Superheroes in Prose: The 1-4 Collection

by Paris, Sevan

  And there you have it. Liberty, The Greatest Hero of all Time, just became The Greatest Douche of all Time.

  Deathbot’s green flames light up the inside of the Jeep and I try to take up as little space as possible. It’s not hard. I’ve never felt so small in my entire life.

  Deathbot quickly recovers. “Well ... I shall assist you in looking for him.”

  Liberty lets Deathbot go and the Jeep rocks back. “No. I’ve got enough to worry about keeping those other idiots under control. I don’t need to worry about holding your hand too.”

  “What do you suggest I do, Liberty? Stand around and—what is the Earthling expression—twiddle my thumbs?”

  Liberty clip clops away. “I don’t care what you do. Just stay out of sight. I’ll contact you when I have the kid.” Liberty takes off, causing the wind to whistle by the Jeep.

  The green light fades. “Get ready, M,” I whisper.

  Gabe, no ...

  I raise my head. Deathbot is about ten feet away with his back turned.

  “People are dying—right now, they’re dying because Deathbot’s looking for me and Liberty’s a dick. I can’t live with that.”

  That’s convenient because you won’t live at all if you step outside.

  M ups the pain. My shoulder turns from a little bit of fire to a lot of ice with tingling sensations running down the entire right side of my body.

  “What are you doing?” I say through clenched teeth.

  Preventing you from getting us both killed, that’s what.

  I grip the Jeep’s steering wheel with my left hand because the right arm is useless. I try not to think about it. Thinking about it will only make me panic. “You’re ... you’re gonna have to do better than that.”

  I open the Jeep’s door. It sticks a little from the buckling. “Hey, Deathbot! You looking for something?”

  Deathbot turns.

  I stick one foot out of the Jeep and the pain almost makes me fall over. “I mean, you look like your looking for something. But that’s the same, dumbass look you have on your face all the time, so it’s hard to tell.”

  “Galaxy ... ” He has a cop’s body now. Or, at least what used to be a cop’s body. The only way I can tell is from the pants and belt, with everything attached to it (the nightstick looks kind of stupid). The upper half is mostly skeleton, metal, wires, and blinking lights. A green flame still covers his head, making what little appears of the skull black. Like before, he’s missing the lower jawbone. He raises his right arm and one of those gun things forms around it. The barrel spins and glows green.

  I think the pain has actually gotten worse since leaving the Jeep. My entire right side is completely numb. My leg is little more than a cane.

  Gabe, if you think this feeble ploy of yours will somehow convince me into, what is at best, a pointless altercation—you’re wrong.

  Deathbot laughs. “I see you are indeed injured and all but defeated, yet you still creep closer to Deathbot. Are you really so eager to die?”

  I stop five feet away from him. Honestly, I don’t remember taking the last several steps. “I guess ... I guess I’m just too damn ... heroic.”

  Deathbot fires.

  M curses and raises our force field a spilt second before the beam hits. The pain in my side disappears.

  You’d best make this quick.

  I fly past Deathbot.

  Deathbot screams and I hear his boot rockets take off, in hot pursuit.

  This isn’t what I meant by “quick.” In fact, it’s just the opposite.

  “Shut up and listen. Do you remember that thing you did earlier when you killed all the nanites?”

  Yes ...

  “I need you to do it again.”

  I explain my plan to him right before we get to the TVA breezeway on Broad Street.

  No.

  Deathbot fires and the beam misses my left side by three feet and blows up a FedEx drop box one block away.

  “Why?!”

  Because this plan—and I use the term ever so loosely—will most likely get the both of us killed.

  “Do you know how many people in Prose could die if we don’t do this?”

  Do you know how little I care?

  “Fine. We’ll just do this the hard way.”

  I fly above the buildings. Deathbot isn’t fast enough to keep up, so I slow down.

  You are insane. Either fight or flight. It makes no difference to me. But make up your mind. Otherwise—

  “What? HEROES will spot us?”

  …. This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Gabe.

  Deathbot fires again and the beam disappears into the night sky. “Well, you’re the one dealing the cards, M.”

  I give one of the HEROES enough time to spot us and then fly back to the cover of the buildings. I pass Deathbot again. He screams and follows, firing another blast.

  People stare at us from the street. Most of them run, but some stay either to look or because they’re too stunned to move. I fly over the Bivoli Theatre, and risk a look back to see if Deathbot is close—

  Only to turn and have Silver Sentinel punch me in the face.

  I bounce off the street below and skid to a halt in front of an office building on the opposite side. Sentinel hovers twenty feet above me, wind stirring the purple plume on top of his helmet.

  I can’t help but laugh. God, that thing looks stupid.

  He points at me. “Stand down, Galaxy,” he says in an amplified voice, echoing off the buildings. A bright-ass head light thing comes out of his chest and shines on me. “This will be a lot less painful if you just—“

  I slam a Grav Bolt into his chest.

  Silver Sentinel’s force field absorbs the brunt of the blast with a yellow shimmer, but it still makes him cartwheel through the air. I fly up and punch Sentinel sending him up another ten feet. I fly up to meet him again, rare back for another punch—only to have Deathbot fly tackle me into the Bivoli Theatre’s Marque.

  They needed a new one anyway.

  Deathbot loses his hold in the impact and goes through the theatre’s brick wall.

  I stand on top of the Marque and brush the “A” and “B” letters of Madam Butterfly off my thigh. The entire sign rocks a little and Deathbot pulls himself out of hole in the wall and steps onto the upper part of the marquee.

  Above you, Gabe.

  Sentinel is right over my head and has formed some kind of energy lance. It’s eight feet long, glows yellow, and he has the damn thing pointed right at me.

  I vacate the marquee right before he fires. A tire-sized chunk of the sign evaporates into a glowing yellow ash, flittering to Broad Street.

  “Holy crap!” What’s he firing with that thing?

  Worry more about what Deathbot fires with his thing.

  I don’t even look—I just fly up right before Deathbot’s green blast hits me. It disappears into an office building two blocks away.

  You need to get this “plan” underway fast, Gabe. I sense Liberty rapidly approaching …

  “So, you’re game now?”

  You’ve left me little choice. But we will have to hurry. I can only separate myself from you for an extremely short amount of time.

  I feel relieved … a little. Just because M’s agreed to help me save Prose doesn’t mean we actually can save it. Especially if we’re fighting Deathbot, Sentinel, and Liberty. Did Liberty include the others into his little plan too?

  Liberty will be here in thirty seconds.

  Like so many other things in my life, I don’t have time to think about it. I do the only thing I can.

  I take the hell off.

  I fly past the Blue Cross/Blue Shield building. I see my reflection streak past in the window.

  They’re gaining, Gabe. And our power is waning. We’re at twenty-five percent.

  “Already?”

  You’re the one that keeps getting shot, pummeled and zapped.

  “Okay, can we orbit Sentinel?”

  He isn’
t a Super, so yes. But I thought you were against—

  Sentinel tackles me. Damn, he’s fast.

  I look down. We’re over the river and the Michael Booth Bridge is just to my right. Sentinel is faster, but I think I’ve got more horsepower. I take us into the water.

  The river boils around us from his jet pack, my powers, or a combination of both. We struggle, flip, and toss around until we hit mud. I fire a Grav Bolt into his chest and the impact separates us. M adjusts my sight, so I can see Sentinel through the murk of the Tennessee.

  I fly up, leaving the river. The bridge is just above me and to my left. After a few seconds, Sentinel is ten feet away to my right.

  I turn and we face each other. Red and blue lights from the bottom of the bridge reflect off us, making it look like we’re surrounded by cop cars.

  “Shouldn’t you be coughing up water?” I say.

  He gets that lance thing ready again. “I can survive the depths of space in this suit,” he says while tilting his head. “A tussle at the bottom of the Tennessee poses no problem.”

  “Good to know. M, hit it.”

  Gladly.

  M reaches out and envelops Sentinel in a blue glow and then rockets him into the night sky. Sentinel’s screams echo for just a second before completely fading away.

  He will, of course, just return after gaining his bearings.

  “Without his orbital suit, it’ll take a while.” I fly over the bridge. There’s something like fifty people gathered on the edge looking at me. “Now to—“

  Something red, black, and gold hits me with the force of a wrecking ball (and that’s no exaggeration, I’ve actually been hit by one).

  I slam into the walking bridge and the entire thing shakes. People scatter. A man with a guitar tumbles behind me. His case upends, sending dollars and quarters all over me.

  Liberty skids to a halt in front of me, tearing five feet of the bridge’s wooden planks to splinters. A slushy cart rolls between us, leaving a trail of blue and red syrup on the broken wood. The cart’s owner thinks about coming after it, but one look at Liberty and me makes him decide that isn’t such a hot idea.

  As if on queue, the wind picks ups and gives Liberty’s red cape that perfect amount of lift. He walks slowly toward me—popping each knuckle so loudly it forces people to blink—and looks so perfect, so heroic, so Super, I want to give up right then and there. “I gave you a choice, son.”

  He kicks me and I fly into the bridge’s metal structure, twenty feet above us. After leaving a sizable dent, I fall back. The bridge shakes more and people turn, running over each other to get away. They scream and act surprised—as if they had no idea of the kind of power they were hanging around, living around, and practically worshiping like a celebrity every day. I can’t really blame them.

  I didn’t either.

  “You could have done it the easy way. But no—you chose the hard way.” He grabs the back of my neck and circles me into one of the metal rope posts in the middle of the bridge. The impact makes it double over and it’s all I can do to pull myself out of it and fall on my back.

  Gabe ... I ... M flakes out on me. He’s too stunned that we’re about to die.

  The fire in my shoulder returns. There’s a stabbing pain in my back to give it company. I don’t even ask M for a reading on our power level. What would be the point?

  “Now, I can’t even give you over to Deathbot to stop the chaos you started. I’ll have to spend the better part of the week picking of the pieces of what he—”

  “Good to know,” A digitized voice says behind Liberty.

  He drops me.

  I land in a puddle of slushy syrup and look up. There’s a throb in my head that’s kind of in rhythm to a Black Eyed Peas song, but I forget which one. My stomach feels like somebody pumps it with a plunger. I roll over, begging to throw up, or for the pain to go away, or to pass out, or to even die. I just want this feeling—all of this freaking pain to go away and I still don’t know if I can stay away from Reagan and I wonder why I’m thinking that and I wonder if I’ll ever think anything again and I hope my mom understands when they find a body if my bonding with M even leaves a body to find.

  Deathbot clamps a palm around my head and lifts me.

  Deathbot?

  I’ve figured it out Gabe.

  Deathbot laughs. “Surprised? You shouldn’t be. Liberty didn’t pose a problem to Deathbot, despite his pointless posturing!” Deathbot turns and holds my head low, so I can see that Liberty’s about to become infected with the Cyborg’s nanites. The World’s Greatest Hero writhes on the ground and clutches his throat. His motions become a blur and then his eyes grow wide with panic. He realizes his super speed isn’t even enough to shake the things off. They enter through his mouth, nose and eyes. He screams and rolls over, causing the bridge to tremble again. I already see a couple of wires poking their way out of his uniform.

  I figured out how to heal you with a minimal use of power. It’s not a complete heal, mind you, but at least you won’t die.

  Deathbot turns me to face him again.

  And then the world rushes back to me.

  The pain, the nausea, and the deleria are completely gone. M fixed me. Somehow, he figured out a way to do it. “You ready, M?”

  Deathbot’s shoulder bazooka clacks into position over his right shoulder. He points it right at me and it whines at a high pitch.

  With great reluctance, Gabe, yes. Let’s finish this.

  Deathbot barks a laugh. “Are you ready to be a hero, Earthling?”

  I hook my fingers in Deathbot’s flaming sockets and pull him close. “Hells yeah.”

  M leaves me.

  Everything that is him—the power, the star field, and the smart assitude—leaves my body, travels down my arm and shoots straight into Deathbot’s face. Deathbot screams and drops me.

  He frantically backs away and trips over a passed out Liberty. Deathbot falls and the star field oozes up his body. Smoke pours out of him and I hear something that sounds like a hundred pennies in a dryer (also, no exaggeration). Nanite clusters explode out of him and fall harmlessly to the bridge.

  As M slowly bonds with the body Deathbot took over, it finally dawns on me I’m not dead or feeling any pain in my arm. In fact, I don’t feel my arm at all. I can’t even move it.

  Deathbot takes that opportunity to deliver an impressive uppercut to my jaw, which I have absolutely no problems feeling.

  I fall on the ground and Deathbot is on top of me, tearing at me with his boney fingers, yelling at me with that vacuum cleaner voice, and—to my absolute horror—he peels open what little is left of some guts at his midsection.

  A flood of nanites rush out like ants and crawl up my belly.

  I scream and kick him off.

  M just about has his body completely enveloped now. If M can kill him before the nanites take me over, I’ll make it. If not ...

  I shake my head. I have to give M enough time to finish the job, which means fighting Deathbot all exposed like.

  Deathbot’s nightstick lays on the ground next to me. I pick it up and go to work on his skull.

  The nanites rush up my chest and back. They tickle a little as they pass my armpits. I think I’m about to die, but knowing what’s at stake, I kinda feel okay with it.

  I hit the skull until it shatters, and I go to work on the wet, mushy stuff inside. I pummel it until there’s nothing left and then I go to work on the ribs, the guns, or anything else large enough for me to hit with this nightstick. My left hand tires, so I switch to my right.

  I stop in mid swing when I realize I can once again use my right hand.

  Gabe?

  M’s with me again. I look at my hands and see he’s turned me back into Galaxy.

  The juicy heap that use to be Deathbot lies motionless on the ground next to me. Liberty slowly raises to one knee, shaking the last of the dead nanite clusters off his chest. He’s okay, which means other people in Prose are okay too. He looks at D
eathbot and then makes eye contact with me.

  I drop the nightstick. It falls on the pile of nanites that were on me a moment ago. “How much juice do we have left?”

  Not nearly enough.

  Liberty slowly walks to me. He figures out what happened and grins. But it’s not the kind of grin a person makes when they’re happy. It’s more like the kind of grin my grandpa used to make when he found out grandma made pancakes.

  “They did it! Liberty and that other dude took out the bad guy!” someone yells behind me.

  I turn and the crowd that ran from Liberty earlier is now running back to the bridge. Some are new. Some were on the bridge when Liberty kicked me into the framework. Capes duking it out is certainly nothing new, but I can tell they don’t really know what to make of me. They already know who Liberty is. Or, at least they know what they’ve been told.

  “Who are you?” a girl in the front asks. She’s wearing a yellow sundress and her eyes flash pink for a split second.

  WTF?

  “I ... ” I look at her and then back at the crowd. There’s upwards of eighty people gathered around me, most of which are taking pictures with their cell phones. Some look at Liberty. Most look at me. Several people accidentally step in Deathbot.

  I straighten up. “I’m Galaxy.”

  “Are you one of the HEROES?” she says loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “Yeah. Guess I am one of the heroes.”

  People laugh, cheer, clap, and ask for autographs. Pink loses herself in the crowd and Liberty makes his way to me. He has to pat three babies on the head and sign five autographs to do it, all of which he does with a smile on his face. A smile that doesn’t touch his eyes.

  Liberty waves at the crowd, but speaks to me in a low voice through his teeth. “I’ve seen your face. It’ll just take one phone call to find out who you are.” He turns to me and holds out his right hand. Not knowing what else to do, I take it and we slowly shake hands for the crowd. “If you don’t register in forty-two hours, I’ll make that phone call and bury your family on the moon.”