Killing Capes

by Scott Mathy

  Lia sat on a rocky outcropping away from the crude set the others were constructing. Her black ski mask lay on the ledge beside her.

  “I’m not wearing that,” she said looking to Dwight. He saw her distain for the garment the moment he presented it to her.

  Dwight was already putting his on, “We all need to be on camera. The more of us there are, the more likely he will come personally. We don’t want to have some sidekick show up instead. What’s the problem?”

  “I just don’t do masks. Either way, my mental rewriting only lasts about three minutes. Are you sure you can get this done that quickly?” She glanced down at the dark cloth.

  Dwight felt confident, even amused with the plan. He was actually enjoying himself for the first time in as long as he could remember. “Sure, if he actually comes. But if he thinks he can get away with sending a lackey, he’ll do it. We all need to be in the shot if this is going to happen.”

  She sighed heavily, “Fine, but turn away.”

  Dwight was confused; it wasn’t like he had asked her to change clothes or something. Puzzled as he was, he didn’t want to argue, and so he turned around, looking at the only junker RV they could afford if they didn’t bring it back in one piece. After a few impatient seconds, he called back, “You done yet?”

  “Shut up before I make you forget how to control your bladder.” There was a pause. “Okay, you can turn around.”

  He did as instructed. Sure enough, Lia had the mask pulled over her face; only her icy eyes were visible. At least they wouldn’t be identified before Midas arrived to kill his blackmailers and take their stolen footage. Behind her, Dwight could see a neon blue pile; he knew there was nothing natural about that hair color, but incorrectly assumed it was dyed. He decided it was in his best interest not to push the topic. After all, there were a lot of cliffs in the area, and a suggestion of “you can fly” would be a terrible way to go.

  “Glad we’re on the same page then, Mr. Knolls.” Lia’s green light glowed visibly beneath the covering. “You do not get to ask me about that – ever.”

  Bernard stepped down from the camper roaring with laughter, “’is is either the stupidest or most brilliant idea I’ve ever ‘eard from you, D. I can’t wait!” Ian must have let the plan slip.

  The huge man’s sudden arrival caused Lia to panic and abruptly toss the wig further behind her. It flew off her perch, caught on the wind, and sailed over the nearby ridge. She turned back to the men, painfully aware of her error.

  Dwight ignored it, and it seemed his partner hadn’t noticed at all. He moved past Bernard to check in with Ian, who was inside the trailer setting up the video stream. He sat at a small bank of monitors they had borrowed from his personal stash. The promise of a small fortune for completing the mission was enough to persuade him to help.

  Still, he seemed uneasy about being involved in the murder of one of the city’s elite Powers. Dwight supposed he could empathize, even if this particular one had slept with his wife. Midas was a hero in the truest sense of the word. He had saved New Haven more times than anyone could count in his decades of service. Up until a few weeks ago, his roommate had idolized the Capes; it was amazing how quickly things could change.

  “How’s the connection coming?” Dwight asked, looking at the indecipherable code Ian was entering into the transmitter.

  Ian didn’t look away from his task. “Smooth enough. These old satellites are easy to crack. I’m setting this up so the average user won’t be able to track us, but the Guild’s systems will.”

  To Dwight’s satisfaction, it turned out Ian was quite the programmer; he would have to bring it up the next time he visited with the Doc. Maybe it would even get Ian out of the apartment once in a while so Dwight could use the living room television in peace. “How long do you think you need?” he asked.

  Ian lowered his head, massaging his temples with his long, spidery fingers. “Maybe ten minutes or so. I’ll definitely be done by the time you have the camera set up.”

  Dwight left Ian to his typing. He went back outside to find Bernard moving their table into the center of the set as Lia adjusted the camera. The whole stage had been a rush job and looked reminiscent of a terrorist’s home movie. It would have to do; they didn’t have the opportunity to use any of Wulf’s fancy toys, Celene, or the Associates to clean up the mess.

  All this was compounding the nagging awareness brewing at the back of his thoughts: if Wulf was really keeping low for a while because of the Killstreak job, why the hell would he choose to go after Midas, of all people? Midas was celebrity, a public fixture in New Haven. There’s no way taking him out wouldn’t send shockwaves through the Capes. There would be investigations, conspiracy theories, and people seeking retribution. Covering this up wouldn’t be possible even with an army of Associates.

  The lack of an obvious offense added to the confusion. With all of his previous jobs, there had been some slight, some foul committed in Wulf’s insane game. Anything Midas could have done should have been general knowledge; the man couldn’t go anywhere without a dozen photographers tailing him. Even his affair with Linda had landed cover stories in a dozen tabloids, despite no solid proof ever being found.

  A quick search hadn’t brought up any sightings of Midas since the press conference. With the others, Wulf’s “justice” had been prompt for their transgressions; in the Phoenix’s case, within a week. As much as he tried, Dwight couldn’t find a single story about Midas in twice that time. It didn’t make sense, unless Wulf had finally made a decision for something long forgotten. However, that didn’t feel right. It wasn’t Wulf’s style to delay a response to an insult. The Wulf that Dwight understood was swift, brutal, and always acted to send a message; this just wasn’t like him.

  By now, his companions were each finishing their appointed tasks. The final touch: a Justice Guild flag they had taken from Ian’s room, now crudely shredded, hung on the side of the camper. Everyone’s mask in place, they gathered in front of the camera. The four of them waited for Ian’s signal that the broadcast had begun streaming to the city’s news outlets. His roommate’s intense focus darted between his phone and the camera in front of them.

  “Ten seconds,” he said, his voice muffled by the hood covering his face. He was obviously nervous; Dwight couldn’t blame him. He felt terrible for pushing Ian into this, but they needed his presence, otherwise Dwight would have been happy to tell him to put the broadcast on remote and leave. Dwight swore a silent oath to himself that he would do everything he could to keep his roommate from harm.

  Ian used his fingers to count down the last seconds. As his hand dropped back to his side, the transmitting light on the camera went live. The four of them stood silently for a few moments, waiting for the viewers at home to adjust to their interrupted programs.

  Dwight rolled up the bottom of his mask, exposing only his mouth. “Good evening, New Haven,” he began, making a poor attempt to disguise his voice beneath gruff tones, “We have a special announcement for you. The golden guardian, Midas, has a little hobby that keeps getting him into trouble. Your savior seems to think he’s a bit of a filmmaker.”

  Ian tapped the button he had been holding in his other hand: a switch controlling a projector on the ground just in front of their camera. Its image displayed against the flat surface of the RV’s side: a promotional photo of Midas standing proudly beside Lock Heart, an arm around her shoulder. The two of them looked majestic, larger than life. The photo was published when Linda first joined the team as a full member roughly two years earlier. It had been on all the covers that weekend.

  “We have obtained footage of these two in, well, compromising positions – several, actually. Our proposal is simple: we’re holding an auction. We’ll start the bidding at one million. Interested parties should send their offer to this account.” He pointed to Bernard, who held up a cardboard sign with a long string of handwritten numbers. The account belonged to Ellis; one of many, he assumed. Dwight was sure she wo
uld appreciate the charitable donation, especially if it was at the expense of New Haven’s media outlets. She’d be smart enough to transfer the money and hide it before they could withdraw their payments.

  It was a complete gamble. Dwight had no way of actually knowing whether the two of them made any evidence of their affair. Hell, if there was video, it was entirely possible that Linda hadn’t known she was being filmed. His assumption was based on Midas’s well-chronicled history of the behavior and the media’s insatiable lust for dirt on Capes.

  Dwight hoped that Midas’s need to protect his public image would bring him running to their intentionally traceable location. If this step succeeded, he could only pray that his preparations would save them from the wrathful demigod they were openly taunting.

  He gave a flourish and bowed deeply, never taking his eyes off the camera, “We thank you for your patronage, dear city, and hope you enjoy the show.”

  Ian prepared to cut the feed, but was suddenly distracted. There was a distant boom somewhere far beyond the trees of the preserve, in the direction of the city. Before Dwight could identify it, the noise came screaming toward them. It slammed into the ground between the four extortionists and their equipment; the impact tossed the camera, vehicle, and themselves in separate directions. Dwight was hurled to the side, colliding with the wheel of the tilting RV before falling to the stone below. The trailer landed much as he did: hard on the rocks. He didn’t see where Ian, Lia, or Bernard fell.

  As the dust around him settled, Dwight saw the downfall of hundreds of villains and conquerors kneeling in the crater: the man they had just humiliated. Steam rose from his body, a remnant of the impossible speed that had brought him here. His eyes glowed a deep, angry, hateful red. The networks, if the camera was still broadcasting, would be eating this up. He could see the headlines now: “Midas Foils Smear Campaign, Pummels Four into Fine Paste.”

  Rising to his full, terrifying height, Midas took purposeful strides directly at Dwight’s prone form. Lifting him by the back of his jacket with a single hand like he weighed nothing, the Cape held his would-be blackmailer above his face.

  With his free arm, the Power roughly tore away the mask from Dwight’s head. If he had wanted to, Midas could have simply annihilated his skull with a blast from his optic rays. The last ragged shreds fell away as he focused all his bitter frustration at figuring out Dwight’s identity. Though they had met several times in the past at Linda’s work functions, the Power came up with nothing. It seemed physical perfection and genius-level intellect were no match for the power of Dwight’s complete obscurity.

  He spoke through clenched teeth, “Tell me who you are. Now.” He pulled Dwight in so close the man’s spittle hit his cheek. “You have three seconds.”

  “Dwight Knolls; we’ve met before. You might know me as ‘The Referee.’ You slept with my wife. At least once, I think.” It was proving difficult to speak, the way he was being held.

  Both men stopped as Bernard rounded the edge of the overturned camper. “The ‘ell was that?!” he shouted at no one in particular. He froze upon realizing that their plan had succeeded.

  “Goliath?” Midas asked. Apparently, he knew Bernard from his previous life – the one Dwight always wondered about. There was a second of processing on both sides; Midas finished first. The look of confusion transformed into one of determined rage.

  There wasn’t time for a response. Dwight suddenly felt himself falling. Before he landed, a blur of motion rocketed Bernard backward into the rock wall. The force of Midas’s punch embedded the giant in the stone. Dwight knew his partner could take a hit, but he wasn’t sure of Bernard’s limits, if there were any. Midas’s fist had leveled gods, toppled buildings; Bernard often whined about paper cuts. His wounds may heal unnaturally quickly, but he was still as vulnerable to injury as anyone else. Bernard slipped out of the imprint and dropped to the ground with a loud thud. He wasn’t moving. Midas advanced on the fallen giant.

  Dwight tried to scramble away from Midas. If Lia was alive, she was his only chance of stopping the furious superhuman. He made it around the side of the trailer when he spotted Ian lying face down, his left leg pinned under the RV. Rushing to his side, Dwight pulled on the limb trying to free it, but to no avail. Ian was completely unconscious, which Dwight assumed was a blessing. Had he been awake, the shock of a shattered leg would be unbearable.

  Satisfied with his smiting of Bernard, Midas followed Dwight’s path around the RV. He stood over the struggling hitman and his roommate. “Where is the film, Dwight?”

  If nothing else, at least this time the Cape remembered his name, “I never had it – but thanks, I guess, for letting me know that there is one.”

  Dwight stood, staring the most powerful individual New Haven had ever encountered square in the face. The fact that Midas could cause an earthquake with a footstep didn’t matter. Dwight was tired of being afraid of the Powers. If he died here, it would be standing up to one of the entitled pricks. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it. I’m done bowing to your kind.”

  Midas seemed happy to oblige. The Power pulled back for a solid haymaker that would surely decapitate any normal person. Dwight didn’t flinch, though; he was beyond fear. In that last instant, he thought of Linda, of Molly, and of the ant that stares down the hurricane before being annihilated. He defiantly locked eyes with Midas, and waited for the end.

  But it never came. An intense rush of air surged around his head. Midas’s fist stopped inches from Dwight’s face. He leaned to the right, looking past the stationary Cape to see Lia limping toward them. Her implant’s light gleamed in the setting sun. Midas was now under her control.

  She was bleeding from a nasty gash on her bald head, her mask missing. “My fees just tripled. You never said anything about being thrown off a cliff.” She carried her disheveled wig in her free hand.

  Dwight nodded, “We live through this, you can name your price. Do it.”

  Lia grinned as she slid between Dwight and the frozen hero, pushing his outstretched arm aside. She held her hands up to Midas and placed her fingers against his temples. Their height difference was substantial; she had to stand on her toes to reach him. “One super lobotomy, coming up.”

  Dwight looked on as Midas twitched, his locked limbs holding him stiff. He let out a low whimper, something Dwight would have expected from a suffering animal rather than the city’s greatest hero. Lia’s expression faded as she explored his mind, hunting for the source of his powers. Midas’s body might be free of any weakness, but the hidden depths of his brain were just as vulnerable as anyone else’s.

  Linda once told Dwight about the way the empowered tapped into their abilities. It was a mental feat, an understanding that they “could” do something, that allowed them to. This is why the Capes were always training: to discover the full potential of what they could do. Otherwise, without constant practice and study, a superhuman could potentially live out their entire lives without unlocking their talents. Midas was the best not only because he had won some genetic lottery; all the man did with his time was experiment and improve his powers. It made sense that no one could defeat him – that is, unless someone managed to take all of that training away.

  Lia suddenly pulled her hands back, drained from the process. She had warned him that this could happen. Blocking someone this powerful from being able to tap into something so secondary, so central of their nature, would be exhausting. Her footing swayed for a second before she started to slip. Dwight caught her in his arms and gently set her down beside Ian. It was for the best, really; neither of them would want to see the next part.

  Without Lia’s influence over his muscles, Midas was just regaining control of his body as Dwight returned to confront him. The Cape didn’t seem to have any idea what Lia had done to him. Dwight kept his arms down at his sides. “Come on, tough guy, I think you were about to hit me.”

  Midas accepted the invitation. The punch landed across Dwight’s chin. While it s
tung, it was hardly as jaw-shattering as the previous attempt would have been.

  To Midas’s horror, the Referee remained where he stood. The Cape was too stunned to go for another; it was the first time someone who wasn’t an immortal deity withstood a blow from him.

  Dwight touched his face, aching but proud. Today, he would topple a god. “My turn, then,” he said, engaging the charged plates of his new knuckles.

  His first swing caught Midas directly in his perfect face. The metallic limb unloaded its electric payload into the Cape’s straining body. Dwight pressed his advantage, repeatedly battering the struggling Power with both fists.

  Without his abilities, Midas wasn’t even able to handle standing up properly; the weight of his own body was something altogether new to him. It was as if the man was experiencing gravity for the first time. For Dwight, the rush was intoxicating.

  After a few quick jabs and a hook to Midas’s torso, Dwight decided to increase the artificial limb’s power output. As the plates connected at the end of his punch, the blast from the electrical system unleashed their charge directly into Midas’s chest. The stink of burning spandex and charred flesh was overpowering.

  Midas’s defenses fell instantly as his muscles failed him. He dropped to the ground, sporadically twitching but still breathing. The voltage should have been enough to kill a normal person; it seemed that Lia hadn’t taken all of the Cape’s legendary toughness. Dwight figured he still had about a minute before the effects completely wore off. As satisfying as this was, it was time to finish the job.

  Crouching over the fallen Cape, he considered enabling the shot of the Doc’s serum hidden in his prosthetic. A sudden boost of superpowers would definitely give him an edge. Dwight shook the idea; remembering Ellis’s warning about the potentially deadly side effects stopped any further thoughts of using the drug. He wouldn’t need it.