Society of Heroes with Indeterminate Talent

by Sebastian H. Alive

  "She's a patient of mine," said the man slipping the money into his jeans. "It's for medicinal purposes as the old dear has rheumatoid arthritis."

  "But what you are doing is illegal!" exclaimed Agent Two. "It's unregulated and unlicensed and against the law."

  "I'm offering a service," argued the drug dealer. "Tell me, is what I do any different to what that man in the burger van does over there selling fast fatty food to the school children at lunchtime?"

  "Well, yes. That mobile catering service has a permit, a street trading license issued by the council, a hygiene certificate and fills in a tax return and sells legal produce. Are you seriously comparing the two?"

  "Pretty much. I'm a domestic mobile pharmaceutical supplier."

  "They're nothing like the same and we're here to protect the public against people like you."

  "Who's going to stop me?" asked the drug pusher with a sardonic smile playing about his lips.

  "We are."

  "You and that freak behind you fondling the two goats he's sat on?"

  Agent Two closed his eyes momentarily and his shoulders slumped in resignation.

  "Simon, I'm going to turn around in a second and I don’t want to see you touching the farm animals inappropriately. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, agent."

  He turned around and stared at Goatsrider who was sat there smiling with his arms crossed over his chest looking almost angelic in his innocence.

  "Look Simon, this street criminal won't take us seriously if you keep on touching the goats while we're in the process of apprehending him. Can you please refrain from any sexual activity?"

  "But my girls are very aroused."

  "What is he exactly?" asked the drug pusher.

  "He's supposed to be a superhero, a fighter of crime and defender of the weak." explained the agent without much conviction.

  "He looks like a man in a leather jacket straddling two goats."

  "I can see how you could come to that realization." said Agent Two.

  "I am Goatsrider.” boomed the superhero.

  "He also has what appears to be a huge erection in his pants."

  "I can also see how you could come to that realization." said Agent Two.

  "I am Goatsrider.”

  "That is really, really annoying, Simon."

  "So, if he's a superhero, what are his superhero powers?" asked the drug pusher.

  "I'm not actually quite sure," muttered Agent Two turning to face Goatsrider. "What are your superpowers, Simon?"

  "My babies have super-soft and desirable wool used in many garments when harvested."

  "Not strictly a superpower though is it, Simon?"

  "They can eat shrubs and grass very quickly."

  "Quite common in goats I've heard." said Agent Two scratching his chin.

  "Goat milk has a higher butterfat content than cow's milk." offered Goatsrider.

  "Yes, still not a superpower though Simon, if we were just to focus on what a superpower is."

  "Goat poo makes great manure."

  "I feel we're going off topic now, Simon."

  "They have the athletic ability of a deer."

  "Again, not a super power in the strictest sense of the word, but I think we'll leave that topic alone for now."

  "They have no upper teeth and instead have a tough toothless soft pad and can suck very hard."

  "That's more than enough, Simon. Thank you."

  Suddenly Agent Two heard the sound of running footsteps and turned to see the drug pusher sprinting up the street away from them throwing quick glances over his shoulder as he did so.

  "Stop him!" cried the agent.

  "Leave it to me, agent." said Goatsrider confidently.

  The superhero stepped off the backs of the goats and raised a hand towards the fleeing man and looked down at the animals.

  "Take him down," he commanded in a deep voice. "Take him down hard!"

  The goats looked up and narrowed their eyes to small slits before bounding off after the escaping drug pusher. The man gave a terrified yelp as he threw another look over his shoulder as Goatsrider moved to stand beside the agent and watch the chase.

  "I would say his sprint speed average is around twelve miles per hour, maybe a little less." commented Agent Two. "How fast can your goats go?"

  "My lovers can reach speeds of fifteen miles per hour."

  The agent watched in fascination as the goats closed down on the escapee and nipped at his ankles. The man cried out and kicked out with his leg at one of the animals but the other began gnawing on his leg. Screaming out in pain and losing his balance the drug pusher fell to the ground heavily and thrashed around on the floor as the goats clamped their mouths on his flailing legs.

  "Remarkable really," said the agent nodding his head in appreciation. "Sort of like police attack dogs in goat form."

  "They are trained to grab hold and bring down an assailant until he gives up." said Goatsrider proudly.

  "Do they sit, stay, down, heel, and recall like a police dog?"

  "They sure do."

  "Incredible." whispered Agent Two.

  "Get them off me!" yelled the drug pusher guarding his face with his forearms.

  "Do you give them treats or anything as a reward?"

  "We make sweet love under the moonlight." replied Goatsrider dreamily.

  "We really need to work on that, seriously Simon." said the agent grimacing.

  20.

  The end is just the beginning

  "Enter!" barked the voice of the General from beyond the thick mahogany door.

  Agent One looked across to Agent Two and offered a supportive smile.

  “We can do this.” he said taking a deep breath and gritting his teeth as he reached for the door handle with his heart pounding in his chest.

  “Hang on,” cautioned Agent Two. “He's naked behind that door, isn't he?”

  “I won’t lie to you, agent. Inside that room awaits a world of strange and twisted homoerotism.”

  “But I don’t think I can take any more man-touching in there!”

  “You need to be strong, agent. We need to make sure we are completely honest so we don't lead him on. Let’s tell the General he has secured a warm seat in the “friend zone” and that’s the way we want to keep it. Make it clear that we want him to stop texting and calling and then quickly wrap up the conversation with a firm handshake and get the hell out of there.”

  “That sounds like a plan.” said Agent Two nodding his head in understanding. “Wait! He texts and calls you?”

  “Uhm…I was speaking metaphorically.”

  “So, you got my back and everything, right?”

  “I've got to be frank – I'm concerned about what may happen in that room,” replied Agent One. “Things could turn real nasty so if it does, you better run like hell.”

  “You would turn your back on me, man?” whispered Agent Two. “Abandon your friend to face the humiliation alone?”

  “In a heartbeat, agent. Now stay focused and be on guard.”

  “Get your lazy, worthless collective asses in my office right now!” roared the voice of the General.

  Agent One sighed loudly, opened the door and they both stepped into the General's office onto the thick plush blue carpet. Inside the room the General was busy clearing items off his desk and putting them neatly into a big, clear, plastic box.

  He grunted some kind of acknowledgement to them and smoothed down his pencil thin moustache, before glaring at them with his piercing storm grey eyes.

  “They’re shutting us down, boys!” he said with a hint of annoyance and sadness in his voice.

  “Sir?” said Agent One raising his eyes quizzically.

  “Politics, statistics and damn budget cuts,” spat the General. “Our status is no longer recognized. The government has said that they remain focused on fighting crime in the London area and are discussing a new approach to tackling the issues in the capital.”

  “B-but they can't
close down the unit, sir?” stammered Agent two.

  “Believe it, boys. I have an order to close this place down in ten days. It doesn’t matter that we’ve reduced the crime rate in London, engaged with high profile targets or hunted down terrorist cells. They say our methods are unorthodox, but I say when conventional methods of crime fighting fail then we should be as unorthodox as the criminals themselves.”

  With a dejected sigh the General moved around his desk and pulled out his chair and hopped onto it with a glum expression on his face.

  “Take a seat, agents.” he ordered.

  They both pulled up chairs and sat facing the General in stunned silence.

  “Unorthodox!” he muttered. “You know what they said? They said they had serious concerns over our approach to fighting crime, said it was unconstitutional and that they could no longer provide the funds to keep this operation running. One of our wealthiest stakeholders, a London banker, said we shot his dog in the park and then he was held captive in his own house for days by one of our own agents. Can you believe that?”

  “Preposterous,” cried Agent Two a little louder than he’d intended. “What an outrageous claim, sir.”

  “That’s exactly what I said,” grumbled the General. “Sure, we carried out a chemical analysis on the gunshot residue and a trajectory reconstruction and we matched it back through ballistics to one of our own firearms, but who listens to these nutcases anyway?”

  “Scandalous.” said Agent Two in outrage.

  “Exactly my thoughts, agent. You know, they told me that four of our special agents were aiding a homeless man on the streets and begging for money? They didn’t approve and said it brought the agencies reputation into disrepute.”

  “What a disgraceful and deplorable accusation to make, sir.” gasped Agent One.

  “I happen to think helping the suffering masses and the neediest in the community is an honorable thing to do.”

  “That was my idea, sir.” said Agent One proudly.

  “I know we’re not perfect agents, and far from it. You know we caught Captain Cognitive in the evidence department passed out?”

  “He relapsed?” groaned Agent Two. “I never saw that coming.”

  “At least the drugs are off the streets. That man can absorb copious amounts of confiscated drugs. But on a positive side it saves on storage costs and cuts the fuel bill on the secure incinerator. You know I set this agency up from the ground up, spent my time selecting only the best to work with me on this pioneering program with only one view in mind, and that was to fight for people who couldn't fight for themselves. I specifically designed this agency to detach itself from mainstream crime fighting units and battle crime in a manner the criminals wouldn’t see coming. Some of you get that, some do not. But it still wasn’t enough even though we’ve brought down some of London’s biggest and the baddest, and now it’s over for S.H.I.T.”

  “What are you going to do, sir?” asked Agent One.

  “Crime fighters fight crime and that’s exactly what I’m going to do, agents. It’s in the blood. I’m going to set up my own independent agency as a contractor. I would be starting out small, working from home all by myself all lonely….” said the General, trailing off the sentence and staring at Agent One forlornly.

  Agent One coughed loudly into his hand, breaking his daze and glanced at Agent Two with a worried expression on his face.

  “Sorry boys, where was I? Oh yes, I’m starting my own agency. It’s obviously a large investment but S.H.I.T has given me an excellent severance package with added incentives for signing a non-disclosure agreement, which just so happens to include one shiny Bugatti Veyron. I've got big plans for this agency, big plans I say and I’ve even already thought of a name for it!”

  “What is it, sir?” asked Agent Two.

  “The agency is called R.A.S.H.”

  “Rash, sir?”

  “Yes, Rent.A.Super.Hero. Brilliant isn’t it? Do you want to know what the best thing is?”

  “Sir?” they called out in unison.

  “I want you two agents to come work for me.”

  Both agents shuddered as the General grinned and looked between them both rapidly gauging their response.

  “I’m going to get leaflets printed out and business cards. I’ve even already thought up a company motto. Want to hear it?”

  “Sir.”

  “It’s goes a little something like this,” said the General excitedly. “Today, not wanted by the government, we survive as soldiers of crime fighting fortune. If you have a problem…if no one else can help…and if you can find them…maybe you can hire…The R.A.S.H team. What do you think?”

  “It sounds strangely familiar, sir.”

  “You know what, you boys don’t know this, but I have a crime fighting alter-ego so I may even dust off the old superhero costume myself and get stuck into the action.”

  “You were a crime fighter, sir?” asked Agent One incredulously.

  “Back in the day, I was called the White Dolphin. I was so agile and slippery,” he said staring deeply into Agent One’s eyes. “So ridiculously fast and agile, and very, very bendy.”

  Both agents shuddered once again and this time Agent One gagged a little.

  “So, how about it, boys? Will you come work for me and continue your good work?”

  “Uhm…can we get back to you, sir?”

  “I’ll give you a 50% pay rise, match your current pension contributions, give you travel mile vouchers, gym membership for life, performance related incentives and drop another ten grand in your bank accounts as a golden hello. How’s that, boys?”

  “It would be our honor to work with you, sir.” they cried out in tandem.

  “Good, glad to have you both on board, agents.” said the General extending his hand.

  Both agents took turns pumping his hand a couple of times before releasing it and wiping their palms on their trousers.

  “Does my skin feel soft?”

  “Feels like raw egg whites, sir.” replied Agent One with a grimace.

  “It’s a genetic gift,” admitted the General, beginning to place more items into the big, clear, plastic box on his desk.

  Agent Two leant forward out of interest and picked up a chain with large black beads on it that the General was just about to pack away into the box.

  “Is this a weapon, sir? Are the balls some kind of explosive device?”

  “No agent, they’re anal beads.”

  “Oh!” replied Agent Two letting the beads drop from his fingers.

  “That will be all, agents. For now.”

  The end