Superheroes in Prose: The 1-4 Collection

by Paris, Sevan

  “Why the sudden change of heart? You wanted to hide from The Council before, remember?”

  It is my belief that—if these events come to full fruition—hiding from The Council will become impossible. Since you refuse to go into hiding, the act of surviving on the world will demand that we use our powers openly. If The Council is to come, we may find allies to fight them as well.

  “Okay, but I have one thing to add: I get to reveal my identity to who I want to reveal it to.”

  Agreed.

  “Just like that? After all this, it’s going to be that easy?”

  Why would I lie to you, Gabe? We need each other to survive. Refusal to acknowledge that fact will lead us both to a slow death or—at the very least—you will lead us to a fast one. I tell you what. You sense the slightest bit of betrayal on my part, you just go ahead and fly us right into the sun. You at least have that measure of insurance. I, on the other hand, have nothing more than faith. Faith that you will not try to stab me in the back once this is over. Faith that, instead of trying to find a way to help me live independently, you will find a way to separate my consciousness from your body and disperse or obliterate it. You are certainly not smart enough to do so, but that Casa individual may be.

  I hover somewhere on the friendly side of Mercury, thinking it over. I don’t feel safe letting M out of the box. When he’s in me, at least I have some measure of control over him, if he got out … how powerful would he become? Who would I then be placing in danger? Would I have a choice but to let him out?

  Do I have a choice now?

  I look at the sun. I know things are going to get worse for me before they get better. But I also know I can do this. I was built to do this. I may only have powers because of M, but who I am has nothing to do with M. I’m a hero, dammit. There is no choice to make but the obvious one. I’ll deal with M later when and if I find a way to separate him from me.

  “Okay, M, we’ve gotta deal.”

  Excellent, he says with a mock sense of gratitude. Now, take us back to Earth before someone of consequence senses our being out here.

  “Sure, no problem.” I fly past Mercury.

  M sighs. Wrong way.

  ***

  To conserve power, the flight back from the sun takes a lot longer than the flight there. I land on the roof of Shunter and power down, expecting—or rather hoping—to see Casa. But he’s nowhere in sight.

  “M, what’s our power reading?”

  Twenty percent. I wouldn’t suggest doing any Superhero business for a couple of hours.

  “Can we track Casa?”

  He isn’t a Super, so—unless we happen to be very close to him—no.

  “What about those Magickal doohickeys he had? Did you get a scan on those before I flew off?”

  Gabe, how many times do I have to tell you? There is not—nor will there ever be—any such thing as Magick. ‘Doohickeys’ or otherwise.

  “Then how do you explain that rope or ring thingy? Or the powers of people like Ms. Mistick, Summoner, or Kid Magick? All of those people can do some crazy stuff, even for this town. If that isn’t Magick, then what would you call it?”

  Just because I don’t understand how it works doesn’t mean it’s Magickal. It just means I don’t understand how it works.

  “Whatever.”

  Whatever what? You say that constantly, and I have no idea what it means.

  “It means … whatever you say.”

  So, you agree with me—then good.

  “No—I … back to the point of all this …”

  Yes I did attempt a scan, but no I didn’t succeed. The nature of the devices he used—or rather my understanding of them—prevented me from making any sort of conclusive scan.

  “Which means we can’t track him.”

  Precisely. What is the point of locating him now anyway? We can just wait for him in his office here in the so-called ‘Place of Higher Learning.’

  “We need answers and we need them now, M. I’m not going to quit looking for him until—”

  My phone rings. It’s Mom. I was supposed to meet her at the restaurant five minutes ago.

  “Crap. I have to quit looking for him.”

  ***

  “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten,” Mom says without looking up from her menu.

  I slide the chair out and sit across from her. “Sorry. My head was like a hundred million miles away.”

  She lays the menu on the table. “Gabe, you really need to focus more on the moment. Where does your mind go so often?”

  “I know, I know …” I’ve always sucked at lying, especially at the covering my secret identity stuff. Lately, I’ve been wondering if telling the truth would be the easier, more convincing way to lie. Maybe it will sound so crazy, she’ll assume I’m being sarcastic and let it drop.

  “I mean, honestly, it’s like you live a double life sometimes.”

  Then again, maybe not.

  I pick up the menu. “So, what’s good?”

  “Oh this is Marko’s, everything is good.”

  Oh yes, it’s so good, Gabe doesn’t know when to stop eating. The only thing more fun than the indigestion he later suffers is the hour-long bowel movement the following day.

  “Stop exaggerating,” I say.

  “Well, I think everything here is good. And I think you do too, or you wouldn’t overeat every time we come here,” she says.

  Zing.

  “Can we change the subject please?” I say far more loudly than intended.

  Mom smiles, gives me a small nod, and looks at the menu again.

  The Rat Pack softly plays, just loud enough for me to hear it over the low murmur of the semi-crowded restaurant. I think about how close Marko’s is to the park bench where I last saw Reagan. I could probably walk there in about fifteen minutes.

  “So, is your date here?“

  “No, I told him 8:30. I wanted to give us some time to talk.”

  I know where this is leading …

  “How are you feeling?” She takes a sip of red wine.

  “Better. A lot better.”

  Do you know this female? You’ll have to do much better than that.

  “That’s odd,” she says.

  “Why?”

  “It hasn’t been that long. And these things don’t just go away on their own.”

  Oh, but it didn’t. Tell her about your sojourn to the sun, Gabe.

  “But you do look better. Have you been taking the medicine?”

  “No, I just … took your advice.”

  “Who have you talked to?”

  Oh, just little ol’ me. We’re two peas in a pod, me and this guy.

  “Huh?” I say.

  “I told you the only way to move past this was to talk about it to someone. You’re feeling better, so who did you talk to about it?”

  The voice inside his head.

  “The voice inside my head?”

  Oh, Gabe, no, no, no—

  Mom looks at me over the top of her menu. Beads of sweat form on my head. “Are you hearing a voice?”

  How is it that I understand human nature better than you?

  “No, I’m not—I just … I am feeling better. I took a trip, and some time to think … while I was on the trip and got some stuff worked out.”

  “Where did you go?”

  Please tell her the sun, please tell her the sun, please tell her the sun …

  “The sun—”

  Yesssss!

  “—Side Diner. The Sun-ny Side Diner.”

  Boooo …

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “It’s new. Pretty far out. Kind of close to the Mercury place.”

  “The dealership?”

  “Sure, I think so.” I turn in my seat. “Have you seen our waiter?”

  “There isn’t a Mercury dealership in Prose.”

  “Oh, well …”

  “Gabe, just stop, okay? Stop.”

  “Stop what?” I already know the
answer.

  “Stop lying to me. I mean … enough is enough. I was hoping this was something that would just pass—some sort of phase or something. But, over the past six months or so—it’s like you’ve been a completely different person. You leave the house early. You’re staying out late. You’re always tired. You lie to me all the time, and why? I … what is it you’re hiding?”

  Go ahead. Tell her you’re a Superhero. I’ll bet she’ll love the idea just as much as I do.

  I don’t say anything because I don’t know what to say.

  “Does it have to do with Reagan?”

  “What?”

  “She came by looking for you last month. The night that whole Deathbot thing happened. I never told you because I’ve barely seen you, and I haven’t seen her since.”

  That’s why she mentioned the girlfriend this morning. “Mom, I am going through some stuff. Some crazy stuff. But you wouldn’t understand. It’s …”

  “What, Gabe? Just come out and say it. I’m fifty-one years old. I guarantee you, whatever it is you going to tell me, I can deal—”

  “Hi, and thank you for coming to Marko’s,” says the waiter standing at our table. His disheveled hair, half tucked shirt, and three day old stubble perfectly matches the style of the haphazardly tied apron around his midsection.

  Dr. Casa.

  Now, there’s some melodrama like you only read about.

  “May I get you something to drink?” he says to me. “Something from the wine list, maybe?”

  “I’m not old enough to drink, thanks.”

  “Pity. Does wonders for the nerves. Or so I here.” He looks at Mom. “I need it just to feel normal.”

  Mom looks at me and then back at Casa. Like many of the students from this afternoon’s class, she seems to need some sort of confirmation from me that this is actually happening.

  “How about an … Italian soda?” I say without looking at the menu to see of they have it.

  “You got it.” He walks away without giving either of us another glance.

  “Mom,” I slam my napkin on the table. “There’s something I need to—I need to go to the bathroom.”

  Smooth.

  I wonder if I should have worked some sort of sarcasm clause into my agreement with M earlier.

  Mom opens her mouth to say something, doesn’t, and gives me a small nod instead.

  I round the corner leading to the bathroom, only to find Casa calmly waiting for me next to a bus cart. He finishes removing the crimson apron and tosses it, along with a scratch pad, in the tub on top of the cart.

  “How did you find me?”

  “Those gadgets I showed you earlier weren’t the only things in my collection. I have my ways”

  “No, I figured I knew how, but I mean how could—” a waiter walks up to the cart and tosses a mug into the tote on the top shelf. He gives us a strange look.

  I grab Casa under the arm and lead him to the bathroom. I push the door open, bouncing it off the coffee colored tile wall, do a quick check to make sure the room is empty, and then lock the door.

  Casa watches me the way a scientist watches a hamster. “Sorry—not into dudes.”

  “How could you just drop me like that?”

  “Easy. I let go of the line.”

  “It’s a bit more complicated.”

  “Things weren’t complicated until you tried to complicate them. You thought you could just wake up and stop being a hero. Stop being something you were born to be. Your mind wouldn’t let you. I forced you to realize it before it killed you. Now, we have another problem.”

  “You, Mom … everybody, you think dealing with this stuff is easy and it isn’t. It’s, like, really hard. Throwing yourself into the sun hard."

  Casa’s brow furrows.

  Subtle.

  “I dealt with problem number one”—I point at my chest—“I’m currently dealing with problem number two”—I point at Casa’s chest—“then I’m going to deal with problem number three”—I point outside, in the restaurant where Mom waits. “Can we at least wait until I’m finished with all that before you give me problem number four?”

  “Remember all that stuff about what a real hero is supposed to do? Save the world, protect the innocent, yadda, yadda, yadda? We can go back to the roof if you need another lesson.”

  “Don’t you dare give me a lecture on how to be a hero.”

  “What I do, I do to save people. Someone worthy of the title—the real title—should understand that.”

  “But it doesn’t—what you did—doesn’t mean anything when you just take the easy way out. Not when it means dropping people off rooftops.”

  “Not people—person, singular. Of course I would hurt one person if it increased the chances of saving others. How is my risking your life to help people different than your risking it to help people? It’s the same life versus the same consequences.”

  “That isn’t your choice to make—it’s mine.”

  “Gee, that’s really convenient for you isn’t it?” Casa paces the bathroom. “You’ve never had to make the choice when there wasn’t a safe way, when saving a large group of people meant killing a smaller group.”

  Blood leaves my face. “…. How many, Casa? How many people have you killed on your crusade against Wertham and Liberty?”

  “Don’t be sanctimonious. You haven’t the right. You wouldn’t be alive to judge me if I didn’t do the things you’re judging me for.”

  “You’re no better than Liberty … that gives me every right.”

  Casa’s eyes and cheeks burn with furious anger—his mouth moves, but no words come out.

  I step toward him. “That’s just like what he did with Deathbot you know. Or what he wanted to do before I stopped him. How long will it be until I have to stop you?”

  A few moments of silence is finally broken by the click-click of someone trying to open the locked bathroom door.

  Casa shakes his head. “We don’t have time for this.” He shows me his iPhone screen; it’s playing video of the robot I saw at The Café Show yesterday morning, only it’s attacking another building. The person capturing the cell phone footage—whoever they are—is running and screaming with everyone else, desperately trying to get out of the robot’s path of destruction. The robot says something, but I can’t make it out.

  I snatch the phone, turning my eyes back on Casa. “We’re not finished with this conversation.”

  “And yet, here we are, not having it anymore.”

  “If there is a problem we need to deal with, you need to put your pride aside long enough for us to do said dealing. Are we in agreement?”

  Casa only lets more of the click-clicking on the doorknob answer my question.

  “It attacked the Hunter Museum yesterday morning,” I say. “Where is this?”

  “The Liberty. One of Prose’s higher priced Hotels—”

  “I know what it is, but why isn’t HEROES—”

  “Liberty and the other HEROES are out of town, dealing with that UN business. There is nobody here that can stop it.”

  I shake my head. “HEROES keeps a lot of Supers on reserve to deal with this sort of thing.”

  “Unfortunately, those are the Supers that look really good at doing what they actually suck at doing. The robot has already put thirty of them on stretchers. Fifteen are missing. The others either aren’t in town or are afraid to go up against it. And that doesn’t include all of the normal people this thing has put in the hospital or morgue.”

  “People have died? How many?”

  “Unknown. The authorities will be sifting through the rubble for a while.”

  “Why didn’t I hear about this?”

  “Being nine light-minutes away from the action will do that.”

  He was able to detect us at the sun? Gabe, this human has some serious tech at his disposal. Not even Zy-tech can do that.

  “The time stamp is an hour ago. It isn’t even attacking anymore. Do you know where it’s he
aded?”

  Casa’s eyes narrow. Crap, am I doing that twitchy eye thing that Reagan talked about? The one I do when M talks to me?

  “417 Razier Avenue,” he says.

  “How do you know that?”

  Gabe … we should probably leave right now.

  “Deductive reasoning and a healthy amount of Internet tampering. Remember why it attacked the museum this morning?”

  “…. You mean it’s repeating the same mistake as before? It thinks that the building is a person. It was trying to kill Liberty?”

  “Uh-huh. And who would it try to kill next?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know why it’s trying to kill those two.”

  “Well, I’ve narrowed a list of victims to one: You.”

  That’s fine. I was going to say the same thing, but “whatever.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Hunter is a relative newcomer. Which means there aren’t many villains that have fought both him and Liberty. There are even fewer that have fought Hunter, Liberty, and one other person. And that one other person is you.”

  “But I’ve never fought it.”

  “But you have fought Dr. Villainous.”

  “He sent this thing? That means it’s Zyborg.”

  “Yep.”

  “Why didn’t you just say all that to begin with?”

  “And miss all the fantastic fun here in the loo?”

  In spite of the circumstances, it has been fairly entertaining. Sort of like watching two monkeys play tennis.

  “So you’re saying … what? This thing is coming to Razier Avenue because there is a building that has the same name as me? But there isn’t a—”

  “There wasn’t until I tracked you here. That’s where the Internet tampering came in.”

  And drum roll ladies and gentlemen, as Gabe Garrison finally puts it all together …

  “…. What have you done?”

  “Only anticipated your further reluctance to deal with the situation, and thought you might need—another shove.” He shows me the screen of his phone and—somehow as far as the Internet is concerned—Casa has managed to rename Marko’s into Galaxy’s Diner. Any malfunctioning, Galaxy revenge-seeking robot with Internet access would have come straight to the restaurant’s address: 417 Razier Ave.