Just Cause Universe 3: Day of the Destroyer

by Ian Thomas Healy

  The more he tested the suit’s capabilities, the less he felt he was wearing it. He was leaving behind the pupa of his defenseless, powerless self and giving birth to his true nature. He was Destroyer, and the screams of the fallen were like a fanfare announcing his arrival into the world.

  He reached down with his claw, crunched it into the side of some kind of small imported car, and heaved. Destroyer threatened to overbalance and he had to widen his stance, but the four legs held him firm. The car’s tires came off the ground and he hefted it up to show the horrified onlookers. Before he could hurl it into them, the sheet metal failed and the car smashed to the pavement. No matter, he thought with glee. He braced three of his legs and booted it with the fourth. It didn’t sail like a football, which Harlan would have loved, but it did flip into the side of the Korean grocery store, pinning several people beneath it.

  He hosed them all down with napalm for good measure. If they’d had any sense, they’d have run away long ago. Now they were getting what they deserved, just like the whole neighborhood. Urban renewal, Destroyer-style.

  He sauntered across the street, pure attitude on four legs, and sliced through a streetlamp with his buzzsaw. It made a satisfying crash when it fell and an even more satisfying crunch when he crushed it underfoot.

  Harlan giggled. He couldn’t ever remember having this much fun in his life. If only Gretchen could see him now, wouldn’t she be impressed. She could be his Fay Wray and he could be King Kong. Except in Harlan’s story, the giant monster would bring down the whole city.

  Something on his main monitor gave him pause. A figure stood in the middle of the street, facing him without running away. He touched a couple switches to activate the servomotors and focused a pair of searchlights from an old police car.

  It was Pony Girl of Just Cause, and she was in his road. Soot and sweat stained her face and costume, and she looked like she’d already had a hell of a fight without his help. Instead of fleeing like any intelligent being, she stood her ground.

  It would have been so easy to just unlimber the bolt guns and turn her into so much hamburger, but Harlan’s curiosity was piqued. He flipped on the external microphones.

  “Hey, is there somebody inside that thing?” she called.

  The question caught Harlan off guard. He’d expected empty threats and demands. He activated his own microphone. It processed his voice through a vocoder and several effects pedals he’d found in the wreckage of a van that had once belonged to a band called Shrew Tamers, according to the garish paint on the side. “Yes,” he said. Destroyer’s speakers gave his voice a delicious baritone that shook dust from cracks in building walls.

  Pony Girl put her hands on her hips. “Huh,” she said. “Okay, I want you to shut off your engine or whatever, and I’m going to need to see your license and registration.”

  “You… what?” Harlan blinked in confusion. “I don’t have one.”

  “Operating a vehicle without a license is a crime,” said Pony Girl. “So is vandalism, arson, and littering.” She pointed at him. “And murder.” She nodded toward the car Harlan had swiped aside. She hadn’t made any attempt to help those people. What kind of hero was she, anyway? A smart one, Harlan realized. She knew those people were beyond help, and so she’d ignored them. Here was an opponent who would be worth his mettle, willing to sacrifice the little people for her own greater good.

  She was going to be dangerous.

  “Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way,” she called.

  “What’s the easy way?”

  Pony Girl’s smile was devoid of any humor. “You cooperate.”

  “No way!” Harlan hated how emotional he sounded, even despite the vocoder effects. Surely, she could see he was just a kid. And she was in Just Cause, the greatest superhero team in history. What chance did he have against them if they brought their full might to bear against Destroyer?

  “Last chance,” said Pony Girl. “Then we peel you right out of that ugly monstrosity.”

  Her last word galvanized Harlan. Monstrosity? Ugly? Destroyer was his greatest achievement!

  “You and what army? All I see is you.” He touched a control and the arms bearing the bolt guns took on primary control functions. He lowered them and pointed them at her. “And all you are is dead meat, hero.”

  The bolt guns chattered and blasted chunks of pavement high into the air, but Pony Girl was already gone. Harlan glanced from screen to screen. Destroyer had some awkward blind spots and insufficient lighting for such dark conditions. Already Harlan was adding things to his list of improvements. 360-degree vision. Radar. Infrared detection.

  Pony Girl popped up from behind a car and hurled a rock at him. Her arm blurred with super speed and Destroyer rang with the impact. A monitor screen went dark.

  Harlan reacted fast, triggering a blast of napalm that turned Pony Girl’s cover into a raging inferno.

  “Come on!” He banged Destroyer’s arms together.

  And it was on.

  #

  Tommy drifted through the streets of Queens, helping people and stopping looters when he could. It seemed like the whole city had freaked out. He wondered if the rest of the world would follow suit. As long as he’d lived in New York, it seemed as the Big Apple went, so did the nation, and as America went, so did the world.

  Perhaps it was the pervasive feeling of disenchantment in America that had led to the bizarre antisocial behavior of the denizens of her premiere city. People couldn’t afford gas, couldn’t afford food, couldn’t find work. No wonder they were looting.

  Tommy blasted air at the feet of a fleeing thief laden with cartons of cigarettes. Packs of Camels and Marlboros scattered in the wind. “Go home,” said Tommy. “There are people out here far more dangerous than me.”

  The boy’s eyes widened as he took in Tommy’s flowing cape and hair. He nodded and said, “Yes, sir.” Then, as Tommy flew away, he looked back to see the boy retrieving his spilled cigarettes.

  Nothing ever changes, thought Tommy. He started to look for a phone book. Every pay phone he came across had been vandalized, with the phone book ripped out. He wondered if any of the looted stores along the streets had directories, but it would be his luck to be mistaken for a looter and shot by police. Tommy had several parahuman abilities, but being bulletproof was not one of them.

  He swooped down to scoop a pedestrian clear as a car jumped the curb and crashed right through the front window of a liquor store. The young man he’d rescued yelled in fright and beat at Tommy’s hands as they held him. Fed up, he dropped the fellow from several feet up. The young man bounced off the roof of a Chevrolet and rolled onto the street, bellowing in angry pain. “You’re welcome,” hissed Tommy. He turned and vented his anger against the two looters who’d crashed the store, blasting their bottles into shards around them until they could only cower in fear.

  He grabbed a young man laden with a record player and smashed him up against a brick wall. The record player fell to the ground in pieces. “Stop it,” yelled Tommy as he punched the man in the face over and over. “Stop destroying everything!”

  The young man held up his hands and blubbered through split lips and a bloodied nose. “Doan hit me no mo’, man, I’m sorry!”

  Appalled at himself, Tommy dropped the man and fled, slipping up and over several blocks. He couldn’t do it anymore. Watching these people he was supposed to be protecting as they acted like some brainless herd of frightened cattle made him feel like throwing up.

  He crashed down to a bench by a bus stop, his blood pounding in his ears and cold sweat seemed to seep from every pore. In the distance, he could hear a cacophony of destruction: glass breaking, sirens, and angry shouts. He dug his fists into his ears against it. How could he fight an entire city?

  When he looked up, he saw a phone booth across the street with an intact directory dangling from its braided steel cord. He blinked at it, not quite daring to believe his luck had changed. Shadows stole through the d
arkness nearby, but none stopped to look at him as he pulled out a small flashlight from his belt and thumbed through the K section of the white pages.

  Kovacs… Kovchenko… Kovnesky! There were fewer listings than he’d hoped and only one M. Kovnesky.

  Bobby’s voice from the radio interrupted his thoughts. “All Just Cause members converge on Harlem at your best speed. Pony Girl and Imp have encountered a significant threat and need immediate backup.”

  Tommy couldn’t believe his ears. The phrase significant threat meant an opponent of parahuman caliber. His eyes widened as the meaning sank in past the disillusioned fog in his brain.

  A parahuman opponent.

  Purpose flowed back into Tommy like someone had turned on a tap. He looked down at the page clutched in his fingers. Miranda would have to wait. He tore the page free from the book and shoved it into his belt.

  “This is Tornado, responding from Queens,” he said into the radio. Other voices echoed his: Sundancer’s, the Steel Soldier’s, even that of a desultory Javelin. He didn’t hear John respond, but he was probably underground where the radios didn’t reach. Lionheart said he was busy with a large building fire and attendant rescues. Bobby cleared him to continue.

  Glorious winds filled Tommy’s cape and bore him aloft. He spun around once as he rose to get his bearings. Long Island was a dark blotch against the distant Jersey shoreline, peppered with stray fires and headlights. He spun up the winds to the speed of his namesake and hurtled across the river, heading north towards Harlem, where most of the fires were concentrated.

  He spiraled once over town, but Faith’s opponent was easy to spot from overhead. It was some kind of gigantic humanoid machine, standing amid a veritable inferno of burning buildings. It twisted around, waving multiple arms in a futile attempt to hit a red blur that wove around and underneath it.

  “Jesus,” said Tommy as the machine lumbered against a building and collapsed the brick construction. He bent at the waist, dropping into a screaming power dive with a column of compressed air ahead of him like a battering ram. His stomach flip-flopped and his vision grew spotty as he closed on the mechanical behemoth at incredible speeds.

  He barely dodged the recoil of air against the machine. If it had hit him, he’d have been splattered across the sky like a bug on a windshield. The force of his compressed wind staggered the monstrosity, which looked like its builder had cobbled it together from wrecked vehicles. It splayed its huge feet and kept its balance.

  Tommy slowed his rushing pace to really look at the creation for the first time. He’d given it his best, hardest shot, and hadn’t done worse than crack a couple of headlights.

  The machine reached down to rip a bus stop bench from the sidewalk and hurled it at Tommy. He dodged the missile easily enough, but there was no mistaking murderous intent.

  “Shit, we’re in trouble,” he murmured.

  #

  Bobby’s call to action came across Javier’s helmet radio. Gretchen could hear the underlying panic in his voice. The Puerto Rican didn’t look up from his tinkering.

  “Aren’t you going to acknowledge that?” asked Gretchen.

  “Nope. I’m busy guarding a dangerous parahuman criminal.” A sour look crossed his face, as if he’d burped up a little vomit. “Besides, I’m still way too fucking hung over.”

  “You are a sorry excuse for a superhero,” said Shane. “I can’t believe I used to look up to you guys. You’re a bunch of drunks and addicts.”

  “Not everyone. Mostly just me. But here, if it’ll make you happy …” He picked up his helmet and reached inside to touch a switch. “Javelin, acknowledging.” He set the helmet back down beside him and got to work once more.

  Gretchen shook her head in sadness. How were people like this going to help her?

  Bobby burst into the room. “What are you doing?” he asked Javier, incredulous at the man’s disinterested demeanor.

  “Guarding.” Javier gave Bobby a canny smile.

  “I need you out there. Faith’s facing down some kind of giant monster machine by herself.”

  Javier held up his dissected glove as evidence. “I’m kind of in pieces here. Not really in any shape to battle robots or whatever it is.”

  “Goddamn it, Javier.” Bobby stalked around the table. “Get off your ass and go help my wife!”

  “What, Ricky’s too busy?”

  Bobby grabbed Javier by the shoulders and threw him backwards out of his chair. Shane leaped to his feet. The power in Gretchen begged to be set free again but she held it back.

  “You son of a bitch,” growled Bobby. “You get your ass out of here right now. If you don’t go back up your teammates, I’ll throw your ass out of here for good.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” Javier rubbed the back of his head where it had bounced off the wall.

  “Want to try me?”

  Without another word, Javier collected his disassembled gauntlet and left the conference room.

  “God, what an asshole. I don’t know why you even put up with him,” said Shane.

  Bobby flung himself into a chair and massaged his temples. “I don’t either.”

  “How bad is it out there?” asked Gretchen.

  “Bad,” said Bobby. “People are rioting and looting and setting fires everywhere.”

  “Maybe I could help,” said Gretchen.

  Bobby shook his head. “It’s safer for you here.”

  “No, I’m serious.” She turned to Shane. “Can I borrow your lighter?”

  He handed it to her. It was a scarred Zippo with a faded American flag painted on one side. Gretchen spun the wheel and locked it on. The tiny flame flickered in the darkness. She set the lighter down on the tabletop and raised her hand, concentrating.

  The power leaped out to form a perfect bubble of nothingness around the flame, which simply winked out. Gretchen focused on the vacuum, and instead of releasing it, shrank it down to nothing, preventing it from making a miniature sonic boom.

  She turned with a proud smile for Bobby. “I can put fires out.”

  Bobby shook his head. “That’s great, and it would be useful, but I can’t let you out of here. You’re a murder suspect. Devereaux would have my ass.”

  “Then send someone out with me,” said Gretchen. “I want to help. I want to do something to help people instead of hurting them.”

  “I can’t, I’m sorry. I don’t have anyone left,” said Bobby. “I’ve got a goddamned giant robot tearing up Harlem in the middle of this blackout. We’re spread too thin.”

  “Harlem?” Shane looked worried. “That’s my area. I know a lot of people there.”

  A harried-looking young man in a sweat-stained button-down shirt hurried into the room and passed Bobby a folded note. He opened it and read it. Lines of consternation appeared on his brow. He nodded at the messenger, who left as quickly as he’d arrived.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Gretchen.

  Bobby stood and took a deep breath. “Change of plans. You want to help? I’m going to let you help.”

  “You are? Why?”

  “The Federal agents hunting you are returning here any minute. If they know I’ve been sheltering you without notifying them that we took you into custody, they can arrest me for obstructing an official investigation.”

  “Jesus,” said Shane. “They’d do that?”

  “In a heartbeat,” said Bobby. “The FBI has never liked Just Cause ever since we came out of hiding in the Fifties. Any chance they get to make us look bad, or worse yet, shut us down, they’ll take it. And I spent the afternoon with these two guys. They’re scumbags. They’ve already made up their minds about you, Ms. Gumm. You’d be lucky only to be arrested. Guys like that tend to shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “Wh-what should I do?” Gretchen felt her momentary bravado evaporate in the face of government agents who only saw her as a murderer.

  Bobby appeared to come to a decision of some sort. “Come with me. If you’re going to
be out in the field representing Just Cause, we can’t have you looking like that. You either,” he added as he looked at Shane’s shirtless torso.

  “Wait, what are you doing?” asked Shane as he and Gretchen hurried after Bobby to the team locker rooms.

  “I’m trying to keep your girlfriend out of prison,” said Bobby. “We’ve got to get the public’s opinion on her side. If she’s out there fighting fires and saving lives, it’ll be very hard for the Feds to quietly put her away.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Gretchen.

  Bobby thrust some coveralls like he wore at her and Shane. “Congratulations, you two. I’m officially inducting you into Just Cause.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  July 14, 1977, 12:00 AM

  Faith danced away from the machine’s chattering guns. She’d discovered that they fired not bullets, but heavy bolts that tended to leave large, ragged holes in whatever they struck. Whoever had built the machine had optimized it for combat.

  She ducked behind a parked car for a few seconds to catch her breath. She’d lost her radio and had no idea where Irlene was, or if anyone else was coming to her aid.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” taunted the machine’s driver.

  Faith looked around for something, anything to use as a weapon against the machine she’d begun to think of as a walking tank. She’d never before felt so helpless against an opponent. Her super-speed, normally so formidable against mundane opponents, was rendered useless against this armored behemoth.

  “Eeny, meeny, miny, mo,” said the driver. The buzzsaw ripped downward through the car in front of the one Faith hid behind. She yelped as hot sparks showered her and burned tiny holes in her costume.