“Corporal, what are…” Showers began. Erich threw his hand up to silence her.
“Zealot, let her go!” Aeschylus shouted as he rolled to his side. He tried to get upright, but he must have still been dazed from being slammed into the table and collapsed to the ground.
“Zealot…” Erich seemed to be testing the word, rolling it on his tongue. “Named for my devotion to duty.” He turned to look at Aeschylus. One of the Enforcers was helping him to his feet in a display of sympathy. “A name you stole from me. When you took my hands… you took my dreams.”
Aeschylus shoved the Enforcer away. “I gave you the means to fight Iron Curtain, the means to be a hero… then… you and Arbiter killed my wife!”
“It was the game she played,” Erich said, turning back to Ariana. It was clear she was losing her grasp on consciousness. “Losing just held fatal consequences.”
“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” Aeschylus said, staggering. He grabbed onto the kitchen counter to support himself. “Rigged your damn gauntlets to take out the rest of your crippled ass.” He was trying to turn Erich’s attention back to him, even if there was no way he could win in a straight fight.
Erich’s eyes didn’t stray from his victim. “You better hurry. I can feel her life… slipping away.” His tonality betrayed his enjoyment. He couldn’t feel anything with those cold mechanical hands, but the small smile on his face seemed to prove otherwise. “It’s like… history is repeating itself… she even looks just like her.” He cast a look at the old man, his eyes gleaming with perverted excitement. “Of course, you can change the outcome of this story.”
Ariana squinted at her father and choked out, “Don’t…”
Aeschylus glared at him, then his head fell. “The basement. There’s a safe in the far corner… behind the bookshelf. The combination…” He shivered as he took a breath. “Five, twenty-seven, eighty-eight.” Erich motioned with his head to the Enforcers, the nameless two vanishing further into the house. “Please… let her go.”
Erich dropped her. Ariana fell to the floor into a heap, gulping air. “May twenty-seventh, 1988…” The man reached into his trench coat and pulled something unseen out from an internal pocket. “It’s interesting how we hold tragedy close to our hearts.” He walked toward the door leading to the rest of the house.
Aeschylus fell to the floor and clambered toward Ariana. The thin metal fingers had left red trails along her neck, two of which glistened with slender trails of blood. Her eyes were glazed and wandering, but she was still alive. “I’m so sorry, Ari…” He gathered her into his arms.
The tromping of boots up stairs preceded the Enforcers returning with a metal case. “We have secured the plans, sir.”
“Excellent.” Erich grabbed the case from them. “Zip-tie Inventor. Take them to the cars. We’ll radio Arbiter from the road.” With his other hand, he shook the auto-syringe he had taken from his pocket. Blue liquid inside of it glowed faintly as he jammed the needle into his neck. With a hiss, the liquid shot into his veins.
The effect was instantaneous. Involuntary spasms wracked his form, and he seemed to be in intense agony for a second. His back arched, his shoulders snapped back, and he stared at the ceiling. Then, he twisted his head slowly, unleashing a terrible crack, and he relaxed. “Tell your daughter everything will be alright,” he said dreamily. The effect was ethereal, ghostly, like he never had a violent impulse in his life. At the same time, there was something malevolent despite the sudden calm tone: a calculated and controlled measure of fury. “Lie to her.”
Erich led the way as Lieutenant Showers hefted Aeschylus to his feet while another Enforcer gathered Ariana in his arms. The lieutenant bound the man’s hands together and guided him out of his house. Once outside, Erich and the unoccupied officer went to the lead of three vehicles. The corporal walked as though in a trance, careful and dreamy, full of violence and peace all at once. The excited, childlike quality he had exhibited when strangling Ariana had vanished in favor of that… thing walking across the lawn.
Showers led Aeschylus to the second vehicle as Ariana was carried to the last. Aeschylus fought against his captor. “Ariana, no!”
Ariana hung loosely in the arms of the Enforcer. Another got out of the vehicle and opened the rear door so she could slide the stunned woman across the seat. Aeschylus fought harder at the sight, when his Enforcer pulled him close. “Listen,” Showers began, “it’s no use fighting. She’ll be alright, trust me.” They reached the car.
“Trust you? After what happened in there?” Aeschylus turned toward the Enforcer as the rear door of the vehicle opened. All down the street, doors and windows bearing prying eyes opened.
“If you don’t calm down, sir, we will subdue you,” came the warning. In front of Aeschylus, the car bearing Erich turned over its engine and slowly drove down the street. The Enforcer in front of him looked around at the people now stepping into the street to get a better look. “Damn,” the woman grunted.
“Let me go with my daughter…” Aeschylus was only dimly aware that they had an audience. “Lieutenant Showers, please…”
The Enforcer looked at him impatiently, then motioned to the rear vehicle. “Hudgeon, take him,” Showers yelled.
A pair of hands grabbed Aeschylus from behind and started dragging him toward his daughter. “Thank you,” he croaked to the one who had taken him outside.
But the woman was clicking her earpiece as her eyes darted about, moving from onlooker to onlooker. She was saying something in code to the listener on the other end: “Sector thirteen. Possible Violent Whiskeys. Immediate blackout requested. Awaiting Darkest Night initiation. Over.” As Aeschylus was crammed into the car, villains were approaching their vehicles, some asking questions, other merely watching intently. Then, with the pop of a power outage, the world went black. There were screams, and only the pale light of the moon illuminated the descendant panic.
June 24th, 2011
Early Morning
Arthur was still stunned when he returned to the apartment. Without a word, he joined Tim and James in the living room as they watched television. Talia emerged eventually. Tim switched to the news an hour before he retreated to the bedroom. It didn’t seem like any of them were too shocked by what they heard. It was much the same information repeated every ten to fifteen minutes. Talia, Marsh, Severson, Zombress, the hint of a growing conspiracy. James eventually fell asleep sitting up. Tim retired with an angry huff. Talia, with nothing else to really do, went to take a shower.
With a click, Arthur muted the television, captions filling in the flapping gums. The printed words were much less frightening than the blatantly hostile tones of the various talking heads. Something panged inside his gut, and he stood and went into his room. Talia hadn’t done much, save open a few books and the blinds.
“Hey, Mollie,” he said quietly.
“Good evening, Arthur.”
He couldn’t think of much to say. “How are the files coming?”
“They are pretty badly damaged. Ninety percent data loss. But what are you going to do, eh?” The casual ‘eh’ at the end sounded more like a hiccup than anything intentional. Arthur would have smiled had everything not sucked so profoundly.
“Come on,” he said as he unhooked the wired components. “You’re going to keep me company.” Hefting the computer, he took Mollie into the living room.
“I will have to bill you for this,” Mollie sighed, her way of saying she was working on something important and didn’t wish to be bothered.
Arthur shook his head as he set her on the table. “No, you won’t.” He adjusted the screen so he could view it comfortably while leaning back. “Just want to watch a slide show.”
“I see,” came the hummed reply. “Feeling nostalgic?” Arthur nodded. “I will leave you to it.”
He leaned back as pictures faded into and then out of existence on the screen. Most of the pictures had been taken at his father’s family estate in Pe
nnsylvania, the old trees and ancient house providing an antiquated look to the photos. Arthur and his mother. His entire family, the infant Julia held in his arms. His father and mother. His mother vanished entirely from the photographs after this one, replaced by a growing Julia and himself. And, of course, an incredibly dour looking Dante. Another snapshot of him and Julia, older. Julia dressed as a cowgirl for Halloween. Him, alone, on a swing. As more photos passed, Arthur found himself growing scarcer. The final picture, taken in the city, was of his sister and father looking decidedly happy.
Decidedly happy without him there.
“Three a.m. and you’re still up.” The Russian accent was surprisingly soft, so much so that Arthur wasn’t even startled to hear it. From the sound of it, she was watching him from sitting at the kitchen counter.
He could help but feel a little self-conscious. “Couldn’t sleep. You know… what with the living with a felon thing.”
“I’d apologize, but you’re technically on the lam, too.”
“Ah, yes,” Arthur began. “But they don’t know it, yet.” He cast a look back at her. An old white robe clung to her body, and the only hint of her shower was the dampness of her hair. Other than that, she looked stunning. Arthur felt immediately embarrassed by what was no doubt being interpreted as staring. “Sorry about the robe. It’s the only one I have.”
She stood and walked over to behind the couch. “Don’t worry about it. Although…” She pulled back a lapel and gestured to an embroidered ‘D’ suffering from an aborted removal attempt. “I am worried that you stole this.”
“Dante,” he said spitefully. “It was my father’s.”
“Ah, the elusive Mr. Lovelass.” She pointed to the computer. “I’ve gone so long just thinking of him as Dark Saint that I didn’t realize he was your dad until today.”
“That’s fine. I try to forget he’s my dad most days.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “About that: how did one of the foremost super heroes of the Silver Age end up producing someone so intent on becoming a super villain?”
“A lot of stuff,” Arthur said evenly. He put his hand to his temple. “I wasn’t the most agreeable kid out there, which didn’t sit well with him.” He winced subtly at a memory. “One day at school, some kid was being a dick about my mother and sister. My mom was… dead… at that point. Didn’t feel it was right for him to say anything and I cracked him right in the face.”
The pause afterwards went on longer than Talia had expected. She prodded him. “And?”
“And I got the crap kicked out of me. Dad got called in, and I got kicked out of the house that night.”
“For fighting?” Talia asked, mixed between stunned and skeptical. “A schoolyard brawl is hardly a crime. Push any child enough…”
Arthur threw his hand up to stop her thought. “You’re forgetting I’m the son of Dark Saint, the ‘Mimic of a Thousand Men’.” He looked at her. “His children do not start fights. They only end them.” Then he went back to looking at one of the pictures that faded on the screen, one where Dante smiled alongside Julia.
She pointed at his sister. “Your sibling?”
“Yup. Julia ‘Gunslinger’ Lovelass.” He announced her hero name with an audible sneer.
“You aren’t close, then?” Talia asked, no doubt anticipating the answer.
He thought about the question. “I tried to be. But I went one way, she went the other,” he explained with a touch of sadness. “If it came down to it, I’d do anything she asked. I just don’t think she’d do the same.” Arthur stared angrily at the image on the screen. “Just look at that smug bastard.”
“You shouldn’t talk about him like that,” Talia said softly. “He died Friday night.” She walked around to the front of the sofa.
Arthur fought to not roll his eyes. Instead, he flicked at the top of the sofa cushion. “Good riddance. If someone didn’t beat me to it, I would have tried to kill him.”
Talia sat down, her back against the furniture’s arm, facing Arthur. “You can’t possibly mean that.”
“Why not? Because he’s dead?” He let out a gasp of bitter laughter. “Apparently all you have to do is die and then everyone loves you.” His hands went up as though framing a slogan. “‘Death, the ultimate cure-all for low popularity’.” The two sat in silence for a while, Arthur not really noticing that Talia was drumming her fingers impatiently.
“Look, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you…” she began, breaking the uneasy silence. “… Do you remember what you said about my father?”
Arthur nodded his head as he thought. “Soviet super hero?”
“That’s it,” Talia said, with a smile.
“Red Hammer was, and will always be, probably the greatest hero Russia will ever know.” Talia started to say something, but he cut her off. “With the exception of your grandmother, that is.”
“Ah, yes, the mysterious Ilyana,” she said with a degree of mistiness in her voice as she imitated his earlier death-slogan hand motion. “Came from Siberia to the people’s cry in World War One, to wrest them from the yoke of the Czar.” She cocked an eye in his direction. “That’s from a poem we were required to memorize.”
“No fooling?” Arthur said, trying not to laugh.
“Not at all.” Talia scratched absently at her hair. “Adored by Lenin, beloved by Trotsky, feared by Stalin…”
“The way she ended up beating his ass, he did well to fear her.” Arthur leaned back, pleased with the new direction the conversation was heading. “History and science were always my strong suits. Even if I always failed the Cold War units because people were required to paint Russia as absolutely vile.”
Talia laughed a little. “Communism, bad!” she grunted with a wave of her hand.
“Pretty much.” He looked at her, smiling a bit. “Whenever there was talk of Russian history, it was always drilled into our heads how wonderful the Czars were, how inhuman Trotsky was, and how the USSR had an armada of super villains waiting to pounce on us at any moment.” He forced himself to look away so as not to be rude. “People tend to forget that one country’s heroes are another’s villains.”
“It’s so refreshing to hear that,” she said, eyeing him curiously. “Even so-called ‘liberals’ deride anyone they don’t agree with.”
Arthur nodded with an arched eyebrow. “Politics. Ya can’t beat it, can you?”
Talia gave a dismissive puff of air. “It’s human nature.” She craned her neck to the side, trying to get a pop that didn’t come. “Do you know who People’s Voice is?”
“He’s the High Consul of the Moscow Super Heroes’ Guild, right?” Arthur asked with a fair degree of certainty.
Talia nodded. “Before the Soviet collapse, he was better known as the villain who killed 358 civilians before being brought down.”
“By your father, right?” Talia nodded. “How is life like this?”
She gave an indignant snort. “All I know is one day my father was alive and discussing the future ahead of us in the awaiting government. And then…” Talia trailed off and looked back toward the kitchen. Arthur didn’t know quite what to say, and was saved by her clearing her throat. “He only killed once.”
“Capital Punishment,” Arthur filled in the blank with a knowing nod. “One of our heroes.”
She puffed again. “It was an accident. No matter what they say.” Talia bit her lip, recalling the details. “He drank constantly when he was forced to retire. And then, with the collapse…” she trailed off again. A tear rolled down her cheek, which she immediately wiped away. “He told me to run when he heard them coming. Seven of them for one man. One drunken man.” She swallowed, hard. “He gave them a fight… but then People’s Voice…”
The pause felt enormous, uncomfortable, and growing. “I’m sorry,” he said.
From the way she spoke, it was clear she was only half there with him in the living room. “They left the house… like they were leaving for a damn smoke break. I
went to my father’s body and tried to wake him up…” Talia shook her head at the memory. “Stupid.” Arthur was inclined to disagree, but said nothing. “Then, I smelled his cigarette burning on the floor.” She took a cigarette out of the robe pocket. “No time for my clothes, for my pictures, for anything. They were returning and started talking about waiting for me to come home. So…” Holding it in front of her, she rolled it back and forth between her thumb and index finger. “This… is the only thing I have of my father’s.”
Arthur looked at it like it was an artifact from another era. But something nagged at the back of his brain. “I thought you said you smelled it burning.”
“I did,” she said, placing it back into her pocket.
He didn’t really feel like pressing the issue. Instead, he shifted his weight before changing the topic. “I did a report on your father’s confrontation with Capital Punishment. ‘East versus West or Hero versus Hero?’ was the title.” Arthur placed his hands on his head and nodded at the memory. “Worked for months on the thing. Earned me an ‘F’ for disagreeing with the accepted world view.”
Talia gave a laugh of incredulousness. “Seriously?”
He nodded. “Teacher probably feared for his job, lest it get out to the school board a teenager was having ‘troublesome thoughts’ in his class.”
“This was after you were kicked out, right?”
“Yup,” he said. “School was really the only place I could go. I don’t think my mother had any relatives. And my charming father was an only child.” Arthur gestured to an old photograph on the wall of a long-haired, youthful version of himself. Tim stood by his side, trying and failing to look like an angry teenage punk. “That’s where I met Tim. His family took me in. Best bunch of neutrals you’d ever meet.”
“That explains why you’re so defensive of him,” Talia said with a smile.
Arthur looked at her out the side of his eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” The smile stayed. “It’s cute.”
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