by Ben Bequer
* * *
Mr. Haha was engaged with Silverspar, dodging the armored superhero’s powerful blows, and chipping away with his katana against the strong metal armor. The rabbit-man was fast, I had to give him that, and his skilled blows rocked the man in armor, but Silverspar seemed to be fighting not for a victory, but for a stand-off, until his partners defeated me, Dr. Zundergrub and Cool Hand. Then they could dismantle Influx and Mr. Haha with combined force.
Nearby, Influx let her power rip, full-bore into Captain Miraculous and it was impressive to watch the fireworks. The yellow-white phosphorescence rippled from her form, illuminating the night and reminding all of us why she was our leader, but the captain took the brunt of the blast and moved steadily towards her. Behind him, Bad Karma channeled her supple healing force into Miraculous, shielding him from Influx’s wrath, and once the Captain reached Influx, he and Bad Karma would try to overpower her.
Cool Hand rushed Bad Karma, but she was ready, and he bounced off an invisible protective barrier, disoriented for a moment. She turned on him and waved her arms about, summoning an aura of magic that would put him down for good. I released the tips of my cape, dug into my arrow bag and fired a noise arrow in her direction as I fell down to the helipad. My missile bounced off her shield, but the payload engaged and exploded in a localized 300 decibel microburst. She clutched at her ears and screamed, falling to her knees. Without Karma’s healing force, Miraculous fared poorly beneath the might of Influx power and started retreating from her onslaught.
I came crashing down hard on the deck and tried to do a fancy tuck and roll but ended up slamming my back on the ground as I clumsily came to my feet.
I looked towards Zundergrub, who was manipulating the monstrous yellow demon with his hands like a puppeteer, utilizing the beast with precision against Plasma. For his part, the superhero had engaged his strange powers and transformed into a huge amoeba the size of a school bus. Its pseudo pods did battle with Zundergrub’s imp. The demon went berserk, tearing into the amoeba and ripping pieces of the beast all over the helipad, but it wasn’t doing any serious damage to Plasma. In fact, he had grown so large that it was trying to absorb Zundergrub’s flailing yellow demon within its bulbous form.
The decoy had done its part, giving me a chance to escape, but Atmosphero exposed the gadget using his wind powers to clear the smoke cloud. He stomped on it, crushing the device and disengaging the holo-projection. I didn’t give him a chance to scan for me, firing a concussion arrow that sent him and Pulsewave reeling.
Atmosphero was fast; I had to give him that. He rolled along the ground and came back up firing a lightning bolt at me that stitched me heat to toe and sent me flying across the rooftop. The electricity crackled over my convulsing body. I could only roll along the ground, away from his lightning powers until the range was too far for him.
I came to my feet, muscles complaining with every move and drew an arrow. Across the deck, Atmosphero’s attention was momentarily diverted by Pulsewave, who was trying to come to his feet, still affected by my concussion arrow. A thin trail of blood came from his nose, and blood also dripped from his ears. Atmo turned back to me, enraged, and summoned a storm of colossal proportions. Lightning hissed around him, and the wind threatened to knock us all off the tower. He smiled, finishing up his conjuration, and spread his arms wide, absorbing the mighty forces he had invoked. Energies he was about to unleash in my direction.
“Time to die, Blackjack,” he said.
I dropped the arrow I had chosen, a concussion shot woefully underpowered for the job and pulled a heavy explosive arrow, firing it at Atmosphero. Instead of unleashing those terrible forces that would have killed me, the world around Atmosphero exploded with the force of a quarter stick of dynamite, sending him flying in the air with tons of plastic, metal and concrete.
For the second time tonight the building shook as if from an earthquake.
The concussion wave was so intense it knocked me off my feet. But beyond the explosion’s haze, farther behind where Atmosphero had stood, I saw Pulsewave fall over the edge of the building.
I didn’t have much time to think about it because Atmosphero gathered himself and rose farther in the air. He raked the area around me with lightning and a strong wind pushed me off my feet, rolling toward the edge of the building. I twitched my right boot, engaging another gadget, and from the bottom of my heel exploded a series of claws that tore into the roof and kept me from falling. I fired a couple of arrows but they couldn’t penetrate the vortex that carried Atmosphero aloft.
He lit me up with more lightning, his face a twisted mask of rage, and I could smell the sizzle of cooked flesh, of burning hair. He landed close to me but continued his lightning assault, as if toying with me.
“Hey asshole,” I yelled, hoping to draw him off me. “Your teammate fell off.”
Atmosphero paused his assault and scanned around the top deck.
“What have you done?” he roared and dove to the ground below; with speed I didn’t think he had. An instant later he was gone from my sight.
“Blackjack,” Influx yelled, drawing my attention back to the fight. “Help Cool!”
I looked back at the field and saw the fight much the same, save for Bad Karma. She was standing over Cool Hand, a spear of energy lanced at Cool’s head, pinning him to the deck. I grabbed my bow and drew a noise arrow to neutralize her, but something hit me from behind and I collapsed to the floor, arrows skittering from my quiver and across the helipad’s surface. It was Spitfire, who had regained consciousness and taken to the air. He landed atop me and punched down at me with a flame powered fist. I had only my bow in my hands, so I used it to block the blow. Spitfire’s shot destroyed my bow, raining down pieces of it, and bits of flame on my face and chest.
“Not ready for the big time, huh?” he spat and powered up, covering his body with raw flame as he stood over me.
I had no other choice, I grabbed his flaming form but it was like trying to grab fire itself, and my hand went right through him. Spitfire laughed and clenched his fists high, undulating his flaming powers, enveloping me in his burning halo.
My clothes and hair singed, and roaring temperatures made me howl in pain. He didn’t care that he was killing me. I’m a bad guy. No one would care.
Spitfire punched me in the chest once, then again, burning my shirt and chest harness, pinning me against the ground. I had to do something fast, or I was going to be the first villain defeated rotisserie-style on national television.
I reached for my shoulder holster for a compression grenade, but he had seen enough of my gadgeteering tricks to know what I was planning. Spitfire reached for the holster and engaged his power, burning it and my shirt, and my armpit, and cackling in joy when I howled in pain as the charge exploded against my chest. He punched me again in the face, and I tried hitting him back but he was pure fire, immaterial except where he wanted to be.
“Burn, baby burn, asshole.”
He released me and stood more upright, his halo power pulsing and washing over me with raw flames that burned my clothes and body. But he gave me some space to try something. Something a bit desperate.
I cocked my feet back, which he noticed but ignored. He was probably thinking I was going to try to kick him off me. And why should he worry? He was fire, immune to the force of my physical blows. But I didn’t kick him. I aimed the bottom of my feet in his direction, and engaged the rocket boots.
They sputtered at first, doing nothing, then sparked and came to life, with more force than even I had expected. The boots sprayed fire and smoke at Spitfire, making him laugh even though it forced him a few feet off me.
“You’re joking, right?”
I kept the pressure of the rocket boots on him until I started to get the desired effect. So much flame and smoke removed all the oxygen from the immediate air, and after a few seconds, Spitfire started to flame out. I disengaged the boots and rolled towards him, grabbing his leg. I twisted the knee a
nd pushed it outwards, hearing the popping of bone. As he screamed, his flame power grew again, burning me through my armor. But I lifted him over my head and hurled him into Plasma. The amoeba fizzled and roared in pain from the burning hero that now lay atop him.
Dr. Zundergrub turned his attention towards Captain Miraculous and Bad Karma, and unleashed his horde of tiny black minions. The captain was almost back to Influx so she stopped her blast and turned her left arm into a huge plasma shield, trading blows with the powerful superhero.
“You’re on fire,” Zundergrub told me, rushing past. “Did you know?”
Indeed my cape was on fire and the rest of my upper torso smoldered. I ripped it off and looked down at the arrows scattered all over the floor and grabbed a few. Even without the bow, the warheads on the arrows were still useful. I threw some at Black Karma, and she turned her attention to me. Her eyes flared, surrounded by a whitish anima banner, and I felt an overwhelming force press me down. It was like a massive invisible hand pushing me down on the deck. I fell to my knees, flattened by the pressure, and the arrows I carried slipped through my fingers.
But leaving Cool Hand alone was a bigger mistake than dropping me with my near-useless thrown arrows. Cool stood, reared his bat, and pinged it rapid-fire off the back of her head. She collapsed, but he continued, spattering her blood all over his face and chest and drawing the attention of Captain Miraculous, who rushed towards them.
“Stop,” he roared.
Cool held the bloody bat back, ready to pummel her again. “I’ll crack this bitch up,” he said, his face freckled in crimson.
“Please,” Miraculous added. “I beg you.”
“Enough, Cool Hand,” Influx ordered. “So, are we done here?” she said, taunting Rising Force.
The Captain knelt at Black Karma’s side and rolled her over. She was unconscious and spattered in blood, her face a swollen mess covered with matted, bloody hair.
“Yes. We’ll stand down.” He looked at Silverspar, who took a few steps back from Mr. Haha. The robot patted his opponent in the shoulder with his katana.
“You’re pretty good,” Mr. Haha said sheathing his weapon, and motioning to the camera droids that floated around him. “Check my Facebook and MySpace later for the footage.”
“Fuck you, man,” Silverspar spat.
“Ok, pick us up,” Influx shouted into her comlink and almost immediately the whine of the helicopter’s engines tore through the night as our ride home approached. I picked up a few choice arrows and threw them into my damaged quiver, closing the cover.
The helicopter landed, winds whipping through us. Cool and Zundergrub headed towards it. I walked to Influx, and the beaten Captain kneeling beside his injured wife.
“I have a med kit,” I said digging into one of my leg pouches that had survived Spitfire’s flames.
The Captain shook his head. “Just get out of here.”
Influx grabbed my arm and led me to the chopper, as Zundergrub’s yellow imp, now far reduced and only a foot or so tall, hopped on. I stared back at the crumpled woman, her blood spilled all over the helipad and Captain Miraculous’ suit. Beyond, Plasma also lay on the floor; now back in costume form, groaning from the serious burns to his torso. Then in the distance, I saw Atmosphero rise up and land on the helipad. He returned Captain Miraculous’ querying look, with a slow, painful shake of the head. Apparently, he hadn’t reached Pulsewave in time.
“You alright?” Influx asked me, seeing how distraught I was.
I said nothing, staring at Atmosphero as the helicopter flew off, our first mission a huge success.
* * *
The pilot left the aft-sliding side doors to the helicopter open so the wind roared inside, but for a while none of us spoke over the loud engine whine. The chopper rose as if shot out from a cannon, and in only moments we were miles away from the scene.
Cool then broke the ice, screaming as he released temporal control over his wound. Influx knelt over him and used her healing abilities on the injury, stemming the loss of blood, but her powers were limited. He still needed medical attention.
Cool shared small bottles of champagne he had hidden in his backpack. He opened the first and drained a long hard swig.
“Fuck yeah, boys. And girl. That was an old-time, ass-whooping’.” He clicked bottles with all of us and even Dr. Zundergrub drank his champagne with relish.
“I’m going over the footage and it’s all quite exceptional,” Mr. Haha said, drinking the bubbly, which dribbled down his felt rabbit face. “You in particular, Blackjack, are worthy of mention. I think I can speak for all of us, and all of our future online audience, when I say that I had no idea your cape was designed for flight.”
I said nothing to acknowledge Haha’s compliments. My attention was still on the US Tower, now fading into the distance. In fact, I was a wreck, with my cape half-burned, and the backside of my costume charred. The arrow bag was torn, with only a half-dozen arrows remaining, and I had to use a torn bit of cloak to tie it closed. My bow was destroyed, and I could feel many burns on my face and chest.
And I had killed a man.
Haha continued. “You certainly proved your worth, my friend.”
“No shit, man. Saved my ass back there. Thanks for that.” Cool Hand clinked his mini-bottle to mine again but I didn’t drink
I looked over at Influx, who eyed me. “Nice work.”
I stared out of the open door, watching the city below.
“I think I killed Pulsewave,” I said.
She pursed her eyebrows, “What?”
“Pulsewave. The one with the purple suit. I knocked him off the building by accident.”
Influx nodded, “You sure?”
I nodded and observed the city lights below fade as we traveled northwards into the high desert.
“Bad guy with a heart of gold, huh?”
“What?” Cool said, trying to overhear our conversation.
“Blackjack got one,” Influx said, not bothering to hide the pride in her voice.
“Serious?” Cool asked, regarding me if I had hit a home run to win the game.
I nodded.
“Which one?”
“Pulsewave.”
“You for real?” Cool took a long swig of his drink then exploded, “Hot damn, boys. Old Blackjack here popped his cherry on the first try!”
He reached out to clink my mini-bottle, and slapped my shoulder as hard as he could. Zundergrub brought his drink up in salute, and even Haha cocked his head. Influx smiled like a proud mother.
They were all reveling in the victory, and now I had given them even more cause for celebration. We had killed a bonafide spandex-wearing super and that was reason to jubilate.
“I tell you what,” Cool Hand started, “They’ll be pissed as hell now!”
I had a stupid grin on my face and carried myself to my seat on the far end of the bench. Cool Hand gave me a wink, checked by the pain of Haha wrapping his wound. Zundergrub stared, and I don’t know if he was measuring me as an ally, or a potential future threat.
But the smile on my face was a farce, and I was doing everything in my power to keep from vomiting. I felt hot, like the center of the earth itself bubbling over, and my whole body was covered in sweat. I didn’t know if it was because of Spitfire’s attacks on me, or at the thought that I had killed a man.
Influx came over and knelt before me.
“You alright?”
“I just...” I couldn’t finish. My throat felt hoarse, and I hated myself for having Influx see me so weak. I swallowed hard, trying to hold it in, fighting back the gagging feeling that was overwhelming me.
Influx put her hand on my shoulder, “Easy there.”
I shook my head. “I’m ok,” I said but she her face was so close to mine that my lie was clear to her. Influx had a strange, crooked smile on her face, as if she was judging me, deciding what to do with me. The helicopter’s wide open door and the city rushing by was clear behind her, reminding m
e what would happen if I displeased her or any of my teammates. I couldn’t show weakness, or I’d discover if I could survive a five thousand foot drop.
As if sensing my apprehension, she reached over and held my face, softening her expression. “He got in our way, Blackjack. Okay? And you did what you had to do.”
Influx was still holding my face, hers so close to mine. For the moment, what had happened was forgotten, and I was lost in her gaze. Her face was swathed in near darkness, but for the bit of city light spilling into the helicopter cabin that reflected off her eyes.
“I’m fine,” I said but she stayed close. So close I felt the urge to pull her to me, kiss her, not caring about the others.
Influx smiled, her thumb rubbing the side of my cheek, then settling on my lips. Then she became aware of the others, their voices now slightly hushed as they had noticed our reverie. She withdrew her hand and punched me in the arm.
“You’d better be,” Influx said, looking out the cabin and draining her bottle of champagne. “You’re no good to me if you can’t handle this.”
“We’re almost there,” the pilot yelled from the cabin and the chopper slowed down, banking hard as we approached Dr. Retcon’s building. The same one I had driven to in Pasadena. The same one we had flown from atop the Mount Lee, near the Hollywood sign. The same building was now parked in the middle of the desert, a few miles outside L.A.
As the pilot circled and neared for landing, I also noticed that there was another vehicle on the rooftop, making our landing a bit tight. The pilot still came in hard and fast, and as we approached, the roof lit up to aid in our landing and I could see the other vehicle.
It was a vintage 1950s era, gleaming silver rocket.
Part Two
THE DOWNWARD SPIRAL
Chapter 7
Dr. Walsh met us as we landed on the rooftop, flanked by a group of Retcon’s robots. These machine-men were dressed like EMTs with all kinds of medical gear. They had two stretchers, one for Cool Hand and the other for me, but I could walk, so I followed them as they treated Cool’s injured leg.