Normalized (The Complete Quartet)

by David Bussell

  As I knelt by Gerry’s body the gunfire ringing in my ears gave way to a new sound.

  TICK TOCK TICK TOCK.

  I looked for the source, my eyes drifting to the Captain Might statue towering over the building’s entrance. I saw that its legs were strung with dynamite – dressed like a pair of lethal Christmas trees.

  TING.

  A bell rang, then a second later, flashpoint, and the room erupted like a firecracker in a beehive. The blast sent me through the air like a crash dummy then knocked my ass flat. My vision went fuzzy around the edges like a dream sequence from a telenovela and I saw fissures race along the statue’s ankles. I watched, horrified, as the effigy swayed and began to pitch in my direction (what was it with D’eath and blowing up statues anyway – anyone would think he’d been molested by one as a child). I hauled myself to my feet, staggering, still woozy from the eruption. The statue screeched like a cat being petted by Freddy Krueger and I ran for my life, glancing over my shoulder to see forty-feet of burnished steel murder bearing down on my head. Thankfully, I managed to tuck and roll in time to dodge the collapsing figure, which hit the ground with a sound like a fallen church bell. I’d escaped, just about, almost crushed to death by the weight of my own effigy. Thank God. There’s irony, then there’s Irony.

  May 20th

  Since the Mandroids arrived the air tastes tangy – charged with electrons – like the smell of the dodgems at Coney Island. We used to go to Coney as a kid – Mom and Dad, me and Birdy – one big happy family. Now look at us. Dad’s dead, Mom lives on her lonesome and me and Birdy have gone all to sh*t. Our next family Christmas card was going to be one major bummer.

  I had to find them and make things right. I figured with everything going on that Birdy would have gone to Mom, so I headed for her place. Getting there wasn’t easy – the Mandroid occupation was in full effect and Mom’s house was a good sixty blocks from my hideout and deep in the hot zone. Lucky for me, I was more than familiar with the City’s rooftops from all my years of flying over them, so I knew better than anyone how to use them to bypass the soldiers and blockades.

  Inside the house I found Mom, Birdy too, but I didn’t even get a chance to say hello before my welcome was interrupted by the high-pitched whine of a circular saw. A wheel of spinning teeth punctured Mom’s dining room wall, carving out an oval of brickwork, which collapsed to reveal my mortal enemy, Professor D’eath.

  D’eath stepped inside, saw the expression I was wearing and bit his lower lip. “I’m sorry, should I take off my shoes?” he asked, an impression of a photocopy of an apology.

  It was time for a fist party. Rushing D’eath was a reflex action, like pulling your hand off a hot kettle or mentally assessing the size of a nun’s breasts. Unfortunately, before I could close the distance, a Mandroid moved in and landed me with an anvil-like fist, swatting me aside like a shuttlecock.

  I rubbed my jaw and wobbled to my feet. “Fight me like a man, Professor.” I shouted. “Just you and me. No war machines, no borrowed super powers.”

  D’eath laughed. “My dear boy, talent ‘borrows,’ genius steals.”

  The Prof gave a nod and his Mandroid opened fire. I heard Mom scream and a tattoo of hot lead peppered my chest. The floor and the ceiling switched places and I was down.

  As I lay on the ground, fading, I imagined a GI offering Mom a salute and handing her a tightly folded American flag. The last thing I saw before the world went dark was D’eath’s Mandroid knocking Birdy unconscious then the three of them flicker and vanish.

  DRAMATIC PAUSE AS WE HOLD ON BLACK.

  I came around to the stench of cordite in my sinuses. I was rocking back and forth. It was Mom – she had me by the shoulders and she was shaking me like a dry martini.[109]

  “He took my baby boy!” Mom howled. “Promise me! Promise me you will bring back my baby boy!”

  The woman was having a full-on panic picnic.

  “Don’t mind me, Mom, I only took a minigun to the tits.”

  “Tsk. Do not be so melodramatic, child, you were hardly dead at all.”

  I saw Birdy’s mask lying on the dining room floor like a spent condom. What the hell was the Professor playing at, kidnapping my kid brother? Why didn’t he just put him up against the wall like Gerry if he wanted him dead... unless that’s not what he wanted at all. What if instead of executing Birdy he was planning on bringing him into the fold somehow? The way me and my brother have been going at it lately it would be just D’eath’s style to play us off against each other. Not that Birdy would ever fall for it. He might not be chairman of my fan club right now but he’s hardly about to join forces with my arch enemy just because I spent a lifetime stealing his thunder, cost him his job and the respect of millions, made moves on his girlfriend and—

  —holy sh*t, he’s flipped for sure.

  May 21st

  Something about Professor D’eath’s scheme didn’t add up, at least the way I’d been looking at it. I mean, why go around capturing prisoners and trying to make allies of people if you’re just going to build a giant cannon and genocide everyone? There had to be something more going on under the hood. Not that D’eath’s ever been one for losing sleep over the Geneva conventions, but still.

  I took to the streets in search of answers but I came back with diddly sh*t. There was nothing out there. No heroes, no villains – it’s like the city went from glorious Technicolor to an old silent movie. There was one thing that did stand out though – splashed across a Times Square billboard – graffiti spelling words twenty feet high:

  FIGHT TO THE D’EATH!

  Finally, a little chink of light in this drowning submarine. All this time I’d had it that it was just me versus D’eath, but those crudely painted words told me I wasn’t the only soldier fighting the war. I guess there’s a chance for us yet. So long as people haven’t completely given up hope, maybe planet Earth isn’t quite ready to disappear round the U-bend.

  May 22nd

  I’d arrived at a plan. It wasn’t a great plan, but in the absence of one of those, this was going to have to do.

  My thinking was that if supertypes were being spirited off by the Prof’s Mandroids there must be some place they were being taken to. Some kind of a holding tank, and it’d have to be big too, because the streets were barren and I hadn’t seen a flier in days. So where was that tank?

  The first part of my plan was to acquire a decoy. A mannequin would do, so I broke into Macy’s to get one. It wasn’t hard, some thoughtful looters had already done me the favor of busting a hole in the place, so I nipped in, grabbed what I needed and moseyed on out. After that I changed into some sweats and kitted the mannequin in my Mister Normal outfit, goggles and all. Baptiste would spit chips if he ever found out what I was about to do, but necessity’s the mother bitch.

  I planted the mannequin on the street; set it up in plain view and took cover. It wasn’t long before a detachment of Mandroids trundled by and spotted the lure. Wasting no time, they raced to the scene and formed a tight ring around the figure. The platoon leader edged forward and a hatch swung open on its chest. From inside the robot emerged an extendable arm, the kind you might see attached to a joke boxing glove. On the end of it was a spinning saw, which the Mandroid used to carve the store dummy up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Just as well I used a decoy or I’d have been wearing my guts for a wedding train.

  It took the Mandroids a couple of seconds to realize they’d been duped. Have yourself a No-Prize, you dumb dildos. The robots turned on their wheels, formed a stripe and rolled off in a neat line. What they hadn’t realized was that I’d taken advantage of their brief moment of confusion. Pouncing from the top of a street sign, I’d steadied my descent with a cocktail umbrella parachute and landed discretely on the shoulder of the platoon leader.

  Did I mention that I’d miniaturized myself to a half-inch high using Professor D’eath’s confiscated shrink-ray? Guess I should have said that up top really, but I figure you for smart so
I’m sure you’re keeping up.[110]

  I clung on for dear life as the Mandroids made a final sweep of the grid then tagged out with another platoon before returning to home base.

  It turned out the robots had set up shop in Central Park. The whole area was fortified and under heavy guard; watchtowers, barb wire barricades and perimeter patrols. Once we were inside and past the checkpoints I parted ways with my escort and made like Dora.

  It was tough going. Being a half inch tall made exploration difficult to say the least – molehills were literally mountains, and each blade of grass towered over me the size of a palm tree. Thankfully I’d thought ahead and brought along a blade from an x-acto knife that I used to machete my way through the undergrowth.

  I hacked down another goliath frond and suddenly there it was – the holding tank. Beyond the walls of an endless chain link fence I saw the superpowered P.O.W’s trapped in their thousands – heroes and crooks like, packed together in their day-glo costumes like battery hens at Paris Fashion Week. My God. D’eath had built a concentration camp for capes.[111]

  Everyone was there – major players, mid leaguers, all the way down to the very bottom of the superpowers totem pole.[112] Among the dregs were small-fry hoods, wannabe vigilantes, not to mention a couple of C.H.A.M.P job applicants who didn’t make the grade. I even saw that teleporting girl there – the doe-eyed washout who sued my ass for sexual misconduct – Miss Transit.

  I passed through a link of the fence and weaved into the crowd. It was an assault course in there. Every step I took I was getting knocked flat by an earthquake caused by a shuffling boot or dodging a discarded cigarette the size of flaming semi.

  Then I caught this familiar briny whiff. It smelled like a fresh seafood platter. Could it be? I aimed myself in its direction and after trekking for another half hour I finally caught sight of the source. Up above, looming over me like a scaly skyscraper, was my old pal, Fish Face.

  I hollered until I caught his attention. Startled, Fish Face reached down, scooped me up and held me to his ear like a sea shell.

  “Great seeing you, buddy! I’d high-five you but you’d probably kill me.”

  “Cap?” he said, louder than a Stones concert.

  He broke into a huge smile, and I do mean huge, proportionately speaking.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Are you part of the resistance?”

  “The one’s writing ‘Fight to the D’eath’ everywhere? No, I don’t know those guys.”

  “You mean you didn’t hear? It’s those carny folk you’ve been beefing with – you know, the Murder Circus.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, they escaped the assault on C.H.A.M.P and they’ve been running interference on the Prof’s war plan. Word is they got a hold of some explosives and scrapped a Mandroid factory already. They’ve been a real hair in D’eath’s ass.”

  You have got to be kidding me. How does a rinky dink outfit like the Murder Circus graduate from street muggings to guerrilla warfare?[113]

  Still, this wasn’t time to dwell on The Murder Circus’ improved Klout score.

  “Let’s blow this joint, Fish,” I said, “before those tin cans figure out I’m here.”

  “No can do,” he said.

  “C’mon, dude, surf’s up! Summon up a tidal wave and let’s hang ten out of here!”

  “A tidal wave? I couldn’t summon a prawn right now.”

  Fish tapped a metal collar I hadn’t noticed he was wearing (despite it being about the size of the Kentucky Derby Racetrack). Looking around I saw everyone in the pen was fitted with matching jewelry. They were knock-offs of the kind we used at the Supermax to keep our prisoners in check – special dampeners that cancelled out superpowers.

  Fish Face sighed. “D’eath only threw the fight at the Federal Reserve so you could lock him up. That way he could steal one of our collars and backwards engineer his own.”[114]

  Fish told me to blow the joint before I got myself made. Hell to that. I hadn’t come all that way just to leave my comrade languishing in some prison camp. But then life has a way of making decisions for you sometimes.

  Suddenly the shrink-ray’s effects wore off and I sprang to full size, instantly adding an intruder to the Mandroid’s prisoner roster. For a moment all was still, the moment set in Jello, then one of the watchtower sentinel’s heads turned on a swivel.

  ARGOOOGA!

  Klaxons started blaring and the whole camp was awash with klieg lights. This mission of mine needed some serious aborting, but before I could bust a move, a Mandroid screeched to a halt in front of me. The robot levelled its cannon, taking aim at my vital organs (of course, they’re all pretty vital when there’s a Gatling gun aimed at them).

  Seemed I’d waltzed myself right into jail. Luckily I had an ace up my sleeve, or more accurately a shrink-ray in my pocket. I whipped it out and took aim at the Mandroid—

  SHAZAM!

  —and the robot was fun-sized. I lifted my foot and brought it down hard, stamping the robot flat as BacoFoil.

  “That shortens the odds,” I roared, justifiably pleased with myself.

  Boy, I wish Birdy had been there to hear that – I burned that dumb droid like a pile of teenage poetry.

  A big cheer went up from the prisoners. The little guy had risen up! (literally in this case). The celebrations were premature though – I still had an army of Mandroids eager to kill me deader than Dido. A wall of them tore over and prepared to give me a hundred-gun salute—

  —except Fish Face leapt in their way and made like a flak jacket. Other prisoners joined him, linking arms and forming a human picket fence.

  “Go, go, go!” they urged.

  Fish was KO’ed for his trouble and the Mandroids pushed through the rest like they were a row of paper cut-outs, but before the robots could remove the prisoners from the firing line I’d taken off. I made across open ground fast as I could, bullets scarring the ground at my feet. There was nowhere to run though, I was boxed in on all sides.

  Then I remembered Miss Transit. If I was able to find her I could use her power to get a clear run out of that place. I called her name and she held up a hand. I grabbed it, carried on running, and pulled the two of us behind a pile of sandbags. An onslaught of artillery churned up our barricade. The cover soaked up the first barrage but it wouldn’t hold for long.

  “What are you doing?” Transit yelled over the gunfire.

  “Saving our asses.”

  I flicked the shrink-ray to reverse setting and shot her in the neck. Her collar grew to the size of a hula hoop and clattered to her feet.

  “Now use your power and bamf us out of here!” I said.

  “I can’t,” she said, “it takes time to recharge and I already used it before I was captured.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Cutting the line at 24 Hour Bagels.”

  “We’re in the middle of a robot apocalypse and the bagel place is still serving?”

  “It’s 24 hours!”

  I returned the shrink-ray to its original setting and returned fire on the Mandroids, but the first pull of the trigger told me my gun was out of juice.[115]

  “How long until you recharge?” I shouted.

  “About two minutes.”

  The Mandroids continued to pile on the lead. Holes the size of silver dollars shredded our cover - wave after wave after wave. I don’t know what Professor’s D’eath’s ammunition bill comes to per annum but it must be absolutely eye-watering.

  “You metal motherf*ckers!” I screamed. It wasn’t exactly what you’d call acid repartee, but it was nice to get it out of my system.

  The Mandroids advanced. Our barricade was Swiss cheese. We were about to turn ten-thousand rounds of dead.

  “That’s two minutes,” said Transit. “Where to?”

  I scanned the skyline and landed on the C.H.A.M.P building.

  “There.”

  Miss Transit blinked, I got a feeling like my brain did a backflip, then
we were stood on the rooftop of my old office with the prison camp a good mile away.

  “Holy sh*t,” I said. I was not wrong.

  May 23rd

  Soon as we’d made it to safety Transit and me parted ways. She had people to check on she said. Friends who needed her. Must be nice. All my friends either died, got locked up or ditched me. Heck, even my twin brother gave me the old heave ho. I’m all alone. Everyone’s a finger and I’m a thumb.