half a dozen times. Then again, Peregrine had made the fight two on one.

  “Not bad,” Obsidian growled. “But I must say, when it comes to fighting, compared to Peregrine you don’t have the same edge!” He said, as a glancing blow sliced past the layers of armor and left a thin gash in her shoulder.

  Gizelle rolled to the side and jumped back, grabbing onto the wall and skittering up back into the rafters.

  “The cameras are still running,” Obsidian yelled up. “And if this is what counts for justice, Mesa City is in quite the conundrum.”

  The pain in her shoulder barely registered. Tom had taught Gizelle to block out pain, block out fear. But you can only block out the core of emotions before they burrow a hole in you and leave you hollow. She was never going to be Tom. She was going to always be afraid and unsure. It was a mistake to think she was ever going to be different. How can a predator hunt when they think like prey?

  The thought struck a note.

  “If you don’t come down, I’ll have all my followers start dispatching the hostages. I don’t want to, but we can’t leave our audience waiting. We have to think of the ratings,” he said, laughter tinging his voice.

  He was enjoying this. Not for too much longer.

  Gizelle leaped down in front of the cameras, making sure their red lights were still on. She wanted the city to watch.

  “I must say, I’m flattered you finally decided you needed help for me. Even when you and Peregrine fought, you tried to do it alone. Makes a girl feel special.”

  Struggling for self-control, Obsidian spoke through clenched teeth. “You were never on his level, and you certainly aren’t on mine. I needed them to drag you out of your hole, nothing more.”

  “I’m sure they appreciate that,” Gizelle said, pointing again at the camera.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Obsidian said, the spikes pouring out of him until he was completely covered in them so much, they muffled his voice. “I won’t need a second chance to deal with you. And once I win, they won’t care.”

  Gizelle moved left and right, letting Obsidian swing wildly, letting him get so close and miss her by a hair’s breadth. Pushing hard, he slammed her into the wall. The armor of her suit started to come off in layers, the pace quickening.

  Gizelle’s ear piece crackled to life. “Uhh, Giz, I think you may want to start having a plan and stuff.”

  “Not yet,” Gizelle said. She almost had him where she wanted him. Even through the dull ache of her arms and stomach, and the ringing in her head, she understood Obsidian and what bait she needed. Because underneath his bravado was fear; a fear they were on two sides of.

  As her suit’s underlying metal fiber armor started to snap, the wires screeching as they broke apart, she saw a few of the spikes fall away, exposing Obsidian’s grinning face. He was about to monologue. They always did. Gizelle pretended to weakly reach out in vain for help, caressing her opponent’s face as he dragged her closer.

  Then she fired a single talon inside his armor. The tiny piece of metal ricocheted and rebounded making Obsidian convulse. He dropped Gizelle as this spikes went haywire, sliding up and down like a seismometer during an earthquake.

  Then he went stiff, his face a mask of blood as he glared at her. “You…” he said before collapsing.

  Moving closer Gizelle inspected him. He was breathing. Good. It was a gamble, a risk she hadn’t wanted to pull, and one Peregrine would never have allowed, but this was a brave new world and she had needed to send a message.

  Turning around and facing the camera, she decided to add a verbal one. “To all the Sids. You’ve got a five minute head start. Go.”

  Leaping up and out of the building, flying in the night air, Gizelle watched below and saw the darkened alleys and decayed buildings where scared criminals could hide. Where she wanted to hide.

  She grinned despite the pain and the weariness. The Sids were still out there with hostages, but it was alright. The night wasn’t over.

  And the hunt was on.

  Peregrine’s statue glared down at Cactus Park in a way Gizelle was sure her former mentor would have approved of. Even six months removed, flowers were plastered the base along with beautiful letters and cameras made sure to keep the Sids and other thugs from trying to vandalize the statue.

  Not that there had been many sightings of either.

  Gizelle smiled from her hidden spot in the trees. It had taken her two days to get all of the Sids, but by the end of it (and a good eighteen hours of sleep) she had emerged from it with positive attention and a bunch of scammy merch from hustlers. Life moved on with no differences.

  Well, a few. Gizelle had stopped by Tom’s statue during its unveiling in civilian form and finally allowed herself to cry. As long as it isn’t in uniform, Tom had used to say. Once she finished coming up with Tom’s cover story of dying from complications a few months after the accident (to make sure his death didn’t line up with Peregrine’s) it closed that chapter.

  And then there was the crime rate. With Obsidian’s fall from grace most of the Sids had walked away. Having video archived footage of their ‘hero’ gett
ing beaten by a (former) sidekick was too much. Problem was they didn’t want to stop being criminals. Gizelle glanced under the tree, confirming the young men beneath it were still tied up, their eyes wide with fear.

  Then, taking a second to admire her handiwork, she took two steps and leapt into the night air.

  <<<<>>>>

  A Word From Ben Mason

  It all started with superheroes. Reading about Green Lantern oaths and whoever was worthy of wielding Thor's hammer made a deep impression on me.

  After reading a ton of comic books and fantasy, I decided to try my hand at writing about the things I love (honor, oaths, and magic) for people who want to read fast, fun fantasy. "Fantasy on the run. Epic Fantasy for Busy Readers."

  If you want to read more of my super stories, I've written two novels, the first being Gravitas and the second being Storm Girl.

  You can also visit my website here.

  Law: Three

  BY ROB EDWARDS

  The latch on the skylight, slick with my blood, slipped through my fingers. A wave of searing pain burst across my stomach, and I fell, unable to stay airborne. I rolled over on the roof tiles and landed flat on my back. Agony cut into my side with each ragged breath.

  I reached back above my head and fumbled blindly for the latch again. My fingertips brushed its hard edge. I squeezed my eyes shut, tried to block out the pain, ignoring the explosions of black and red inside my eyelids.

  Focus. Focus.

  I twisted my wrist, but again, the latch slipped away from me.