The Nameless Hero

by Lee Bacon

  “The last time my mom took me to work, I stared at a filing cabinet for three hours,” Milton grumbled.

  “I had to use a zoom lens to get enough detail,” Sophie went on, suddenly caught up in her own excitement. She always got this way when she talked about photography. “But if I zoomed too much, the display would get too shaky. So I had to find just the right balance. Plus, the Abominator’s mutants were rampaging the building next door, which made it kind of tough to concentrate.”

  “It’s really nice,” I said, taking another step into the room.

  “You should see the photos my mom used to take. Before …” Sophie’s voice trailed away, but I couldn’t help filling in the blank in my mind. Before she died …

  Sophie’s mom had been killed in a car bomb explosion. And the bomb had been planted by Phineas Vex. Just one more reason to worry that Vex was still alive, still out there somewhere. The thought of him put a halt to our conversation. Sophie gazed at her volcano photo, but from the look on her face, her mind was miles away.

  Finally, Milton broke the silence.

  “So … uh—do you guys wanna see what TV channels this window gets?”

  He picked up the remote. With the push of a button, the scenery of Sophie’s backyard (morning sunlight shining down over the Olympic-sized swimming pool) vanished instantly, replaced by a football field, with players from both teams charging toward us. Milton hit the button before the players could dog-pile Sophie’s window. The scene became a marble hall inside an art museum, then a view from the floor of the ocean, with colorful fish weaving between sea anemones, and a blue whale sweeping past in the background.

  After flipping through about fifty other scenes, we finally found something normal—a news broadcast.

  “… interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you this breaking news story,” said the anchorman. “Top government officials were stunned by the defacement of three separate landmarks last night.”

  I drew in a nervous breath. I guess it was just an instinct that came with having supervillains in the family. Anytime something went horribly wrong in the world, the first thing I wondered was where my mom and dad were when it happened.

  The anchorman’s voice spoke over my thoughts. “The video we’re about to show you is bizarre and disturbing. So stay tuned.…”

  11

  Milton, Sophie, and I edged closer to the TV. The anchorman was replaced by a shot of the Grand Canyon. For a split second, I thought the window had switched to another of its scenic views. I was about to ask Milton whether he’d accidentally sat on the remote, when I realized there was something different about the Grand Canyon.

  Something very different.

  “We’re taking you live to the Grand Canyon, where unidentified culprits filled the entire canyon with purple Jell-O,” the anchorman said. “Reports that the Jell-O was grape-flavored have not yet been confirmed.”

  My jaw dropped at the sight of the Grand Canyon filled to the brim with purple Jell-O. It looked like the world’s biggest dessert bowl.

  All of a sudden, the scene switched to another famous sight: Mount Rushmore. But just like the last landmark, this one had also been vandalized in a very strange way.

  “Security personnel at Mount Rushmore were shocked to find that enormous purple mustaches and silly glasses had been painted onto the sculpted faces of the four former presidents,” said the anchorman. “And as if that weren’t bad enough already, a third incident took place at the famed Hollywood sign.”

  The view changed again. The four presidents and their cartoonish purple mustaches and glasses were replaced by a shot of the Hollywood sign that loomed in the hills over Los Angeles. Except that most of the letters had been removed, and what was left had been rearranged. Now there were only three letters remaining—

  LOL

  “It’s as if whoever did this is laughing at us,” said the anchorman. “Out loud.”

  “Who do you think’s responsible?” Milton asked. “Could it be …”

  There was no need to finish the question. I already knew what Milton was trying to ask.

  “I don’t think it was my parents,” I said. “They’ve been taking a break from the whole supervillain thing lately.”

  The anchorman’s voice drowned out our conversation. “Reporter Cynthia Gomez had a chance to interview someone who knows more about confronting evil plots than anyone else.”

  The scene switched to a reporter standing in front of the Jell-O–filled Grand Canyon. Next to her was a man all three of us instantly recognized. His muscles were bulging beneath a tight silver jumpsuit and glittering blue cape. His hair was perfectly styled for the camera.

  “Captain Justice!” Milton said, exploding with excitement.

  “Dad,” Sophie said, sounding far less excited.

  “That’s right!” Captain Justice boomed, as if he’d heard both of them through the window TV. Gesturing to the purple Jell-O behind him, he said, “I’m here at the scene of a despicable act of criminal vandalism against one of our great nation’s greatest landmarks.”

  “Any idea who might be behind these acts?” asked the reporter.

  “That’s an excellent question, Cynthia!” When Captain Justice smiled down at her, Cynthia Gomez nearly lost grip of her microphone. “Based on the evidence that’s been gathered so far on this case, I can tell you two things with absolute certainty: Whoever did this has a butt. And I plan on kicking it.”

  The reporter blinked twice. “So … um—you don’t know the identity of the villain?”

  “No,” Captain Justice admitted. “Not a clue.”

  Sophie sank lower in her chair, covering half her face like she could barely watch.

  “Maybe we should see what else is on,” she said.

  “No way!” Milton clutched the remote more tightly.

  “So far, nobody’s been hurt by these crimes,” the reporter said. “What do you think is the motive?”

  “To tell you the truth, Cynthia, I don’t spend a lot of time contemplating the motives of my enemies.” Captain Justice paused for half a second, staring deeply into the camera. “I just focus on stopping them.”

  “I’m sure that’s something all viewers at home can look forward to,” said the reporter.

  “And another thing viewers can look forward to is the groundbreaking new reality show I’m working on.” Captain Justice smiled, showing off a row of perfect, shining teeth. “Hangin’ with Justice, premiering this summer at eight eastern time, seven central—”

  Sophie wrenched the remote out of Milton’s hand and pressed a button. The interview vanished, and was replaced with scenery of her own backyard again.

  Sophie was next to meet with the Smicks. Milton and I returned to our room, where Milton dropped down on his pull-out bed and clicked through the channels of our window until he found the station we’d been watching earlier. But by now, the news report was over and an old episode of Are You Smarter Than a Zombie? was on. After about thirty minutes of mindless entertainment, I’d almost forgotten how weird our current situation was. Except for the fact that we were watching TV on my bedroom window, it felt like a normal summer afternoon. Hanging out with Milton and allowing the time to just slip by.

  This illusion of summer was shattered by a knock. Trace appeared.

  “Joshua,” he said in his usual sneering tone. “The triplets will see you now.”

  After everything I’d been through over the previous week—getting attacked by a mutant librarian, putting out a giant flaming corn dog, taking a roller-coaster ride in a tanning bed—I’d expected that getting my uniform would be a piece of cake. But after a little time with the Siamese triplets, I was starting to think back fondly on the time I’d spent with the mutant librarian.

  I entered the designers’ room, gaping at the multicolored tights and discarded capes that were strewn everywhere. A long cart stretched along one wall, stuffed with utility belts and heavy-duty armbands. The floor was littered with
helmets and masks. It looked like a bunch of superheroes had just played a big game of strip poker.

  The Smicks loomed in the center of all this, glaring at me like I was something that had just fallen off the garbage truck.

  “Step forward, please!” Gertrude said.

  I must’ve hesitated a little too long, because Helmi sniffed in an annoyed sort of way. “Well?” She held her long nose high in the air. “What are you waiting for?”

  I stumbled forward, muttering an apology.

  “The one who should be apologizing is the person who put together your outfit,” Mortimer said, drawing chuckles from his siblings on either side.

  I glanced down at what I was wearing. A T-shirt with shorts and tennis shoes. Pretty much the same thing I wore every day during the summer.

  “I picked these clothes,” I said.

  “In that case, Gavin sent you here just in time,” Gertrude drawled.

  As soon as I was within reach, the triplets began their examination. They pushed me onto a scale, tugged at my clothing, jabbed me with a ruler.

  I felt like a human pincushion. While one triplet poked and prodded me, the other two argued over fabrics and accessories, matching masks with bulky armbands and different-colored boots. Finally, all three designers turned to face me, holding out a bundle of material in their arms.

  “Here!” said Gertrude. “Try this on!”

  The Smicks pushed me into a dressing room. They closed the door, leaving me alone with the mound of fabric they expected me to try on. A swirl of reds and blacks and grays. It didn’t look like nearly enough material to cover my entire body.

  When I was done changing, I stared at myself in the mirror for a long time, not quite able to believe the reflection that was staring back at me.

  12

  “Well?” came Gertrude’s voice from outside my locked dressing room. “Are you ready yet?”

  “Um …” I took another glimpse at my reflection, then quickly looked away. “I think there’s been a mistake.”

  “Why don’t you step outside so we can see for ourselves?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I should just put my other clothes on.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! What could possibly be wrong with your uniform?”

  “I don’t think it’s the right size.”

  This was definitely an understatement. The stretchy material was pulled so tight, I was surprised it was still in one piece. The uniform clung to my legs and arms so closely that I felt like I’d somehow squeezed my entire body into a tube sock.

  And it looked even tighter than it felt. Shining black spandex stretched across my shoulders and chest, decorated with a pattern of vivid red flames. A utility belt was clasped around my waist, matching the gloves and boots that I was wearing. Beneath the belt, I’d been outfitted in a pair of pants that looked like they’d been spray-painted on. Except for the bottom of the pants. Around the ankles, they flared out … like bell-bottoms.

  I pulled at the spandex around my neck. When I let go, the elastic material snapped painfully against my skin like a rubber band. “Ow!” I cried, rubbing the sore spot on my neck. I looked down longingly at the pile of clothes I’d come in wearing.

  When I finally stepped out of the dressing room, the Smicks examined me in silence while I stood there, my hands hanging awkwardly by my sides.

  Helmi was the first to speak. “I think … it’s perfect!”

  “Some of our best work.” Gertrude nodded with confidence.

  “D-doesn’t it seem,” I stuttered, “kind of tight?”

  “Tight? Where?”

  I looked down at the form-fitting elastic that covered my body. I could see the outline of my ribs poking out through the shining black material.

  “Everywhere?”

  “Nonsense! That’s exactly the way it’s supposed to fit!”

  “Now, enough debate. We still have one more appointment.” Helmi picked up the clipboard again, running a finger down the page. “With … Milton.”

  I felt a stab of pity for Milton, who was back in our room watching the window, with no idea of what was waiting for him. Not that I could feel too sorry for anyone else—not when I was dressed like this.

  The triplets ushered me into the room next door, where sofas and chairs were arranged beneath a couple of high-definition windows. A ripple of embarrassment ran down the length of my body as I noticed I wasn’t alone. Sophie and Miranda were already there. And nFinity must’ve shown up at some point, because he was seated between them.

  And all three were looking right at me.

  I could feel every inch of the spandex squeezing me. And it probably didn’t help that the tights were giving me the world’s worst wedgie.

  Let me just say, there’s no cool way to cross a room when you’re wearing shiny bell-bottomed tights. I took quick steps, listening to the soft squeak of my boots against the floor. Dropping onto the nearest available sofa, I grabbed a cushion and covered as much of myself as possible with it.

  That was when I noticed what the others had on. Miranda was wearing a purple vest, covered with pouches and pockets. Under the vest she had on silver tights that clung just as closely as mine did. Sophie’s uniform was a bright yellow one-piece that stretched from her neck to the ends of her arms and feet. I could see from the expression on her face that she was just as embarrassed as I was.

  “I look like a giant banana,” she said, scowling down at the yellow spandex. “The Smicks said it was just temporary. The uniform’s supposed to be gold, but they didn’t have the right material. So until they get it, I’m stuck with this.”

  “Don’t worry,” nFinity said. He was seated on the couch beside Sophie. “Once they put in all the armor and padding, your uniforms are going to look a lot cooler, I promise.”

  Unlike earlier, nFinity was now in full superhero mode. His uniform was a slick combination of sky blue and red, with his white n logo printed on his chest. The elastic material stretched over the contours of his built-in body armor, making him look like an action figure that had come to life.

  Of course, it didn’t hurt that he was a couple of years older than everyone else in the room. And a lot more famous.

  Sophie obviously noticed all these things too. She gazed at nFinity beside her. When his eyes flickered over to her, she glanced away. Her uniform might have been yellow, but her face had just turned a bright shade of red.

  A flash of aggravation mixed with all the embarrassment I was feeling. I pulled hard at the material of my uniform and felt it snap against my skin with a quiet pop.

  A half hour later the door to the designers’ room opened and Milton walked in. I’d expected him to be as embarrassed as I’d been, but he actually looked excited.

  “Check it out!” he said, showing off his red and silver spandex uniform. “The Smicks designed it to have extra compartments. Since I don’t have any powers, they said I should have more space for accessories and weapons and stuff!”

  nFinity has it all—a red-hot Gyft, awesome endorsement deals, and major hover skateboarding skills—so it’s no surprise that Joshua’s friends get starstruck whenever he’s nearby.

  Milton gestured to the utility belt around his waist and the pockets that were built into his sleeves and pants.

  “And you wanna know the best part?” Milton said. “The triplets are planning to have jet-propulsion engines built into the bottoms of my boots, so I’ll be able to fly and everything!”

  Milton strutted in front of us in his one-piece like a model on the runway. He even did a little twirl to show off the back side (which I didn’t think was all that necessary). After twelve years of idolizing superheroes, it must’ve been a dream come true for Milton to actually dress up like one himself.

  Milton went on bragging about his uniform until a panel opened in the wall at the edge of the room.

  Gavin appeared in the doorway. His eyes passed across our new uniforms.

  “Now that you’re finally beginning to look l
ike superheroes, it’s time to start training like superheroes,” he said. “Come with me.”

  We followed Gavin into a room he called the training hall. Like just about everywhere else, the walls, floors, and ceiling were white, with cameras perched in the corners.

  “If you’re going to succeed in this business,” Gavin said, “you’re going to need to develop your skills. It’s not enough to rely on your Gyfts. Any superhero worth his tights knows that powers are only a small part of the total package. Our training program was created to sharpen your overall skill set—strength, reflexes, acrobatics, hand-to-hand combat, weapons …”

  The more Gavin spoke, the more unsure I felt. Sports had never really been my thing. During last year’s Jump Rope Jamboree, I’d been the one who’d gone to the nurse’s office with a mild concussion.

  “We’ll begin our training with this.” Gavin pressed a button on his remote. A panel opened in the center of the floor, and a steel box rose up in its place. The box was about ten feet wide, and nearly as tall. In the front was a door that was held closed with a massive padlock.

  “Inside this box is a custom-designed technology that’s been created specifically for the purpose of testing your strengths and challenging your weaknesses. It’s a technology that—”

  Gavin stopped talking when a violent burst of noise filled the room. Something had just slammed against the inside of the box. Instinctively, I took a step back. Whatever was in that box sounded dangerous. And angry.

  “Not to worry,” Gavin said. “The GLOM gets a little peevish in confined spaces.”

  “Glom?” Sophie repeated.

  Another loud clang echoed through the room. The box rocked with the impact. By now, I was hoping Gavin would change his mind and send the thing back where it’d come from. But Gavin had another idea.

  “Unlock the box,” he said.

  The air shimmered, and Trace appeared in the room.