It’s him, he thought. He’s come for me again. God, no. The creature that called himself Doll Face had visited his cell twice more since that first terrible meeting. Each time he’d yammer his psychotic ramblings, occasionally poking Sam with the point of a kitchen knife. And it only got worse from there.
The footsteps drew closer, and Sam shrank down on his mattress, knowing it wouldn’t do him any good. There was no escape from the pain and the fear and the sickness.
He couldn’t explain what Doll Face did to him. God, he didn’t even want to think about it, but it wouldn’t leave him alone. It never stopped haunting him. When the strings touched his mind, he was nothing but Doll Face’s plaything. The creature probed his mind, testing things, searching. Every now and then a rush of agony would go through him, and some new energy would bloom inside him for a moment before being locked away. He felt like Doll Face was preparing his mind for something, sweeping away everything that made him who he was and laying down new foundations. He couldn’t explain it. All he knew was that there was nothing he could hide from Doll Face.
The creature showed him things, showed him what he’d done to others. The children he’d made eat their own faces. The games he played, the people he’d forced to hunt each other through twisted mazes, like rats armed with daggers. And it wasn’t just visions, either. He could taste the blood in his mouth. He could smell the rancid flesh, the burning organs, feel the texture of the maggots as they crawled into his eyes. And above it all was the giggling.
It wasn’t just Doll Face’s crimes he saw, either. Through the hazy, twisted mind of the creature he saw huge explosions that obliterated hundreds of thousands of lives in an instant. He saw a man with metal skin punch a hole through a soldier. In another vision, a man in a grey costume passed through a wall like a ghost and slit someone’s throat with a long silver dagger. He saw men in blue tunics raping women in cells not unlike his own. He felt the loneliness of the world dripping through him. And he saw his father—he knew it was him instinctively—standing over bodies snapped clean in two.
He saw fear, and it smelled like blood.
I’m going to break, he knew. The hallucinations didn’t let up now. He’d wake up with a hundred cockroaches burrowing into his arms, but when he tried to pick them out, they crumbled to dust and vanished. His arms and legs were streaked with blood and dying flesh where he scratched in his sleep.
He was going to break, and now Doll Face was coming again. His stomach heaved, and he lurched to the side and retched. The pitiful contents of his stomach spilled onto the concrete floor. His throat burned and his guts tried to force their way out through his eyes again, but only clear liquid came now.
The footsteps were right outside. But something was different about them. They didn’t sound the same. And there was no singing. It’s not him! It’s not Doll Face. His heart soared, and at the same time he had to blink back tears. Muscles trembling with fatigue, he pushed himself away from his vomit and tried to get to his feet.
There was a pause, and all he could hear was the rasp of his own breath. Did I imagine it? But then the lock clicked, and the door creaked open.
The man who slipped inside was no one he’d seen before. He was tall, with slicked-back dark hair. He wore no uniform, just jeans and a collared shirt.
Without speaking, the man placed the food tray he was carrying on the floor, glanced back out the door, then pulled it closed. He studied Sam, eyes sweeping up and down. Sam tried to hide the wounds on his arms and legs. The man’s eyes were warm. Sam could almost believe the man was concerned for him.
The man quickly crossed the distance between them. Suddenly nervous, Sam tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go. The man stopped and raised a hand, as if to show he meant no harm.
“I can’t stay long,” he said in a low voice. His accent was strange, but the words had a kind of quiet strength to them. “My name’s Paul. I’m a friend of your uncle’s.”
The words gripped his soul and tugged it out of the darkness. The torture, the horror, it was over. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d grabbed hold of the man’s shirt and started babbling. “You’ve come to get me out. We’ve got to go now, before Doll Face comes back. Please, we have to go.”
Gently but firmly, the man removed Sam’s hands from his uniform and directed him to sit on the mattress. Sam did so, forcing himself to hold his tongue. He couldn’t let anything sacrifice his chance at getting out of here. Not anything.
“We can’t leave,” the man said. “Not yet.”
The fragile hope shattered like glass. He bit back tears, but still they welled in his eyes.
Paul laid a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “It’s still too dangerous. We’d be shot thirty seconds after leaving this cell. I’m sorry.”
Sam picked at the mattress with broken, bloody nails and tried to hold himself together. I have to be strong. But he had no more strength left. Doll Face had taken it from him.
Paul gently took Sam’s arm and examined the scratches that ran across them. “God,” he said. “What have they done to you?”
Sam shivered. “I don’t know. I don’t know what they want with me.”
“You have to stay strong, Sam. Has Doll Face…has he done things to your head?”
The horror flashed through him again, while something black and damp gripped his heart. “Yes.” His voice was barely a whisper.
“What has he done?”
Sam swallowed. “He’s changing things around. Remaking them. And….”
And showing me things that were already there. That’s what scares you most, isn’t it?
Paul waited for a few moments, but Sam couldn’t finish the sentence. He pulled his knees up to his chest and tried to hold back the tears. “Why is he doing this?”
“I don’t know, Sam. I’m trying to find out. But I think someone wants something from you.”
“What could I have? I don’t know anything! I don’t understand.”
Paul said nothing for a moment. He rested his hand on Sam’s shoulder. The touch was comforting.
“Do you know about your father?” Paul said.
Sam shook his head. “Doll Face called him a wizard.”
A sad smile crossed the man’s face. “Not quite, but the idea’s there. Your father was the first of a new type of human. The first, and the most powerful. A superhero. He called himself Dr Atomic.”
Superhero? Dr Atomic? The words meant nothing to him. If his father was so important, why hadn’t his uncle ever told Sam about him? Did other people know about these things? Was that why his uncle didn’t let him visit the cities or speak to anyone?
“Your father wasn’t born as Dr Atomic,” Paul said. “He was a scientist. A physicist. Back then he was just Robert Oppenheimer. In the war…you know about the war?”
Sam nodded. “A little.” He’d heard it mentioned, and he knew about the Germans. He wasn’t sure why it happened, or when.
“Your father ran something called the Manhattan Project. It was a secret weapons program. But there was an accident at the labs.” He grimaced. “Not an accident, really. Some German spies attacked the Los Alamos facility. They detonated a bomb, and a lot of people died in the initial blast. But there was more. Some of the radioactive substances the scientists were using were released. In the hours following the attack, a lot of the survivors got sick. Some died. Your father, your uncle, and a few of the others were trapped in the rubble of the main facility for days. Everyone assumed they were dead. The base was miles from anywhere, and it took the military time to pick through the debris. The rescue teams were about to abandon all hope when a light began to glow through the cracks in the rubble. Your father burst out, completely unharmed. Your uncle too. They had changed.”
Changed? He still didn’t understand any of this.
Paul smiled and squeezed his shoulder again. “I don’t have time for the whole story right now. But your father became stronger. He developed powers, powers like
no other human had ever seen. He could tear the barrel off a German Tiger tank. Bullets barely grazed him, and he was quick enough to dodge anything big enough to do him damage. And he could fly, Sam.”
Fly? Was this man crazy? Sam studied his eyes, looking for a lie. Is it so impossible? a voice inside him said. You saw what Doll Face can do. You felt what he can do.
“If my dad was so strong, how’d he die?” Sam asked.
“Cancer,” the man said. “Even the greatest warriors can be crippled by disease.”
Sam ripped a patch of fluff from the hole in his mattress. If this man was telling the truth, it meant his uncle had lied to him, kept things from him. He had no right.
Paul leaned down in front of Sam, forcing him to meet his eyes. “I don’t have any proof to offer you, but you have to trust me. Your father was one of the most loved people on the planet. He was also one of the most hated. I think that’s part of why you’re here.”
Sam made himself meet the man’s stare. Trusting the wrong person could get him killed. But so could not trusting anyone. Finally, he nodded. “I believe you. Please, get me out of here.”
“I will. Soon. But I’m going to need your help.”
Sam frowned, fists tightening around the thin mattress. What was he supposed to do from in here?
Paul glanced at his watch, and his voice sped up. “Your father was the greatest superhero the world has ever seen. The radiation altered his DNA, gave him those powers. Somehow, the mutations seem to affect the germ line as well. They can be passed on to children. To you. Your uncle thinks you have powers.”
“No,” he said quickly, refusing to believe it, but a voice whispered inside him. The energy. You felt it.
“Yes,” Paul said. “You know it’s true. You’ve felt something before, haven’t you? If you want to get out of here, you have to learn to use your powers.”
Something deep in his guts quivered. He released the mattress and glanced down at his palms. “Teach me.”
“I can’t,” Paul said. “Even if I had powers myself, every person is different. But I’m told it first manifests during times of high emotion.”
He thought back to when the man attacked him on the boat, and the fight he had with his uncle, when he first sensed the energy. And again during Doll Face’s tortures.
Paul checked his watch again. “There is one thing I can offer that might help you. Your father once said that when he was trapped in the rubble at Los Alamos, growing delirious from thirst, a warmth began to form in his chest.” Paul touched himself just above his heart. “It was desire, Sam. He wasn’t ready to die. He wanted to see his wife—your mother—one more time. He couldn’t leave her alone. He was a brilliant man, your father. The world was at war, and he couldn’t leave his family to face it alone. He’d protect them, no matter what. Then something touched him, he said. It was the same energy that lived inside the weapon he was creating. It gave him strength. Your father drew the energy together and formed a little ball right here.” He touched his chest again. “Like an atom’s nucleus. Like the radioactive core of the atomic bomb. And then he wasn’t Robert Oppenheimer anymore. He was Dr Atomic.”
Sam couldn’t find the words to speak. Father. Dad. He wanted to talk to him. He needed to.
“I have to go,” Paul said.
Sam’s stomach went cold again. “No. Please.”
“I’m sorry, Sam.” The man stood and straightened his shirt. “I’ll be back for you. I promise.” He offered Sam a warm smile. “Find what drives you, Sam. Learn to use your power. Without it, there will be no escape from Doll Face.”
The cold chewed through Sam’s guts as he watched his only hope open the cell door. Freedom was so close. He could taste the air outside. He would have died just to breathe the fresh sea air again.
“Don’t let him break you,” Paul said.
The door swung slowly shut, and the sound of the lock clicking into place reverberated through Sam’s numb mind.
He was alone.
No. His uncle was out there. And if his uncle couldn’t save him, Sam would have to rescue himself. Just like his father had.
He closed his eyes and began to concentrate.
Morgan pushed the heavy metal lock back into place and peeled off the slick-haired wig. He brought his handkerchief to his face and wiped off the makeup that had concealed the pale patches on his skin. It was horrible stuff, slimy and thick. He hated disguises, but he had to see Sam for himself. He had to give the boy the push he needed.
His footsteps were loud in the narrow corridor. The boy was different than he expected. He undoubtedly resembled his father physically, but in temperament he was more like his uncle. More cautious, less charismatic. Though after what Doll Face has done to him, maybe that’s to be expected.
It had been a long night, so long it was nearly dawn. Between the attack on the TV station and his time as “Paul”, his head was pounding again. The flickering light overhead didn’t help. He should get a few hours sleep before morning. He’d been surprised today by the Carpenter’s interference. He had to be ready for the next phase. No mistakes, no false moves. And there was an important call he had to make when he woke up.
The light flicked off again. When it came back on, he wasn’t alone.
“Is the Pretty Man done, hmmm?” Doll Face darted out from the shadows, and Morgan recoiled. “Can Doll Face play?”
For a moment, he considered sending Doll Face away. The creature unnerved him. Morgan was playing a dangerous game, keeping Doll Face so close. If Morgan slipped, even for a moment, Doll Face could butcher him. Besides, Sam looked terrible. Maybe he should let the boy recover before inflicting this insane villain on him again.
What am I thinking? He had no time for conscience. This was the choice he’d made when he started this plan in motion. He knew it would hurt people. Are you growing soft, supervillain?
“He’s ready,” he said. He pulled a vial from his pocket and held it out. The grey tissue inside glistened in the light. “Bring him to the edge.”
“Doll Face wants to make the bad boy cut,” the creature whined.
“No. Soon.” He thrust the vial into Doll Face’s hands.
Doll Face’s eyes narrowed behind the eyeholes in his mask. A shiver ran down Morgan’s spine.
“Go,” Morgan said. “Do not disobey me.”
Doll Face cocked his head, and the light flickered again, casting the menacing false face into shadow. “It walks a fine line, yes it does,” he whispered. “Remember, Pretty Man, Doll Face is no puppet.” He giggled. “He is the puppet master.”
Doll Face giggled once more, then brushed past Morgan. He skipped down the corridor towards Sam’s room, humming a gleeful tune.
Morgan watched him go, feeling filthy where the creature had touched him. Pain, he thought. The world runs on it.
His dreams would be dark tonight.
16: A Family Matter
Kingfisher
Real name:
Jacques Rouze
Powers:
Flight, energy shield.
Notes:
Pioneered Skyra, the air-based martial art for flying metahumans, which includes both unarmed and weapon-based techniques. Founding member of the Light Brigade, a supergroup that patrolled the skies over Europe from 1949-1958. Following the signing of the Seoul Accord, Rouze accompanied the Alpha League to the lunar colony. Rouze has not returned to Earth since.
—Notes on selected metahumans [Entry #0098]
Niobe kicked the van’s dented bumper. “Bloody hell.”
Empty. Abandoned. They’d missed their chance; that son of a bitch Quanta had stuck his goddamned magic sword in the car and got away clean. They’d lost two hours fixing the damage after they limped off the highway.
The Carpenter sat on the back bumper inches from where she’d kicked, silhouetted by the open doors and the empty back, idly chewing on an apple he’d brought from the car. It infuriated her to see him so calm.
The trackin
g device she’d shot at the van during the chase had done its job. Trouble was, by the time they got to the underground parking lot, Quanta and his henchmen were long gone. The van was free of prints, free of everything. She’d even scoured the entire car park looking for something—a tyre tread mark, a cigarette butt, anything—but they had no luck. Story of my life.
“You look pleased with yourself,” she snapped at Solomon. She was being unfair, but she was frustrated. They’d been so close.
He shrugged and smiled below his half-mask. “I got to throw a tree at them. Been a while. Never gets old.”
She scowled. The tree had taken out one of the vans, but Met Div had rounded up the metas inside before she and the Carpenter could get them to talk. Now the villains would be locked up deep in the bowels of Met Div headquarters, and getting in again right now was out of the question. The cape coppers would be doing their best to make the bastards squeal about Quanta’s location, of course, but that wasn’t much use to her. The coppers weren’t exactly going to be forthcoming with anything they learned.
“Calm down, Spook,” the Carpenter said. He patted the bumper beside him. “Take a load off.”
She ignored him and continued to pace. She had to work out how this all fitted together. Quanta dressed like he was trying to sneak into a royal wedding, but there was ruthless logic behind those cold eyes. It didn’t make sense. His demands were pure insane supervillain, but her gut told her he was neither psychotic nor a psychopath. Even those dead eyes were an act; she saw that when he leapt onto their car. Then his eyes had blazed with excitement. And admiration.
Solomon continued to munch on his apple in silence. She gave the van another kick, half-hoping something useful would dislodge. All she got was a sore toe.
“If you’re going to sit there,” she said, “at least help me think.”
He took another bite of the apple. “All right,” he said with his mouth full. “How about the timing? It’s all wrong. Sam’s what, thirteen? If his dad really was Dr Atomic, the kid should be in his twenties.”
Don't Be a Hero: A Superhero Novel Page 18