by C. T. Phipps
“Thank you for helping with this, Gary. I don’t know who else I could have turned to during all this.”
“You have a lot of friends, Gabrielle.”
“Not as many as you’d think. I was raised by superheroes and that means there’s always layers between the real person and who they pretend to be. Plenty of people saw me as Ultragod’s daughter instead of Gabrielle Anders.”
“You’re both.”
“You get to see both. Not many people do.”
“You should tell Cindy.”
Gabrielle paused. “I think she knows but you’re right. She’s my friend too.”
“We’d both kill for you.” I noticeably avoided the word die. I was not a big fan of self-sacrifice and considered it to be a sign of insufficient planning. There were people I was willing to die for but I’d made a career of avoiding putting that to the test.
Gabrielle nodded. “You may have to do that in the future.”
“You mean your father’s killer.”
“I’m not an executioner by nature but I also don’t believe the legal system provides any greater sense of justification. We all have to do what we think is right in the end and whoever killed my father can’t be allowed to get away with that.”
It was a very un-superheroic sentiment but a very human one. “Do you have any suspects?”
“As I stated, I don’t think it’s any of my father’s old foes. They would have been dancing on the rooftops, shouting about how they triumphed over Ultragod at last. They also need to be someone who can create a near perfect copy of my father or have access to one but are willing to use a gun to kill him. Your theory about the government is a viable one but there’s only one problem I can see.”
“Which is?”
“They actually succeeded.”
“That was black humor. Very black.”
Gabrielle gave me a nasty look.
“Oh, sorry,” I said. “Not trying to be racial there.”
Gabrielle gave another gallows’ chuckle. “Any theories?”
“Have you considered P.H.A.N.T.O.M?”
“P.H.A.N.T.O.M?” Gabrielle said. “You’re going all the way back to them?”
“It’s a long shot but it’s not impossible.”
P.H.A.N.T.O.M was a bogeyman that a lot of people considered to be nothing more than a relic of a less-civilized age, something middle-aged men watched programs about on the History Channel and had ceased to be relevant as anything other than stock villains on spy shows. My father had fought in the Second Vietnam War against them and his speeches told me they were anything but a funny anachronism.
Decades ago, after Ultragod had brought both Hitler and Stalin to kneel, everyone was ready to work toward a peaceful Europe. That had been when the P.H.A.N.T.O.M leader had arisen and started up World War 2 in earnest, conquering whole swaths of Europe and Russia before forcing other nations to ally with him at the point of a death-ray. P.H.A.N.T.O.M’s operatives had aliens’ technology, superpowers, magic, and worse. It had been a wakeup call for the world that not all Supers were going to be superheroes, and the worst sort of people they could face had powers on their own. A lot of people had died in their labor camps. I still remember my Polish grandmother screaming once when she found me and Kerri watching Hogan’s Heroes.
“P.H.A.N.T.O.M hasn’t really been a thing since the eighties when it fought America Force One and the Super Giant Robots,” Gabrielle said, crossing her arms. “Older than dirt or immortal supervillains like Tom Terror, Doctor Thule, and Baroness Blitz use gangs armed with their own weaponry but the last serious effort by them was the Berlin Offensive in 1991. I don’t think they’re going to prove responsible.”
I paused. “The Nightmaster had P.H.A.N.T.O.M stormtroopers accompanying her. Back during the Fall.”
Gabrielle blinked. “That was the Brotherhood of Infamy, though.”
“P.H.A.N.T.O.M made use of a lot of magic during WW2 and the Brotherhood had a Nazi robot. Maybe there’s a connection.”
The Brotherhood of Infamy had been motivated by a desire to destroy all Supers in the world. They saw the world of mechanical wonders, people who could fly, and miracles so they summoned a Great Beast to destroy it. They’d been richer than God and President Omega had devoted a substantial amount of effort to making sure the Fall wasn’t prevented by superheroes. Maybe there was a connection between the Brotherhood and P.H.A.N.T.O.M. The terrorist organization’s leaders often said the only way to bring Supers to heel was to destroy them, whether it employed them or not.
“You think the President of the United States is a member of a secret Nazi cult?” Cloak asked.
“It’s possible?” I suggested. “I mean, his last name is Omega. Have you ever noticed all the really bad guys have names like that?”
“No, I haven’t. Your theory is stupid.”
“Fine,” I said. “I was just hoping all of our problems were interrelated. I’ll keep my theorizing to myself until we have something more concrete.”
“Probably a good idea.”
We were silent for the rest of the trip to the South Falconcrest Hospital, formerly the single largest ruined building in the city and home to such wonderful people as the Malt Shop Gang as well as a diverse collection of the city’s drug dealers. Cindy had purchased the property, redeveloped it, hired on all manner of medical personnel, and then charged nothing for her help. It was, in simple terms, a gigantic money-pit and the center of countless acts of criminal activity to keep it running. It also had saved something like ten thousand lives since starting operation.
Entering through the sliding front doors, we were greeted by small crowds of people who were gathered around televisions spread throughout the main entrance way. They were holding each other, crying, and staring at the news announcement being shown on every channel. For a second, I thought they’d announced Ultragod’s death and the imposter had been revealed. Then I noticed Sally Sutler, the local anchorwoman, was showing a black and white of Gabrielle in her Ultragoddess attire. It listed her birthdate, followed by today’s date at the bottom of the picture.
“Oh those sons of bitches,” Gabrielle whispered. “They’ve announced my death.”
“That’s going to be awkward when you show up again,” I said.
“Not if they claim I’m an alien imposter,” Gabrielle muttered.
I tried to figure out a way to reassure. “This stuff has happened before, right? Alien imposters, clones, and so on?”
“This is different,” Gabrielle said, looking down the hall. “More final. Can we get to Cindy? I’m not really comfortable being this exposed.”
“Sure.”
We walked down the hallway and I couldn’t help but notice people casting me nervous glances. I don’t think any of them actually recognized me as Merciless but my attire reminded them of such and their reaction wasn’t friendly like it used to be. Several people nervously tried to take cellphone pictures of me only for me to duck or move
Something was wrong.
I didn’t get a chance to think too much on this fact before my cellphone started to play Witchy Woman by the Eagles. Kerri. Pulling it from my pocket, I lifted it up to my ear. “Hello.”
“Um, hey, Gary?” my sister said.
“Yeah.”
“We’ve got a wee bit of a problem.”
“How’s that?”
“Let me send you a picture.”
Kerri hung up and seconds later a picture of my mansion—or more precisely, the remains of the mansion—appeared. There was a gigantic crater where the building once stood. Someone had dropped a missile on top of the place, something you didn’t often see happening within the continental United States.
“I’d complain about my home being destroyed but I’m more curious why you think Hawaii, Alaska, Puerto Rico, and Guam are more likely to be bombed,” Cloak said, surprisingly deadpan about the whole thing.
I tried to process just what had happened. The destruction of my house by a bom
b wasn’t just a minor inconvenience, stolen wealth or not. President Omega had taken the gloves off and with the entire United States behind him, he was all but invincible. It wasn’t exactly like I could depend on due process after having flouted the law in astoundingly funny ways for the past year.
I ignored him. “Is Lisa alright?”
“Yeah, I was out walking the dogs with her when the place exploded. Minutes later, some men in dark suits tried to grab us only for my spooks to possess their car and crash it into them. I think they were trying to kidnap us.”
The president was, officially, no longer fucking around. He’d also decided to go after my family. That settled that. Now I had to kill him. The very thought of it made me ill but I decided to steel myself. He was a monster, the highest office in the land or not, and I needed to protect my loved ones. Oh, who the hell was I kidding? There was no good ending to this. Even if I took him down, the USA would hunt me and my loved ones forever.
“It gets worse,” Kerri said.
That wasn’t good. “How?”
“They’re saying you killed Ultragoddess. A bunch of superheroes showed up and demanded to know where you are so they could kill you.”
Well shit.
Chapter Twelve
A Friendly Chat with Cindy About My Being and Idiot
“Gary. Are you all right?” Gabrielle asked, reaching over to touch my arm.
I took a deep breath. “Surprisingly, yes. At least, I’m no worse off than I was before finding out the government has framed me for killing America’s sweetheart. Oh yes, and they blew up my house.”
“My house,” Cloak said, growling. “Which has been in the Warren Family since the 18th century.”
“Which would explain why it was a bitch to get updated with decent electricity and wi-fi,” I said, talking aloud. “Seriously, though, Gabby, it’s okay. No one I cared about was in the house when it went kaboom. If the events of the past year have taught me one thing, it’s that the only real currency is those you love.”
“I see,” Gabrielle said, keeping her expression even. “Good.”
“I mean, it was nice having a mansion I literally couldn’t jog around before passing out. The heated underground grotto Cindy and I used to go skinny-dipping in. The massive comic book collection with its own personal vault. The conservatory with man-eating plants. The literal shark tank. I mean, Good God, you could play live-action Clue and pretend to be a Bond villain there.”
Gabrielle kept patting me on the shoulder. “I’m more concerned about the fact that it’s increasingly apparent our suspicions about the president are correct.”
“Not necessarily. I am kind of an asshole, but given he’s framing me for killing you, I suppose it’s not a big step to think he’s a bad guy too.”
“Yes,” Gabrielle said. “So, what we have to do next is clear.”
“Yep, kill the President.” I’d just have to figure out some person to blame it on who wasn’t me and whom the courts could execute in my place.
“What? No!” Gabrielle said, appalled.
“Then we have different definitions of clear.”
“We need to prove I’m still alive, that my father has been replaced, and that the president had Ultragod killed, and then have him impeached.”
“Seems awfully complicated.”
“Do you really want to go down in history with Lee Harvey Oswald and John Wilkes Booth?”
“Everyone forgets Leon Czolgosz and Charles Guiteau.”
“Well, do you?”
I sighed. “No, I don’t. As much as I don’t think Diabloman would mind assaulting the White House and choking the first successful third-party candidate to death, that’s the kind of heat I don’t need. Also, I have a speck of a Grinch’s heart three-sizes-two-small of patriotism left in my body.”
Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “Your nobility moves me.”
“Come on, let’s go get Cindy as I try and think of a plan to get President Omega to confess on live television that doesn’t involve torture.”
“Torture doesn’t work.”
“Only if you’re interrogating someone and expect truthful answers like on television. For hurting people it works fine.”
“I hate that you know that from experience,” Cloak said.
“Sometimes assholes have to be hurt.”
The two of us managed to avoid any more media attention as we reached Cindy’s office on the second floor, taking the stairs to avoid crowds and walking in without bothering to knock. That proved to be a mistake, as the two of us found ourselves surrounded by a hundreds of labeled plastic bags filled with Blitz, the most popular supervillain-produced street drug in Falconcrest City.
Cindy was sitting behind her desk in a surgery mask, cutting a pile of red dust into manageable packets of one hundred to put in each sack for distribution. She was in her civilian doctor’s attire; her hair still in bunches, with a television on her desk showing the Esoterrorism movie. The one starring Karl Urban as Derek Hawthorne and Jessica Chastain as Shannon O’Reilly.
Despite our last encounter ending in literal tears, Cindy looked up without a care in the world. “Oh, hi guys.”
“Cindy!” Gabrielle said, staring at the massive amount of narcotics around her. “This is horrifying!”
“Yeah, don’t you have people to do this?” I asked, reaching over and taking a sniff of the red dust. The effects were an immediate sense of euphoria followed by a somewhat goofy feeling—how I normally felt as a supervillain, basically.
Gabrielle stared at me.
“What?” I said.
“Speaking as a doctor, it’s important that I properly match the purity and size of each Blitz package with appropriate instructions printed on the side for usage. Otherwise, they might be misused by consumers.”
“Yeah, because junkies are so well-known for following the warnings on printed labels,” I said.
“Your prejudice against recreational drug use is terrible,” Cindy said, shaking her head.
“Aren’t you trying to reform?” Gabrielle said, feeling her face.
“Hey, I can be a good-girl vigilante in a slutty-sexy Halloween costume and a drug-dealing, free-hospital-running doctor. There are no laws against that.”
“There are like thirty, actually,” I said. “But who’s equivocating?”
“God, Gary, spare me the lecture. This is like that time you tried to convince me The Force Awakens wasn’t crap.”
“How can you not like The Force Awakens?” It was more a statement than a question. My mind momentarily lost track of why I was here thanks to the Blitz.
“What?” Cindy said, pulling her surgery mask down around her neck. “It’s just A New Hope with new characters and more lens flare.”
“Heathen!” I said, appalled. “There’s Kylo Ren, though, and Rey! And stuff! The thing with Han!”
“Guys—” Gabrielle started to speak.
“Adam Driver was hot in it, I admit,” Cindy said, sighing. “But you don’t think Rey was a Mary Sue? I mean, I like the fact a woman is headlining a Star Wars movie but we didn’t see Luke pick up a lightsaber to fight Darth Vader after Obi-Wan died. Luke lost the fight in The Empire Strikes Back. Which was great because it’s realistic.”
“No, she’s not a Mary Sue!” I said. “There’s a high probability of prior Jedi training or being part of the Chosen One’s bloodline! Maybe she’s even Anakin reincarnated if you want to go with some crack internet theories.”
“Guys,” Gabrielle said, speaking louder.
“First of all, if it’s not on screen then it doesn’t count. Second, Luke and Leia are Vader’s kids and didn’t—”
“Where’s your sense of loyalty?!” I shouted, appalled.
“The Prequels killed it! Kylo Ren is also Vader’s grandson! That should also cancel out any advantage!”
“Guys!” Gabrielle said, getting our attention. “Focus, please.”
“Alright,” I said, then looked back at Cindy. “Poe Dam
eron is going to be the new Han.”
“Poe Dameron should be dead! The TIE Fighter exploded!” Cindy snapped back.
“Are you done?” Gabrielle said. “Because, I never thought I’d say this, you guys may be too geeky for a girl who slept with her stuffed Ewok until she was thirty.”
“I can steal you a replacement,” Cindy offered. “In the original packaging no less.”
Gabrielle felt her face, half-laughing and half-horrified but looking more amused than she’d been since the start of this crisis. “You two, are just so...bad...at not being supervillains.”
“We’re trying not to be?” I asked, genuinely confused.
“Eh, sort of?” Cindy said.
I took a deep breath, deciding to get down to business. “I suppose there’s no use beating around the bush. I’ve got some terrible news: Ultragod is dead.”
“Oh, wow,” Cindy said, blinking as she took that in.
“I’m afraid so,” I said, lowering my head.
“How long do you think that’s going to last?” Cindy asked.
“Wait, what?” I looked up.
“He’s the most popular, most successful superhero of all time. There’s no way he’s going to stay dead.”
“Cindy!” I snapped.
“It doesn’t work like that,” Gabrielle said. “I’m sorry to say.”
“Sure it does. This is like the third time he’s died for real, let alone all the fake-outs with robots or shape-changers. I’ve read your historical comics. You and your dad have literally met GOD three or four times. Just dial him up and ask for a freebie.”
I balled my fist, furious at how insensitive my partner was being. “It didn’t exactly help Mandy, did it?”
“Have you talked to Death?” Cindy suggested.
“Yes,” I muttered. “She’s also offered to resurrect Mandy if I do her a favor.”
“See!” Cindy said. “It’s a matter of perseverance!”
Gabrielle blinked. “You don’t think Death could—”
“Please don’t put me in the awkward position of being forced to choose between resurrecting my wife and your father.”