Hero Status

by Kristen Brand

  “Ma’am, I have to ask you to step out of the vehicle.”

  She leaned against the steering wheel and surveyed me, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “And so polite, too.”

  I didn’t know what to make of her. Despite what you might have seen in movies, there actually wasn’t a lot of banter in supervillain fights. A lot of swearing when they realized shooting didn’t work, but not much clever wordplay. Val went beyond just keeping her cool under pressure; she didn’t seem the least bit upset that I was about to haul her off to jail.

  “Out of the car, please,” I said again. “Or else I’m going to have to smash it to make sure you don’t drive away, and…” I shrugged. “It’s a nice car.”

  The corners of her lips turned up in a smile. “You even said please. Aren’t you just adorable.”

  She hopped out of the car, her combat boots landing lightly on the pavement. I felt her try to slip into my mind again, telling me how tired I was, that if I just closed my eyes and rested for a moment, everything would be all right. But I focused on the song and drowned her out. Even so, the touch of her thoughts against mine made me shiver as I lowered the Porsche back onto the pavement.

  Her face took on a pinched expression when it didn’t work. At least something I was doing was upsetting her.

  Then I noticed the gun still in her hand. It wasn’t a threat to me, but the people she had under her spell were still standing around, close enough for an easy shot or a ricochet if she tried to test my invulnerability again. It was more than a little creepy the way they were all staring dead-eyed at me. I guessed I had the Black Valentine’s full attention.

  “Drop the gun,” I said, deliberately leaving off the “please” this time.

  She tossed it—at an entranced bank manager, who caught it and swiftly pressed the barrel to his head.

  “Don’t—” I jerked toward her but then realized I’d better stand still. The man’s hand was on the trigger, his expression slack. He was completely ignorant of what he was about to do.

  “Then let me drive away,” Val said.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. I should’ve seen that coming. I’d been so worried about her putting mind-control to work on me that I hadn’t thought about what she’d make the bystanders do. I looked at the bank manager, at the wedding band on his finger and the name pin on his suit jacket that read “Charlie.” But I was just stalling for time; I knew what my choice had to be.

  “It’s just gold,” said Val. “Not worth losing a life over.”

  I glared at her. That was my line.

  There was nothing else to do. I gritted my teeth and raised my hands in a gesture of surrender.

  She smiled and slid back into the car, and my stomach clenched as I wondered if I was making a horrible mistake. I had no guarantee she wouldn’t kill the bank manager anyway once she was safely away. But then, I’d read her dossier, and that wasn’t how she operated. Supervillains like the Black Valentine had reputations to keep. She considered herself a higher class of criminal, didn’t kill if it could be avoided, and always kept her word—as if that somehow made what she did okay.

  “Better luck next time, huh?” She blew me a kiss and waved as she sped away.

  Once her Porsche disappeared around the corner, her victims stirred and came back to themselves, blinking in confusion like they’d just woken from a long nap. The bank manager dropped the gun like it was on fire, his eyes wide in horror, mouth open in a silent scream.

  Was it love at first sight, you ask? No. Kleptomania and a disregard for human life weren’t turn-ons, at least not in my book. The only thing I wanted from her was a second chance to take her down.

  “But you gotta admit she’s hot,” Harris said afterward.

  It was locker room talk, and as such, in the locker room. Harris was extracting himself from his costume, layers of strong material designed to protect him from friction and wind speeds as he ran. (He used to complain that the chafing was murder.) I was sitting on the bench, staring off at nothing, angry at myself for screwing up.

  “So?” I asked.

  Harris gave me a hopeless look. “I’m just saying that if you gotta have your ass handed to you by somebody, there are worse people than her.”

  I grunted, because I had to do something to acknowledge I’d heard him.

  “And quit being so hard on yourself,” he said. “You beat her mind-control, didn’t you? I never managed that. Hell, she had me on my hands and knees so she could use me as a footrest. On national television, I might add. It was… Well, I had some pretty kinky dreams for a while after.”

  I couldn’t help a slight grin.

  “That’s the spirit.” He slapped me on the back, then winced and shook his hand. “Come on, let’s save the paperwork for tomorrow and grab some beers. We can get that tropical shit you like.”

  Harris was always like that. You couldn’t be around him and not get cheered up.

  But I hadn’t forgotten about her. I know it may be hard to believe, but I was good at my job. When the DSA sent me to bring in a supervillain, I brought them in, even if I had to pound them into a pulp to do it. But the Black Valentine had slipped away.

  I thought I’d get the chance to make it right. My superiors were impressed by my resistance to her telepathy and started assigning me to intercept her more often. But she moved around, and she was fast. Half the time, I didn’t get there until she was already gone.

  “You’re taking it too personally,” Moreen had told me once.

  I’d pounded my fist into the table, breaking it with a loud crash.

  Moreen hadn’t said anything then. At least, not aloud. Her look said perfectly clearly that I was being an idiot.

  I just kept thinking about how Val had been willing to kill that bank manager to get away. And just for a bunch of gold, as if her family didn’t have enough money already. I’d asked her about it once. When had it been…?

  Oh, right. It was the first time we’d killed Dr. Sweet.

  • • •

  I had woken up in some dank holding cell, the smell of mold in the air, the floor slimy against my cheek. I’d sat up, wiped off the grime, and looked around. Flickering light came through the cracks around the closed door, illuminating decrepit metal walls stained with heaven-knew-what. It made my shiny new metal cuffs stand out all the more, along with the chain that connected them to some round insert in the floor.

  I stood and pulled until the cuffs cut into my wrists, but the thing didn’t budge.

  “Titanium alloy,” said a voice. “Anchored a good twenty feet below ground, they tell me.”

  I hadn’t noticed her in the dark. She was sitting in the corner, her elbow resting casually on her raised knee. I wondered how long she’d held that pose, waiting for me to wake.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  I remembered how I’d gotten there. One of Dr. Sweet’s monstrosities had been sent to assassinate a congressman. I’d taken it down, and then something had taken me out. The Black Valentine had had nothing to do with it.

  Val smiled from the shadows. “I’m here to kill Dr. Sweet.” She glanced around the cell and added, “It’s not going as well as I’d hoped.”

  “Is that a fact?” The chains jingled as I settled back down onto the damp floor. How long had I been out? I grasped at my collar, where the DSA had put a tracking chip in my uniform. It had been torn out. So I had no hope of a super-powered SWAT team coming to my rescue. Too bad they hadn’t managed to get the damn chip under my skin like most other agents. Another downside of invulnerability.

  “You should be grateful,” Val said. “This is Dr. Sweet we’re talking about. He’d have found that and ripped it out, too.”

  The chains chinked as I jerked in surprise. “He didn’t zap your telepathy?”

  She shrugged. “No need to. His minions don’t have enough of a mind left to control.”

  I looked idly around for any weak points in the cell. Other than a camera hanging
from the ceiling in the opposite corner, I saw nothing new. The whole cell was a weak point, technically, since I could have smashed through it if I could reach it. But the chains only gave me a couple feet of slack. With no escape options presenting themselves, I turned my attention back to Val.

  “Why are you trying to kill him, anyway?” I asked. “The guy’s a psychopath. I would’ve thought you’d get along swimmingly, having so much in common.”

  “Ha ha,” she said in an oh-so-amused sort of tone. I figured she’d leave it at that, since there was no reason to tell me, but I guess there was no reason not to, either. And it wasn’t as if we had anything else to do.

  “My family hired him,” she said. “He said he could get my father’s powers back, so we paid him a ridiculous sum of money. He took it and ran.”

  “And Mr. Lucifer sent you after him.”

  “My sisters and I drew straws. I got the short one.”

  She grinned, and I honestly wasn’t sure whether she was joking or not.

  “I can’t believe any father would let his child near that man.”

  “He knows we can handle ourselves.”

  “Yeah, just look at how well you’re doing.”

  She gave a conceding shrug. “I may have had a small setback, but you’ll help me out, won’t you?”

  I held up my chains, in case she’d somehow missed them.

  Yes, but supposing I could get you out of those.

  All DSA agents had to become proficient in speaking telepathically as part of their training, but it was still uncanny to hear her voice in my head. I got goosebumps up and down my back.

  How? I asked.

  I have a lock-pick. Your handcuffs may be made out of titanium, but they’re still handcuffs, and I’m very good with those. She grinned salaciously.

  Dr. Sweet removed a tracking chip sewn into the fabric of my uniform, I thought. How did you get a lock-pick past him.

  I’m the Black Valentine.

  Through the telepathy, I could feel her smugness.

  I free you, you bust down the door, and together, we take out Dr. Sweet, she thought. It’s quite simple.

  What’s the catch?

  You let me walk away when we're finished.

  No deal.

  I threw up my mental shields and shut her out. And by that I mean I started singing the Song in my head.

  “That’s fine,” she said aloud. “I’ll just sit here and enjoy the scenery.” Her gaze roamed up and down me. Then it stopped roaming, settled down, and built a house. “Has anyone ever told you that you look fantastic in chains?”

  My face heated. “We stay here, and Dr. Sweet is going to cut open your head and poke around in your brain—probably while you’re still conscious. You’d prefer that to prison?”

  “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  I looked away. If that was how she wanted to play, then fine. I could wait her out. She would choose prison over Dr. Sweet’s laboratory when it became apparent those were her only two choices. And those were her only two choices. I wasn’t about to negotiate with a supervillain. I could be patient when I needed to be, and I was sure she’d cave eventually.

  I probably should have been more careful to guard those thoughts from her.

  “On second thought, I’m tired of sitting here.”

  She held up the lock-pick, produced seemingly from nowhere.

  “He’s seen it now,” she said, nodding at the camera. “His No-Men are probably on their way. You’d better decide before they get here and take it from me.”

  My mouth was hanging open. “Are you out of your mind?”

  She just grinned.

  I looked to the door, my heart pounding. She was bluffing, she had to be. She’d release me when the No-Men got close whether I agreed to her deal or not. Otherwise, we’d both become human guinea pigs. That lock-pick was our only chance. She wouldn’t just throw it away.

  Would she?

  Feet blocked the light coming through under the door, and I heard a key click into place.

  I turned to Val, and she looked evenly back. The realization hit me: I didn’t know if she was bluffing, but if she was, the best poker player in the world would be jealous. There was no way someone like me could out-bluff that.

  “Fine—deal!” I said.

  She dashed across the cell and dove to her knees in front of me just as the door flew open. It was two No-Men. They were identical in black suits, black ties, and white gloves. Their faces were completely covered by shiny white masks molded into the shape of a human face completely devoid of expression.

  One pulled a gun. I lurched in between him and Val, and the bullet struck me in the back. Two more followed, like nails into my spine, driving the breath from my mouth in a sharp burst. Val fiddled with the lock-pick, and the No-Men rushed into the room.

  The right cuff clicked open. I slammed my free fist into the legs of the oncoming No-Man and felt the bones shatter under my knuckles. He took a nose-dive, and warm liquid splattered over me. Blood. One of his legs ended at the knee. I spotted the rest of it by the wall. I guess I’d hit him too hard.

  The second No-Man jumped me, and I kept this one less messy: just shattered knees. No sense knocking the legs clean off. But broken legs only slowed the No-Men down. They dragged themselves across the floor like something out of a horror movie, blood trailing behind the stump of the first’s leg. Their hands stretched out toward Val just as she got the second cuff off me, and I stood up and stomped on the skull of the closest. It broke with a sickening crack, and the contents squished under the soles of my boots.

  Bile rose in my throat, but I swallowed it back down.

  Val had already grabbed the gun off the other and put a bullet clean through its head. No-Men were like zombies: damaging the brain was the only way to ensure a kill. Don’t feel sorry for them—well, feel sorry for them, but not because Val and I had killed them. Feel sorry because Dr. Sweet had picked them up off the street, cut out everything in their brains that made them who they were, and turned them into his personal drones.

  I dragged my boot across the floor, trying to get some of the mess off of it. Val relieved the other corpse of its gun, so that she had a Glock pistol in each hand. She did a brief inspection of their condition, checking for ammo, and then looked to me.

  “I’ll go first,” I said.

  She nodded, and I led the way. Our cell opened into a hallway lined with identical doors, the type of place you’d expect to be haunted. The walls were rusted and grimy with flakes of peeling paint still clinging to them in scattered patches. There were no windows, only a staircase leading upward, the whole place most likely underground. Our feet would have kicked up dirt if the dampness hadn’t turned it all to muck. The sticky sludge sucked at my boots, and little black bugs scuttled away from us. Our cell had been clean as a whistle in comparison.

  I walked cautiously toward the stairs and heard a low whine come from behind one of the doors. I couldn’t tell whether it was human, animal, or—knowing Dr. Sweet—something else.

  “What’s in these cells?” I ask Val.

  “I don’t know who they are…” Her eyes went out-of-focus. “They don’t know who they are. Their minds are a mess of pain and madness.” She shuddered, and her gaze turned sharp. “Why? You’re not going to insist we stop and help them, are you?”

  I looked at the doors. I was a superhero; whoever was in there needed a doctor and several years with a counselor. “No. We take out Sweet first.”

  I started up the steps, Val right on my heels. My ears strained to pick up any sign of what awaited us at the top. The low humming of machinery was coming from somewhere, but I couldn’t tell how near or far. Water dripped steadily like a leak from a faucet, barely loud enough to register. Now that I was paying attention, I thought I could hear light breathing from whoever was in the cells. But that was below me; I didn’t hear any signs of life above.

  Until footsteps splashed into a puddle. I was no genius, b
ut that was usually a sign of life.

  “Stay behind me!” I shouted at Val, just as a group of No-Men appeared at the top of the stairs and opened fire.

  In my line of work, some days you’re just going to get shot. And really, after the first dozen or so bullets, what were a couple more? The No-Men didn’t have great aim, but in this case, that was a bad thing. If they hit me with every one, I wouldn’t have to worry about a ricochet striking Val where she hid behind me.

  I got hit in the chest, arms, shoulder, legs—not in the crotch, thank God, but dumb luck landed one on my forehead. It knocked my head back in a fine bit of whiplash, but I caught myself before I staggered. Val was pressed up against my back as tight as she could get, and any careless movement on my part would’ve hurt her. Did I mention she was pressed up against my back as tight as she could get? She felt warm and soft and fragile. Stupid thing to be focusing on when you were getting shot at, but there you have it.

  Eventually, they ran out of bullets, and the whole group of them surged down the stairs, slamming and pushing into one another. They had their orders to take us out, and they were single-minded. I had the beginnings of several welts all over me, and I was mad. I charged up the stairs and met them head on. If my hand-to-hand combat instructors back in the DSA Academy had seen me, they would have been less than impressed. But I made up for sloppy technique with brute strength and savagery. I tore into them, and whatever I hit broke.

  It didn’t take long. When I’d beaten everything around me until it stopped moving, I turned back to Val to see two No-Men who’d gotten past me dead at her feet. She was looking at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher at the time. Now, I’m pretty sure it was a mixture of admiration and arousal.

  She walked toward me, stepping over the gore and nearly slipping in it. My uniform was a wreck. Forget White Knight; I was Splattered Blood Knight at the moment. Val reached her hand toward my face, and I jerked back.

  Her expression snapped back to normal. “You’ve got something,” she said. “Right here.” She touched a spot under her left eye.