Other People's Heroes (The Heroes of Siegel City)

by Petit, Blake M.

  I’d decided to just pry open the crack and hope I could see, through that mess, whatever it was Flambeaux had sent me after. The screwdriver fit into the split easily and prying it open it was not difficult, but when I looked in all I could see was a mass of red with vaguely skull-like shadows at the core.

  In frustration I grabbed the towel and wiped at my face again, trying to ignore the bloody orange stains and --

  Orange?

  Why were Deep Six’s blood-stains orange?

  I chipped out a hunk of red from the ice and cupped it in my hands. The red ice was melting, not into blood, but into a gooey orange slime. The orange looked exactly like the bodies of a certain pair of monsters. While frozen it did look like it could be blood, but it also looked like the same color my flesh had been when I froze myself during the battle with Icebergg. The same color as--

  People usually compare solving a mystery to putting together a puzzle -- finding all the pieces and teaching yourself how they go together. I suppose some mysteries are solved that way, but for me this was more like hitting the jackpot on the slot machine -- first one BAR slides into place, then the second. Then, as the last roller spins, the wait is intolerably long -- until finally it hits and everything becomes clear.

  The first BAR came when I reached into my belt-pouch there in the morgue. I’d had my costume cleaned but I hadn’t bothered to replenish my supply of smoke-bombs. I remembered how cold the glass case was during my rumble with Hotshot and how I pocketed a shard of Carnival’s blood-red armor and forgot about it.

  I slid my fingers into that canister, hoping I’d wrap them around a hunk of red crystal, but instead I dipped them into a puddle of orange goo at the bottom of the compartment.

  The glass case had been refrigerated. Carnival’s armor had been made of frozen Gunk-flesh.

  “I thought I saw you slip down here.”

  I jumped straight up when I heard the voice, half-expecting the Gunk to be waiting to decapitate me, but it was only Nightshadow. I should have known -- not only did he have the stealth skills to get in unnoticed, but only someone with no powers could have snuck up on me without my feeling it.

  “Thank God you’re here,” I said. “You’ve got to see this.”

  “What the hell have you done?”

  “It’s not what it looks like--”

  “First that stupid, pointless, destructive fight with Dr. Noble and now this? You’re insane, Josh.”

  “No! It’s not like that!” I rushed past the frozen body and grabbed Nightshadow by the cape. “You’re not leaving until you hear me out!” I shouted, getting a sensation of deja vu.

  “Get off me, you psycho!” He spun and kicked me in the side, but somehow it didn’t hurt. In fact, his foot kind of collapsed that side of my body, like he was hitting a water balloon. My flesh was melting and turning orange and my brains began to scramble.

  I think Nightshadow tried to say something, tried to get away, but at this point my head was so messed up I wouldn’t have recognized Annie kissing me full on the mushy lips. I just wanted to be me again, solid again.

  I grabbed Nightshadow around the ankle and moaned, writhing in confusion. He cursed and tried to kick me off, but I held on. Then I tried, again, to do what I’d done while we fought Icebergg -- I pushed out, trying to become solid.

  My limbs hardened and my torso filled out my costume again. My face stopped dripping through the mask. I was me.

  I wish I could have said the same for Nightshadow.

  He was standing there, trying to hold himself together, gushing through his costume as an orange fluid. He finally collapsed in an orange puddle, nothing more than a skeleton in a costume. He never even had time to scream.

  That’s when I heard the clapping.

  I looked up at the doorway to the morgue to see the Gunk standing there, applauding with all three sets of limbs.

  “Very nicely done, my boy. Do you have any idea how interesting your powers are?”

  “What’s going on here, Gunk? What is this?”

  “It’s quite simple -- my powers build up on me. Every so often they build up so much I need to dispel some of the energy by transforming some lout into an orange behemoth who -- once he manages to pull himself together -- will obey any command I give him.”

  I was dumbstruck. Whatever was going on (and I was starting to believe I knew what) was not an unusual practice for him.

  “What really astounds me is the fact that you were able to transfer my excess energy for me. It had been quite some time since I’d duped poor Deep Six over there, and I was starting to get a bit addlepated. Thank you.”

  “Then... the Goop?”

  “Oh, the good Dr. Plante? Once I transformed him I thought it would be useful to keep a ‘sidekick’ around. The ruse was pleasant for a while, but it’s grown tiresome. Time for a new ruse, I think.”

  “How could you do this?”

  “It’s quite easy, actually, especially when you consider that I don’t need to wait for an energy buildup to capture someone’s mind. I have several drones out there that will obey my commands -- although I will have to punish Flambeaux for alerting you to me.”

  “Who else have you... taken?”

  “Oh, the odd Cape and Mask. Icebergg, obviously. And Flambeaux and Deep Six. Mental Maid has been particularly difficult to keep a hold of -- it must be the nature of her powers. Her brother, though, he’s so simple that he doesn’t even realize he’s been enthralled.

  “Her brother? Who’s her brother?”

  Gunk knelt down by Nightshadow’s still form. There was a strange cracking, gushing sound and his four extra arms fell off. He placed the bones next to Nightshadow, then turned his remaining hands into shears and began cutting Nightshadow’s costume off the skeleton. “Oh, didn’t you know?” he said sweetly. “Mary Abadie, and her amazing brother Morris. They used to be quite well-known as ‘mentalists,’ had a stage show together.” He absorbed Nightshadow’s costume into his body. “On to the next game, eh?”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Oh, please, Joshua. I’ve seen far too many spy movies to give away my master plan at the bottom of act two. Suffice it to say, it won’t matter to you. You’ll be on a prison planet in a few days, serving hard time for the murder of the Gunk.”

  It was a good ruse. Lying there in a pool of slime, a skeleton with four extra arms, Nightshadow didn’t even enter my mind.

  “I’ll tell them the truth,” I said. “I’ll stop you.”

  He laughed the kind of nasty, evil laugh I thought you only heard in Vincent Price movies. Then he began to flex his sloppy muscles. His flesh began to solidify. His torso turned red and his legs black. A shock of raven hair erupted from his skull and a blue cape flowed down his back. Perfectly human, a brilliant yellow emblem appeared on his chest.

  “Really, my dear boy. Who do you think they’re going to believe? You? Or LIONHEART?”

  ISSUE TWELVE

  IS THAT YOU?

  There was a moment of blind panic when it seemed like the entire universe was going to collapse in on us with the Simon Tower morgue as the focal point. He couldn’t be Lionheart, I told myself, he just couldn’t.

  Then I realized I was right, he really couldn’t, and for two reasons. First, someone who possesses the Heart of the Lion was incapable of committing a malevolent act. (It never even occurred to me to doubt this, I accepted it as a simple scientific fact, like the world is round and that God created women for the express purpose of giving me an ulcer before I turned 30.)

  Second, Lionheart had saved my life, and I had been loyal to him ever since. Far from being loyal to this abomination, I wanted to rip him into so many pieces it would take all of Five-Share and half of the United States Marine Corps a week to find them all. Once this realization sunk in, my panic was replaced by pure rage, and I wasted no time informing him that I did not believe his parents were married.

  “Tut-tut,” the Gunk-as-Lionheart chuckled. “Such language.
”

  “How can you do this?”

  “Oh, my boy, it’s easy, I’m a shapeshifter. One that, thanks to you, now has enough dominion over his own body to again to control the shifts. I’m very grateful, by the way.”

  “Nobody will believe you’re Lionheart. They all know he’s dead.”

  “Missing,” he reiterated. “The only person who was present for that battle is Hotshot, and he’s never told anyone that he watched Lionheart die.”

  “He told me.”

  “Well aren’t you special? As for my credibility... Morris and Mary are mine, remember? And so is the susceptibility field. In terms of legitimacy, child, I am Walter Cronkite. You are Jerry Springer.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “But I’ve also got your powers.” I bore down and concentrated, shifting the colors on my costume, slimming myself a bit more and broadening my shoulders. My hair darkened from its natural brown to Lionheart’s jet black. I gave him a smile that Lionheart once gave me, drifting away from a burning building.

  “Now who are they going to believe?” I asked.

  We both lashed out at the same time, deflecting each other’s blows. He swept at my legs with a low kick but I leapt over him, coming down and landing my elbow on his neck. The first strike was mine.

  Second, third and fourth were all his, as he snapped a fist up into my face, down into my gut and hurled me into the wall. As I felt my bones jar against steel, I realized that, while the blows hurt, they didn’t seem to be doing any actual damage. The malleable shapeshifter body we both had was acting as a cushion -- only my skeleton was solid now.

  He charged me, but I countered by rolling onto my back, catching him in the gut with my feet and flipping him. He crashed into the bank of steel drawers and crunched his jaw down on the ice-block that contained poor Deep Six.

  I followed his head down, smashing it with both fists. “Still think you got what it takes to be Lionheart, you son of a bitch?”

  “More than you, boy.” He launched an elbow into my crotch and I winced. I was immensely relieved, a second later, when I realized that the blow didn’t hurt any more than the others. Even my sensitive areas were nice, spongy shapeshifter-flesh for now.

  I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hurled him over Nightshadow’s skeleton and into the door, which smashed open under his weight. I leapt out after him and followed into the hall, where he tangled his legs with mine and pulled me to the ground.

  “Give it up, boy! You haven’t got a prayer!”

  “Would Lionheart give up, greaseball?” I brought my elbow down hard on his knees and I heard a pleasant crunch. The Gunk rolled over and howled in pain. I scrambled to my feet and delivered a solid kick to his face, which briefly showed signs of flowing back into its natural, orange state, but he managed to keep his wits about him enough to resolidify.

  “Josh? Is that you?”

  A voice echoed down the corridors from around the corner -- Ted. He must have decided to come looking for me.

  “I’m getting some strange music from you, man, is everything all right?”

  The music in question began to well up inside of me -- it was a fast-paced low brass rhythm, pounding out staccato riffs over and over again -- the kind of music you hear during heated battle scene in a movie.

  “Ted, get the hell out of here!”

  “Why? What’s--”

  “No, Ted!” the Gunk shouted in the same voice I’d used. “Get in here, quick!”

  “Will you make up your--” he turned the corner and the music exploded into one loud, high-pitched blatt as though everybody in the orchestra had screamed into their instruments at the same time.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he whispered.

  The Gunk and I simultaneously pointed at each other and shouted, “Stop him! He’s an imposter!”

  “Ah... ah... ah--” Ted turned on his heel and bolted down the hall.

  The faux Lionheart and I glared at each other, then down the hall where Ted had charged. At the same time, we began to run.

  I don’t know how he did it -- between a bum leg and the fact that I started standing up, but somehow the Gunk got ahead of me as we raced. Before long we were in the more populated areas of the complex, charging past a series of perplexed Capes and Masks and one thoroughly confused-looking Goop. Even Dr. Noble wasn’t wearing a smirk as we charged past him and LifeSpeed into the lounge.

  Where Annie was watching a movie on late-night cable.

  The Gunk made a beeline for her.

  “Oh, the hell you are!” I screamed, hurling myself at him and “borrowing” a burst of inertia from LifeSpeed. I hit him at the waist and he crumbled like a lousy quarterback. I began to pound him with both fists as hard as I could, insane with rage, shouting, “Take it off, you monster! Take off his face! TAKE OFF LIONHEART’S FACE!”

  I felt hands surrounding me and pulling me away -- it was like fighting Dr. Noble all over again. Once I was back on my feet Gunk/Lionheart pulled himself up and just stood there. He didn’t need anyone to hold him back.

  “All right, all right, I’m coming!” Morrie shouted, pushing his way through the crowd. “Will somebody please tell me what the -- oh my God.”

  He had as much amazement on his face as anyone else and I remembered what the Gunk had told me, he was so “simple” that he didn’t even know he was being manipulated.

  “That’s Copycat!” the Gunk shouted, “and he murdered the Gunk!”

  “That’s the Gunk!” I returned, “and he murdered Lionheart!” As soon as it was out of my mouth I realized how unlikely it sounded. Not that his story had much credibility, but... what had I told Sheila once? “Heaven’s retention rate for us sucks.” And the Gunk was counting on that well-earned stereotype to carry his line of crap through.

  Heads began to turn in my direction, most of them with scowls, rage or simple disbelief in their eyes. Only Ted, Annie, Animan and Hotshot looked like they were struggling with the Gunk’s story -- and Hotshot looked like he was going to have an aneurism.

  “No way I’m going to convince you guys, huh?” I asked. I switched the shapeshifter powers back on and made my body incredibly slick, gliding away from my detainers. Before they could make another motion to grab me I jumped forward and attacked.

  “Change back,” I shouted, driving a roundhouse punch to the Gunk’s jaw before bolting out of the lounge with a burst of LifeSpeed.

  I darted into the express elevator and thumbed the button for the roof. As the door began to close I saw an entire mob rushing towards it. I thought I would make it, too, but in the second before it closed a humanoid mass blasted through the crack. I had company.

  The pneumatic lifters the elevator used fired and we began our rapid ascent to the roof. The mass next to me began to regain its shape -- stolen, of course, from Lionheart.

  “You see, boy?” the Gunk hissed. “They all love me. By the time I’m done with you, the only one on your side will be your mother.”

  “Your mother!” Even in the confines of the elevator I somehow found the maneuvering room to deliver a blow to his gut and a few more to the head before the elevator doors opened and we spilled out onto the roof.

  We danced out onto the gravel, trading punch for punch, kick for kick, until we made it to the edge. I fell back against the railing, nearly destroyed by exhaustion.

  “Give up, Joshua. I’m going down in the history books, while you won’t even merit a footnote.”

  “You’re going down in history, all right,” I spat. “Attila the Hun, Adolph Hitler, the Gunk.”

  “King Arthur, Robin Hood, Richard the Lionhearted…”

  I bristled at the names – according to legend, they were three of the heroes whose spirits gave power to the real Lionheart. Whether it was true or not, I didn’t even care at this point. This guy comparing himself to a Plantagenet would have been bad enough. Comparing him to Siegel’s last real hero made me snap, and I launched at him. He backhanded me and I caught a glimpse of the skyline, a dizzyi
ng spectacle beneath me. Vertigo began to set in. He hit me again and I thought I would vomit. He struck me once more and I flipped over the rail.

  With the wind whipping past me I tried one last, desperate stab of survival. I tried to force a pair of wings out of my back with Gunk’s shapeshifting powers, hoping I could fly.

  I’ll never know if it would have worked or not, though, because just about then I fell out of range of the Gunk’s powers.

  The color drained out of my uniform and my hair lightened to brown. My gut softened, my shoulders narrowed and the ground got closer.

  Worst of all, my flesh suddenly felt the impact of every blow I’d received. All at once it felt like I was being bludgeoned by a dozen hammers -- particularly in the groin. I’d rather let Dr. Noble use my ears as a wishbone than feel that again.

  Through all of this, the ground came hurtling towards me. The speed and the wind and the pain finally overcame me, and I barely even felt the arms that caught me in the seconds before I finally blacked out.

  CAPTIVE

  When I could see again I knew I was dreaming. Annie was not only there, but she was smiling. “It’s all right,” she said. “We’ve broken out. We’re free.”

  We were soaring high above Siegel City in the dream. The skyline was moving as though we were watching a time-lapse movie of the city growing and evolving -- beginning ten years ago and leading up to the present.

  As the city flashed below me the sky remained the same. It was sunset, and the great yellow disc fell below the horizon while the sky around it erupted in a kaleidoscope of orange and red and purple. It reminded me of something I’d heard an artist say once: “never paint a sky blue.” I don’t know if it’s precisely what he meant, but I took that as a warning to always look past the obvious.