Wonder Heroes 4.0

by Ahlquist, Steve

  Susan fought to sit up. “Not down. On it’s way…”

  Susan bolted upright as Wonder Hero Imperial landed nearby. “…here.”

  Wonder Hero Imperial landed hard, cracking the pavement, beneath his feet. Steam rose from the armor, which was still superheated but otherwise undamaged by the missile’s impact. Susan painfully rose to her feet to confront her stolen armor as all around her soldiers aimed their weapons, knowing that their bullets would be useless.

  “Hold your fire!” screamed the General, fearing a bullet might ricochet off the Wonder Armor and end Susan’s life. If she died there would be no one to control the Wonder Gauntlet except for the alien inside Paul.

  Susan took a step forward, and Wonder Hero Imperial took a step back.

  “Don’t leave,” said Susan quietly, “That’s my gauntlet you have there.”

  Wonder Hero Imperial took a step forward and aimed the gauntlet at Susan. The gauntlet pulsed with energy but did not fire. The energy simply dissipated harmlessly. Wonder Hero Imperial activated the jump in its boot jets, but again, the energy dissipated without effect. Susan closed the distance between her and the armor. The creature infecting Paul wanted to back away, but was frozen in place.

  “That a girl…” said the General under his breath. He was getting reports from all over the city that the zombie threat was being contained.

  Wonder Hero Imperial summoned an energy shield, a force field that completely enveloped and protected him. Susan reached through the barrier as if it were not there and touched the gauntlet. The creature inside was weakening, and the Wonder Armor fell to its knees, dragging Susan down with it. She now gripped the Wonder Gauntlet in both hands.

  With a thought she retracted the armor, and came face to face with the face of Paul Kettles, his face covered with tears black goo. Paul was wearing the new red tee shirt and boxers that appeared whenever the armor retracted. In her mind Susan could hear the creature within Paul scream in protest. Paul grabbed Susan’s arm, and she could feel her life force flowing away, but the gauntlet’s power now protected and restored her.

  Susan tapped into that power and ripped the gauntlet free of the zombie, and watched as Paul’s body melted away into dust, and with that the last of the creature’s screams faded away in her mind.

  Susan stood up, still reeling from her staggering headache. She felt weak and dehydrated. Suddenly she realized that she was suffering from withdrawal. Her body was sick because it now needed the Wonder Gauntlet so badly. She wondered if the feeling would ever go away if she refused to take the gauntlet back. Like a cruel drug dealer the gauntlet opened up, waiting for her to put her arm inside it again.

  General Rumpole rushed to her side. “You did it.”

  “I did,” said Susan simply. She looked at the open gauntlet in her hand.

  The General noticed her hesitation. “Susan, I know what you’re thinking…”

  “It’s off, General,” Susan waved the empty gauntlet, “I could have my life back.”

  “Maybe,” said the General, “but if you proved anything here today it’s that the gauntlet in your hand belongs to you.” The General smiled. “Not many people could do what you just did.”

  There were flashes of colored light, and suddenly the rest of the Wonder Heroes arrived.

  “Took you long enough,” said the General.

  “What’s the situation?” asked Matt, but then he grew quiet, and his cheeks became pale.

  Theodore was looking at the gauntlet in Susan’s hand, his mouth dropped open with astonishment. One by one the rest of the Wonder Heroes followed his stare.

  “What happened?” asked Kalomo.

  Susan looked at Matt. He had seen the red underwear in a nearby pile of dust, and figured out what it meant. “It’s complicated,” she said, “I’ll tell you later.”

  Susan placed her arm in the Crimson Wonder Gauntlet, and felt the familiar sensation of pressure and power. Almost instantly her headache vanished, and her sickness disappeared. Strength and power flowed through her. She wondered how she had ever contemplated giving that up.

  Susan summoned the Wonder Armor, and felt safe and warm and protected within it. She smiled and said, “General, you think the army can handle the cleanup?”

  “Absolutely, Susan,” said the General, nodding his head.

  Susan looked at the rest of the team. “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Wonder Heroes 4.16

  The Kaiju Cult traced its roots to prehistoric Japan. Never popular, the infamous cult gnawed at the fringes of Japanese society, and due to reasonable and necessary persecution was sometimes forced to erect their unholy shrines and conduct their terrible rites on distant islands, far from decent society. During the Shogunate era members of the cult were hunted and executed as a matter of law; members were considered too dangerous to live. Several times the cult was believed to have been hunted to extinction, only to resurface repeatedly, and always they announced themselves with the arrival of terrible, gigantic monsters and fearsome, deadly attacks.

  Since the death of his parents in a car accident as a child, Hanzo Ueda lived with his grandfather, a quirky old man who one day revealed to his grandson that he was not the kindly manager of a local supermarket, though he worked there every day, but the secret leader of the ancient and persecuted Kaiju Cult. Hanzo’s grandfather regaled the boy with tales of giant monsters rampaging through the countryside, submerging the navies of entire kingdoms, and attacking cities with the ferocity a thousand atomic bombs. Hanzo learned that such destructive monsters should not be contained, that the monsters were possessed of the primal power of entropy, breeding chaos and disorder. To rebel against such monsters was to rebel against the essence of the universe and the truth of reality. Those who opposed the Kaiju Cult opposed the natural and supernatural; they resisted Ya, the arrow of time.

  As a young boy Hanzo accompanied his grandfather to Kaiju Cult gatherings at various sites throughout suburban Tokyo, but as his grandfather became sick, these trips stopped. Hanzo found himself working at the supermarket where his grandfather used to be manager, working as a cashier to support them both. It was a difficult time: Hanzo’s grandfather spent ten years dying, and what little money Hanzo made went directly towards his grandfather’s medical bills with the rest paying for the low rent apartment they shared and what little food they could afford.

  Hanzo discovered the books and the map among his grandfather’s belongings after the traditional (and false) Shinto funeral Hanzo arranged, at great expense, when his grandfather finally succumbed to cancer. Hanzo was now terribly alone, with ample time on his hands, but no friends to speak of and no real prospects for a future. He was twenty-six years old and already he felt his life was over. So he worked his cashiering job in a fog and studied his grandfather’s books with fervor when he had time off.

  The books were hand made copies of ancient Kaiju Cult scrolls that had long ago been consigned to the flames during one of the many unsuccessful attempts to purge the unwanted religion from existence by people and governments too ignorant to understand. Within the books were written the tales of the Kaiju Cult his grandfather had related to Hanzo as a child, and the special relationship the cult had with the Neboukichan, gigantic, ancient monsters that had fallen from the skies in prehistoric times.

  Reading the books taught Hanzo much about the Kaiju Cult. The books contained detailed descriptions of how to first locate and then activate the Neboukichan for unbelievable destruction. The books detailed the means by which the leader of the Kaiju Cult could cultivate within himself the means by which to direct the Neboukichan, at least as much as such primal forces of destruction could be directed, and set about their deadly purpose. Hanzo learned of the Hakaisha, a prophesied figure who would one day lead the Kaiju Cult to their ultimate goal: The destruction of the world.

  Alone in his empty apartment, Hanzo one day became convinced that he was the Hakaisha.

&nbs
p; The map Hanzo had discovered marked the location of the eight sleeping Neboukichan. These monsters, said to have been carved from a single sky stone by an insane god, were buried deep underground and were forgotten by all but the Kaiju Cult. There the Neboukichan slumbered, waiting for the day when the Hakaisha would arrive and wake them, that they might begin to destroy all the works of man.

  So it was that early one Saturday morning Hanzo boarded the Yamanote train at Shinjuku Station dressed in flowing black robes, carrying a long, hooked black staff from which dangled a series of shiny golden cymbals, which jingled as he moved. The staff had belonged to his grandfather. He had a canvas book bag at his side, bulging with herbs, stones, gems and various pieces of plants and animals. Despite his unusual dress no one paid him much attention. He rode the train in silence, too absorbed in his thoughts to meet the eyes of his fellow passengers.

  An older man, a fellow train passenger, tugged at Hanzo’s robe. Hanzo reluctantly squinted at the man, acknowledging him. “Yes?”

  “Are you a character?” asked the smiling old man, “from a manga?”

  Hanzo did not want to answer, but his grandfather had taught him to respect the elderly, so he lied, “Yes.”

  The old man nodded and smiled, apparently satisfied. Hanzo again withdrew into his own thoughts.

  From the train Hanzo walked to the bus and used his green and white Suica card. The bus driver gave him a quick smile and said, “You’re running late. The rest of your people have been arriving all morning.”

  “My people?” asked Hanzo, confused.

  “Yeah,” said the bus driver, “people in robes like yours.”

  Hanzo gave the driver a quizzical look but said nothing. The driver shrugged his shoulders, closed the bus door and drove. Hanzo sat quietly, and checked his notebook to make sure he did not miss his stop. He need not have worried. In the parking lot of a Circle K convenience store were gathered nearly one hundred men and women, dressed in black robes. In a panic Hanzo scootched down in his seat, hiding.

  The driver stopped the bus and turned to Hanzo. “Here’s your stop, sir.”

  Hanzo wanted the driver to close the door and keep moving, but the driver simply stared at him, holding the door open and keeping the bus idling. “I have many more stops to complete, sir.”

  Hanzo felt the eyes of the other passengers on him. Reluctantly Hanzo rose and exited the bus. He was now facing nearly one hundred people dressed almost exactly like him. The door to the bus closed and the bus drove off. Hanzo planted his staff and the cymbals chimed, embarrassing him. The crowd, men and women with slushies and snack foods in hand, were all staring at him, and his staff. Traffic continued in and out of the Circle K parking lot, but no one in robes moved. Hanzo realized that he was the only person with a staff as the cymbals chimed in the wind.

  An older man stepped from the crowd. “Mr. Ueda? You might remember me, I am Mr. Mabuki.” At Hanzo’s blank stare Mr. Mabuki continued, “I knew your grandfather.”

  “What is happening?” Hanzo asked, his voice low, “What is going on?”

  “We are here, Mr. Ueda, to help you awaken the Neboukichan,” said Mr. Mabuki, “We are the Kaiju Cult.”

  Walter Watanabe woke up in his lab at five in the morning. He had fallen asleep in an uncomfortable chair, and stretched his back cautiously. He checked his watch and noted that he had been asleep for twenty minutes. Walter checked the progress on the project he had been working on long into the night. A robotic arm was carefully placing artificial gems, one after another, into the chamber of an energy displacement weapon. The weapon was then test fired and the burned out gem removed and evaluated automatically. All the tests so far were negative; no gem seemed to have the perfect mix of qualities necessary for the weapon to approximate the power and precision of a Wonder Gauntlet.

  Walter stretched his arms, audibly cracked the joints in his neck and rose from his chair. He left the lab and took the elevator to the fifty-fifth floor, where he maintained his dojo. The elevator opened and revealed Master Kim, a Korean martial artist Walter had hired to instruct him in the finer points of GiCheon, a relatively obscure open handed combat system. Kim had two coffees in hand.

  “No, thank you, Master Kim,” said Walter to the proffered coffee, “I avoid stimulants.”

  Master Kim smiled and drank deeply from his cup. In heavily accented Japanese the Korean man said, “It’s from your commissary. Very good coffee. I’m useless in the morning without it.”

  It was five past five. “Shall we proceed?” asked Walter; he disliked wasting time.

  Master Kim was being paid very well for his time here, so he was disposed to humor Mr. Watanabe’s eccentricities. After some quick formalities Master Kim began his instruction.

  Two hours later Walter Watanabe exited the elevator at the top floor of his building he had designed, the tallest in Tokyo. He was showered and wearing an Armani suit, smiling politely at the workers that staffed his office. Breakfast awaited him at his desk; he checked his stock price and his email as he ate. At quarter past seven he began his meetings.

  Walter’s people knew that the meetings had to be kept short, and information had to be delivered in as quick and concise a form as possible. He was a very generous employer who demanded a lot from his people and usually got it.

  A middle aged man stood nearby reading off a computer pad. The man had once worked for Walter’s father, and Walter knew him to be extremely loyal, if unimaginative. “Trejo Industrial says that the specifications for the servos you ordered are too exacting for their equipment, sir. They’re projecting a 65% failure rate.”

  Walter frowned. “I designed their equipment, they’re not using it right. The failure rate should be closer to 20%.” Walter spun his seat around and looked out the window.

  “I told them that sir.”

  Walter rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Very well. Buy Trejo Industrial, fire the board, and get some of our people on site to oversee manufacturing. We’ll shoot for 5% failure and settle for 10.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man left Walter’s office, already using his earpiece to make the calls that would ultimately bring Trejo Industrial under Walter Watanabe’s complete control.

  A young Russian woman, Walter’s press secretary, stepped forward and without any introductions said, “The following media have requested interviews…”

  Walter cut her off. “No interviews.” He knew what they wanted to ask him, and he had no interest in discussing his failure months ago to be chosen by the gauntlets to become a Wonder Hero.

  “Oh,” said the woman, swiping the computer pad in her hand to send a series of denials to those requesting interviews. “Also there is your publisher wondering about the timeline on the new book.”

  “No new book,” said Walter brusquely, “Return the advance, with penalties and interest.”

  “This will make waves in the media…” frowned the press secretary, who suddenly found herself with nothing to do: If her boss was not going to deal with the press, why have a press secretary?

  “I’m sure it will,” said Walter, “Let them talk. Anything else?”

  She shook her head. “No sir.”

  Walter tapped the keys of his laptop as his next meeting was conducted. He just had an idea for streamlining the coding in his AI project, an idea that might save billions of calculations a second if it could be implemented, and was sending it to his design team.

  “Our investigators have finished their reports, and we’ve compiled them into a series of briefings.” Walter’s head of security, a former military intelligence officer from Australia, laid a small pile of thin file folders on Walter’s desk. Walter looked at the folders, but never stopped typing his idea to the AI department.

  “Impressions?”

  “Not much there,” said the Australian, “They’re all relatively young, so no real skeletons, except one.”

  Walter sent his email and picked up the top file. It was lab
eled “Theodore Studebaker.” Walter paged through the file, reading quickly. A smile threatened the edge of his lips but he did not allow it to blossom.

  “Okay,” said Walter, “that’s interesting.” He pushed aside the files on Jay and Kalomo, and picked up Susan’s file. “What about her?”

  The head of security shrugged. “Absent father, mother has a DUI, one serious boyfriend in high school, top of her class everywhere, Olympics, no secrets. What you see is what you get.”

  Walter stood and breezed through the information about Susan Daystrom before becoming a Wonder Hero. He slowed down slightly as he read her psych profile, and ran various scenarios through his mind. When he finished he tossed the file onto the desk and looked out the window and at his world, spread out before him.

  As Walter watched, far in the distance there was an explosion, and a plume of smoke. Walter checked his watch, accessing a satellite view of the explosion.

  Walter turned to the rest of his employees. “The meeting is over, everyone. Check with my secretary to reschedule.”

  The room cleared and Walter opened a door in his office that lead to a vault. The vault was biologically coded to Walter alone. The only other people on Earth who might have a chance of accessing the contents were the Wonder Heroes, but Walter suspected even they might be stymied by the security he had developed.

  Inside the vault was Walter’s greatest invention, Domaru, the closest thing to Wonder Armor ever developed on Earth. For the first time that day, Walter allowed himself to smile.

  Hanzo Ueda stared into the sky, the sun eclipse by a Neboukichan, a monster that stood over ten stories tall. The monster was roughly humanoid, and gave the appearance of having been carved from a single, gigantic piece of dark granite. When the creature rose, digging itself out from below cold earth, Hanzo saw the creature’s rock hard granite-like exterior move and flex as if alive. The Neboukichan had markings carved into its body, ornate alien symbols and ancient scrollwork that glowed with a faint blue-white color from within. It was the coolest thing Hanzo had ever seen in his life.