by Lucas Flint
“Why didn’t you go to work for him when you got old enough?” I asked. “If he was such a successful superhero, surely he could have afforded to pay you and his other sidekick, right?”
“It had nothing to do with his financial situation,” said Rubberman as he leaned against the door frame. “By the time I turned sixteen, my parents refused to let me get a sidekick license. They insisted I go to college and get a business degree so I could start some other business, but I never forgot my dream of becoming a superhero.”
“Why didn’t your parents want you to become a sidekick, especially for a superhero like Iron Angel? Seems like that would have given you more opportunities than going to college like a regular person.”
Rubberman smiled in a sheepish way. “My parents are the kind of people who hate the very concept of sidekicks. They think it needlessly puts teenagers into the kind of life-and-death situations that kids shouldn’t be exposed to. And, because you need your parents’ or guardians’ approval to get a sidekick license, I was never able to follow up on Iron Angel’s offer. By the time I graduated from college, Iron Angel had retired, so for a while I became an entrepreneur and started various other businesses, though I never forgot about my dream to become a superhero.”
“When did you finally decide to go for it?”
“When I got my rubber powers six years ago,” said Rubberman, patting his chest. “You don’t need powers to become a superhero, but it sure is helpful. When I got my powers, I decided that that was a sign that I needed to follow my dreams. So I sold my other business and jumped head first into the superhero industry and the rest is history.”
“Cool,” I said. I frowned. “Wait, you’ve never told me exactly how you got your powers in the first place.”
Rubberman suddenly looked away, as if I had asked him a very personal question. “Oh, well, that’s a story for another time. Anyway, we shouldn’t spend so much time talking. The Elastic Cave won’t clean itself, after all.”
Rubberman’s abrupt change of topic made me wonder what was so personal about his origin story, but before I could ask that, Adams suddenly appeared in the doorway, phone in hand as he panted like he’d just run a mile.
“Mr. Pullman, sir,” said Adams, holding out the phone to Rubberman. “Chief Williams from the police department wants to speak with you. He says it is urgent.”
Rubberman, frowning, took the phone and, placing it against his ear, said, “Good afternoon, Chief. What’s the problem? A bank robbery? Carjacking? Hostage situation?”
Rubberman suddenly went quiet as Chief Williams spoke. I couldn’t hear what the police chief was saying, but Rubberman’s frown deepened with each passing second. He stood as still as a corpse, which made me anxious, but I said nothing until Rubberman nodded once and said, “Okay, Chief, we’ll be on our way there soon.”
Rubberman clicked the phone off and handed it back to Adams, while I said, “What is it, boss? Something urgent?”
“Very,” said Rubberman. He looked directly at me. “The Superhero Killer has struck again and Chief Williams wants us to see his latest victim for ourselves.”
CHAPTER THREE
Even though I’d been working for Rubberman for several months now, I had never been to the scene of a murder before. Usually, whenever a murder happened, Rubberman would go by himself. His reasoning was that I was not yet ready to handle the sight of a corpse or the smell of blood and that he wanted to keep me separated from such crime scenes until I’d developed the mindset that would help me deal with them. Rubberman explained that seeing a murdered body in real life was very different from seeing one on TV and that it was not always possible to predict how a person who had never seen a corpse before would react to seeing one in real life, especially for teenagers like myself. It seemed a bit strange, because I’d already killed a supervillain before, though given how that guy’s body had been completely vaporized when I killed him, maybe it wasn’t as strange as I thought.
But today was different, because today I found myself looking, for the first time, at the corpse of another human being. It was a man of about thirty-five or so, wearing a dark suit and white shirt, both deeply stained with blood which made his white shirt look almost pink in some places. He sat against the back wall of an abandoned alleyway, his arms dangling loosely by his side. His head lay on his lap, though I only saw the back of his head (thankfully), while his bloody stump of a neck glistened in the late afternoon sun. My helmet filtered out the stink, but I’d smelled blood before and could guess just how rancid it smelled right now.
The sight of the headless man alone was enough to make my stomach churn, yet it was the word written on the wall above him which truly sent shivers done my spine. Written in the man’s only blood—which was now frozen due to the cold weather—was one simple, hateful word:
FAKER.
“Gruesome, isn’t it?” said Rubberman, who stood beside me with his arms folded in front of his chest.
I looked up at Rubberman. “How can you even stand to look at this? It’s awful. I feel like I’m about to throw up.”
“You get used to it,” said Rubberman. “I don’t enjoy seeing corpses at all, but in this line of work, you have to get used to seeing things you don’t like. It’s kind of like being a policeman or a soldier.”
I understood, but I still didn’t like it. To distract myself from the poor man’s corpse, I looked up and down the alleyway. Police stood at both ends of the alley, having put up security tape and sawhorses to keep any random passersby from tampering with the evidence at the crime scene. Despite that, most of the police officers I could see kept nervously glancing at the sky, as if they expected death to rain down from above. I also understood why they did that, because if this man was indeed killed by who we think killed him, then watching the sky was very wise indeed.
“Chief Williams,” said Rubberman, looking at the police chief, who stood just a few feet away from us with his thumbs hooked through his pants’ belt loops. “Give us the rundown about what happened here. You explained a little bit on the phone, but there’s still a lot we don’t know.”
Chief Williams was a middle-aged man with silver gray hair and a large mustache. He didn’t have the heroic build of Rubberman, but he was a pretty honest, dependable guy who had been a useful ally to us on more than one occasion. Right now, however, he was visibly sweating, despite the cold January weather, but he nodded once.
“According to our forensics experts, the victim is—or was—John Goldstein, from Dallas, Texas,” said Chief Williams as he pat away the sweat on his forehead with a handkerchief. “You probably know him better as the superhero Tech Man, however.”
“Yes, I met him once before when I went to Super Con Dallas a few years back,” said Rubberman, glancing at the headless corpse. “But what was he doing here? He’s one of the superheroes contracted by the city of Dallas to defend it.”
“From what we’ve been able to gather, Mr. Goldstein was here on vacation,” said Chief Williams. “Apparently, Mr. Goldstein is a wine connoisseur and he wanted to try out the Mendez Winery. That’s why he was not in his costume, because he was here to relax, not fight crime.”
Rubberman nodded, while I said, “What, uh, happened to him? What were the circumstances surrounding his death, I mean?”
“We don’t know all of it, but it seems like Mr. Goldstein was walking back to his hotel room sometime between midnight and one o’clock last night,” said Chief Williams. “He was walking back from a bar and seems to have been drunk, which is probably why he didn’t hail a taxi. We believe he was likely ambushed when he attempted to take a shortcut through this alleyway to his hotel, as the hotel he was staying at is only two blocks away from this alley.”
“And you’re sure that it is the Superhero Killer, right?” said Rubberman. “It couldn’t have been some other murderer?”
Chief Williams looked at Rubberman as if he was stupid. “How many murderers in Golden City do you know of who forcibly rip
the heads off of their victims and then write the word ‘FAKER’ on the wall in the victim’s own blood?”
“Just checking,” said Rubberman with a shrug. “I don’t doubt that Goldstein was yet another victim of the Superhero Killer. I just wanted to make sure that you guys had exhausted all possible options before coming to a conclusion.”
“Trust me, Rubberman, we would not have called you and your sidekick if we weren’t sure who killed him,” said Chief Williams with a shudder. “This is a problem that the Golden City Police Department can’t handle on its own.”
I nodded, but couldn’t help but glance at the word ‘FAKER’ again. It was eerie how it had frozen overnight. It would probably not be hard to remove, but I’d never seen anything like that before. Nor would I ever forget it, although I can’t say the same about the headless corpse sitting down before me.
The Superhero Killer was a new serial killer in Golden City, having shown up in Golden City shortly before Christmas of last year. He was so-named because he targeted superheroes only, though why, no one knew. So far, he had claimed at least three victims: Homer ‘Barriers’ Watson, who was his first victim; Jessica ‘Rose’ McCoury, a female superhero who had come to Golden City to discuss business opportunities with Rubberman before meeting her untimely end at the hands of the Killer; and now John ‘Tech Man’ Goldstein.
But the Superhero Killer never just killed his victims. Oh, no. He always left a one-word message at the scene of each murder. And it was the same one-word message each time: ‘FAKER.’ No one knew what that meant, but every time I saw the word, I would feel extremely uneasy, and it wasn’t because of the bodies, either. Something about the Superhero Killer’s MO seemed extremely familiar, but I couldn’t place a finger on it no matter how much I thought about it.
In any case, the Superhero Killer had quickly become an infamous ‘celebrity’ in Golden City, even though no one knew what he looked like. There was a lot of discussion online and at my school about his identity, but due to the fact that the Killer always murdered his victims in isolated or private settings, no one knew for sure what he even looked like. The most we knew about him was that he had wings and could fly, but those were surprisingly unhelpful details in a country where heroes and villains with wings were fairly common. And the only reason that was known was because the dash cam of the police cruiser in which Barriers had been transported had caught a glimpse of the Killer, although it had been too dark and grainy to make out any other details aside from that.
To say that the police were scared was an understatement. It seemed like every time I saw a police officer in the city, they’d look far more tense and wary than usual, even though the Killer targeted superheroes, not police. I think it was because they had virtually nothing on this Killer and were unable to guess when or where he would strike next.
As for Rubberman, he kept a cool face about it, but I could tell that the stress of the situation was getting to him. The Superhero Killer had not yet come after Rubberman, but given how Rubberman was the most famous superhero in Golden City, it seemed like it was only a matter of time before he came after Rubberman next. When and where he would try to kill Rubberman, no one knew, but it was still pretty obvious who his next target was.
“Were there any witnesses this time?” asked Rubberman. “Any at all?”
“None,” Chief Williams replied in a grim tone. “The corpse was found by a young woman walking her dog around lunch, but she said she did not see the murder happen, nor did she see anyone suspicious hanging around the general area. Like all of his murders so far, it seems like the Superhero Killer was careful to strike only when there were no witnesses who could have described him to us.”
Rubberman sighed in frustration. “He’s a slippery one, this Superhero Killer, isn’t he? Killing three superheroes in a row and we’re still nowhere near close to finding out who he is or why he’s even doing all of this.”
“Aye,” said Chief Williams. “Officers all over the city have been charged with keeping an eye out for him, but so far none of my officers have reported seeing him. It doesn’t help, of course, that we have no idea what he looks like.”
“Same here,” said Rubberman. “I’ve had Adams watching the news for any sightings, but he seems to disappear as soon as he appears. Seems kind of weird how we live in an age where everyone has a camera in their pocket yet no one has been able to take any pictures or video of him so far.”
I tapped the chin of my helmet. I looked at the word ‘FAKER’ again and suddenly remembered what it reminded me of. I hoped I was wrong, but at the same time, I had the strongest feeling that I wasn’t.
I looked at Rubberman again. “Hey, Rubberman, doesn’t this remind you of Fro-Zen?”
Rubberman scowled. “Don’t remind me of that traitor.”
“No, seriously,” I said. “Fro-Zen also killed superheroes, right? I know he killed Slinger and he tried to kill you. He did it because he thought the superhero industry was corrupt and that all superheroes needed to die.”
“But Fro-Zen is dead,” said Rubberman. “You killed him, remember? There’s no way he could possibly be back.”
“I didn’t say Fro-Zen was the Superhero Killer,” I said. “Only that maybe the Superhero Killer is connected to him somehow.”
I said that because I was starting to remember what Fro-Zen had once told me, about how he wasn’t the only disillusioned ex-sidekick/superhero who wanted to burn the entire industry to the ground with everyone still inside it. At the time, I hadn’t thought much about it, but now I was beginning to wonder if one of Fro-Zen’s allies had finally come back to avenge him.
Rubberman stroked his chin, deep in thought. “It’s possible, I suppose, but we have no proof one way or another.”
“But doesn’t the word ‘faker’ remind you of Fro-Zen?” I asked. “After all, Fro-Zen thought that all superheroes and sidekicks were a bunch of fakers who were only in the business for money. Maybe this guy is part of the same group that he was part of.”
“I doubt it,” said Rubberman. “Fro-Zen was a deeply disturbed young man. He may have claimed to have allies, but I think he was just so consumed with his hatred of me that he was making stuff up. After all, none of his so-called ‘allies’ ever came to avenge him when we killed him.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I said. “But you’ve got to admit that this is one weird coincidence, if that’s true.”
“It is,” Rubberman agreed. “But for now, we’ll have to work off the assumption that the Superhero Killer is working by himself, at least until we get more evidence that suggests otherwise.”
“A reasonable stance to take,” said Chief Williams. “We have seen no evidence that the Superhero Killer has any accomplices. He appears to work entirely on his own.”
“A lone wolf,” said Rubberman. “Not too different from most criminals, then, only this guy is obviously stronger and more competent than most.”
I said nothing, because I was thinking about what he said. Rubberman was probably right, though the similarities between Fro-Zen and the Superhero Killer seemed too blatant to be mere coincidence.
“If that’s all, Chief, I think Beams and I will take a few pictures of the corpse and head back to the Elastic Cave,” said Rubberman.
“Sure thing, Rubberman,” said Chief Williams. “My officers will take care of the body and the crime scene and if our DNA lab comes up with any helpful findings, we’ll be sure to let you—”
“Chief Williams!” shouted a voice from the other end of the alleyway. “I’ve found something!”
One of the police officers—a guy who looked like he was only a few years older than me—rushed up to him, a piece of paper in hand. He stopped before us and held out the paper toward Chief Williams.
“What is it, Officer Bryce?” asked Chief Williams. “What did you find?”
“A message,” said Officer Bryce in between breaths. “From the Superhero Killer. To Rubberman.”
“A message for me?” said
Rubberman. “Can I see it?”
Officer Bryce handed the paper to Rubberman, who took it and began reading it. His expression became grimmer and grimmer until he reached the bottom of the page, at which point his eyes widened and he looked at me abruptly. “Beams, we need to head back to the Elastic Cave now.”
“Now?” I said. “Why?”
Rubberman didn’t respond. Instead, he thrust the note at my face, which I took and began reading:
DENNIS
YOU’RE NEXT.
S.K.
CHAPTER FOUR
On the way back to the Elastic Cave, Rubberman drove the Rubbermobile faster than usual. We turned down tight alleyways and streets that clearly were not designed with a modified sports car like the Rubbermobile in mind; more than once we knocked over a trash can or almost hit a lamppost. I clung onto my seat for dear life, because despite my seat belt, I felt like I would go flying if we came to a stop or hit something.
Rubberman didn’t say anything at all during the drive back to the Cave. He just kept looking out the window or over his shoulder, like he expected to see the Superhero Killer fly down from the sky and kill us both. At least, I assumed that was what he was worried about, because otherwise his behavior made no sense to me at all. He didn’t say anything at all until we entered the secret entrance to Level Two. He didn’t say anything even then, until we came to a stop on the Rubbermobile’s platform and he killed the engine.
Then Rubberman hopped out of the Rubbermobile and shouted, “Adams! Double-check the security systems! I want to make sure that not even a mouse could sneak in here without me being immediately aware of it!”
“Yes, sir,” came Adams’ voice over a speaker above the elevator doors. “I shall ensure that there are no holes in the Elastic Cave’s security system.”
As for me, I climbed out of the Rubbermobile somewhat wobbly, because I was still recovering from the speed at which we had gone. By the time I got out of the Rubbermobile, Rubberman was already halfway up the steps to the elevator.