The Good Fight 4

by Ian Thomas Healy

  * * *

  When the surviving Iron Brigade metavillians still at large straggled back to their home base beneath the Gold Building at University and 12th street, Vox Malaise and the Scavengers were waiting for them. Vox had known about Tactical’s stronghold for some time, and she had captured it while the Iron Brigade was off getting their collective asses kicked.

  All the Scavengers were there, scores of hellish freaks, monsters, and the stuff of nightmares. They were the predators that haunted the vaults of the night, and they had gathered in force for an unholy feast.

  For the surviving Iron Brigade members, the choice was a stark one—swear allegiance to Vox Malaise and her reborn criminal order, or be fed to the Ventilator Angel. When faced with that genuinely horrendous fiend, with all its rusty, pitted, iron blades and pinchers, only a few chose death. Those that did had cause to instantly regret their stubbornness, both in the dying and in the long, screaming afterlife.

  Vox Malaise settled onto the ugly, industrial-themed steel girder throne that Tactical had recently occupied. Old wrongs had been overturned, and her day was upon her now. She once again was the undisputed criminal overlord of Spire City. The chill smile that spread across her face had all the warmth of a cadaver in a morgue’s freezer.

  * * *

  The next five years passed quickly for J. William Medal, Esq.—five years of intense work. Earlier that day he had been sworn in as mayor of Spire City, and he and his transitional team were settling into his new offices in the Rafert Governmental Plaza. Will had made good use of his four-year term as the Spire City prosecutor, and his war on crime had vaulted him into the public consciousness in a big way. Mayor Jeremy Newstead’s administration had been disintegrating for a while, collapsing under an avalanche of scandals and corruption, and pushing him out of office had been easy.

  Will walked to the windows of his corner office on the twenty-fifth floor and surveyed the city. He could hear his security chief, Nils Zilcher, organizing the police officers assigned to the mayor’s security detail in the next room. The huge man was an ex-convict, but there was no one the new mayor trusted more, and the officers worked with him without a fuss. The opposing party had tried to use Will’s association with Nil’s as the subject of attack ads, but the public never latched onto it and had elected Will anyway.

  The mystic tattoos and metahuman strength that had come from Michelle Breemer were all gone now. Those symbols and the magic they represented had never been intended for Will anyway, so over time, they had drained away. Michelle eventually regained most of her power, and once again she was covered in those mystic markings. For Will, the power was gone, but its legacy remained: he was no longer a paraplegic. His spine was healed, and he was fully ambulatory.

  It had not been easy, but Medal had gotten Michelle Breemer, aka Skorn, a pardon for her crimes, and now she was Michelle Breemer-Medal, Spire City’s first lady. She was never going to fit the template of a mayor’s wife, not even close, but Will didn’t mind. She was one-of-a-kind, and the city had come to love her as she was. The people of Spire City loved a good redemption story.

  Will thought of the others who had helped him in his quest. He considered Greg Buchanan, and Will smiled. Greg was going to make an excellent Spire City Police Commissioner, and one of Will’s first acts as mayor had been to appoint his old partner to that post.

  Will’s mind wandered to his father, John Underhall, the former Johnny Saturn. His dad lived with his wife and daughter in their villa in Monaco these days, but he also kept a secret apartment on the Squadron Premiere's campus. He knew that his dad had a hand in almost everything that happened in Spire City and that the one-time mystery man continued to work behind the scenes. John Underhall had had a few health scares, but overall his well-being had improved after he beat his addiction to painkillers, and he was enjoying a fruitful semi-retirement collecting vintage Harley Davidson and Indian motorcycles, deep sea fishing, and being wrapped around his five-year-old daughter’s little finger. Will and his dad still corresponded regularly, and he valued the older man’s advice.

  Will’s Mom, Loraine Medal Kendall, had also become something of a local celebrity. She had become a regular on a social issues talk show, wrote prominent editorials on the Spire City Gazette’s website, and hosted fundraisers for her many causes. Will didn’t know what to think about all this, but he was proud of his mom and loved her, so that was what counted.

  “It’s time for your luncheon with the Barr Association, Mr. Mayor,” said Abraham Rosenblatt, Will’s longtime law partner and now the deputy mayor.

  Will, Nils, and Will’s personal assistant, Carley, rode the mayor’s private elevator to the ground level where the mayor’s limousine waited. As they crossed the short, marble expanse from the elevator to the front doors, Will saw someone he had not seen or thought about in years.

  The Coat Man.

  He looked much the same, a big man in a thick, threadbare coat, the hood pulled up and cinched close. As before, the Coat Man was writing in his notebook.

  Will stepped away from his entourage and approached the homeless man. Will did not know what to say, yet he felt it was important to acknowledge the Coat Man. Will sat on the marble bench next to the imposing figure.

  “Well, old friend, it’s been a long time. Do you remember the note you gave me five years ago?”

  The Coat Man looked up from his notebook, his huge eyes framed by his dark brown skin. It was an unnerving stare, one that spoke volumes, but said little. The Coat Man slowly nodded. He remembered the note.

  “It said, ‘I’m sorry, but this is not going to end well,’” quoted Will. “Truer words were never written. Things did not end well at all. We survived, though, and that says something.”

  The Coat Man nodded in understanding. He was mute, by choice or some other cause, but he could make himself understood well enough.

  “What’s next, then?” asked Will. “I’ve got a lot of work to do. Will I succeed?” Will did not feel the slightest bit silly or odd asking the Coat Man this. Over the years Will had come to believe that their first meeting was almost oracular—fate had brought them together.

  The Coat Man looked at his notebook, and then a frown creased his brow. He tore a blank sheet of paper free from the book and handed it to Will. There was something sad about the big man’s eyes, a look of hopeless resolve, perhaps.

  Will took the sheet of blank paper, then he stood up to leave.

  “Thanks,” said Will to the Coat Man. “I hope we meet again, but if we don’t, you have my gratitude.” Will gave the man some money, asked him if there was anything else he could do for him, to which the Coat Man shook his head “no.”

  Will rejoined his patiently waiting party.

  “What was that about, boss?” asked Nils, understandably perplexed by what he had just witnessed.

  “The future,” replied Will, holding up the blank page for the others to see. “It’s up to us to write the future. It’s wide open.”

  -~o~-

  Scott Story is a freelance illustrator and cartoonist who lives in the Midwestern USA. He has drawn comics for dozens of publishers including Image, Amp, Arrow, Digital Webbing, Arcana, and many others. He has published three graphic novels and written for assorted anthologies and magazines.

  More about Scott can be found here

  https://about.me/scottstory

  Return to Table of Contents

  An Un-Bear-Able Day in Cuyahoga

  Christofer Nigro

  Skylar Kennedy attempted to find a relaxing position on the picnic table nestled in the recreational camp grounds of Cuyahoga Valley National Park. It was an endeavor the girl who secretly moonlighted as the costumed superhero Moth Girl considered quite futile considering such a table had no back to it.

  “Grrr . . .” she grumbled. “You can’t even lean back on these things. It’s just a big slab of wood with legs hammered on to make it stand up. I can build something like this in shop class. And it’s made
of wood, so it probably has termites and all sorts of creepy little bugs living in it.”

  “Now it’s the table you’re complaining about?” said Gerado Valdez, who sat across from her. “All you’ve done since we got to nice, scenic Cuyahoga for a picnic with your fam was complain about everything.”

  Gerado was not only Skylar’s best friend, but he was a staunch ally that secretly fought at her side as the costumed teen hero Locust Lad. He took great amusement from aggravating her whenever he could. “You’re too used to being pampered with those comfy chairs they put in the theaters, ni’a,” The thinly built young Hispanic man grinned. “It’s time you get out of the ‘burbs and have some fun in the woods. That’s what a picnic is supposed to be. Fun! You do know the concept, right?”

  “Eww!” Skylar reflexively moved her hand away from a carpenter ant crawling on the table. She knocked the roving insect off the paint-chipped surface with a quick swipe of her hand. “And we’re seriously supposed to eat off this table?”

  “I can’t for the life of me understand why you find insects so icky. Didn’t you take the motif of an insect after we gained those crazy powers from the Eastville Warp Event all those months ago? You do call yourself Moth Girl when you’re in costume, you know.”

  “Moths aren’t all crawly like ants. They fly, like me. They also have pretty, colorful wings.”

  “You’re thinking of butterflies, not moths. Moths are actually kinda creepy looking, if you get a good look at them. Why didn’t you name yourself Butterfly Girl if you want to take the identity of a glitzier insect?”

  “Because butterflies aren’t as cool as moths, okay? God!”

  Gerado delighted in needling his friend and partner’s patience yet again. Though he looked up to her, as both a person and a hero, he also believed she took life and the mission of a superhero too seriously. Life was supposed to be fun, as far as he was concerned. No reason not to have a good time while saving lives and doing whatever else heroes did.

  Besides, the young man mused to himself, what’s more fun than being a superhero, estoy en lo cierto? The Astonishing Moth Girl needs to loosen up, and as her partner-in-crime-fighting, the fabulous Locust Lad, I’m gonna make that happen. Or die trying. Well, maybe nothing quite that drastic . . .

  Skyler’s younger half-sister Isable joined them. She was the only other person who knew about their secret superhero lives.Izzy’s long wavy flaxen hair and fair pallor contrasted with Skyler’s straight, shoulder-length chestnut brown hair and mocha skin tone, thanks to Izzy’s biological father. Izzy preferred glittery nail polish and lip gloss and had blue highlights in her hair, unlike Skyler’s unadorned fingers and makeup-free face.

  “Lookie!” Izzy said, jumping up and down in excitement, making the various trinkets around her neck and wrists jingle. She waved her phone at them. “The Moth Girl & Locust Lad YouTube channel I created just passed 20,000 visits, and it got 35 more subscribers this morning! You two are famous, and all thanks to me truly!”

  “That’s yours truly,” Skylar said. “And I told you that we don’t do this for the popularity. We’re heroes, not pop stars. Our job is saving lives, not entertaining the masses.”

  “Don’t be such a downer. Face it, Skylar, we rock!” Gerado said as he raised a triumphant fist.

  Skylar scowled at him and sighed.

  Izzy’s mouth drooped into a half frown, her glittery pink lip gloss sparkling in the sunlight. “First of all, I think me truly sounds better than the other way, so that’s how I say it!”

  Skylar folded her arms and scowled, rolling her eyes.

  “Secondly,” Izzy continued, “It doesn’t hurt to be popular, to be liked by other people. Ask one of the hated kids in school and see if they wouldn’t kill to be loved by millions.”

  “I thought you said we’re only up in the thousands so far?” Gerado interjected.

  “You know what I meant!” Izzy hissed. “Maybe your superhero code name should be Captain Nit-Pick! Grrr!”

  “Okay, okay,” he said. “Don’t beat up the Fabulous Locust Lad for the awful crime of calling you out for exaggerating.”

  Skylar snorted. “You call yourself the Fabulous Locust Lad? Seriously?”

  “Well . . . yeah. What’s wrong with it?”

  “Ooohh, not so much wrong as just plain arrogant and pretentious!” Skylar made a herculean effort to stifle incipient hysterical laughter.

  “Hey, now,” Gerado said. “Nothing wrong with being just a little proud of yourself. Right, Izzy?”

  He turned to see the younger girl typing something out on her phone.

  “Got it!” Izzy proclaimed. “The Fabulous Locust Lad! Posted it in a glittery font that really stands out, too. That’s what I’ll call you on the channel from now on.”

  “All right!” Gerado smirked.

  “Oh, geez,” Skylar face-palmed.

  “Do ya got one for my sister, Gerado?” Izzy asked. “Moth Girl needs a snazzy adjective to go along with the one you gave Locust Lad. Otherwise, it won’t match, and I’m really anal about stuff like that.”

  “Yes, I do have one for her.” Gerado grinned.

  Skylar’s eyes suddenly rose from under her covered palm in dismay.

  “The Astonishing Moth Girl!” Gerado announced.

  “What?” Skylar huffed.

  “That totally works!” Izzy beamed, showing off her braces. “I’m gonna type that in now. I have a nice glowy font to go with it, too!”

  “You can’t be serious!” Skylar said, exasperated. “That sounds so comic book-y!”

  Gerado clapped his hands in glee. “Which is exactly what makes it so perfect!”

  “It’s lame!” Skylar insisted. “You are so not putting that on your channel!”

  “Sorry, but it’s already up,” Izzy said. “And besides, sis, I thought ya said it’s all about being heroic and saving lives, that you don’t care about the public relations, the fame, blah blah blah . . .”

  “There’s something called dignity!” Skylar exclaimed.

  “Don’t worry, novia,” Gerado said. “Many would argue that there’s nothing dignified about putting on those gaudy costumes and calling ourselves Moth Girl and Locust Lad. So, really, what do you got to lose? Ha!”

  “Now, listen . . .” Skylar said as she pounded the wooden picnic table in frustration.

  Unfortunately, she failed to control her superhuman strength before doing so, and her fist smashed a large chunk out of the sturdy table’s frame.

  “Whoops,” she said under her breath.

  “Way to go, sis!” Izzy remarked.

  “Whoa-ho,” Gerado said. “You better get hold of your strength, ni’a, before you end up doing that to your mom’s coffee table next. And then all the villains we fight will have to get in line behind her.”

  Izzy’s best friend, the scarlet-haired and corpulent Kylie, ran up to their table from the area where the Kennedy sisters’ parents were cooking on the grill. “Dinner is about ready!” the perky redhead announced. “And I can tell you it’s really good, since I had the first hot dog off the grill!”

  Kylie paused as she noticed the vaguely fist-shaped hole smashed out of the picnic table.

  “Did . . . did you do that, Sky?” she asked.

  “Me?” Sky’s voice was too high-pitched, too fast with guilt. “How could I have done that? It was like this when we got here. These tables are really old, ya know?”

  “I could swear it wasn’t like that when we got here,” Kylie said with her hands on her hips.

  “It was the effects of fungal rot,” Izzy said, waving her phone at Kylie.

  “It was what, now?” Kylie asked.

  “Look at this website here.” Izzy said. She read the text aloud. “Fungal rot describes what occurs when a species of fungi infects a body of wood and, over the course of about a year, weakens its cellular constitution significantly. This process of cellular decay may not be obvious from an external point of view but will nevertheless make the tissu
e of any type of wood extremely brittle, and thus easily breakable. Oh, and check out this part, at the end: Such a condition is commonly found to afflict wooden picnic tables situated in national parks.”

  “Oh,” Kylie said as she perused the text. “That’s strange.”

  “Not so strange after you learn about the existence of fungal rot, though, right?” Gerado said.

  “I suppose,” Kylie said. “Well, I’m going to get some more. Are you all gonna join?”

  “I guess you’re saying that we better before get of the grub you eat it all, huh?” Gerado grinned.

  Kylie responded with an upward projected middle finger.

  Gerado laughed.

  “That was a low blow, dude,” Izzy told him.

  “As reluctant as I am to agree with my sister about, well, anything,” Skylar said, “I most definitely do in this case. So, chill with that kind of name-calling.”

  “Oh, c’mon now,” Gerado said. “Let’s all lighten up. We all get zingers thrown at us from time to time. And it’s not like she gets death rays and shurikens hurled at her on a regular basis like we do, Sky. Well, except for those few times she got in the way while we were kicking some villain’s ass. But I think you get the gist.”

  Skylar and Izzy both responded with a persistent angry glare.

  “All right, all right,” he said. “I’ll chill with zingers like that in the future. But, anyways, thank you for saving the day, Izzy-girl. I always tell your sis she’s too hard on you whenever she complains you’re an annoying busybody.”

  Izzy pulled her pink-framed sunglasses down and eyeballed her sister. “Um, right. You should be thanking me instead of calling me a busybody!”

  “If you weren’t actually a busybody,” Skylar hissed, “You wouldn’t have found out we were Moth Girl and Locust Lad in the first place!”

  “Well, you shoulda told me on your own!” Izzy insisted. “It’s not like I haven’t been a lot of help to you two since you started the superhero thing. And not just with bailing your asses out of stuff like this, either. Look at the heaps of online promotion I do to get Moth Girl and Locust Lad all the props you deserve for saving the world!”