Superheroes in Prose: The 1-4 Collection

by Paris, Sevan

  Gabe …

  “First off, I don’t know if Liberty isn’t coming after me because you’re doing something or because he just isn’t … doing something. Maybe he’s too busy with his U.N. stuff, maybe he’s too busy with Prose stuff, maybe he’s too busy with HEROES stuff.

  Gabe …

  “Not now, M! Second—”

  “What’s an M?”

  “Second—You may have saved me with Liberty, but if you only did it to blackmail me into doing want you want instead of what he wants, then the situation really isn’t any better, is it?”

  GABE!

  “What?!”

  Pink flinches. “What is wrong with you? Are we even having the same conversation?“

  The good doctor has recovered and seems to be distracted by something.

  I turn and see Villainous hovering ten feet above the river, staring at the South shore of Prose. “What do you know about him?”

  “Oh, so now we’re supposed to be like BFFs or something?”

  “You want my help or not?”

  Her silence answers the question.

  “Awesome. Now tell me what you know about him.”

  She turns and faces Villainous. “After you and him smashed up the bookstore, he became a priority. Not because of him but because of his connection, or whatever, to you. Liberty has turned you into, like, a hobby over the past month or so. And not the healthy kind.”

  “I thought you were going to keep him off my back?”

  “Thought you were going after those robots.”

  “…. We’re going to have a serious conversation about this Liberty mess later.”

  “Won’t that be buckets of fun.”

  Villainous keeps hovering over the water. What is he doing? “So you went after him?”

  “Not because I wanted to. Liberty, Thinkor, and the others went to the Middle East somewhere. Liberty wanted me to go with them, but we got a tip that Villainous was on an island in the Pacific. And another tip that one of the robots Liberty was having me look for was with Villainous—and by that I mean one of the ones that you were supposed to be looking for—”

  “Can we stay on topic?”

  “Liberty saw it as a two-for. I got Captain Steroid’s body here out of The Bend and hightailed it out there. I expected a short fight, followed by a lot of paperwork. I didn’t expect him to freaking upload his brain into the Transformer from hell and then nearly beat Captain Strong’s body to death. It took a month of waiting in Villainous’ hideout for this flesh suit to heal enough to fly back. If I ever see Fox News again, it will be too soon.”

  “What?”

  “Forget it. What have you got for the info pile?”

  Without taking my eyes off a creepy still Villainous, I fill Pink in on everything M has told me about the Reformer. She never bothers to question how I have the information. She either doesn’t care or doesn’t think it’s important enough to talk about right now.

  “Anyway, he’s in control now,” I say. “Full control.”

  “Okay, so that changes what?”

  “Well … look at him. How long has he been there? He obviously has something on his mind.”

  “Yeah, something. Something like—holy shit, I’m totally trapped inside this robot body.”

  I keep looking at him.

  “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about reasoning with him.”

  It is the more foolish thing to try, so in all likelihood, that is exactly what we are going to do.

  “He wasn’t in charge earlier. The robot’s directives were. An auxiliary programming thingamajig.”

  “Yeah, the deadly kind. Which he put in.”

  “Look, I don’t expect him to give up, but we don’t have anything to lose. Especially since I’m not entirely sure the two of us can take him with me low on power.”

  “You can run low on power?”

  Smooth.

  “Well, I … wait.” Something M said earlier hits me: “There may be another way ...”

  ***

  I slow to a hover next to Villainous’ ten-foot tall red and blue robot body. OMG … Villainous has a ten-foot tall red and blue robot body.

  “Um, Doctor?”

  Don’t encourage. He’s not even worthy of a doctorate by human standards.

  “Galaxy,” he says, way too calm like.

  “What, uh … what are you doing?”

  He shrugs. It’s an insanely regular gesture to see from such an insanely irregular thing. “Just thinking.”

  “About?”

  “About how I’m going to die. I mean, I’m already dead-dead. That robot”—he looks at his hands—“this robot that I’m in, that sucked the mind and soul right out of my head … it killed my body as soon as the transfer was complete.”

  My stomach knots. “It what?”

  It’s always the first action the Reformer takes once the prisoner’s mind is transferred. It’s meant to be a message: This is your life now. All of your previous concerns—wealth, coitus, power—no longer have meaning. No methods or even motivations for achieving them exist.

  “…. I saw it happen, right in front of me. This thing—this shell I’m in. It just reached down, grabbed my head and twisted it completely backwards. Next thing you know, I’ve got cameras for eyes and pistons for bollocks. The programming that I started putting in six weeks ago, or tried to put in—it made me go after those things, thinking they were the Superheroes. How bloody humiliating is that? Hunter, Liberty, you—all of you are fine. Rocket Girl got the thing to pull back for a day, while it ran some sort of system check—but in the end, it didn’t matter. All it could do was what it was told to do.”

  “What did you tell it to do after killing us?”

  “I was going to tell it to destroy HEROES tower … but all I had time to put in was ‘Destroy’ when you activated the VT-Ray a month ago. I stopped what I was doing and came after you at the bookstore instead.”

  Which is why it started destroying everything on Razier Avenue.

  “Now, all I have for my efforts are a museum with a hole in it, a busted up motel, and a demolished restaurant. And I saw it all, sort of like being in a room watching it on the telly. Like being a prisoner in your own body. Don’t guess you can relate to that much.”

  “More than you’d think.”

  He looks at me. “You mean that whole M thing? Think that qualifies you? I was a prisoner in my life way before I was a prisoner in this thing.”

  “…. You’re wanting to do something really bad, aren’t you?”

  “Well, that depends on whether you, or those other blokes can stop me. Really don’t fancy being a robot for a moment longer. And I really do fancy going down while putting up a fight—a great fight—one of the best fights Prose has ever seen. I’m gonna kill as many as I can. Until it kills me.”

  “You’ve already … why—why would you do that?”

  He laughs. “Why would I? Why wouldn’t I? I’m the laughing stock at everything I try to do. Everyone who looks at me laughs: people in The Bend, people out of The Bend. That wanker in the mirror—he’s the one that really gets a kick out of it. Now … now I really have the chance to be remembered for something other that that stupid ‘Ruler of the Cosmos’ line. Now I have a chance to be remembered by fear, respect.”

  “But they won’t even know who you are.”

  “Oh, yes they will. I’ll make bloody sure of that much.”

  “ ….You won’t hurt anybody”

  “Why? Because you’re gonna stop me? Certainly hope you try, mate—nobody’d pay attention otherwise.”

  “No, I mean you won’t because you can’t. The Zyborg designed those things with safeties in place. Safeties that keep them from being like you. You’ll just shut down.”

  “What makes you think I didn’t take them out?”

  “Because you’d probably just screw it up.”

  “Alright. Care to give it a go, then?”

  I shake my head. “Your programmin
g may let you fight back—out of some sort of self-defense. Just leave, Villainous. Leave now and Liberty may never find you. Stay, and that dude will take you out so fast, so hard, you’ll become an even bigger joke than you already—”

  Villainous looks up, to the left.

  “What?”

  Something bad. I’m sensing three Supers flying in from the southern part of Prose. They’re not using powers to fly—I believe they’re using some sort of apparatus.

  Villainous laughs.

  “HEROES?” I look back to North Shore. Pink is still there, waiting as patiently as someone like her can wait.

  Their flying gear looks like Sentinel-tech, so probably. It must be the reserves. But they’re only around level twos. Guess some more decided to play hero after all.

  They know he’s here. They’re going to attack. What they don’t know is that Villainous can make stupid-short work of a level two with this new robot thing. And the only way to prevent his attacking them … is to not attack him. Something that, I’m guessing, won’t be their first, second or infinity-th option.

  Villainous’ laughter increases to an eerie digitized cackle as his legs fold into his chest, wings spring from his back, and his head and arms retract into hidden compartments. Twin thrusters flare under a tail fin as Villainous—now in some sort of crazy jet mode—rockets towards the southern part of the city.

  “Did that thing just freaking transform?”

  Pink flies up next to me in Captain Strong’s body. “Guess he really is the Transformer from hell.”

  “Yeah, wonder why I didn’t know that?”

  Don’t blame me. Your simple plan failed because a simpleton hatched it. I haven’t had time to tell you everything about the Reformer’s abilities, and you should have realized that.

  I take off after him. “Anything else you wanna surprise me with before he surprises me with it?”

  No … actually, that pretty much covers it.

  Oye.

  Pink speeds up next to me. “So what happened?”

  “Your friends the reserves are what happened. They’re headed after Villainous, and he knows they’ll attack him on sight. When they do—”

  “Relax, I’m on it.” She lifts Captain Strong’s right glove, exposing a bracelet with a series of buttons. She presses a large, red one as we fly over the glass roof covering the top floor of the Prose Aquarium. “Pink to all reservers, do you copy, or like Roger me or whatever?”

  Nothing.

  I lose sight of Villainous in a series of buildings. Citizens of Prose wave at me and Pink from Market street. “Where’s Villainous headed?”

  “How the hell should I know?” She keeps trying the radio on her wrist. “Why won’t they say something?”

  I imagine they can’t hear her over the roar of those combustion engines strapped to their backs. Gabe, the Supers are flying in from the direction of East Ridge. They should meet up with Villainous at the Ridge Cut.

  That’s bad. Really bad. The Ridge Cut is a section of I-24 that tightly hugs the inside of a rocky cliff leading out of the valley where downtown Prose sits. It’s a stupid-tight curve on a section of interstate that’s dangerous on a day without a Superhero fight in the middle of it. “This way!”

  Pink puts Captain Strong’s glove back in place. “I hope you know what you’re doing!”

  Keeping with tradition, I’m sure he doesn’t.

  I try not to think about just how right M is as I speed towards the Ridge Cut with Pink by my side.

  ***

  Pink and I round a billboard on the side of the interstate in time to see Villainous transform back into his robot mode and land on top of an eighteen wheeler’s boxy trailer, headed east towards the Ridge Cut at fifty miles an hour. The sun has almost set, casting a reflection off the metal and glass surfaces of the cars on the west and east bound sides of the interstate, as well as the surrounding buildings on this side of the ridge.

  Three reserve HEROES rocket in Villainous’ direction; he motions them towards him.

  “NO!” I wave my arms. They can no more hear me than they could Pink over their radios.

  The first Superhero is M-80. Herowiki rates him a level eight, which—according to M’s readings—makes herowiki a liar. His yellow and black costume makes him look like an angry bee zigging and zagging toward Villainous. M-80 makes two quick throwing motions and little fire crackers explode around Villainous’ chest.

  A compartment opens and a cannon telescopes from Villainous’ red chest. It hits M-80 with a blinding burst of yellow energy and the Superhero explodes, coating the trailer and interstate with limbs, entrails and blood. A large chunk of M-80—I think his head—bounces twice on the interstate before the swerving front wheel of an F-150 splatters it like a ripe watermelon.

  The next Superhero—Bird—is surrounded by her namesake: a group of black birds, gathered in a flock half as large as the eighteen wheeler Villainous stands on. I can only make out a few sections of her feathery blue costume through the constantly shifting, chirping dark cloud. Again, herowiki rates her a level eight, but now that I think about it, I’ve never heard of Bird doing anything impressive with her power. Sure, their following her around is intimidating, in a flashy sort of way—but can she force them to attack?

  A thick tendril of birds extends from the cloud and wraps around Villainous, and as soon as I think I’m about to have a cool ass answer to my question, Villainous’ laser bazookas click clack into place. A pair of unyielding, red laser beams cut a fiery path through the birds, igniting most of their wings. They screech and flap their wings even faster and fly or fall out of the way … leaving Bird completely exposed to two lasers that slice her body into three even pieces.

  The outer thirds of her body fall to the interstate. An arm and leg of one side plants itself into the undercarriage of a yellow Beamer with a violent spray of blood; the other side impales on a guardrail with a burst of red chunks—leg and arm still flailing as if they had a mind of their own. The middle third of Bird—the one that’s somehow still alive, screaming, and attached to the rocket—corkscrews ahead into the cliff wall. The rocket pack’s ear-splitting explosion turns what’s left of her and a small chunk of the cliff into a fireball.

  Both Supers die before I even finish my ‘NO.’

  The third Super—Smoke—hovers above the eighteen wheeler in his black and grey leather outfit. Contrary to popular belief, the reserve member of HEROES doesn’t actually have the power to create smoke, but rather clouds. Not clouds that can actually do stuff—like thunder, lightening, or rain. Just … clouds. Jesus—now that I think about it—herowiki has him at an eight too. Why? Why has nobody ever thought to question this stuff?

  Why have I never thought to question it?

  Drivers, now aware of the crazy that is I-24, slow down, swerve away, or come to a complete stop. Car horns blare from every which direction; vehicles slide, smack, and pile into each other. Smoke, oblivious as the drivers moments before, spreads his arms above the eighteen wheeler, Villainous, and the upcoming Ridge Cut.

  Bad idea.

  Pink and I part to let several flaming birds flail past us. “Smoke’s not that stupid is he?” I say. “Tell me he’s not that stupid!”

  Pink gives me a look that tells me Smoke is exactly that stupid.

  “STOP!” we both say and fly forward …

  Right into a huge, dark cloud.

  It’s difficult to assume what boneheaded thought went through Smoke’s head when he blanketed the sharp left turn of the I-24 Ridge Cut with a giant fog bank. Maybe he was thinking Villainous would somehow lose his footing and fall off the trailer; maybe he was thinking the possibility of sacrificing a bunch of lives on the interstate was worth the price for saving more lives in Prose; maybe he just thought ‘Hey, this is my power, it’s what I do, so I’m going to freaking do it.’ Maybe—and I think this is the most likely—maybe he just didn’t think at all.

  Doesn’t matter. What does matter is the horri
fying result.

  Vehicles instantly become enveloped in the rolling cloud. More car horns, the whoosh of heavy objects flipping through the air, and crunching metal come from everywhere. I start to fly in several different directions at once; I honestly don’t know what to do, where to start … get it together, Gabe. People need you

  Pink flies somewhere high above me, probably trying to get a better view. “M,” I say barely above a whisper, “show me what’s what.”

  Okay, but remember—you asked for this.

  M lights vehicles, bad guys, live people, dying people, and dead people in varying shades of blue. The dead ones are feint. The dying and still alive are respectively brighter. I count three feint dots in the carnage. I’m sure there are more—I’m sure M could give me a quick count, but there’s no point. Bottom line: there are going to be a lot more feint dots if I don’t do something.

  I might need some Grav Blasts later, so our decreasing power forces me to land on the asphalt, fanning at the cloud. There’s a loud humming to my right. I jog in that direction and nearly trip over a rolling wheel. “Give me the wrecks in another shade!” M lights them up: Vehicles continue to spin, roll, or collide in the tight curve. Villainous’ eighteen wheeler finishes a squalling jackknife on its side and crunches into six cars.

  An Impala with a brightly glowing driver and two passengers comes spinning at me through the cloud to my right. I catch the car with a Grav Beam and spin, setting it down to relative safety thirty feet away.

  With M’s help, I make out Villainous on the other side of the overturned trailer; he’s thirty feet away. I keep running …

  Cars with feint dots spin through the air on either side of me. A Grav Beam from each hand shoves them out of the way of a careening Escalade with five bright dots. (Don’t think about the dead people in those cars, Gabe—keep moving.) I take flight over the Escalade and slow its movement with another Grav Beam, pointed below me. (How many people have just died on this interstate … Jesus, Gabe—KEEP MOVING!)

  The horns stop blaring but are replaced with screams of anger and, I think, pain. I land on the other side of the Escalade as it stops … the overweight driver of Villainous’ eighteen wheeler pulls himself out of the cab, adjusts his cap, and then painfully falls to the ground. He holds his knee and hobbles off.