Society of Heroes with Indeterminate Talent

by Sebastian H. Alive

  "We make the switch on three." he said. "One, two…,"

  "My lord, this alleyway stinks of piss." said a voice entering the alleyway from behind the buyer.

  The dealers head snapped up in alarm as a man dressed in the black suit carrying a clipboard paused and stared at the brick walls of the narrow passageway. Behind him was another man dressed in a multi-colored tight lycra sequined suit wearing a blue and silver half mask.

  "This is a public health disaster," muttered the man in the suit looking around in disgust. "I mean look at the place. Walls covered in graffiti, rubbish all over the place and just look at all the used needles on the ground. Haven't you people ever heard of a needle exchange program? When I say drug people, I am of course generalizing you drug people as you people, just to clear that one up."

  "You set me up!" hissed the dealer to the startled buyer.

  "No you set me up!" yelled the buyer spinning around.

  "Relax gentlemen, my name is Agent Two and I represent S.H.I.T. My colleague behind goes by the name of Captain Cognitive and our aim is to target and eradicate London crime. I must say your operation is very cliché. Dark alley, briefcase full of cash, a brick of Heroin, four beefy men, paranoid looking buyer with obvious drug-dependency and a dealer with a cockney accent and a suspicious outline in his leather jacket. Don’t pretend like nothing's happening here because we're here to put a stop to it. Isn't that right Captain Cognitive?"

  The superhero ran his tongue over his lips and blinked several times with his head tilted to the side as he gazed at the package of Heroin.

  Agent Two looked over his shoulder at his glazed eyes and sighed heavily.

  "Captain Cognitive, just out of curiosity, and going purely on instinct and judging by your detached stare, do you have a previous addiction you really ought to have shared with the agency before going on this mission?"

  "Huh?"

  "Are you hiding a condition?"

  "I'm on a Methadone program," admitted Captain Cognitive. "I turned my life around and I'm like a new person. I'm normal now…and so happy to be free."

  Agent Two shook his head and looked at the dealer and the buyer.

  "Sorry about this, can I just have a moment with my colleague. It will literally be a few seconds and then we'll get back to what we were doing."

  "Sure, go ahead." said the dealer.

  "Thank you." said Agent Two leaning in close to Captain Cognitive. "This is quite embarrassing for me right now, Arthur. It just makes us look unprofessional. When it stated drug history on the application form you are encouraged to tell the truth you know?"

  "But I'm clean."

  "All the same Arthur, when we get back to headquarters I'm going to get you drug tested. Are you good to go?"

  "I'm good."

  "Really, I need you to be honest with me because I need your help?"

  "I can do this." said Captain Cognitive with determination. "I want this superhero job more than I want that intense euphoric rush surging through my body making me feel like I'm floating on top of the world on a cloud of warm sunshine and happiness."

  "That’s good to know." replied Agent Two a little unsure before turning back to the six men in the alleyway. "Right gentlemen, back to our little problem right here."

  "Is it good H?" called out Captain Cognitive over the agents shoulder.

  "Best high ever," answered the dealer. "Top of the line stuff."

  "Can the drug dealer and the reformed drug addict please stop discussing the quality of the produce please?" said Agent Two in exasperation.

  "So what happens now?" asked the dealer nervously. "Are you going to call the police or something?"

  "Pointless. You go to the police, get arrested, might serve some time, then eventually get released and the whole cycle continues. No, I'm going to unleash Captain Cognitive on you all and his superpowers will transform your cognitive thinking and conscious reasoning. This single action will have far greater consequences and will cause a ripple effect through your entire drug network. It will spread like an infection, unceasing and unending until your supply and demand operation exists no more. Over to you Captain Cognitive." said Agent Two stepping to the side in dramatic fashion.

  The dealer and the buyer looked up nervously at the superhero who was staring fixedly at the package of Heroin in the dealer's hand.

  They blinked a few times as the silence descended on the alleyway until Agent Two smiled through gritted teeth and aimed an elbow at Captain Cognitive ribs.

  "Huh? What?" said the superhero snapping out of his trance.

  "You were zoning out again." hissed the agent. "We really need to avoid those awkward moments of silence."

  "Research shows that silence becomes awkward after approximately four seconds." said the dealer interrupting.

  "Thank you Mr. Drug dealer," snapped Agent Two. "Now in your own time Captain Cognitive release your super powers."

  "Right you are." he said raising his hands to his head and pressing his index fingers and thumbs to his temple, before narrowing his eyes in concentration.

  Agent Two crossed his arms, smiled and nodded in satisfaction as Captain Cognitive projected his powers on the six men stood in the alleyway. He carried on nodding for awhile until his smile faded and he looked back at the superhero with an impatient look on his face.

  "Is this a slow build-up?" he asked.

  "Just working my way in." said Captain Cognitive.

  "Something very powerful will happen soon." remarked the agent, turning back to the six men.

  "Is it like a form of ray or wave?" asked the buyer.

  "More like an indoctrination process." answered Captain Cognitive.

  "Will it take long, just that I've got to get this stuff home and cut?"

  "Any second now."

  Suddenly the dealer looked down at the brick of Heroin in his hand and a single tear formed at the corner of his eye.

  "This is wrong?" he whispered.

  "What was that?" asked Agent Two cupping his ear.

  "I said this is wrong," moaned the dealer. "It's unlawful, dangerous and unregulated and I can't sell it in good conscience."

  "You're right," said the buyer with a mortified look on his face. "What we're doing has to stop. We're distributing an addictive substance that could radically deteriorate the quality of life of our fellow humans, and I find it deeply offensive."

  "I can't believe I was about to sell you this bad batch of Heroin laced with opioid painkiller Fentanyl. I'm disgusted with myself. Just look at what we're doing to society."

  "We need to change." said the buyer in earnest.

  "I'm going to get a real job and pay my taxes." sobbed the dealer.

  "I want a cuddle." cried Barry the burly body-guard opening out his arms.

  "Here take it. I don’t want it." cried the dealer offering the package of Heroin to Agent Two.

  Agent Two stepped forward and took the drugs.

  "Take the money too! Donate it to a charity." said the buyer thrusting out the battered briefcase which the agent took with his spare hand.

  "Group hug guys?" asked the dealer biting his bottom lip. "Come on lets hug it out."

  The six men gathered together in a huddle with the arms around each other's shoulders as Agent Two and Captain Cognitive watched on.

  "Shall we leave them to it?" asked the superhero. "I'm getting a little creeped out right about now."

  "Come on." said Agent Two. "Our job here is done."

  "Do you want me to take the drugs to the evidence department?"

  "I think I'll hold onto it. It's for the best."

  10.

  S.H.I.T headquarters (The praise)

  “Agents, could you please step into my office?" said the cheerful voice from beyond the thick mahogany door.

  Agent One glanced across to Agent Two nervously with a puzzled look on his face.

  "He sounds almost pleasant today." he whispered.

  "Something's wrong, something's very wrong.
" muttered Agent Two.

  "This could be some kind of reverse psychology. You go first."

  “No, you go first.”

  "But I'm confused by his happiness. It's irrational."

  "There's a sub-plot developing, I can feel it." mused Agent Two tapping his chin thoughtfully.

  "It's like the happiness a Boa-constrictor feels before detaching its lower jaw and devouring the two young rabbits." murmured Agent One looking towards the door handle.

  "Come on!" growled the General. "I can't keep this smile up for much longer."

  Agent Two swallowed hard and reached for the door handle and opened it before hesitantly moving into the office where the General was sat perched on the edge of his desk with a broad smile on his usually angry and contorted face.

  "How are my two favorite agents today?"

  "Is everything okay, sir?" asked Agent One standing to attention.

  "At ease agents, of course it is. I'm a firm believer in some well deserved praise when its due, and judging by my latest reports you two agents have turned in some above average work for a change. You did some good work out there boys, so keep it up."

  The General ran a finger over his moustache smoothing it down before holding out his arms.

  "Would you help me down? I've been stuck up here for ages on this desk."

  Agent Two darted forward and gently lowered the General to the carpet who stood there with his hands planted on his hips eyeing them and still smiling.

  "There you go, sir."

  "Never be afraid to ask for help," remarked the General. "I think my desk is about six inches too tall."

  "Why don’t you get a smaller desk, sir?" asked Agent One instantly regretting the words as they left his mouth.

  The smile faltered on the General's face, briefly returned for a fleeting second trying to reassert itself, and then it vanished completely.

  "Do you not think I'm ready for a full-sized desk like normal people?"

  "Erm…no, sir I just meant…"

  "Should I get a midget desk for pocket sized people? Would that make you happy?" barked the General.

  "No, sir."

  "How about a little midget push-along scooter so I can get around my office quicker?"

  "I think the wheels would get caught in the carpet sir such is the depth of the piles and plushness of the finish."

  The General grunted and cast a look to the carpet and nodded his head.

  "It is delightfully luxurious, isn’t it?"

  "I may never see another carpet looking as good, sir."

  With his anger fading the General gave a half-smile then looked up at Agent One.

  "You helped stop an Islamist suicide bomber on a plane full of innocent passengers and in doing so saved the lives of four hundred and thirty four passengers. It was an amazing feat of heroic bravery and the agency is proud of your actions. Remind me, what did you do again, Agent Two?"

  "I caught a dog walker letting his animal foul the park."

  "Right…" said the General lapsing into silence.

  "We traced the DNA of the foul to the DNA of the dog in question sir and received a positive match and the offender was cautioned."

  "I'm struggling to draw a comparison, agent. Was the animal wearing a bomb by any chance?"

  "No sir but it was a rather large turd and a young child could have left their indent in it."

  "Commendable for sure, but not quite the same magnitude is it, Agent Two?"

  "No, sir but the grass is a cleaner place and a walk in the park is a more pleasant experience for it."

  "Then well done, agent. Just one other thing, I've received some complaints from parents about some kind of tandem free-falling flight with one of our superheroes and the children from BA Flight seven-six-five. Plus, I got a strongly-worded fax from the British Obesity Society not happy about refusing fat children. Is there any truth in that?"

  "Yes sir," said Agent One. "We promised the smaller children as a treat that Captain Aeroacrophobia would fly them around for being so brave on the plane. It was safe and no previous flying experience was necessary."

  "Your compassion almost brings me to tears Agent One, but still, one hundred feet? Someone could have gotten hurt."

  "It was more like one thousand feet, sir."

  "Well that's all right then. Did they enjoy it?"

  "No sir, they all but one shit themselves."

  "Oh," said the General looking disappointed. "Did the one that didn’t shit them self enjoy it?"

  "No sir, he fainted."

  "Excellent, now back in the field agents and get cleaning up the streets of London."

  "Sir." they said in unison.

  11.

  The no-fly zone at Trafalgar square

  “Hello son.”

  The youth in the baseball cap kneeling at the base of Nelson's column with the spray canister in his hand turned with a startled look on his face and stared back at the man in the black suit.

  “Who the f**k are you?” he asked with a sneer on his face before shifting his eyes to the oddly dressed man wearing the bird outfit with feathers stuck randomly all over his body and a tailfin that looked like it was fastened with a safety pin. “And who the f**k is that?”

  “My name is Agent One and I work for S.H.I.T and this is my colleague Birdman.”

  “He looks like a f*****g queer.”

  Agent One looked over his shoulder at the small portly frame of Birdman who stood there scratching his backside while his delightful comb-over ruffled gently in the slight breeze.

  “When you say queer, do you mean as in strange or peculiar?”

  “No, he’s a fat f*****g queer faggot muncher,” spat the youth. “And he has a f*****g faggoty comb-over.”

  “I…I actually love my comb-over,” sniffed Birdman gently patting his hair with affection. “I think it looks rather good.”

  “You f**kwit.” snorted the youth.

  “What? Comb-over’s are making a comeback.” mumbled Birdman defensively.

  “Admitting you love the comb-over is a little embarrassing, Geoffrey.” whispered Agent One behind the back of his hand.

  “Say, are you two anal-grinders here to arrest me?”

  “We’re not with the police.” said Agent One. “May I just add your choice of language is quite extraordinary, young man.”

  “So you’re not with the f*****g rozzers then? he asked suspiciously.

  “No.”

  “Then f**k off.” said the youth shaking the spray can and turning back to the monument.

  Agent One cleared his throat impatiently as the youth paused with the nozzle of his spray paint hovering over the square granite pedestal.

  “You f*****s still here?” he asked without looking around.

  “Well we couldn’t help but notice from afar that you intend to graffiti that commemorative statue.”

  “You two f*****g butt-pirates have been staring at my ass, haven’t you bunch of fudge packers?”

  “Can I just say that thing you’ve got going on with your jeans hanging around your ankles was originally a prison thing to signify that you were another man’s bitch and sagged that way to ensure easier access for their master to pull their pants down.”

  “You calling me a queer?” screeched the youth spinning around.

  “I’m calling you nothing of the sort young man, all I’m saying is that we were watching you about to deface and vandalize that statue of Admiral Horatio Nelson.”

  “Who?” asked the youth squinting up at the statue.

  “Admiral Horatio Nelson, the Viscount and Baron of the Nile, and Duke of Bronte.”

  “Who the f**k?” asked the youth again, still squinting up at the statue.

  “He was a great man, a charismatic leader who died at the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805. Those four bronze panels which you’re intending to vandalize symbolize Nelson's victories at the Battles of Cape St Vincent, Nile, Copenhagen and Trafalgar.”

  “So f*****g what?” spat the you
th. “I’m just gonna’ tag him.”

  “And what is your tag name?” asked

  “Death Blood Bastard.” answered the youth proudly.

  “Slightly offensive, a touch anti-social and a little disturbing don’t you think?”

  “It’s my artist's name.”

  “A very nice name it is too. Now I know a graffiti writer feels the need to get his or her personalized signature out there but what you’re planning to do on this landmark is a criminal offence. You could face a fine or imprisonment if convicted in court.”

  “Do I look f*****g bothered?”

  “Rather surprisingly, no. Did you know that tagging is considered by many to be a "gateway crime," and can lead to more serious or dangerous crimes such as drug and alcohol use?”

  “I already do drugs and alcohol.”

  “I am truly surprised by that revelation.” remarked Agent One, planting his hands on his hips and glaring at the youth with mock surprise. “But still, we can’t allow you to graffiti this monument.”

  “Are you going to stop me like?”

  “No, but he is.” said Agent One pointing at Birdman who was busy straightening his hair with a hand-mirror.

  “Your boyfriend?”

  “Geoffrey, stop adjusting your hair.” hissed Agent One through gritted teeth.

  Birdman gave it one final pat then wrinkled his thin handlebar moustache and strode forward.

  “You’re not going to bum me are you, because I’ve got a knife.” snarled the youth.

  “Have you heard of Genesis 19:24 from the Bible?” asked Birdman crossing his arms.

  “Just what the f**k are you wearing? Are you a f*****g chicken or something?”

  “Pigeon actually,” replied Birdman smartly. “So, have you heard of Genesis 19:24 from the Bible?”

  “F**k no.”

  “It reads something like this. The Lord rained down fire and burning Sulphur from the sky upon the wicked. So hand over the spray canister otherwise I will smote you from the heavens with a cloud of feathered vengeance.”

  “What the f**k are you talking about? In fact, forget this s**t.” spat the youth turning back around and aiming the spray can at the base of the monument.